Tomorrow marks the beginning of the season of Lent, which has been an important part of the church calendar for centuries. While it’s been more welcome in church traditions of a Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran bent, it has been incorporated increasingly by other Protestant traditions. This period of 40 days (not including Sundays) has historically been a season of repentance and reflection in preparation for Easter. Just as Advent is an aid in preparing our hearts to celebrate the Incarnation at Christmas, the Lenten season is an aid in preparing our hearts to remember the Cross and celebrate the Resurrection at Easter.
Self-denial has always been a hallmark of this season. Early on, this involved a fast which only allowed for one meal a day, with no animal products. This relaxed over time, but many still incorporate some type of fast into their Lenten observance, choosing something to abstain from. The purpose of this self-denial isn’t for misery’s sake. It’s for the sake of clearing space for prayer and making our hearts more in tune to the suffering of Christ.
Read moreIt’s been interesting to talk to the friends here and hear about their work. So many of them feel like they aren’t actually doing much—but they are, through living faithfully where the Lord has planted them. . . . All of us are called to live faithfully wherever we’re planted in the world and to make the most of every opportunity. All of us are called to love the people around us and seek justice for the oppressed—it just looks a little different for each of us. It’s not that one’s better or higher in any way. I’ve known all of this, but by listening to them, I guess I understand it better. Not at all to diminish what they’re doing here—it is a distinct and challenging call. But the day to day living it out might not actually look that different.
—Journal entry, May 2011, East Asia
I loved listening to their stories—the adventures, the food, the language blunders, and the snake stories. As I got older, I marveled at the work God was doing around the world and at these modern-day heroes who left behind everything to traverse the jungles and villages of the world for the sake of the Gospel. Each year, my childhood church hosted a missions conference, providing a time for each of the missionaries we supported to share about their work. Each year, I soaked it up. Each year, I wondered if someday I would go to a far off land.
I knew I didn’t want a “normal” life. Increasingly this came to mean that perhaps I would go serve overseas or at least go into ministry. It wasn’t until later that I would come to understand that this life on mission is always the "abnormal" adventure of the Christian. What varies is not the mission—but the location.
Read moreI remember the steady stream of people slowly making their way to the front of the church, hands cupped in front of them, waiting like children to have the bread placed in their palms. I remember watching as they kept coming, one after the other. Some, I knew their heartache, the deep pain they carried. Some, I knew their joy, the dreams and delight they rejoiced in. Some, I knew not at all. Each with their story, each with scars, they steadily streamed past me—and I was overwhelmed as I saw physically enacted before me the sufficiency of Christ, in the physical elements of bread and wine. There was always enough room at this Table. No matter how many crammed into the small church, or how many folding chairs needed to be added to the back rows—there was always enough. Always enough to walk forward and hear “the body of Christ given for you…the blood of Christ shed for you.” For me. For each of us. Always enough grace to go around to any who would receive it.
I remember sitting with quiet tears slipping down my face, my friend offering a hand squeeze of comfort and solidarity, as I heard time and time again the beautiful message of the Gospel. I longed to go back every week, to drink in as much of the thirst-quenching stream as I could, this continual reminder of the grace of God extended to me. The Gospel was for me—and it was for me in the midst of my deepest pain, my echoing questions, and the aching that would not subside in my heart. I brought my brokenness and continued to hear the message, “Yes, child, this is why I came.” I remember learning to (begin to) let go of the need to have it together, as I free fell into the Gospel of a Savior who was for me in the mess, because of the mess, redeeming the mess.
Read moreIt was a year ago. I sat in a room filled with pastors, seminarians, and local church members. We gathered for the day to learn about one thing—the Syrian refugee crisis. It was already five years into the civil war which would send millions fleeing for their lives, but as horror piled on horror we were finally asking "What do we do?"
After lunch, the World Vision presenter diverged from his presentation to draw our attention to a young woman quietly sitting in our midst. With tear-filled eyes, he passed the microphone to her. She had only recently come from this war-torn world we were talking about in the safety of a New England seminary. Curling hair framed her face as she shyly spoke in accented English. Her words were simple: "I just want to say, thank you for caring for my people." Even now, my eyes get watery.
In the year since that day, the refugee crisis has become an increasingly charged topic. The word "refugee" swirls in the midst of a political firestorm. And sadly this political battle has spilled into our Christian communities, creating division, anger, and pain. I'm convinced, though, this is an issue Christians could surround with united concern and compassion. We have a uniting call—to fight our way through the mess of the conflict to see the path of Jesus. We can work together—as the body of Christ—to clear away the fog of politics and of culture and the stories we see on social media to see what Christ-likeness looks like in these particular circumstances.
Read moreThis week’s resource again comes from a presentation I heard by Neil Hudson entitled “No Time for Mission? Cultivating a Missional Imagination for Over-Busy Christians” at Gordon-Conwell Seminary in April 2016. Learn more about Neil Hudson, the Imagine Church Project, and the London Institute of Contemporary Christianity in my previous post and on the LICC website.
My last couple posts have been focused on the idea of the frontlines we find ourselves scattered to throughout the week. Thinking about frontlines, as I’ve said before, leads us to consider where God has already positioned us to be used. [If you missed my original post explaining a frontline, you can read it here.]
As we go about our lives on our frontlines, we rub shoulders with a wide range of people. We have an opportunity to engage with them and build relationships. How do we do this? And what do we do when we begin to build a relationship with someone who isn’t a Christian?
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