What is the Goal, Anyway?

Last summer, I started writing a blog to share the thoughts, the challenges, and the experiences I had during my summer internship. I wrote a little bit during the year as well; but let's be honest, I was anything but disciplined when it came to making regular updates.

I've been wrestling through whether or not to continue keeping the blog, discerning whether or not I should keep writing. You see, I have this tendency to think that blogging is a little self-centered. People drop by my site, with what I think is a crafty name, and they read my thoughts about something going on in my life.

That's a whole lot of instances of the word 'my.'

So I have decided to keep writing.

But I have also decided to do so differently.

So, we're going to explore this blogging thing for a little while longer. Hopefully, anyone reading this doesn't have to cringe too often.

We'll see you on the other side.

The Reflection

I went to England because I knew I had to; that is, I felt overwhelmingly compelled by God Himself to take two weeks of my life and follow Him across the Atlantic.

So I did.

And I am not quite sure if I'll ever be the same.

My trip to England was simply the next step of obedience my Father asked me to take; for over a year and a half He was slowly unfolding for me His plans for my future, and I went to England and it unfolded a bit more.

Now I want to go back, and to go back for a lot longer than two weeks.

In short, I bumped into my future. I say often that we are on a need-to-know basis with God, and that everything we need to know at any given moment, we know. But occasionally, God allows us to see just a little further down the path than we normally would unaided. You finally crest the hill you have been walking for quite some time, and see what features lie ahead. I crested a hill in a town called Formby.

I can't exactly place my finger on what it is that compels me to go back there. There has been no flash of lightning, no sudden burst of insight. As I said, it's been a slow unfolding: England caught my attention in October of 2007, and it took me well over a year to finally get there and see exactly what, if anything, there was to see.

But there were plenty of things to see:

I saw people who are on fire for God in the midst of one of the most overt post-Christian cultures of our generation: A small church by the M&S on Furness Avenue; A ragtag band of teenagers who meet in a classroom on their college campus each morning for devotions and weekly for Bible study; A few teenagers who regularly ask the question, 'What does it mean to follow God?'

I saw the Family of God working in a functional, healthy way: People who love one another and mean it; People who open their homes and practice the discipline of hospitality in ways I had pretty much decided doesn't happen any more; People who wake up each morning and decide to take part in our call to Reconciliation; People who love God and, believe it or not, love each other.

But I also saw a generation hungry for God, starving on the sparkling street corners of post-modernity; I saw a lost generation wandering through the shadows of hundred-year-old churches, crying out 'There is no God!'

I saw a generation in need of the Gospel. I looked into the eyes of people who need love and have abandoned their Lover; I looked into the eyes of people who were hurt but had left their Healer; I saw people who were lost and fatherless who daily suppress the presence and reality of their Father.

Indeed, I bumped into my future in Formby. When I was younger and I first felt God's call to ministry those six-odd years ago, I knelt on the floor of that arena in Phoenix, praying as I was swept away in the blinding light of God's revelation. I told God that I would go anywhere, that I would do anything, to serve Him.

Now I think I have an idea of how God has responded to that prayer.

He responded with a place called Formby.

Breaking the Silence

It is time to write once more. So I break the silence with this.

It becomes increasingly apparent that prayer is the best and most fruitful action that we, as the people of prayer, can ascribe to. Without prayer, all is lost.

There was once a man who felt the call of God on his life; he was sure God was calling him to do something great. The problem was he did not know what that great thing was. So he figured he needed pray.

This man came to Mother Theresa, and asked her to pray for him. "What shall I pray for you?" she said.

"I want clarity. I want to know, in no uncertain terms," said he, "what God's will is for my life."

Smiling, she replied, "No, I will not pray that for you."

Angered, the man responded, "But, why? Mother Theresa, all I want is what you have had all of your life. You seem to always know exactly what it is God is calling you to do?"

She replied, "I, sir, have never had clarity. What I have had is trust. I will pray that you will have trust."

When I first heard this, I decided my prayer life needed to change. As Children of God our first action must be prayer. So as I agree that there is a need for us to process this intentionally, it cannot--it must not--happen if prayer is absence. In fact, prayer could quite possibly be the most important thing we do.

What I am coming to terms with is that God was doing just fine before I came along, and that he would do great without me. When I am confronted with my own smallness in comparison with Yahweh, I recognize the need to pray. There is absolutely nothing I can do for God or for his kingdom unless I learn to pray and I learn to trust.

We talk about how our lives are dead, that they are no longer our own. Thus, we have no right to decide how to live in the kingdom of heaven, or how to be the Body of Christ, or how to live counter-culturally. We may only do this at the direction of Christ, and live this out at the direction of the Holy Spirit. This may manifest itself differently in each of us, but regardless, it will be God who tells us how to live, not ourselves.

So what I suggest is prayer. Lots of it. And together. You know, we see that the early church did just about everything in community. But they were always praying--they were always seeking the face of God in order to discern how to reach their world and make the church the church.

So we must pray. We must make our first course of action prayer, and I would daresay that we must not move until we feel that God has told to do so, and we dare not move in any way but in the way God reveals to us through prayer. And may God forgive us if we equate prayer with inaction or passivity.

One more story:

This summer, while at a family gathering, we got into a discussion about theology, about healing and tongues and prosperity and whatnot. And as we talked, my uncle (a mail carrier) interrupted and said to me,

"Kyle, what you need to learn from this conversation and from everything is that you must pray. I don't necessarily think that I am gifted to be a postman. If I had spent more time in prayer at your age, who knows where I would be now? Just pray and let that shape your beliefs and actions. Pray now, Kyle, if only for my sake."

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

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. . .'

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.

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

Confessions of an Eternal Optimist

I've come to accept that this summer could be my first experience with ministry not giving me that Jesus high, that buzz I've felt in the past after giving a sermon or leading worship. I've come to accept that when I go into my Sunday Morning journey-study that I have a 3 for 3 record of leaving with less energy than which I came in with.

To sum up: my eternal optimism, my feelings that ministry would always be fulfilling, my ideas that doing the work of the Kingdom would certainly give me the feeling of my hair standing on the back of my arms each time, are decidedly not true. All those times I've read the books about ministry being exhausting after a while are correct.

Who knew?

Come Monday evening, after another less-than-my-mental-image-and-plan Sunday morning, I was quite discouraged. To the point of anger and frustration: I felt cheated. I had made the plan, done what the books told me to do, made fantastic visual aides, timed video clips immaculately. However, none of my students had gone through a drastic transformation. (Yet, I think in secret).

I would imagine that anyone who has spent their career or even a little bit of time in ministry could look me in the eye and give me a gentle 'Duh.' But I'm not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, so great maxims such as these take me a little longer to believe, I guess.

But Tuesday was a new day. There is a group of pastors, one of whom is Rick, who meet on Tuesday mornings to pray for spiritual, social, and economic revival in our county. I go with and often hear the news around the county, and we pray for a good solid two hours. God did not wait long to un-discourage me: we opened with Galatians 6:9:

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

A number of other encouragements came to me throughout the day: texts and words of affirmation were in abundance at a much needed time. The kicker: Rick has given me an opportunity to preach at the church, both services, on August 3. Probably the most exciting thing that has come out of the last two weeks, really.

And so my eternal optimism is renewed. At least for now.

Prayer Request:

This Friday evening the aforementioned group of pastors are hosting a Public Servant Appreciation Dinner. Members of the city council, county commissioners, the public safety directors, city and county education board members, and other key government officials will be present to view a 15-minute video on how a town in California came back after men and women sought God's face for revival in their community. We're hoping for this to be a great event together. Please pray that details from technology to food service to our conversations would be blessed by God!