From the ages of 8-18, I had one goal in life: to become the number one tennis player my age in the state of Texas.
The good news is that it actually happened. After a string of second place finishes, I finally won it all when I was 17. I liked it well enough that I did it again a year later.
The bad news is that with that mindset developed at such a young age, I tend to look at other people in my life the same way I looked at other Texas tennis players: as rivals. As the competition.
Enter the world of preaching.
One of the great things about the city of Charlotte is that there are so many good churches, often led by rather remarkable pastors.
Some of them are spellbinding speakers who are leaders within their own denominations, others are close personal friends who live what they preach better than most, still others are nationally-known phenoms, while some are key leaders in my own Methodist tribe, and quite a few are just plain nice people.
That's the good news.
The bad news is when I view people on that list as rivals and competitors. Because in any kind of competition, I'll "win" in some areas and "lose" in others.
When I view Good Shepherd as a fiefdom, I inhibit the advancement of the kingdom.
Because, as Paul would remind me, my fellow clergy and I are not adversaries; we're co-laborers.
I write all this today because I believe God has been doing a work in me in recent months. Some of it has been his direct hand in my heart. The other part of his work comes from the book I've referenced before: Church Unique. Not church identical. Not church template. Church Unique.
What's true of congregations is true of pastors. Pastor Unique. Each of us a mixture of strength and weakness, flaws and beauty, spirit and flesh.
Each worthy of others celebrating the good work God does in their lives and in their congregations.
And none of us ranked #1 in this or any other city.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Top Five Tuesday -- Top Five Movie Scenes That Made Me Cry
Last week I posted about five moments in sports that brought me to tears.
This week . . . the movies.
I cry at odd movies, at scenes most other people don't find so traumatic. But anything having to do with fathers and sons or divorce or unexpected death . . . well, pass the kleenex, please.
5. Walk The Line. In this biopic of Johnny Cash there is a scene in which despite the level Johnny's accomplishments and fame, his father responds with contempt and not approval. The ache in Joaquin Phoenix's face turned on my tears, in large part because I never had to go through anything like that from my dad.
4. Lion King. Who with a heart didn't cry when Mufasa died and Simba gets told to "run away and never come back"?
3. The Iron Lady. Hardly a tear jerker. Except when you see the influence of Margaret Thatcher's father on her later life and then see the ravages of Alzheimer's on her later, later life.
2. Field Of Dreams. I confess: when I first saw this movie in 1989, I thought it majored in baseball and minored in eternal life. Then I became a father -- twice -- and saw it again in 2006. All of sudden, I realized it was about fatherhood. The closing scene is hard to beat.
1. Hope Floats. My parents were married 69 years. Julie and I are approaching our 28th anniversary. So divorce has never hit me intimately or personally. But I still can't make it through this scene, complete with dad's infinite capacity for self-justification and daughter's infinite capacity for pain.
This week . . . the movies.
I cry at odd movies, at scenes most other people don't find so traumatic. But anything having to do with fathers and sons or divorce or unexpected death . . . well, pass the kleenex, please.
5. Walk The Line. In this biopic of Johnny Cash there is a scene in which despite the level Johnny's accomplishments and fame, his father responds with contempt and not approval. The ache in Joaquin Phoenix's face turned on my tears, in large part because I never had to go through anything like that from my dad.
4. Lion King. Who with a heart didn't cry when Mufasa died and Simba gets told to "run away and never come back"?
3. The Iron Lady. Hardly a tear jerker. Except when you see the influence of Margaret Thatcher's father on her later life and then see the ravages of Alzheimer's on her later, later life.
2. Field Of Dreams. I confess: when I first saw this movie in 1989, I thought it majored in baseball and minored in eternal life. Then I became a father -- twice -- and saw it again in 2006. All of sudden, I realized it was about fatherhood. The closing scene is hard to beat.
1. Hope Floats. My parents were married 69 years. Julie and I are approaching our 28th anniversary. So divorce has never hit me intimately or personally. But I still can't make it through this scene, complete with dad's infinite capacity for self-justification and daughter's infinite capacity for pain.
Monday, February 20, 2012
A Responsive Reading You Probably Won't See
In many of the more liturgical churches, responsive readings are a key element in the Sunday worship flow.
Often found in the back of the hymnal book, responsive readings typically take sections of Scripture, divide them into parts for the "Leader" to read followed by a a response that the congregation shares.
Here is a typical format, this one drawn from Psalm 46:1-7:
Leader: God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
People: Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
Leader: though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.
People: There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.
Leader: God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.
People: Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
All: The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.
While responsive readings are not a standard part of Good Shepherd's worship design, we use them on occasion.
Having said that, there are some Scripture passages I can't quite see using in that form of corporate worship.
For example, last night our Men's Life Group Bible Study looked in depth at Genesis 19:30-38, the story of Lot and his daughters -- one of the most disturbing sections in all of Scripture.
Can you imagine how that might work in a responsive reading?
Leader: That night they got their father to drink wine, and the older daughter went in and lay with him. He was not aware of it when she lay down or when she got up.
People: The next day the older daughter said to the younger, “Last night I lay with my father. Let’s get him to drink wine again tonight, and you go in and lie with him so we can preserve our family line through our father.”
Leader: So they got their father to drink wine that night also, and the younger daughter went and lay with him. Again he was not aware of it when she lay down or when she got up.
People: So both of Lot’s daughters became pregnant by their father.
All: The older daughter had a son, and she named him Moab; he is the father of the Moabites of today. The younger daughter also had a son, and she named him Ben-Ammi]; he is the father of the Ammonites of today.
In the words of Bartleby the Scrivener, "I'd prefer not to."
Why does that story get included in that book at that time? I believe it has to do with the punchline that comes at the expense of the Moabites and the Ammonites -- bitter enemies of the children of Israel.
In addition, it serves to remind us that people often respond to the gift of deliverance -- Lot and family had been spared the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah -- with acts of debauchery. It's the sadly human way of saying "thank you, Lord."
Either way, we won't be using Genesis 19 as a responsive reading anytime soon.
Often found in the back of the hymnal book, responsive readings typically take sections of Scripture, divide them into parts for the "Leader" to read followed by a a response that the congregation shares.
Here is a typical format, this one drawn from Psalm 46:1-7:
Leader: God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
People: Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
Leader: though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.
People: There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.
Leader: God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.
People: Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
All: The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.
While responsive readings are not a standard part of Good Shepherd's worship design, we use them on occasion.
Having said that, there are some Scripture passages I can't quite see using in that form of corporate worship.
For example, last night our Men's Life Group Bible Study looked in depth at Genesis 19:30-38, the story of Lot and his daughters -- one of the most disturbing sections in all of Scripture.
Can you imagine how that might work in a responsive reading?
Leader: That night they got their father to drink wine, and the older daughter went in and lay with him. He was not aware of it when she lay down or when she got up.
People: The next day the older daughter said to the younger, “Last night I lay with my father. Let’s get him to drink wine again tonight, and you go in and lie with him so we can preserve our family line through our father.”
Leader: So they got their father to drink wine that night also, and the younger daughter went and lay with him. Again he was not aware of it when she lay down or when she got up.
People: So both of Lot’s daughters became pregnant by their father.
All: The older daughter had a son, and she named him Moab; he is the father of the Moabites of today. The younger daughter also had a son, and she named him Ben-Ammi]; he is the father of the Ammonites of today.
In the words of Bartleby the Scrivener, "I'd prefer not to."
Why does that story get included in that book at that time? I believe it has to do with the punchline that comes at the expense of the Moabites and the Ammonites -- bitter enemies of the children of Israel.
In addition, it serves to remind us that people often respond to the gift of deliverance -- Lot and family had been spared the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah -- with acts of debauchery. It's the sadly human way of saying "thank you, Lord."
Either way, we won't be using Genesis 19 as a responsive reading anytime soon.
Friday, February 17, 2012
But For The Grace Of God, Week 3: Grace Invaders
It's not often that we change a planned ending at the last minute.
But we did this week.
I believe our concluding time will be an ideal fit with all that has come before it. Not only that comes before it this Sunday, but all that's come before it throughout the But For The Grace Of God series.
So this Sunday it's Grace Invaders from Ephesians 1:3-14.
With an all new, director's cut ending.
Sunday.
8:30. 10. 11:30.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Linsanity, Identity, And Christianity
Michael Luo of the New York Times writes a provocative piece on Jeremy Lin, Harvard graduate, Asian-American follower of Jesus, and current New York Knicks phenomenon.
Last weekend, I was driving home when my BlackBerry buzzed with a text message from a Korean-American friend from my church: “You watching J Lin tearing it up?”
Keep up with the latest news, on the court and off, with The Times's basketball blog.
He filled me in: “25 pts, 5 reb, 7 assists, 2 steals. Garden was going wild. Carmelo and Amar’e were going crazy. Announcers were effusive.”
A surge of emotion welled up inside me — a mix of utter astonishment, joy and pride.
“It’s a miracle,” I said to my wife, only half-joking.
“J Lin” is Jeremy Lin, the undrafted point guard from Harvard who has emerged from seemingly nowhere to become the toast of New York and Asian-Americans everywhere with his surprising star turn for the Knicks.
On Monday, I rushed home from work to find a live stream of the Knicks-Jazz game. (Time Warner, my cable provider, removed the MSG channels because of a dispute over subscriber fees.) Lin turned in another jaw-dropping performance, and did it again Wednesday in Washington. The Lakers game on Friday proved nearly too much for me to handle.
Yes, Linsanity.
But it also represented much more than that, at least to me.
Like Lin, I’m a Harvard graduate, albeit more than a decade ahead of him, and a second-generation Chinese-American. I’m also a fellow believer, one of those every-Sunday-worshiping, try-to-read-the-Bible-and-pray types, who agreed with Lin when he said to reporters after the Jazz game, “God works in mysterious and miraculous ways.”
Being a believer can mean different things in different circles. In a lot of the ones Lin and I have traveled, it can mean, essentially, you are a bit of a weirdo, or can make you an object of scorn.
For me, as an Asian-American, the chants of “M.V.P.!” raining down on Lin at the Garden embody a surreal, Jackie Robinson-like moment. Just as meaningful to me as a Christian, however, is the way the broadcasters have hailed Lin as not just the “Harvard hero” but the “humble Harvard grad.” His teammates appear just as overjoyed at his success as he was. Both seem to be testaments to his character.
Some have predicted that Lin, because of his faith, will become the Taiwanese Tebow, a reference to Denver Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow, whose outspokenness about his evangelical Christian beliefs has made him extraordinarily popular in some circles and venomously disliked in others. But my gut tells me that Lin will not wind up like Tebow, mainly because Lin’s persona is so strikingly different. From talking to people who knew him through the Harvard-Radcliffe Asian American Christian Fellowship, and watching his interviews, I have the sense that his is a quieter, potentially less polarizing but no less devout style of faith.
Lin comes across as soft-spoken and winsome; he comes across as thoughtful. He comes across, actually, as a distinctly Asian-American Christian, or at least like so many that I know.
An Asian-American Christian? What’s that?
Many in this country have probably never even heard of this subcategory on the religious spectrum. But if you are a relatively recent graduate of the Ivy League or another top-tier college, you will probably recognize the species.
Harvard’s Asian American Christian Fellowship, which started in the 1990s, is one of the most active student groups on campus. You will also immediately know it if you are part of a historically orthodox church in a major metropolitan center like New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Boston or Los Angeles because your pews are probably filled with them. Like Lin, many Asian-American Christians have deep personal faith, but they are also, notably, almost never culture warriors. That is simply not what is emphasized in their churches and college Christian fellowships, including the one that played such a formative role in Lin’s life at Harvard.
In trying to explain why my Twitter and Facebook streams in the last week have become overrun with postings on Lin, I have struggled to convey to my friends the sense of connection. But it boils down to a welter of emotions from finally having someone I can relate to enter the public consciousness.
The last time I felt anything resembling this was Yao Ming’s first season for the Rockets. I experienced a similar mix of pinch-me-am-I-dreaming befuddlement and chest-thumping pride when I traveled to Houston to do an article on him and heard an arena crowd singing his name, on Chinese New Year, no less. And, yes, I followed Tebow’s extraordinary ride this season, in part because of his faith. More than anything, though, I found the fierce emotions he incited on both sides of the religious divide depressing.
The feelings the Lin phenomenon instill in me are orders of magnitude greater because he is an Asian-American, like me, whose parents were immigrants to this country, like mine. He grew up, like me, in the United States, speaking English; his Chinese, like mine, could use improvement. He went to my alma mater. And, yes, he is a Christian, too, but with a brand of faith, shaped by his background, that I can relate to much better than many I have seen in the public arena.
I first started following Lin closely in late 2009, when he was a senior and Harvard nearly pulled off an upset of Connecticut. Lin scored 30 points, and profiles of the Ivy League phenom began popping up regularly on Web sites.
I read that Jeremy’s father, Gie-Ming Lin, attended graduate school at Purdue and studied computer engineering but loved basketball and took his son to the local Y.M.C.A. to shoot hoops. It reminded me of my dad, who also came to the United States for graduate school in electrical engineering, and took my brother and me to the gym when we were young.
I read, too, that Lin endured racial taunts on the court, which brought me back to my middle school and high school years, hearing the same epithets, but on the soccer field.
I also read about his personal faith and the way he helped lead a small group for his Christian fellowship, harking back to the way I became a Christian in college, in part through some of these same small groups, in which we often wrestled with difficult questions deep into the night.
I like to think of my approach to faith as nuanced and not fitting easily into anyone’s standard boxes. I suspect Lin’s has to be as well.
Last season, I followed closely as Lin went undrafted but later signed with the Golden State Warriors. He played sparingly and was cut in December. He landed briefly in Houston but was cut again. Finally, he joined the Knicks but had mostly sat on the bench. Now he is suddenly the shining star of New York.
In the midst of his stellar run last week, I couldn’t help but reflect on Lin’s journey. A Bible verse that he has cited as a favorite came to mind, encouraging believers that “suffering produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Up From Cynicism
Over the past year or so, I've slowly but surely emerged out of a fog of cynicism.
I went through a season where I was so frustrated with the actions of people who described themselves as mature Christians that I almost threw out the notion of mature Christianity altogether.
So I became skeptical of certain evangelical standards such as quiet times, spiritual accountability, and Sunday morning altar calls.
But then Jesus happened.
He always does.
As he brought the deepest levels of healing to my spirit, I realized afresh just how good those classic measures of evangelicalism really are.
For example, you can never improve upon doctrines such as salvation by grace, the filling of the Holy Spirit, and the assurance of believers.
And a meaningful faith can never be separated from practices such as Scripture reading, discipleship groups, and regular fasting.
I appreciate the perspectives of younger evangelicals who remind us that Scripture was written for audiences that were largely illiterate and so is best read out loud and in public.
I also am grateful for their continuing warnings not to individualize -- or Americanize -- a gospel that is by definition to be lived out in community.
Given all that, however, I've found it much healthier and much more spiritually rewarding to preach the core doctrines, practice the classic disciplines, and trust the God in others.
I went through a season where I was so frustrated with the actions of people who described themselves as mature Christians that I almost threw out the notion of mature Christianity altogether.
So I became skeptical of certain evangelical standards such as quiet times, spiritual accountability, and Sunday morning altar calls.
But then Jesus happened.
He always does.
As he brought the deepest levels of healing to my spirit, I realized afresh just how good those classic measures of evangelicalism really are.
For example, you can never improve upon doctrines such as salvation by grace, the filling of the Holy Spirit, and the assurance of believers.
And a meaningful faith can never be separated from practices such as Scripture reading, discipleship groups, and regular fasting.
I appreciate the perspectives of younger evangelicals who remind us that Scripture was written for audiences that were largely illiterate and so is best read out loud and in public.
I also am grateful for their continuing warnings not to individualize -- or Americanize -- a gospel that is by definition to be lived out in community.
Given all that, however, I've found it much healthier and much more spiritually rewarding to preach the core doctrines, practice the classic disciplines, and trust the God in others.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Top Five Tuesday -- Top Five Times Sports Have Made Me Sad
Last week in the wake of Julie's post-Super Bowl euphoria, I posted about the top five times sports have made me genuinely happy.
Today, it's the opposite side of that coin.
What are those times when sports results have made me genuinely sad? When instead of tears of joy I shed tears of sadness because my player/team/school lost?
Now: I am not including reaction to competitions in which I took part. Many of my losses in tennis were followed by tears or despair or both, starting with the first tournament match I ever played as an eight year old and ending with my senior year in college when we lost a nightmarish match to a hated rival, ensuring they won the conference championship and we didn't.
So my five saddest sports moments as a spectator:
5. Texas defeats SMU, 38-7 in 1968. I was six. The SMU team featuring Chuck Hixson and Jerry LeVias was riding high. Our family made the trip from Dallas down to Austin for what I was sure would be an upset. What happened instead was a debacle. Texas was too good, too deep, and had just unveiled something called a "wishbone" offense ... an offense that propelled them to 30 straight wins over the next two years. We were surrounded by "obnoxious" Longhorn fans -- as if we would have been tolerable if the results were going our way -- and I cried the whole second half. No YouTube exists of that game (thank you, Lord), but here are some Longhorn highlights from that era:
4. NC State defeats Houston 54-52 to win 1983 NCAA Basketball Championship. Houston's Phi Slamma Jamma seemed to have it all: Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, and mountains of style. They were also on track to be the first team from Texas ever to win an NCAA basketball title. I had no Carolina connections at the time, so no reason to root for Jim Valvano's Wolfpack. When the Lorenzo Charles' dunk went in, and many of my current friends celebrated, my heart went out.
3. San Francisco 49ers 20, Cincinnati Bengals 16, 1989 Super Bowl. We were living in central Kentucky at the time and I adopted the Bengals for a season. They responded to my endorsement with their best season ever behind Boomer Esiason's passing and Ickey Woods' shuffling. And they were within 70 seconds of winning it all until Joe Montana got the ball with a few minutes left and you knew the end before it happened.
2. Rafael Nadal defeats Roger Federer, 2008 Wimbledon. I'm always for Federer against Nadal -- he's got a one handed backhand, he enjoys net play, and he turns sport into art when he's on his game. In 08, he was going for his sixth Wimbledon in a row, and because of rain delays and turns of momentum, it seemed as though the match would never end. It did, sadly, in the London gloaming, with Federer missing a routine forehand and Nadal collapsing in some well-deserved glee.
1. Ice Bowl -- Green Bay 21, Dallas 17, 1967 NFL Championship. Something about being six magnifies wins and losses, doesn't it? I remember watching the game in the warmth of Dallas, passing the football in the front yard with my brother at halftime, and then disbelief and tears at Bart Starr's quarterback sneak that beat the Cowboys yet again.
Today, it's the opposite side of that coin.
What are those times when sports results have made me genuinely sad? When instead of tears of joy I shed tears of sadness because my player/team/school lost?
Now: I am not including reaction to competitions in which I took part. Many of my losses in tennis were followed by tears or despair or both, starting with the first tournament match I ever played as an eight year old and ending with my senior year in college when we lost a nightmarish match to a hated rival, ensuring they won the conference championship and we didn't.
So my five saddest sports moments as a spectator:
5. Texas defeats SMU, 38-7 in 1968. I was six. The SMU team featuring Chuck Hixson and Jerry LeVias was riding high. Our family made the trip from Dallas down to Austin for what I was sure would be an upset. What happened instead was a debacle. Texas was too good, too deep, and had just unveiled something called a "wishbone" offense ... an offense that propelled them to 30 straight wins over the next two years. We were surrounded by "obnoxious" Longhorn fans -- as if we would have been tolerable if the results were going our way -- and I cried the whole second half. No YouTube exists of that game (thank you, Lord), but here are some Longhorn highlights from that era:
4. NC State defeats Houston 54-52 to win 1983 NCAA Basketball Championship. Houston's Phi Slamma Jamma seemed to have it all: Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, and mountains of style. They were also on track to be the first team from Texas ever to win an NCAA basketball title. I had no Carolina connections at the time, so no reason to root for Jim Valvano's Wolfpack. When the Lorenzo Charles' dunk went in, and many of my current friends celebrated, my heart went out.
3. San Francisco 49ers 20, Cincinnati Bengals 16, 1989 Super Bowl. We were living in central Kentucky at the time and I adopted the Bengals for a season. They responded to my endorsement with their best season ever behind Boomer Esiason's passing and Ickey Woods' shuffling. And they were within 70 seconds of winning it all until Joe Montana got the ball with a few minutes left and you knew the end before it happened.
2. Rafael Nadal defeats Roger Federer, 2008 Wimbledon. I'm always for Federer against Nadal -- he's got a one handed backhand, he enjoys net play, and he turns sport into art when he's on his game. In 08, he was going for his sixth Wimbledon in a row, and because of rain delays and turns of momentum, it seemed as though the match would never end. It did, sadly, in the London gloaming, with Federer missing a routine forehand and Nadal collapsing in some well-deserved glee.
1. Ice Bowl -- Green Bay 21, Dallas 17, 1967 NFL Championship. Something about being six magnifies wins and losses, doesn't it? I remember watching the game in the warmth of Dallas, passing the football in the front yard with my brother at halftime, and then disbelief and tears at Bart Starr's quarterback sneak that beat the Cowboys yet again.
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