Easter Project

About a month ago Rebecca and I got to attend a retreat at Laity Lodge in Texas. The retreat was held for artists and pastors and focused on artists as caretakers of the imagination. The speakers were James K.A. Smith and David Taylor. Both of the speakers have been instrumental in my faith and the in way I want to live and express the love of Christ.

David shared about a piece of art his wife Phaedra created for their church in North Carolina. She painted prayers on two large panels that were to be hung at the front of their sanctuary. After painting prayers on the panels, she covered them with multiple layers of paint. One of the messages of the work was that there are prayers being said for the people of the church by the pastors, members, and Jesus himself. The prayers can't be seen, but we know they are being sent.

With that concept in our minds, Rebecca and I attempted an art project with our kids this Lent. We wanted to have a piece that communicated the mystery of faith to our family. We bought a 1x4 board and had it cut into four pieces. We had the boys draw pictures of stories from the Bible on each of the boards. The stories corresponded with events that always take place during specific seasons of the Christian year. We bought a sample size of paint in four liturgical colors (purple for Advent and Lent, green for ordinary time; Epiphany and Pentecost, red for Holy Week and various other days, and white for Easter, Christmas, and Trinity Sunday). After writing some verses and prayers on the boards along with the stories, we covered each of the boards in the color of the liturgical seasons represented in the stories. We're planning on hanging the wooden boards in our family room. The last part of the piece is a palm branch from the Palm Sunday worship service that is folded into the shape of a cross. We're going to move the cross from board to board as each liturgical season comes and goes.

Here are a few pictures from the project. The boys loved it and it was pretty easy (even for their artistically challenged parents).

In the Same Boat - Compassion for Manti Te'o

About ten years ago my wife and I attended a concert simply because we had been given tickets. We weren't particularly excited about the band. We hadn't seen them before. It seemed like it could be a fun night, so we went.

Sitting in front of me was a couple about our age. They were clearly there because they loved the band. They were enthusiastically talking about the band and their music with everyone around them. They eventually turned back toward us and asked me a question. 

"Have you ever seen this band play?" 

For reasons I'm not completely sure of I replied, "Yes. They played at my college when I was a freshman." 

I can assure you with complete confidence this band had never played at David Lipscomb University in the mid 90's. And even if they had, I wouldn't have gone. I lied. Quickly and naturally. It came out of me without an ounce of effort or premeditation. I didn't even like the band. Up to this point these people had kind of been annoying me. I didn't feel any need for their approval or interest. But in that moment, the abundance of my heart flowed from my mouth in an unnecessary and self-protecting lie. Had they pushed deeper into my story I have no doubt the lie would have become bigger. 

As the details surrounding the Manti Te'o story unfold, it's becoming apparent that something doesn't add up. The humiliation and complexities of the story are snowballing faster than the initial hoax. I don't know if he was lying about the whole thing, found himself completely taken in an elaborate prank, or if some combination of the two exists. What I am convinced of is that the significant difference between his tales and my own lie in degree and not root cause. 

We're all in the same boat with this young man. We've all taken stories far beyond the places we've intended them to go. We all know that anyone demanding to know why he did whatever he did isn't being completely honest with themselves. We never understand all of the reasons we do the messed up and poisonous things that we do. 

Sports stories become human interest stories for two reasons. They are either full of redemption or scandal. Whether you care about football or not this story is going to come at you this week. In a world that invites millions to take a shot at comedy and fame through Twitter and comment sections I hope to be part of an invitation to compassion. I don't know why he did whatever he did anymore than he does. However, I'm fairly confident he and I are both aware today that our hearts are bent toward behaviors that are robbing us of freedom and peace. 

Two Recommendations 

As I listened to the story unfold I thought of a sermon and a song. I'm providing the links here. The sermon is called Liars and the Truth and was given by my friend and pastor, Thomas McKenzie. 

Liars and the Truth

The second is a song by my friend Andy called I Haven't Either. 

Lets all hope for freedom and peace for Manti and for the rest of us who are desperate for the both. 

Dropping Jesus

I'm not sure how long it's been since you've seen a Donald Duck movie starring his nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, but it's the best example I can give you of what it's like to live with three little boys. Last week we decided to let our little guys help us as we decorated our Christmas tree.


We were fairly confident we would lose some ornaments in the process, but we went ahead with the plan. Each ornament they hung was hanging on for dear life, usually by the smallest needle of a not so carefully chosen branch. As we neared the end of the decorating the damage was fairly minimal. Following the return of our vacuum cleaner to the closet after sweeping up some broken glass it was my turn to hang the baby Jesus ornament in the traditional, top part of the tree. 

Standing a little too far away from the tree while stretching over three little boys isn't the best way to hang the most important ornament. I dropped the baby in the manger and he tumbled down the tree like a Plinko disc on The Price is Right. Each shift in direction took out an ornament the boys had hung. After the final crash, Donald Duck lay on the floor with a broken arm and Joshua's first Christmas ornament was broken in two. One of my kids cried while the other two told me, in great detail, about my mistake. 

My mind went immediately to Isaiah 9:6.

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given,
    and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

God's good news for this broken world is not that we have to carry its weight on our shoulders, but thankfully, that there is a mighty Savior who is not only able to deliver us, but willing to do so. I was convicted when I thought of how many times I have tried to carry Jesus and his kingdom on my own shoulders. I thought of how many times I've dropped him in the process, usually leaving more substantial casualties than a broken Donald Duck or snowman Christmas ornament. 

The good news of the kingdom is that there is a God who is far too big to be carried around and hung on a tree. He is the one whose Word created this world and can calm a raging sea. The good news is also that the King left his rightful throne to become small enough to carry around and to give his life as a ransom while being hung on a tree. 

The kingdom is coming, but not in our strength. 

The Good Shepherd King Jesus is slowly and patiently preparing an eternal reign of peace upon this recreated and restored earth. It is so tempting to think we need to carry him along and help him with the building plan, but that's never the way he demonstrates his power or rule. Our calling is to gently and patiently proclaim the same message he was born to carry thousands of years ago. There is a God who is mighty to save who has come to rescue. There is a Wonderful Counselor and Prince of Peace who is carrying this world on his shoulders. There is one to whom we can go to for our tired and weary souls. 

We are invited to go to him today, to let him carry this world upon his faithful shoulders, and to live in the freedom of his peace. 

Conversations with the Boys - Pax's Debut

Sitting around the breakfast table this morning, we began playing the 'where's your nose' game.

Me - "Pax, do you have a nose?"
Pax - "No."
Me - "Do you have ears?"
Pax - "No."
Me - "Do you have brothers?"
Pax - "No."
Me (over Andrew yelling that he was Pax's brother) - "How do you know you're not alone in this world?"
Pax (singing) - "Jesus loves the little children."

So, he appears to be cocky and theologically sound. Uh, oh.

An Unlikely Story

I use the word unlikely fairly often to describe where I've ended up in life. So many of the best things in my life have come about because of strange twists and turns I could have never seen coming. The unlikeliness continued today as I got to preach on Trinity Sunday. I've mentioned on this blog several times before that I didn't grow up believing in the Trinity. It was a special blessing and gracious gift for me to be able to share about the Triune God whom I love and worship.

I'm thankful to have been given the opportunity to talk briefly about the beauty of God's saving power today.

Also, I talked about Magic Johnson.

If you have time, and any interest in hearing the sermon, you can click this link.

Beautiful, Saving Power 

The Frustrating Joy of Picture Day

What each day feels like at our house in only two and a half minutes.

St. Patrick's Day in Hendersonville - More Redemption

Last week my boss/pastor (I guess you could call him my bastor) walked into my office to tell me my ordination date had officially been set for March 17th. Then he asked me to guess where it was going to be held. I knew we couldn't have the ordination at Redeemer because there was already a wedding scheduled for that day, so I guessed the church building where I worked before starting at Redeemer. He smiled and said, "Hendersonville."

Let me explain why that detail is ridiculously redemptive. If you've spent anytime on this blog, you've heard some of the details of my life. I grew up in Southern California as a member of a pseudo-Christian religious cult. When I was fifteen, my parents, along with about 300-350 other members of the cult, moved from California to Tennessee because the leader of the cult told us to move. (If you're interested in more of the story, you can check out my mom's book by clicking this link) Anyway, the city we moved to when I was fifteen was Hendersonville.

A few months ago I got to spend some time with my Bishop and his Canon. As we ate lunch together I shared some of my story and the Canon suggested that if I ever plant a church I should call it St. Patrick's. The reason being St. Patrick was a slave in Ireland and after he obtained his freedom, he returned to Ireland to share the gospel with the people there.

When I heard my ordination would take place on St. Patrick's Day, I had to smile at the sweet, and I believe, heavenly irony of the whole situation. When I found out it was going to be in Hendersonville, the smile turned to laughter.

When I moved to Hendersonville in 1993, I was a slave. I had no idea who Jesus was or what he had done for me. Since then, God has freed me and called me to be a minister of his grace and love. He's taking me back to the city I lived in as a slave to send me out to proclaim his freedom.

The whole situation reminds me again of how beautiful stories are when God's redemptive thread is seen running through them. There are countless other small and seemingly insignificant details that lead to March 17th and Hendersonville. Details I couldn't have pulled together even if I'd tried. And the story it seems God has pulled together leaves me standing in awe of his intricate and intimate care.