When Storms Kill Dreams

I was 28 years old, and knew what I was going to do with the rest of my life.  I would continue to work as a student minister for the next 3-5 years, developing my speaking abilities and growing my reputation.  Then, at the first available opportunity, I would take on the role as either the teaching pastor or the senior pastor of a small progressive church (or just start my own) that would eventually grow into a megachurch.  This growth would afford me national opportunities to speak and live out my dream to be a well-respected and notable pastor.

Yup...I was dumb.  It's ok you can say it, "Kyle, that sounds really immature."  Yeah, well that's because I was.  I mean honestly, I really believed this!  I even had a name for my new church, and a logo to go along with it..."Union City Church".  I'll draw it on a napkin for you sometime.

I had been in full-time ministry since I was twenty-two years old.  I had been deemed an "expert" on God before I knew anything about God or life or even how the world worked.  Some people thought I was a gifted speaker, but whether or not that was true, I had not allowed the time and space to figure out who I was.  I had been preaching words I didn't even understand and offering advice I didn't fully trust.

And then with a few strokes on the keyboard all of those dreams were gone...I was out of ministry.  I had made the conscious choice that continuing to gorge my ego would ultimately destroy me.  My dreams had been killed, and frankly it was better that way.

It wasn't until I came face-to-face with the upheaval of my ego, and the immediate termination of my well-planned goals that I understood how short-sighted I had been.  By my own doing, I had become a slave to my ego.

Jonathan Martin in his book, How to Survive a Shipwreck says, "Whatever is death for the ego is liberation for the soul."

This is undoubtedly what I've discovered.  Through the death of my plans, my dreams, and my goals I have found more freedom to question and discover who I really am, and why I'm really here...it's been painful.

There is no easy way to be humbled.  There is no anesthesia for living free.  I had to be willing to let go of what was most important to me (my dreams for a successful ministry career) to find freedom.

Kathryn Dowling Singh is a PhD hospice worker who has devoted her life to be with people through the process of death.  In her book, The Grace in Dying, she concludes that for those that have time to die, there is an astonishing grace in the death process.  While at first the patient fights and resists, the body and soul are forced into agreement as they lose the capacity to care for themselves.

This is why it's common for the patient to testify to a place of ultimate serenity, peace, and clarity.  With no more strength or will for the ego to cling to, there is a purer, truer way to be alive.  Unfortunately, it's often not until we are victims to the process of physical death that we are able to receive this gift.

On September 7, 2016, my wife lost her grandfather, Tony, to cancer.  He would have celebrated his 75th birthday on Red's opening day this year.  But, the weeks leading up to his death were some of the most celebrated, peaceful, and revealing times in his life.  For weeks Tony and I sat in his living room and talked about faith.  He went to church growing up, understood basic Christian theology, but never considered himself a Christian.  Though while his body deteriorated, his humility grew.  He began to realize how loved he was, how unworthy he was for all that he had been given, and how selfish he had been in his decisions.  This realization that he was loved by friends and family despite his previous actions led him to wonder if God could love him too.

One afternoon in particular we were sitting and talking about Heaven.  He wanted to know if it was real, and what it was like.  I explained that it was not a bunch of clouds and cherubs, but a vastness of unexplored beauty, and a city with God in the center of it all.  Then, he asked what he'd always wanted to know, "Is it to late for me?"  "Never." "If He'll have me, I want to be there with Him."  We cried, we prayed, and after a few minutes to change clothes, I baptized him in his shower.

In losing his life, Tony had found it.  This is the promise of authentic Christianity- losing our lives to find them.  This is the meaning of taking up the cross and embracing death before the deathbed.

At some point you too will feel the loss of control, the loss of autonomy, and the sense of helplessness.  It could be through a phone call, a pink slip, or a doctor's words.  It could be the death of a spouse, the death of a dream, or the death of your ego.  You will feel the heavy wave throw you underneath the water, and refuse to let you up for air.

But God uses these moments of weakness and exposure to show us what true life looks like.  He will grab your hand, pull you up to the surface, and help you catch your breath.  It's only when you are shaking, soaked, and scared that you see clearly the storm, and the Savior controlling it.  He doesn't care if that storm has been created by your own doing or not; He just wants to show you how to weather it.

 No wonder the apostle Paul says that the message of the cross is, "foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. (1 Corinthians 1:18)

It is much easier to believe in a religion where Jesus can carry that cross for you, rather than one where we are dragging it beside Him.  It's much easier to believe in a religion where Jesus calms the storm while you sit in a hurricane-proof house.  But that is the promise we receive in baptism- it is only when we choose to die with Christ that we can experience real life with Him.

 Your back is going to be scratched up.  Your hands will bleed and crack.  Your muscles will ache with the weight.  Things that were once so valuable will be lost to the storm.  It's painful, it's real, and it will force you to re-evaluate what was once so important.

Jesus never promised easy.  He promised freedom.  But freedom can only be found when you face the truth around you.

Maybe you did it to yourself.
Maybe they left you.
Maybe the doctor told you.
Maybe that boss fired you.
Maybe that plan failed.
Maybe that life is over.

You're not alone.

We were never meant to stage our brilliant comeback, pull ourselves up from our bootstraps, and get ourselves unstuck without help.  And the truth is, it's better that way.

I found freedom to be who I need to be, not who I want to be.  Don't be afraid when the storm comes; just grab onto the one who controls it and hang on.  He's done this a few times.

Be honest.  Be open.

This is the Christian Safe Zone.

Losing, Finding, and Offering Hope: Palm Sunday

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There are certain moments in all of our lives where we do not know what to expect.  Times when no matter how prepared we may be with information and resources, we never really know what to do.  Moments like beginning a new job, starting a new relationship, moving to a new city, receiving the phone call from the doctor, attending the funeral, watching your parents get divorced, being confronted with your addiction.  

And it’s in these moments when the only thing that we can hold onto is hope.  Hope for the future.  Hope for a change.  Hope for a cure.  Hope for a new and better life.  We are all looking for something that tells us, “It’s going to be ok.  You can breathe now."  

But the question is, “What do we put our hope in?”  When life seems chaotic and you are not sure what the outcome will be, where do you turn for reassurance, for peace, for hope? 

This Sunday is Palm Sunday.  Chances are if you grew up in church, you remember the old Bible story about Jesus riding down on a donkey, and everybody throwing palm branches down on the road as He went by.  But, what so many of us miss from this Sunday School story is the magnitude of this event.  It was on that day, in this moment, when Jesus forced everyone, no matter their beliefs or backgrounds, to decide once and for all what they would put their hope in.

Here's what happened:

Six days before Jesus’ death, on the first day of the Passover celebration, a procession begins to enter Jerusalem.  It was a grand celebration, reserved only for this sacred day.  People are lining the roadway for miles just to get a glimpse at this historic moment.  The excitement in the crowd swells as the beginning of the procession commences.  In their jubilation, they shout phrases like, "Son of God, "Lord",  "Savior", and "Peace on earth."  It is a resounding statement to their undying loyalty to this man…this king. They are witnessing the procession of none other than the Roman army as they enter the city of Jerusalem.  

Pontius Pilate, the same man who will give Jesus up to the Jewish mob only six days later, leads this Roman procession.  His troops march behind the man who represents Rome itself.  They are rugged, muscular men in leather and newly polished steel.  They keep cadence in loud, crunching steps.  Pilate himself wears a flowing cape and shining armor.  This is no minor squad on some routine errand that marches into Jerusalem.  It is a parade of might meant to warn, but also to reinforce a city that is about to be occupied by upwards of 200,000 Jews as the enter the city to celebrate Passover.

There is also a religious purpose behind this procession as well.  As Pilate rides into Jerusalem, he represents a god...the emperor.  In fact, Caesar is “the Son of God,” according to the religion of the empire.  He is praised as “lord,” “savior,” and the bringer of “peace on earth.”  

This is the religion of the state.  Pilate is a conqueror entering a conquered city.  The people in Jerusalem belong to Rome.  As the procession ends and the officers take their positions, the message is sent:  “There will be no uprisings this week.  A greater god rules: Tiberius Caesar, the Son of God.  He is Lord, even over the god of Jerusalem.”  Or so that’s what Rome thinks.

On that same day, another procession begins on the opposite side of the city.  It too is a grand celebration.  It too is scripted.  It too signals the victory of a God.  Jesus is entering Jerusalem, riding on a colt, as a large crowd lines the roadway.  The colt is intended as a sign.  Its use is not an accident or a last-minute decision.  It’s part of a very specific statement; a declaration of war.  By Jesus riding a colt into the Holy City, he is conjuring up an extremely familiar image to any Jew.  King Solomon, the last great king of Israel, rode just such an animal to his own coronation as king.  The image would also bring to mind to any good Jew the prophetic words of Zechariah:

“Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!  Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!  See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt.” (Zechariah 9:9)

It's a dangerous declaration: "A king has come, and he is even now among us."

And so it is in this spirit that Jesus makes his way down into Jerusalem.  As the crowd grows to get a glimpse at this rabbi, this miracle-worker, they continue shouting their joy.  And, in a time-honored tradition to welcome royalty, the people lay their robes and palm branches at the feet of Jesus.  It is a carpet meant for a king…the Son of God.  They are “preparing the way,” demonstrating to this man that they receive Him as their ruler.  The passion swells; the excitement spreads, and soon this massive crowd begin chanting a verse of Scripture meant only for the coming Messiah, the Son of God.  They shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!” (Matthew 21:9)

And For anyone in Jerusalem at this moment in time, they were faced with a crossroads.  There are two processions; two Sons of God; two pathways to hope…and yet only one choice.  How do you know which king offers you hope?

In my own brokenness, I feel the pull to rely upon myself; to seek out hope and a solution from my own means.  It’s easy.  It’s safe.  It’s also very limited.  We've all faced that dreaded reality when no matter how much we may know or how great our abilities and resources may be, it's not going to be enough.   

It’s that moment when you realize whatever you have placed your hope in doesn’t hold water.  With panic and dread you look on, but there is nothing you can do.  You are limited, you are fallible, your ways can’t hold up.  So, when the reality of life comes crashing around your prefabricated existence, in whom will you place your trust?  Will you put hope in yourself and your abilities, or will you lay down your branch and offer allegiance to a greater God?

But, whenever reality gets too real, and hope looks like a distant memory; remember that there are two processions.  Another Son of God, another source of hope awaits.  He is the Mighty King, the Creator God, the resurrected Savior, the source of hope!  He is, was, and always will be “I AM”.  

We have hope that our lives will be better BECAUSE we are not!  We are not strong enough, talented enough, good enough, or smart enough.  We never were and we never had to be.  And thank God for that because when I place my hope in Jesus, when I give up trying to do everything my way and depend on Him, I become exactly what I was created to be...free!  

You see, when we lay our palm branches down at the feet of Jesus, we pledge our complete and total allegiance to Him and to His ways.  It is not a sign of weakness or of failure.  It is a sign of hope!  I have hope, because I AM not, and neither are you.  But He is, and He always will be.  

This Palm Sunday, take a moment and imagine how different your life would be if you laid that branch at His feet.  When you relinquish the control you have on your life, and seek a solution from a greater source.  Have your plans failed you?  Then come to the one who offers a hope that has never shaken, has never wavered, and rightfully claims the title, “King of kings”, “Lord of lords”, and “Conqueror of death”.

Be honest.  Be open.

This is the Christian Safe Zone.