[I was inspired to blog this by the middle and high school students at Christ Lutheran Church in Lincoln, NE and this last weekend we spent at a youth gathering.]
Nothing makes me crazier than hearing someone in a church say, "The youth are the future of the church." I hate to break it to you - and I'll try to be gentle about it - but the youth are the church.
Now, when I talk about youth, I'm focusing on 13-20 somethings. (I'm not hating on the miniature humans - they are very powerful in the life of the church - but the "youth" are undervalued and, sometimes, totally seperated from the rest of the church.)
The theme of this weekend's youth gathering was evangelism training. During a three hour break on Saturday, I arranged an opportunity for the students to practice their new learnings with some university students. The college students were all Christian but they agreed to play non-Christian characters (including a hippie, a disaster victim, and a science nerd). The middle and high school students were told they would have 15 minutes to witness to these "non-Christians". They were terrified - I mean, they're eyes got huge! We encouraged them and sent them on their way.
The transformation that took place in that one hour was beyond words amazing. God took a simple exercise and made it a transformitive experience. They came away with, besides a sizeable amount of frustration, incredible theological questions ("If we're already forgiven, we can do anything we feel like, right?"), amazing illustrations ("needing Jesus is like needing an iPod"), and confidence in themselves to go talk to their friends about their faith.
It was then that I realized how much we limit these students. We confine them to a youth room, allow them maybe one youth Sunday a year, and have them serve the Easter breakfast. Why can't they do more? We should consider them an integral part of the church. We should ask their opinions, maybe seek their advice. Give them opportunities to serve, to engage others, to lead ministries.
How different could the church be if we realized the power these students have? I'll say it one more time: The youth ARE the church.
Please pray for these amazing youth - that God would continue to move in their hearts; that they would strive to continue to grow; and that they would be an integral part in changing others' lives.
"Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity." 1 Timothy 4:12
Monday, February 20, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The Greatest Story Never Told in Sunday School
One of my favorite Bible stories isn't Noah's ark. It's not David and Goliath. It's not Samson and it's not Moses. My favorite story is one you won't hear in Sunday school and I've personally never heard it preached from the pulpit. It's the story of Hosea and Gomer. And it's one of the greatest (albeit strangest) love stories ever.
Hosea was a prophet (he even has his own book). He was told by God to marry an adulteress. So Hosea went and picked Gomer, the prostitute. They had some kids* and then Gomer left. That's right, she ran away from her husband, her kids, and her new life. She returned to prositution and somehow (through events unspecified in the Bible), she ended up being owned by another guy.
At this point, I can only imagine what was going through Hosea's head: "Alright, God, that's it. I married an unmarriable woman (only because you told me to, by the way) and then she leaves me with the kids; actually, she leaves this whole fresh start I've given her. Can the next one please be someone I can bring home to my mom? Maybe one that's a little less crazy?"
But God tells him to go and pay whatever was necessary to buy Gomer back. So Hosea did. And not only did he buy her back, but he pledges his love to her again.
Beautiful, no?
Did you catch the parallel?
Read it again, but replace Hosea with God and Gomer with us.
We are adulterous. We prostitute ourselves to things other than God. But God chooses us to love and have a relationship with. He gives us a new start. But afterwhile we leave. We go back to our old lives of prostitution. Sometimes, we get ourselves so far in that we can't buy our way out. But God loved us so much that he willingly paid the price to buy us back and give us a new start again. And again. And again.
Beautiful, no?
*Fun trivia fact: Two of Hosea and Gomer's kids names mean "not loved" and "not my people" - talk about having complexes later.
"I will heal their waywardness and love them freely, for my anger has turned away from them." Hosea 14:4
Hosea was a prophet (he even has his own book). He was told by God to marry an adulteress. So Hosea went and picked Gomer, the prostitute. They had some kids* and then Gomer left. That's right, she ran away from her husband, her kids, and her new life. She returned to prositution and somehow (through events unspecified in the Bible), she ended up being owned by another guy.
At this point, I can only imagine what was going through Hosea's head: "Alright, God, that's it. I married an unmarriable woman (only because you told me to, by the way) and then she leaves me with the kids; actually, she leaves this whole fresh start I've given her. Can the next one please be someone I can bring home to my mom? Maybe one that's a little less crazy?"
But God tells him to go and pay whatever was necessary to buy Gomer back. So Hosea did. And not only did he buy her back, but he pledges his love to her again.
Beautiful, no?
Did you catch the parallel?
Read it again, but replace Hosea with God and Gomer with us.
We are adulterous. We prostitute ourselves to things other than God. But God chooses us to love and have a relationship with. He gives us a new start. But afterwhile we leave. We go back to our old lives of prostitution. Sometimes, we get ourselves so far in that we can't buy our way out. But God loved us so much that he willingly paid the price to buy us back and give us a new start again. And again. And again.
Beautiful, no?
*Fun trivia fact: Two of Hosea and Gomer's kids names mean "not loved" and "not my people" - talk about having complexes later.
"I will heal their waywardness and love them freely, for my anger has turned away from them." Hosea 14:4
Thursday, February 9, 2012
How lovely is your dwelling place
So my dorm organized this 24 hour prayer deal where we could commit to an hour of prayer during the day starting at midnight. The RAs did a great job of setting up a quiet space and providing inspirational materials. I took the 5-6 shift this morning.
I was excited about the prospect of doing nothing but spending time with my Savior for an hour but at the same time I was so concerned about what to do. Do I just say all my requests? Do I list every person I can think of? Do I hum, sing, read the Bible? Do I just clear my mind and listen for God's voice?
I half-heartedly tried all of the above. And it took 10 minutes. What was I supposed to do for the next 50 to keep myself from falling asleep?
So I closed my eyes and starting picturing my ideal house. Stupid, I know. Not praying, I know. But was it? Because all of a sudden I knew God was there. On my front porch. (It was a wrap-around, by the way, with a chair swing.) And here's how the time with my Lord turned out:
God: This is a very suitible house. It definitely fits you.
Me: Uh, thanks. What was I supposed to say? Oh, I know: Would you like to come in?
God: Of course.
Me: But wait. Why would you need an invitation to come in? Can't you do anything?
God: Yes, but I want you to be comfortable with this. I will always meet you where you are. I've stood on many front porches for whole lifetimes and never been inside.
Me: Ok well, there isn't anything particularly special here. It's just a house after all.
God: But it's your house. And you can tell a lot about somebody if you really look at what's inside. Like your living room, for example. Ok, now we were obviously standing in the living room; the first room anyone sees when they enter my house. It's very clean, very comfortable. A nice couch. A piano marked with time.
Me: That's my great-grandmother's.
God: I know. It's beautiful. Especially when played from the heart. And the guitar. Look at these pictures! Family, friends, places you've been. My creation - how good it is. What a beautiful room to bring people in. Even the wall color - so light and carefree.
Me: I want people to feel comfortable with me.
God: But where am I in this?
Me: Your creation -
God: But where am I? Can somebody walk into your life and immediately see me?
Me: I always hoped people could see you through my actions.
God: Are you scared of offending people? Would people leave if they immediately knew I was a priority in your life?
Me: What do I say to that?
God: Just think about it.
Me: Yah, ok, I will defintely do that. What about another room? I think we've hashed out this room enough -
God: Hold on. Are you sure?
Me: You've seen it all. I have some redecorating to do, obviously, so we'll come back to it.
God: Ok. Is it just me or does he seem hesitant? The family room, huh? Disorganized chaos?
Me: Just noticing the piles of stuff everywhere Actually, I don't know if I'm ready to introduce you to this room. Can we go back to the living room?
God: Of course. I noticed that while it's beautiful and representative of you, you have some dust in the corners. And some cobwebs up there near the ceiling. People don't usually notice these, right? I bet - oh yep - there's junk under the couch too - oh - and in between the cushions even. Stuff you know is there but no one can see unless you point it out. Why would you want to try and live like this? With all these "secret" messes? Let me clean it out.
And He did. He took all the dust and cobwebs and empty wrappers and cleaned them out. You would never know anything in the room changed unless it was pointed out. I'm still the same basic person - maybe a little convicted - but nothing on the outside has really changed.
God: Are you ready to go back to the family room?
Me: Sure. Oh hey -
God: Yes?
Me: Thanks. He didn't have to say anything but His smile was reassuring.
God: I like this room, too. Families are wonderful. This old couch looks well-loved.
Me: Yah and there's the indent where my dad sits by and let's things happen.
God: What are you talking about?
Me: He's so non-chalant about everything. He just watches everything happen but doesn't get up and try to help. And he certainly isn't trying to help clean up.
God: Oh how wrong you are.
Me: Then what's his deal?
God: I gave him that spot. It's the best spot in the room. He can see everything from there. And he can enjoy his beautiful family, no matter what they're doing. I haven't asked him to do anything but be there for you. He appreciates the mess for what it is - the sign of his active healthy family.
Me: He is a pretty good guy, I guess.
God: He is. But what about this mess?
Me: We each have a pile and we just add to it. Sometimes problems arise when the piles mix and our stuff gets mixed up.
God: Who organized this mess?
Me: Wait? "Organized"? That would be my mom, I guess.
God: A beautiful lady. Have you ever looked at her pile?
Me: No, she hides most of it.
God: Does it ever mix with yours?
Me: Well, yes. And then shit hits the fan. Oh my gosh, can you curse with God?
God: Yes. It's better than not talking to me at all. Back to your mom: have you ever asked to see her pile?
Me: Not really.
God: You should. It might be good for both of you. And your sisters' piles?
Me: Oh, they're always changing and mixing and taking stuff from each other.
God: They're figuring themselves out.
Me: This room is such a mess.
God: I love this mess. Don't try to change it. What's left?
Me: My bedroom, but I don't like bringing people in here.
God: Because it's your most intimate space? That's ok we'll just stand at the door. It's kind of sparse.
Me: I don't spend a lot of time here either.
God: It's ok to spend time on yourself. It's scary. But here: what if I were to join you here? In your space?
Me: Why would you want to do that? It's nothing special to look at.
God: I think it is. But what is that smell?
Me: Oh, that? It's stuff in the basement/attic.
God: What's with the slash?
Me: I've buried a lot of garbage down there but sometimes it hangs over my head, instead of staying buried.
God: Let's go look.
Me: No! I mean, you don't really want to go down there. I don't even really want to go down there. I mean, you've seen my house. You even helped clean it up. Can't we just stop for now? I mean, we can come back to it later right?
God: Can you do something? Can you give up your desire for control? Just give it to me. I know what I'm doing. Just trust me. I want to spend time with you, in your intimate space, that doesn't always smell like rotten stuff. Let me take care of it.
Me: Ok. Can I wait on the porch? I don't really want to see that stuff again.
God: That's fine. Just give me some time.
And He went down there and hauled all that stuff out. Without my help. And when I went back in to my room, the smell was gone.
Me: Holy crap.
God: No. Holy beauty. Your house won't stay clean forever. Dust builds back up and stuff will reappear in your basement. But I'll be here. And we can walk through it together and I promise that I will always clean it out.
And then I opened my Bible and saw Psalm 84: "How lovely is your dwelling place. O Lord Almighty!"
I was excited about the prospect of doing nothing but spending time with my Savior for an hour but at the same time I was so concerned about what to do. Do I just say all my requests? Do I list every person I can think of? Do I hum, sing, read the Bible? Do I just clear my mind and listen for God's voice?
I half-heartedly tried all of the above. And it took 10 minutes. What was I supposed to do for the next 50 to keep myself from falling asleep?
So I closed my eyes and starting picturing my ideal house. Stupid, I know. Not praying, I know. But was it? Because all of a sudden I knew God was there. On my front porch. (It was a wrap-around, by the way, with a chair swing.) And here's how the time with my Lord turned out:
God: This is a very suitible house. It definitely fits you.
Me: Uh, thanks. What was I supposed to say? Oh, I know: Would you like to come in?
God: Of course.
Me: But wait. Why would you need an invitation to come in? Can't you do anything?
God: Yes, but I want you to be comfortable with this. I will always meet you where you are. I've stood on many front porches for whole lifetimes and never been inside.
Me: Ok well, there isn't anything particularly special here. It's just a house after all.
God: But it's your house. And you can tell a lot about somebody if you really look at what's inside. Like your living room, for example. Ok, now we were obviously standing in the living room; the first room anyone sees when they enter my house. It's very clean, very comfortable. A nice couch. A piano marked with time.
Me: That's my great-grandmother's.
God: I know. It's beautiful. Especially when played from the heart. And the guitar. Look at these pictures! Family, friends, places you've been. My creation - how good it is. What a beautiful room to bring people in. Even the wall color - so light and carefree.
Me: I want people to feel comfortable with me.
God: But where am I in this?
Me: Your creation -
God: But where am I? Can somebody walk into your life and immediately see me?
Me: I always hoped people could see you through my actions.
God: Are you scared of offending people? Would people leave if they immediately knew I was a priority in your life?
Me: What do I say to that?
God: Just think about it.
Me: Yah, ok, I will defintely do that. What about another room? I think we've hashed out this room enough -
God: Hold on. Are you sure?
Me: You've seen it all. I have some redecorating to do, obviously, so we'll come back to it.
God: Ok. Is it just me or does he seem hesitant? The family room, huh? Disorganized chaos?
Me: Just noticing the piles of stuff everywhere Actually, I don't know if I'm ready to introduce you to this room. Can we go back to the living room?
God: Of course. I noticed that while it's beautiful and representative of you, you have some dust in the corners. And some cobwebs up there near the ceiling. People don't usually notice these, right? I bet - oh yep - there's junk under the couch too - oh - and in between the cushions even. Stuff you know is there but no one can see unless you point it out. Why would you want to try and live like this? With all these "secret" messes? Let me clean it out.
And He did. He took all the dust and cobwebs and empty wrappers and cleaned them out. You would never know anything in the room changed unless it was pointed out. I'm still the same basic person - maybe a little convicted - but nothing on the outside has really changed.
God: Are you ready to go back to the family room?
Me: Sure. Oh hey -
God: Yes?
Me: Thanks. He didn't have to say anything but His smile was reassuring.
God: I like this room, too. Families are wonderful. This old couch looks well-loved.
Me: Yah and there's the indent where my dad sits by and let's things happen.
God: What are you talking about?
Me: He's so non-chalant about everything. He just watches everything happen but doesn't get up and try to help. And he certainly isn't trying to help clean up.
God: Oh how wrong you are.
Me: Then what's his deal?
God: I gave him that spot. It's the best spot in the room. He can see everything from there. And he can enjoy his beautiful family, no matter what they're doing. I haven't asked him to do anything but be there for you. He appreciates the mess for what it is - the sign of his active healthy family.
Me: He is a pretty good guy, I guess.
God: He is. But what about this mess?
Me: We each have a pile and we just add to it. Sometimes problems arise when the piles mix and our stuff gets mixed up.
God: Who organized this mess?
Me: Wait? "Organized"? That would be my mom, I guess.
God: A beautiful lady. Have you ever looked at her pile?
Me: No, she hides most of it.
God: Does it ever mix with yours?
Me: Well, yes. And then shit hits the fan. Oh my gosh, can you curse with God?
God: Yes. It's better than not talking to me at all. Back to your mom: have you ever asked to see her pile?
Me: Not really.
God: You should. It might be good for both of you. And your sisters' piles?
Me: Oh, they're always changing and mixing and taking stuff from each other.
God: They're figuring themselves out.
Me: This room is such a mess.
God: I love this mess. Don't try to change it. What's left?
Me: My bedroom, but I don't like bringing people in here.
God: Because it's your most intimate space? That's ok we'll just stand at the door. It's kind of sparse.
Me: I don't spend a lot of time here either.
God: It's ok to spend time on yourself. It's scary. But here: what if I were to join you here? In your space?
Me: Why would you want to do that? It's nothing special to look at.
God: I think it is. But what is that smell?
Me: Oh, that? It's stuff in the basement/attic.
God: What's with the slash?
Me: I've buried a lot of garbage down there but sometimes it hangs over my head, instead of staying buried.
God: Let's go look.
Me: No! I mean, you don't really want to go down there. I don't even really want to go down there. I mean, you've seen my house. You even helped clean it up. Can't we just stop for now? I mean, we can come back to it later right?
God: Can you do something? Can you give up your desire for control? Just give it to me. I know what I'm doing. Just trust me. I want to spend time with you, in your intimate space, that doesn't always smell like rotten stuff. Let me take care of it.
Me: Ok. Can I wait on the porch? I don't really want to see that stuff again.
God: That's fine. Just give me some time.
And He went down there and hauled all that stuff out. Without my help. And when I went back in to my room, the smell was gone.
Me: Holy crap.
God: No. Holy beauty. Your house won't stay clean forever. Dust builds back up and stuff will reappear in your basement. But I'll be here. And we can walk through it together and I promise that I will always clean it out.
And then I opened my Bible and saw Psalm 84: "How lovely is your dwelling place. O Lord Almighty!"
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