Against all of my plans, against all that I ever thought was going to happen in my life, I am coming back to Warren next summer. It is no secret to pretty much anyone that I didn't want to come back to Ohio for a number of reasons. Namely, I had to wear a suit when I preached, the music was boring, and the whole feeling around here is, well, bleh.
And yet, today, I asked Rick if I could come back next summer. Over the last three weeks, it's clicked. I've connected with my students. I've connected with members of the congregation. People are finally stepping out to help with the children's ministry on Sunday. In short, everything I wanted to happen six weeks ago is happening now.
God has taught me more about prayer recently than in any other time in my life. I've come to understand that it's not about how you pray, it's just about doing it. I wish I would have connected the dots earlier; it's not about how we come to God it's that we come to God. Ergo, it's not how we pray, it's that we're praying. The other day I prayed in a way I never thought I would pray in any kind of faith: I commanded enemies of the agent to leave my younger brother, and I think they did.
For over two weeks now, one of the boys has had trouble sleeping. He's scared to sleep. Not of monsters. Not something from a movie. He's been afraid of the physical act of sleep. A few nights ago he was up until 4 in the morning because he couldn't fall asleep. Yesterday he asked me to pray for him, and in a moment of faith and prompting by the Spirit, I prayed the enemies of the agent away from him. Last night was the first night he'd slept in a while.
This summer I have been exposed to more theological and doctrinal differences than ever. I've prayed with Nazarenes, Baptists, Lutherans, Pentecostals, Methodists, Assemblies of God-ers, and so many more. I have spent time with white and black pastors; old and young pastors; quiet and outgoing pastors. Rarely do they have the required hip tee with black-rimmed glasses that any pastor that is Christian Famous tend to wear.
They sing hymns.
And, horror of horrors, they wear suits.
And, believe it or not, God is still working. People are still coming to Christ. They are growing and become mature believers.
More and more God is showing me that you don't have to sing the right songs, wear the right clothes, have the best equipment, and be the hippest guy out there in order to be a good pastor. I have spent much of the last year at school throwing stones at the very men I've come to know and love. While I feel that we need to "market" the church, have we gone too far in trying to appear the best way possible?
I can't help but wonder if our attempts at becoming relevant are simply spiritual narcissism that chooses to trust in chord structures, guitars, drums, and tee shirts instead of the King of Kings. Do I trust the ability of blue jeans and a music stand more than the ability of God to bring his children home? Do I think that hymns and organs limit the power of the Spirit?
I think if some of my friends could see what was happening here, they would almost get sick in the stomach. These are not the ultra-hip pastors, nor the mega-brainy pastors, nor the super-charismatic pastors, nor the million-dollar-book-deal pastors. These are men (and, gasp, women) who simply wake up in the morning and try to get people into heaven as best they can.
They may not have read the latest books, but they still got the Bible.
They may not be wearing jeans, but they are still clothed with love.
They may be preaching behind podiums, but the Spirit pours forth speech.
They may not have a bajillion-member church, but they are still faithful to the handful they've been given.
This summer has taught me that I want to be nothing more than a man who is, at the end of the day, faithful. Regardless of dress. Regardless of ability. I just want to do my job and do it well. I just want to love people, and love them well. I want to speak truth, and speak it well. All so I can go Home with my head held high to hear that 'Well done. . .'
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
God Goes Where Power Is Not
I came to Warren as a light in the darkness; as the only guy in the county who knew the right way to reach people and students and the only one who had a true passion for the Gospel. Growing up here somehow jaded me to my local portion of the Body of Christ.
I came to Warren to save it; in reality, Warren saved me.
God has shown me more about ministry in the last 10 weeks than in an entire year at Moody. It's so easy to think you have it goin on while in your dorm room at 2 a.m. with your friends. But as Rick, my newest friend and mentor, told me long ago, 'This isn't a theological exercise anymore, Kyle. These are real people, with real hurts, now.'
My plans for my youth ministry never came to fruition; my shiny ministry plan in good looking font barely came to frution. My curriculum guide went out the window a month ago. The Sr. High guys small group never happened because the Sr. High guys never came. Outings, hang out nights, and other fun ideas fade to the background as I try to love on kids that come to church hungry.
I've ended up helping with the children's ministry on Sunday mornings because there aren't enough workers to take care of our kids. I'm finally reaching my two seventh graders who think they're too tough for just about anything, but really just wish their families were 'normal.' This past Sunday Ayvan found out this isn't a permanent thing, that I have to go back to Chicago. He was visibly disappointed and a little upset.
Pretty much everything that I imagined and planned to happen this summer did not; this is something I knew would probably happen but I wasn't all that prepared for it. It's much easier to deal with in theory.
But what has happened in me this summer has changed me for eternity.
Rick and some pastors from our area meet weekly to pray for revival in our county. Once a month, the hold a prayer vigil on a Friday night, from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. I had the priveledge to go last week and it might have been the highlight of my summer. At about 4 a.m. we were praying for all people of my county, and interceding on their behalf. I was praying specifically for my generation, when Everett Whiteside, a pastor in the area, said, 'Brothers, we need to lay hands on him.'
And they did.
I was on my knees as 7 men laid hands on me. This wasn't limp laying of hands; they were pressing into me. Everett had his hand right over my heart, and I will never forget what he said: "God, I know that you have sent Kyle back here to show him a great many things. God you are transforming him; you are making him a New Wineskin filled with New Wine. Not an Old Wineskin with New Wine, or a New Wineskin with Old Wine, but completely made new. And God, right now, we release our years of experience into Kyle; we realease these years of experience so that he will know how to deal with the trials we've faced and how to handle the joys, too. We ask that this would not only accelerate him professionally, but also personally." And so on. It might be one of the most profound moments of my life.
It is here that God meets us: in the moments of the unlikely, we discover his plans for us. Sometimes we think you have to be a pastor of a church of a bajillion in order to change the world; it's now that I am seeing you don't need to be super-cool and mega-hip to be passionate.
God goes where power is not. If this isn't true here, it isn't true at all. Thank God for the underdog.
I came to Warren to save it; in reality, Warren saved me.
God has shown me more about ministry in the last 10 weeks than in an entire year at Moody. It's so easy to think you have it goin on while in your dorm room at 2 a.m. with your friends. But as Rick, my newest friend and mentor, told me long ago, 'This isn't a theological exercise anymore, Kyle. These are real people, with real hurts, now.'
My plans for my youth ministry never came to fruition; my shiny ministry plan in good looking font barely came to frution. My curriculum guide went out the window a month ago. The Sr. High guys small group never happened because the Sr. High guys never came. Outings, hang out nights, and other fun ideas fade to the background as I try to love on kids that come to church hungry.
I've ended up helping with the children's ministry on Sunday mornings because there aren't enough workers to take care of our kids. I'm finally reaching my two seventh graders who think they're too tough for just about anything, but really just wish their families were 'normal.' This past Sunday Ayvan found out this isn't a permanent thing, that I have to go back to Chicago. He was visibly disappointed and a little upset.
Pretty much everything that I imagined and planned to happen this summer did not; this is something I knew would probably happen but I wasn't all that prepared for it. It's much easier to deal with in theory.
But what has happened in me this summer has changed me for eternity.
Rick and some pastors from our area meet weekly to pray for revival in our county. Once a month, the hold a prayer vigil on a Friday night, from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. I had the priveledge to go last week and it might have been the highlight of my summer. At about 4 a.m. we were praying for all people of my county, and interceding on their behalf. I was praying specifically for my generation, when Everett Whiteside, a pastor in the area, said, 'Brothers, we need to lay hands on him.'
And they did.
I was on my knees as 7 men laid hands on me. This wasn't limp laying of hands; they were pressing into me. Everett had his hand right over my heart, and I will never forget what he said: "God, I know that you have sent Kyle back here to show him a great many things. God you are transforming him; you are making him a New Wineskin filled with New Wine. Not an Old Wineskin with New Wine, or a New Wineskin with Old Wine, but completely made new. And God, right now, we release our years of experience into Kyle; we realease these years of experience so that he will know how to deal with the trials we've faced and how to handle the joys, too. We ask that this would not only accelerate him professionally, but also personally." And so on. It might be one of the most profound moments of my life.
It is here that God meets us: in the moments of the unlikely, we discover his plans for us. Sometimes we think you have to be a pastor of a church of a bajillion in order to change the world; it's now that I am seeing you don't need to be super-cool and mega-hip to be passionate.
God goes where power is not. If this isn't true here, it isn't true at all. Thank God for the underdog.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
July Already?
I woke up this morning to find myself into day two of month two of break. I feel like it's time for some honest review:
To start, prayer. And a significant lack thereof. After a month and a half of ministry at the church, and to my friends and family, I realize that I do not pray nearly enough. Sometimes in our discussions about our spiritual journeys, we talk about how we're never actually ready for anything. That we never actually do enough of something. We are never actually ready for ____________. (Insert words such as marriage, dating, ministry, etc.) We never ___________ enough. (Insert words such as fast, pray, serve, feed the homeless, clothe the naked, love God, etc.)
I have come to the realization that I must spend much, much more time in prayer. Because there is something mystical there, there is something to prayer that moves mountains. God has spoken to me about this in a number of ways, but tonight was a real kicker. My grandma always collects bookmarks and other oddities for me, and tonight, as I was helping her move furniture, she gave me a bookmark, which says, "A Christian is never greater than his prayer life."
In summation, that knocked me down on the Pride-o-meter a number of notches.
Another point of review: time management. I feel like this is something I pretty much rock at when I am at school. I can make cute little Excel spreadsheets with every part of my day: class, work, meeting, PCM, coffee break, potty time. I can't do that here. This is because my life here is not completely mine: my mom often has entirely different plans for my day than I do. I find myself rushing to put lessons together and not even touching my Christian Missions class (which I begin to dread every time I think of how far behind I am).
Thirdly, after a year of Bible College and (somewhat) extensive study, I still find that many of my old demons still hang around. The monkeys on my back that I was so sure I had rid myself of are still very present. My struggles with self-image and self-portrait (I believe those were the words in my 9th-grade health book) are relatively bad. I beat myself up over failure, find myself easily discouraged, and feeling very brow-beaten and unsettled in my own heart. My old monsters, anxiety and fear, are back underneath the bed and in the closet.
Call it what you will but I really thought that I had grown up and moved on. Clearly I haven't completely. I think I find myself suffering from a low-grade fever of sadness, but I am not completely sure. I could write for ages about this, so I will stop. But I do find that I am much more willing to trust recently. I am much more willing to step out in faith. And I find myself loving Jesus quite a lot. So I'll take it. To quote a recently re-discovered favorite of mine:
"So I got that goin' for me."
--Bill Murray, Caddy Shack
To start, prayer. And a significant lack thereof. After a month and a half of ministry at the church, and to my friends and family, I realize that I do not pray nearly enough. Sometimes in our discussions about our spiritual journeys, we talk about how we're never actually ready for anything. That we never actually do enough of something. We are never actually ready for ____________. (Insert words such as marriage, dating, ministry, etc.) We never ___________ enough. (Insert words such as fast, pray, serve, feed the homeless, clothe the naked, love God, etc.)
I have come to the realization that I must spend much, much more time in prayer. Because there is something mystical there, there is something to prayer that moves mountains. God has spoken to me about this in a number of ways, but tonight was a real kicker. My grandma always collects bookmarks and other oddities for me, and tonight, as I was helping her move furniture, she gave me a bookmark, which says, "A Christian is never greater than his prayer life."
In summation, that knocked me down on the Pride-o-meter a number of notches.
Another point of review: time management. I feel like this is something I pretty much rock at when I am at school. I can make cute little Excel spreadsheets with every part of my day: class, work, meeting, PCM, coffee break, potty time. I can't do that here. This is because my life here is not completely mine: my mom often has entirely different plans for my day than I do. I find myself rushing to put lessons together and not even touching my Christian Missions class (which I begin to dread every time I think of how far behind I am).
Thirdly, after a year of Bible College and (somewhat) extensive study, I still find that many of my old demons still hang around. The monkeys on my back that I was so sure I had rid myself of are still very present. My struggles with self-image and self-portrait (I believe those were the words in my 9th-grade health book) are relatively bad. I beat myself up over failure, find myself easily discouraged, and feeling very brow-beaten and unsettled in my own heart. My old monsters, anxiety and fear, are back underneath the bed and in the closet.
Call it what you will but I really thought that I had grown up and moved on. Clearly I haven't completely. I think I find myself suffering from a low-grade fever of sadness, but I am not completely sure. I could write for ages about this, so I will stop. But I do find that I am much more willing to trust recently. I am much more willing to step out in faith. And I find myself loving Jesus quite a lot. So I'll take it. To quote a recently re-discovered favorite of mine:
"So I got that goin' for me."
--Bill Murray, Caddy Shack
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