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We Burned The Church

February 22, 2017

When we were young my friends and I thought the Church was perfect.
Our eyes were wonder-filled with few expectations.
Sunday was for playing and Jesus was our superhero.
We didn’t realize that the Church would fail us in time.
Or at least we were too young to believe it.  

When we grew up a little my friends and I thought we were perfect.
Our eyes were wild with unrealistic expectations.
Sunday was for sleeping, and we loved Jesus, but not His Church.
We didn’t realize that we would fail the Church in time.
Or at least we were too young to care.

When we grew up a little my friends and I got fed up with the Church.
Our eyes were painfully shut with failed expectations.
Sunday was a joke and Jesus was unimpressive.
We didn’t realize that Jesus still loved the Church even if we didn’t.
At least Jesus was jealous for us.

When we grew up a little we realized that no one and no church is perfect.
Our eyes were dazed and we started to question our expectations.
Sunday was for fools, but we were fools and Jesus still loved us.
We didn’t realize that we were the Church whether we liked it or not.
At least Jesus picked up our broken pieces.

When we grew up a little we fell in love with an imperfect Bride called “Church.”
Our eyes were filled with wonder again but with fewer expectations.
Sunday was special, but it wasn’t about Sunday anymore. It was about Jesus.
We didn’t realize that the Church looks more beautiful the longer you love Her.
At least He uses broken pieces to build His Church, and loves us anyway.

“Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready. ”
— Revelation 19:7
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In Poems, Christian Life, Church, Feature
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altar brawl.

October 21, 2013

There are "altar-calls" and then there are "altar-brawls." One resurrects souls, one buries them alive. One shuts up long enough to hear you surrender to God, the other tries to shut you up long enough to force your surrender to itself. At their most extreme the both of them will bludgeon your ego and make you cry. A few weeks ago one of my posts turned into a theological cat fight... an altar brawl. The Sonship Diaries was an ugly attempt at beholding the silky maleficence of sin and the glory of grace all in the same breath. I admit not only that I communicated poorly but that the reason behind my rhyme was peripheral at best. 

So I've been reading, thinking, and talking to Jesus. Flipping theological pancakes, if you will... And realizing that I've still got some exploring to do before I wrap my upper story around the whole mess. Yes, flipping theological pancakes. Don't think too hard about it. 
 
I'm sure tomorrow the whole knot will untie itself and God will throw the last punch. But today I'm re-reading forgotten pages in the Psalms and holding a match between my grubby little fingers and up close to the very combustable pages of "My Opinions" - a book authored mostly by me and mostly for me. 

Psalm 105, 106, & 107 retell the entire story of Israel... Start to finish. It's ten books condensed into three nail-biting chapters.  Somewhere in the middle of the story I tripped over this little biblical shoelace: 

In the wilderness their desires ran wild,
testing God’s patience in that dry wasteland.
Psalm 16:14

their. desires. ran. wild.  

Imagine. It overtakes you. An overwhelming, devouring, consuming desire. Adrenaline coursing through your veins. Mouth salivating. Heart pounding, harder and harder, in your chest. Eyes glazing over… And your mind becomes completely overwhelmed with ravenous lust. An ex-slave-master come to give you a taste of aged wine. Your entire being longs after it. It’s undeniable… you like the feeling. You let go... you give in. Wrong feels so right. 

Can it satisfy?
Who gives a rip?

This was Israel's attitude towards the God that fed them with magical bread and had worked no less than twenty monumental miracles for their sake in a matter of days.

Some nights I hear rapping on the door of my heart. Nearly Midnight. The old Slave-master waits outside uninvited. Dressed to the nines and whispering through the mailbox slit. His words are an intoxicating toxin. 

And then I awake from the dream at the mention of the name of Jesus. The old Slave-master is a dead man. His epitaph reads "It is finished" - chiseled into stone with diamond. His whispers are heard neither here nor there. He is dead, thus saith the Lord...

I forget often that I am not like Israel. Because somewhere between Exile and Pentecost something actually happened. Something actually changed... drastically.

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Galatians 2:20

So today I reckon him dead because Jesus reckons him dead. 

And as He stands in victory, sin's curse has lost its grip on me. For I am His and He is mine, bought with the precious blood of Christ.

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In Christian Life, Church
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bride-loving-bloggers.

September 10, 2013

A few years ago I started writing a book… it was called “I hate christianity”. I know, I started writing a book … I’m too young, too inexperienced, too immature in my faith, too… a lot of things. 

The first promise I made to myself as I set out writing was:

Promise #1: I will not deal verbal spankings to Jesus' Wife just because I can.

… My writing didn’t last very long. The honest truth? I ran out of things to “hate” about Christianity. If you get close enough to the heart of Jesus Christ your heart starts saying, “yeah, I’d die for her.” Broken, Branded, Cold, Cantankerous – You would die for her too, because Jesus did.

But recently I’ve noticed within myself an inevitable leaning towards the negative. It’s easy to get at least a few words of criticism in from your armchair. It is easier to withdraw into the safety of a coffee shop, put your head in your hands, and “write the wrongs” rather than “right the wrongs.”

In fact, the more Christian blogs I read the more confounded I become. Time and time again I am finding it hard not to gravitate towards the “issues.” My generation’s Christian bloggers love to sit down at the feast of the church’s deficiencies and gorge themselves. The table is vast, there’s no denying. At this point I'm pretty sure that blogs on Rob Bell’s Utopia, Homophobic Bishops, and Religion vs. Relationship are the re-runs they'll play in hell.  They're easy targets when you want something to write about… There’s always some pastor acting the fool or some church program that shouldn’t be. Always something to nitpick always some quibble to quack over.

Christian blogging has, as a whole, become a shark-feed that has managed to mutilate every beautiful aspect of the bride of Christ, de-limb every strain of doctrine, and turn everyone into a cynic. Where one blog sings praise another breathes curses. Were every Christian blog Truth I should be expected to walk away a religiously-paranoid, profanity-slinging, American-missions-hating, program-snobbing, self-taught-and-self-proclaimed theologian. There would be no preacher, no denomination, no tradition, no creed, no form of worship that could stand under the weight of some blogger’s “two-cents” and certainly none that I could trust. No one is safe when there’s a blogger around. No one.

Where are the main-stream bloggers that clack about the beauty of creation? Where are the Christians that have something to say about the lavishness of the love of Jesus? Where are the grown ups who actually listened when their parents said, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all”?

They call themselves “faith-bloggers” but often their faith in God’s redemptive power for the sake of His Wife is more or less yet to be seen. Where He says, “If you are faithless, yet still I remain faithful” their elegantly written letters would condemn their weaker brothers and sisters and whisper behind their backs in dark corners of the web that they will never see: “My Brother is going to hell in a hand-basket! And my sister to the pit!” How is it that faith-blogging culture has so bread a movement of faithlessness that we could monopolize on the misgivings and weaknesses of our own family?

It might be accurate to say that the most trending Christian blogs, the most cultured, and the most read are also the least reflective of Jesus Christ’s love for His Wife… “But his blog is a wake-up-call to the church.” “But her writings are prophetic!” some will say. To which I rebuttal and rebuttal with a clinched jaw – show me a prophet or messenger of God, who when proclaiming wrath cannot help but also proclaim, even in the same breath, the redemptive hope and promise of the love of the Bride-Groom. Show me, please.

Computer-chair prophets? I never heard that term used in Bible College… I must have missed that lesson. 

For all these scribbles, these prophetic-slams I’m just going to say: “shame on you.” Jesus didn’t die so that you could make a living off of writing hate-letters about His Wife. All this “do as I blog, not as I do” bull-crap has become itself the disease it hates in the church. It is hypocrisy. It is as blasé as Obama’s drama, as non sequitur as the prosperity Gospel, as ugly as sin.

Admit it, you’ve thought it at least twice – “So wait… He’s blogging negatively about blogging negatively?”

Darn tootin’.

I say this all from a blog… Resolute to see with new eyes the beauty I find in the love Jesus has for His Bride and skimming the horizon for any mainstream blog that is hell-bent on scribbling it for the masses.

Calling all Bride-Loving-Bloggers. The masses await you to tell of the love of Jesus. Feed them.

“If you love me, feed my sheep.”
John 21:17

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In Christian Culture, Christian Life, Church Tags blogging, Christian Culture, *
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WELCOME.

My promise is honesty and messiness. Not for pity or attention... but because right here, with a few thoughts and shards of eternity, I meet God, who adores me; King of my every fiber - blood, bone, and breath. He has me in His grip and, settling into His furious love, I find rest in Him.

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