finding the way

unrelenting

God of unrelenting love

Open my heart 

To receive

Strength beyond my brokenness and fear

Hope of every nation

Chase the darkness from my soul

Fill me with 

Strength beyond my brokenness and fear

And I would be stouthearted 

And surefooted

And free

I would be stouthearted 

And surefooted

And free

prayer at Aptos, July '08, Psalm 138

Nate’s Stinson Beach 25K Race Report

It had already rained for two days.

Steve and I pulled out of the garage at 5:45 a.m., Saturday morning, and I switched on the wind shield wipers. Then I turned them up higher. “This is crazy,” I said, as much to myself as to Steve. I would repeat that phrase several more times before the day was done.

The drive was pretty uneventful until we took the Stinson Beach exit off the 101. Within minutes we were stopped due to a solo car crash (the first of 5 I would see that day!) which took just enough time to clear to put us under a bit of pressure to reach the start in time.

The starting line looked more like a family reunion than a race start. Around 200 runners gathered loosely around three small EZ-ups, with as many trying to take shelter as would fit. Eventually the race director, a big older guy with his gray hair painted green and holding a rubber chicken he claimed was the first place trophy, stood on a picnic table and – without any amplification – addressed the small crowd.

In addition to a brief introduction to Enviro-Sports and a description of the trail (“You’ll head that direction and then you’ll go up, and up, and up…) “Dave” announced that the marathon distance was cancelled due to the danger of extended exposure to the weather and the forecast which called for increasingly intense rain, wind, and thunder and lightning. There was a noticeable groan of disappointment from the crowd which prompted Dave to defend his decision and the importance of safety. The marathoners were invited to run the 25K distance or get a refund. I saw two people leave. The rest stayed. The rain continued to fall. I was anxious to start moving.

We were directed to the beach for a very casual start “OK, Go!” And then we were off, running uphill across the town of Stinson, and almost immediately onto a very crowded singletrack trail that took us 3 miles and 1800 vertical feet up into Muir Woods.

This early part of runs I usually just glide along, try to take in the moment, relax, focus on running slowly (despite the tendency to run hard). The “gliding along” thing wasn’t going to work here, though. Everyone was running and trying to establish position on the narrow trail. I heeded my ultra friends’ advice and “walked with a purpose” up the steeper parts, but in order to keep from getting totally sidelined by more aggressive runners I was forced to run up much of this early climb. The difficulty here was maintaining any sense of rhythm while being pressed from behind one minute and held up by the person directly in front of me the next. The crowd thinned out slightly as we entered the woods. There was a brief section of flat gravel road which provided the chance for me to move past some of those whose heals I was trying hard to avoid. The road followed a creek for a while then we launched into a half hour or so of stair steps and switch backs and little bridges and ducking under fallen trees and jumping over foot-high roots and even climbing a 12 foot ladder up a cliff next to a waterfall. It was gorgeous. It was easily the most beautiful trail I’ve ever seen.

I felt very strong at this point (still in the first 3 mile climb) and passed people occasionally. Passing here took a lot of patience and skill – it felt more like a NASCAR maneuver than a typical “I’m going to run by you” pass because of the timing and grace required.

Steve and I completed the 3 mile climb and crested the hill together. The 7 milers turned left while the 25k-ers (and all the marathoners now settling for the 25k) turned right. We ran up and through what appeared to be an old saw mill parking lot, then out from under the cover of the trees. We were facing the ocean now, but you couldn’t see it because of the thick fog. Runners 20 yards ahead of us were disappearing eerily into it.

The trail made a sharp left and we re-entered the woods and began the long, rolling decent. This was my favorite part of the run. We ran fast, sometimes barely holding on. I felt like a little boy again. With a smile I whispered to myself, “I’m hooked.” I remembered times from my childhood that I hadn’t thought of for 25 or 30 years – memories of adventures in the gulley below our house. The woods were green and thick and reminded me of the Forrest Moon scenes in Return of the Jedi. I thought about how much fun my kids would have in this place and started making plans to bring them here. I was breathing deeply and slowly, staying very relaxed despite the rather quick pace, truly taking it in, loving the moment, appreciating the rich and layered tapestry of my life. And then very suddenly and unexpectedly I was hit by another wave of emotion about the inescapable reality of Isaiah’s fight against leukemia. This happens occasionally at the strangest times: it’s almost like my mind is trying to come to terms with something too big to comprehend in any single moment – even 17 months after first hearing the words, “Your son has leukemia.” And while our daily routine includes several reminders of this reality it somehow gets lost behind the details of just dealing with it and we’re off to work and cleaning the kitchen and life just keeps going. So now I’m running with a big lump in my throat still having a difficult time believing that “this” happened. While cancer doesn’t define our lives, it’s clearly and definitely part of our story, his story, my story. I thought, as I do often, about my life at six and his life at six – so similar in some ways, so very different in others.

“Passing on your left!” snapped my out of my emotional memory trip and a big guy with huge shoes splashed past me.

This was the only part of the race in which I was able to get into any kind of running rhythm. Runners had spread out more by now and the trail was gently rolling downhill. Steve and I commented about the enormously tall trees and the compelling beauty of the place. But as we rounded out toward the ocean again the weather became a major player. Instead of occasional puddles there was now a constant stream of water running down the trail. It became almost impossible to avoid stepping into ankle-deep muddy water. I’m sure my feet were wet already, but they didn’t feel wet. So the first time my right foot submerged I was really frustrated. It threw my balance off – my left shoe felt light and airy and my right shoe was spewing water at every step. My sock was wring-able.

Runners spread out even further as the second big incline began. This was a 1600 foot, 4-mile track – more gradual than the first but seemingly much longer. I hit my lowest point around mile 9 or 10: I was very cold, totally soaked (like I’d just been pushed into a pool), and even hungry (despite having had a good breakfast, two GUs, and two bottles of water already). I was mostly hiking now, wishing I could run to warm up, but aware that I needed to last a bit longer still. I wished I had a mile marker to gauge my progress. I looked at my watch to try to estimate where I was: 2 hours exactly.

The trail leveled out for a bit and I was able to run again. Within minutes I came into an opening where I stopped to figure out which way to continue before a waving flashlight caught my eye. “They have flashlights?! This is crazy!” I was at the mile 11 aid station. I filled up one bottle with Gatoraid, which tasted great, but didn’t grab any food. All I remember seeing was salted pretzels, which sounded gross, though later I would wish I had taken in some salt.

Refreshed by a clearer sense of where I was in the race, I followed more flashlight-waving, raincoat-wearing volunteers across a street and up into a wide open face. The trail was heading downhill now, cut into the side of the mountain with the ocean (which was just a big windy fog bank) on my left. I ran hard wanting to preserve the distance between myself and the others at the aid station. Running near people on this trail made navigating the footing more difficult. But it was difficult still. At one point on this stretch, the trial was washed out from right to left. I hit it with no solid place to land and slid 12 or 15 feet down the hill. Now with mud clear up to my shorts and my right groin threatening to become a real issue, I climbed on all fours back up to the trail and said it again, “This is crazy.”

The final stretch of trail was a series of switchbacks and stair steps. I had caught up to a group of about 10, running single-file, carefully trying to keep their footing. I took my final GU at this point, as it had been at least 45 minutes since my last one. The steep downhill running felt incredibly awkward because the footing was so bad. I felt great energy-wise but my legs were hurting because I was running with quite a bit of tension.

Some of those in front of me were laboring. I was feeling good and “smelling the barn.” Soon we spilled out from the trail onto the street and began the final 1/2 mile of the race. It was pouring at this point, but the first solid footing in over an hour was a welcomed change. Feeling strong I extended my stride and resolved to significantly pick up the pace and finish strong.

That’s when I just totally locked up. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Both legs: arches, calves, hamstrings, and glutes. Locked. I nearly fell. It felt like a pulled hamstring in severity but it was clearly a cramp. In fact, I could see my right calf cramping as I pushed off my left foot. I walked for two or three steps but then had to completely stop and touch my toes and hold it there for literally 15 or 20 seconds. This killed me as I was literally a golf shot from the finish. The pack I was planning to pass left me and probably 10 people I’d passed in the last 5 miles passed me as well. I wondered how ridiculous I must have looked stretching out less than a half a mile from the finish. I managed to trot for another 100 yards before I locked again. I finally struggled across the line at 2:56, feeling pretty frustrated over such an anticlimactic and disappointing finish.

The finish area was very muddy and – because the rain was coming down so hard – mostly deserted. Like most finishers I grabbed a t-shirt (easily the lamest race shirt I’ve received), passed up the pretzels (they must’ve found a deal on pretzels!), snagged two bananas, and started shoving them down.

I looked up just in time to see Steve crossing the line (the finish line was a blue EZ-Up with a little a-frame that said "finish" - no clock, just the race director congratulating people - I thought it was great). Steve was looking strong, as always. We finished 10th and 11th in our age group.

We hustled to the truck and I peeled-off my soaked clothes while my legs continued to cramp. We found shelter, hot drinks, and a great breakfast at a beachfront café. All-in-all, it was a great experience: beautiful trails, memorable morning, and a good sense of accomplishment. This was my longest race to date!

Brief intake report: 3 bottles of fluid: 1 water, 1 water with Nuun (from start to mile 11), 1 Gatorade (from 11 to finish), and 4 GUs, one 15 minutes to start, one after the first 3 mile climb, one around 9, and one around 12.

Big thanks to Jeffrey and Tony for the coaching and inspiration, the morning running crew, the early morning running crew, to Veloyce at Monsters of Massage (I felt great the day after the race – I credit having consumed much more water than usual before, during, and after the race and… The Monster himself), and to Steve for running another race – this one pushed us well-past 50 racing miles, bro!

Thanks for reading!

lonely people

I grew up listening to the Beatles on my parents’ reel-to-reel stereo system. The thing was huge – the size of a carry-on suitcase. It looked like the classic movie projectors in old theaters. Of course they also had a record player and a pile of vinyl albums and, eventually, an 8-track, but for some reason my dad played the Beatles on that old reel-to-reel.

One of the songs I remember most was “Eleanor Rigby.” Though I was only 7 or 8 I remember the distinct sadness of the song’s story. At that age I missed most of the symbolism of the verses, but the opening line was clear and haunting:

Ah, look at all the lonely people.

And the chorus asked two profound questions in a way that was plain enough to stir the curiosity of a child:

All the lonely people/Where do they all come from? All the lonely people/Where do they all belong?

I had no idea why Eleanor Rigby “lived in a dream” or what it meant that Father McKenzie was “darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there…” But I did know what “lonely” meant and the image of “all the lonely people” made me feel very sad.

And it still does. It’s been more than 25 years since I first heard that song but my sadness over loneliness has only deepened. And as a Christian pastor there are few things that disturb me more than loneliness – especially loneliness in the Church.

I understand that a big part of the problem of loneliness is probably the result of living in our highly individualized culture. Many of us live 12 feet from our neighbors but the six-foot, “good neighbor” fence keeps us from seeing each other. More of us have automatic garage doors and fewer of us have front porches. I can hear my neighbor’s TV but I can go weeks without talking to him. We’ve isolated ourselves.

But the part of the loneliness problem that’s truly tragic to me is the way the Church has actually contributed to the segregation of people. Yes, as Billy Graham observed in the 1950s, America is still most segregated racially and economically on Sunday mornings. But we’ve taken it to another level: now the church segregates members of the same family.

It’s truly sad to me when a whole family drives to church on a Sunday morning, piles out of the minivan, and then scatters to their own corners of the campus for their personally customized (or should we just say “segregated?”) worship experiences.

Clearly, there are benefits to creating age-specific learning environments. A four-year-old is obviously different than a 44- or an 84-year-old. Their needs are different. Their learning styles, their cognitive abilities, their challenges – all different. But at the core, aren’t they also a lot alike? And couldn’t their common faith in God and need for practical spiritual guidance be better nurtured together than apart? I wonder if the church should be asking, “What’s truly defining our community – the ways in which we’re different (like age, education, financial situation) or how we are the same (creations of God, made to love Him and serve others)?”

There’s a solid church in Southern California which has several “life stage” pastors – one for each decade. The church is, essentially, a collection of churches: one for 20-somethings, one for 30-somethings, and so on. And I get that. My life at 30-something is very different than it was 10 years ago. And in my early 20s I had no interest in talking to guys about minivans, potty-training, and t-ball – which now characterize my 30-something life. So “doing church” with people just like me makes sense (from a very individualized point of view). I personally customize just about every other part of my life, so why not worship God in a way that precisely fits me? Why not go to church with people who are just like me?

One good answer (there are lots!) is this: We’re better together – not just kids and parents, but parents and grandparents, single and married, men and women, spiritual seeker and life-long Christ-follower. This is part of the genius of the Church: it’s all different kinds of people becoming one family. We neuter the church by breaking it into little homogeneous pieces. Transformation happens in community, when all the lonely people from different life stages gather together as a multigenerational family and share real life. Personal customization (which might just be a cool or acceptable way of saying “segregation”) may sell coffee and ring tones but it doesn’t fit with Christ’s view of church. It can’t fix society’s increasing sense of isolation.

All the lonely people/Where do they all belong?

Even as a kid I knew the answer: Together. Then they won’t be lonely anymore.

It'll feel better when it's over

These days I'm reading lots of laments. I've been getting into them. I've been studying them, disecting them, looking into their form, reading their historical contexts, researching the patterns of their original language. I've even tried writing a few of my own.

On Thursday I read something which, though it may sound very basic and obvious to most people, startled me. I put my book down and realized I hadn't thought this thought for a long, long time. It was like a voice inside said slowly, "Oh ya...I forgot about that."

Laments don't last forever.

There is a storm of grief, of confusion, of pain, of anger but then the clouds break-up and the storm ends. Laments are the honest, uncencored emotions of the moment. They are the sounds of agony which are right here and right now. But they don't last forever. They are the way to deliverance. They are the path to rescue. But the journey doesn't go on and on. There is an end. And those who lament will, one day, look back on what is presently the overwhelming and all-defining reality of the moment and speak of it in the past tense. They will say things like, "I remember when that happened." Or, "Those were difficult days."

Because the storm will be over. And they will lament no more.

good stories for 2008

Donald Miller paraphrases Robert McKee's book, Story, and argues that all good stories include the same essential elements whether they're on paper, on screens, or in real life. Meaning, who we are (as the lead characters in our story) matters, what we do (the plot of our story) matters, and how we handle conflict matters.

Which leaves me asking, "What will I do, this year, that is truly worthwhile?" Or, in Miller's words, "What story will I write with my life this year?" What ambition or dream will fuel my life this year?

Here are some storylines being developed in my life which would certainly be worthwhile:

• teach my kids (demonstrate) how to follow God in the face of adversity
• build confidence into my kids and spouse
• lead our community towards increased health and effectiveness

worthwhile

advent conspiracy

steve scott

fall baptism

come in and go out

one step at a time

It's been a while since I wrote here. Since May we've been focusing on and blogging about a brand new challenge.

Here are some of the ideas that I hope to reflect on a bit more in the coming weeks:

- The unparalelled joy of serving the one you love.

- The ever-increasing realization of the degree to which this world is broken.

- The widening scope of hope for restoration.

party people

What can you tell about a person by the way they party?

I've been thinking about this question, and, frankly, have become quite fascinated by it. I think it has great potential...

Just think of all the stuff about people,
about their “group” or
their company or
their culture… that you can learn by how they party:

Here's just a sample:

They ways we party reveal:
What we value –
what we think is important: worth celebrating
What we think about ourselves and what makes us happy,
Who we like, who we want to be like
what we long for,
what we believe,
what we love to remember,
what we want to forget,
how bad we want to forget it.

What we hope for,
Whether or not we have any hope left.

What we think about yesterday,
How we’re feeling about today,
What we expect from tomorrow.


My best friend is in an MBA program where all the projects are done in groups. Part of each assignment is figuring out what expertise each student has to bring to the table:
someone’s got experience in investment banking so they research the funding piece,
someone else is a great communicator –
so they give the presentation, etc.

My friend says some people are so good at what they do,
that they end up doing a relatively small piece of the whole project –
and others are OK with it,
because they do what they do so well that it
helps the whole team.

Pick (that's my friend) says there’s one guy in his program who,
everyone has agreed,
has only one job: to plan the end-of-semester parties.

(ya...and this is at the 8th – highest ranked business school in the country)

Pick says this guy is a world-class party-thrower:
that he has this incredible ability to plan these events
where people have the time of their life and
talk about it for months.

Apparently this party guy has the ability to get a
bunch of highly-driven,
super-competitive business students in their late 20s and early 30s
to absolutely enjoy life.

People love this guy – he’s creative and fun…
more importantly:
he helps people
see their pressures and
their failures and
their hopes and
dreams in a way that
puts everything into perspective
and enables them to live.


During the time of Jesus,
the Jewish calendar revolved around 7 festivals.

These were huge parties –
some were week-long feasts of celebration.

These feasts shaped the way Jew’s understood God,
themselves, and the future.

They were meant to put everything in perspective and enable the Hebrew people to truly live.

Not only did these festivals celebrate something that had happened in the past… they all anticipated the future coming of the Messiah.

In other words, each festival was
A common experience that
recalled an event,
taught a lesson,
and looked forward to
(found it’s fulfillment in) Christ.

which raises this question:
Why aren’t Christians better partiers?

We, who embrace Jesus as the Messiah,
should be the ones throwing the best parties.

If we really believe what we claim to believe,
about who God is and
about who we are and
about the peace and freedom of Christ in the present
and about what the future holds…

we should be the ones helping others
gain a perspective on the difficulties of life
that is truly life-giving.

Share

I'm selfish.

And that's a problem, because if there's something I can't stand it's selfish people. I want to grab selfish people by the shirt and shake them. I want to to shine a spotlight on all the incredible opportunities they're missing because they can't see past their own needs. Or desires. Or petty preferences. I want to re-introduce them to their children who are dying for their attention. I want to point-out the crushed state of their spouse's heart. I long to bring attention to the sickening and ironic fact that, in being selfish, they're making themselves miserable.

But like most things we hate the most, selfishness in others is maddening to me because daily I see signs of selfishness in myself.

The Christian Church is quickly approaching Lent - a forty-day season of preparing to celebrate the resurrection and triumph of Christ - in which each of us is invited to consider our need for a Savior.

Lent reveals our selfishness. Lent calls us to honest self-examination. It invites us to enter into a season of self-denial, not for self-denial's sake, but for the purpose of becoming whole. Lent calls us to first look inward and then act outward so that we may become the people we were created to be: less consumed with ourselves and more like God; less selfish and more giving.

I'm beginning to think (again) through the pieces of me that need to die in order to make space for the always-giving reign of a Good and Loving God.

I'm looking at my stuff, my time, my heart and my life and I'm wondering what it might look like to share.

just joseph

My favorite character this Christmas was Joseph.

I've never thought of Joseph before. Ever. Joseph is just kind of there...in the background...like the cow.

In most artist's renditions of the nativity scene Joseph appears to be a last-minute add-in, hidden in the background, on the edge of the spotlight.

I have friends who, at some point, lost the Jesus and the Joseph figurines to their nativity set. They replaced Jesus but didn't spring for a new Joseph.

He's "just Joseph."

The Catholic Church didn't even make Jo a saint until the 10th century. He didn't have a church named for his honor for 200 years after that.

I think most of us wonder what to do with Joseph, really.

The only editorial statement on Joseph in the entire Bible is this: Matthew writes, "Because Joseph her husband was a just man and did not want to expose [Mary] to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly (1:19).

The word "just" (also translated righteous) essentially means "committed to doing the right thing for the sake of others."

And that's basically what Joseph does. Again and again. Quietly. In the background. On the edges of the spotlight.

Our tendency is to constantly lift up the spectacular, the prominent, the headliners. We expect God to use the Billy Grahams and the Martin Luther Kings. But the Josephs?

The truth, it seems to me, is far different. God rarely uses the spectacular. But he regularly uses the just.

I want to be more like Joseph. I want to do the right thing for the sake of others. He's just Joseph. Ya, but he's a just man.

I think the world needs more men and women who will quietly do the right thing.

the first month of your year

I noticed something last week for the first time. I love it when this happens. I read something in scripture that I know I've read many times before but, this time, it jumped off the page and it's been running around in my head ever since. I'm not sure exactly what this "is all about" for me quite yet, but my interest is peaked and I'm trying to listen.

The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in Egypt, 'This month is to be for you the first month, the first month of your year.'

This is the first sentence of Exodus 12 - the account of the Passover, the event which kicked off Israel's march to freedom after 400+ years of dignity-robbing slavery.

God's about to lay out the plans for the whole Passover meal, the final plague, the mass exodus, the whole deal. But before he begins the instruction he essentially says, "OK, we're starting over. This is a new day. This day is your first day. The old way of marking time, the old frame of reference for your life and past - it's over. This is the new beginning. We're starting a whole new calendar. We're starting fresh. Your world's about to change."

It's like the whole BC/AD calendar shift. It's like God is saying, "I'm going to do something so significant that your whole existence and understanding of reality will be changed. There will be the way life was before this event. And there will be the way life is after this event. It all changes...right here. Ready to listen? OK...go get a lamb...

Over the last week - and already twice today - I've been in conversations in which people have expressed this amazing reality over and over again: There was the old way of living. Then Jesus opened their eyes and they embraced Him. And now everything's different.

Yes, there are still struggles, there's still pain, there's still doubt. But, ultimately, the whole frame of reference is different - it's a new day. Because now it's not just about making bricks in Egypt. That's last year's calendar. That's so pre-exodus. Today it's about living an adventure of freedom and purpose in Christ.

My heart says, "Bring it Lord! Help me to fully embrace the truth of this new life!"

mistake point at jackass creek

I took a break last week. Went backpacking with an old friend along the "Lost Coast" of California. We spent three days hiking with spectacular Pacific views and sleeping on tiny empty beaches under blankets of stars. Ahhhh.

Since returning to the office a week ago, I've been buried. Buried. Yessir. I pay for my vacations dearly.

Sometimes I hesitate to take any breaks at all because I know that doing so locks me into some really, really long days when I return.

But if I'm truly modeling me life after Jesus, then taking breaks is not an option. Jesus took breaks. And he took them when he was really, really busy, really in demand. He once went up into the mountains after an entire day and night healing the sick, with people from all the surrounding villages still en route. I imagine it would have been easy to think, at this point, that there just wasn't time f or a break. But apparently this was precisely the time Jesus needed one.

I'm often temped to think, "I'm too busy serving Jesus and His Church to take a break." The truth is, I'm too busy serving to not take one. And so are you.

There's a deep place in each of us that can only be renewed by getting away and resting, by laying the work aside for awhile, by remembering that it's only by strength given by God that work gets done in the first place, and by actually trusting that God will take care of things in the end.

So it's another early morning after another late night. But deep inside I'm still. I'm experiencing His peace.

how sterile is your god?

For the last three weeks our community has been focusing on the 3rd Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit.

I’ve been surprised at how many have told me that these have been some of the only, if not the first, teachings they've ever heard about the person and work of the Holy Spirit.

It’s obvious that the evangelical Christian tradition has, for the most part, been overly cautious about the Holy Spirit – to the point of hardly teaching about him.

Even our own denominational family, the Church of the Nazarene, which – few people know - was originally named the “Pentecostal Church of the Nazarene” - I think may have over-reacted to controversial views concerning the person and work of the Holy Spirit to the point of neglecting Him.

This is tragically ironic for a theological tradition that puts such an emphasis on holistic transformation. And I think we’ve seen the fall-out of our dim view of the Spirit – not just in the Nazarene Church but throughout the broader evangelical movement. If you stress transformation but neglect the source of transformation, you get...legalism. Delightful.

If you teach that Christians should live differently but are too afraid of the Spirit who enables us to be different, then you miss the source of real power for change and your message becomes that of behavior modification. And you end up with really bizarre definitions of what it means to be a Christian – like Christians don’t drink or dance or go to parties – when Christ himself did those things.

Kendra Creasy Dean's quote haunts me: The church is pretty good at behavior modification, but it stinks at transformation. (The Godbearing Life)

Is the Holy Spirit controversial? Yes. Some of the best scripture we have concerning the role of the Spirit in the Church Paul wrote because people had a confused understanding of the role of the Spirit.

So do we stay away from the Spirit? Do we choose not to seek the continual infilling of the Spirit? Do we avoid teaching about the Spirit? No!

The Holy Spirit is God here and now!

This is as practical and relevant as our relationship with God can get! We’ve got to embrace the Holy Spirit. We need a robust view of the Spirit. Is this dangerous? Yes. But that’s where the good stuff is. Is it mystical? Yes, but aren’t you longing for a spirituality that makes a real difference in real life?

I’d rather make some mistakes and have a dynamic relationship with God… than play it safe and opt for a sterile religious experience.

Longing for Community

Each of us has been created for relationship; we have an inherent need for acceptance and love. So much (if not all) of human pursuit can be traced back to this deep desire to be known and embraced. We base our sense of worth in whether or not others accept us. We strive in our efforts to become important believing that success will result in love.

Our culture has become increasingly proficient at covering up this created need for community. We idolize rugged individualism while our longing for intimacy causes us to run after all sorts of counterfeits. It’s ironic, isn’t it? We live in a “global community” with unprecedented opportunities for communication but most of us are more lonely and isolated than ever before.

The amazing opportunity, just waiting to be seized by the Church, is to engage this individualistic, performance-based culture with a Jesus perspective – one which says, “You’re not loved because you’re valuable. You’re valuable because you’re loved.”

What if we treated others as if their value was based solely on how God sees them?

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son…

All Skate

This Sunday our church community is moving to a new location and we're really fired up about it. It's a great move for us for lots of reasons. But one of the more important ones is that the move itself if providing many new opportunities for people to get involved in serving.

We've been having fun with this "get involved" theme by calling it "All Skate."

Did you ever go roller-skating as a kid?

Remember “couple-skate?”

You and your friends would be screaming around the rink, weaving in and out of crowds, having a great time, when suddenly the music would change from something like Devo to Phil Collins, the lights would dim and the DJ would remove 90% of the kids by limiting the rink to “couples” only. Couple skate? Are you kidding me?

The next three and a half minutes would drag on in painful adolescent silence until, with a collective sigh of relief, the lights would brighten, the music would wind up, and the DJ would exclaim, “ALL SKATE!”

And then everyone would pour out onto the floor because everyone is invited to "All Skate."

So anyway someone forwarded a great email from a couple young guys in our community and I wanted to post it because it captures the heart of All Skate!

Here it is:

I'm excited about doing [this specific act of service]. I remember what you said about it being my "guitar"... that is, my way of helping out with the church. What with all the stuff about "all-skate" and the move to Foskett Ranch, I was wondering what I could possibly do to help out, and your suggestion was like saying "I have no money and no time, God. I can't help," and hearing him reply "Yes you can." Thanks.

That's beautiful!