JESUS

Please tell me why God allowed over 6000 innocent people to be murdered on September 11, 2001?

Answer?

I don’t know.

Where was God?

I don’t know.

When Leslie Weatherhead, a minister in London during the Second World War, was asked by a member in his congregation where God was when his son was killed in a bombing raid, Weatherhead replied, »I guess he was where he was when his son was killed.«

And where was that?

I don’t know.

Isn’t »I don’t know« too ambiguous? Isn’t »I don’t know« an unconvincing way to convince young people Christianity is true?

Actually, »I don’t know« confirms one critical truth about Christianity…it’s a mystery!

Jesus loves us, right?

Of course.

So if he loves us, he protects us, right?

If he loves us…he is with us.

Jesus can heal, can’t he? And perform miracles?

Of course. Just not very often.

Why?

I don’t know.

What about God’s will?

My youth director says we’re supposed to seek God’s will. There are lots of verses in the Bible that tell us to do God’s will, aren’t there? God does have a will, right?

Absolutely.

Trouble is God’s will is not like a to-do list. It’s more like an undecipherable code. The Bible definitely gives us some clues about the code of God’s will, which means we can figure out part of it; but, because it’s God, we will never crack the code.

Clues?

Yeah, like, follow me, serve me, love me, live by my commandments, point people to me.

That’s it? Just follow me, serve me, love me and trust me?

That’s about it.

What do you mean »that’s about it?«

You don’t want to know.

Yes I do.

We get a cross.

Cross????? What does that mean?

I don’t know.

But God does heal people, doesn’t he?

Certainly.

And miracles do happen, don’t they.

Right.

So we can count on God helping us, can’t we?

We can count on God being God.

Which means…??

I don’t know.

And what does that mean?

It means we can trust God if we lost someone in the WTC or if they survived.

It means we can trust God when we have cancer and when we’re healed.

We can trust God if we survive a natural disaster or if we don’t.

We can trust God when we get a glimpse of Divine will and when we don’t.

We can trust God in the answers and the questions, in the good and the bad, in the light and the dark, when we’re winning and when we’re losing.

We can trust God even when the Truth doesn’t answer all our questions or leaves us with even more questions.

And, most importantly, just beyond our »I don’t know’s,« Jesus is waiting with open arms to snuggle us in the mystery of his love.

The tragedy of modern faith is that we no longer are capable of being terrified. We aren’t afraid of God, we aren’t afraid of Jesus, we aren’t afraid of the Holy Spirit. As a result, we have ended up with a need-centered gospel that attracts thousands...but transforms no one.

What happened to the bone-chilling, earth-shattering, gut-wrenching, knee-knocking, heart-stopping, life-changing fear that left us speechless, paralyzed, and helpless? What happened to those moments when you and I would open our Bibles and our hands started shaking because we were afraid of the Truth we might find there? Barclay tells us that the word used in the Bible for »Truth« has three meanings—a word used to describe a wrestler grabbing an opponent by the throat; a word meaning to flay an animal; and a word used to describe the humiliation of a criminal who was paraded in front of a crowd with a dagger tied to his neck, its point under his chin so he could not put his head down. That is what the Truth is really like! It grabs us by the throat, it flays us wide open, it forces us to look into the face of God. When is the last time you and I heard God’s Truth and were grabbed by the throat?

Unfortunately, those of us who have been entrusted with the terrifying, frightening, Good News have become obsessed with making Christianity safe. We have defanged the tiger of Truth. We have tamed the Lion, and now Christianity is so sensible, so accepted, so palatable.

Who is afraid of God anymore?

We are afraid of unemployment, we are afraid of our cities, we are afraid of the collapse of our government, we are afraid of not being fulfilled, we are afraid of AIDS, but we are not afraid of God.

I would like to suggest that the Church become a place of terror again; a place where God continually has to tell us, »Fear not«; a place where our relationship with God is not a simple belief or doctrine or theology, it is God’s burning presence in our lives. I am suggesting that the tame God of relevance be replaced by the God whose very presence shatters our egos into dust, burns our sin into ashes, and strips us naked to reveal the real person within. The Church needs to become a gloriously dangerous place where nothing is safe in God’s presence except us. Nothing—including our plans, our agendas, our priorities, our politics, our money, our security, our comfort, our possessions, our needs.

The two men on the road to Emmaus knew they had been with Jesus because their »hearts burned from within.« The impotence of today’s Church, the weakness of Christ’s followers, and the irrelevance of most parachurch organizations is directly related to the lack of being in the presence of an awesome, holy God, who continually demands allegiance only to Him—not to our churches, our organizations, or our theology.

We believe in a God who wants all of us—every bit of us—and He wants us all the time. He wants our worship and our love, but most of all He wants us to trust Him. We have to be more in awe of God than we are of our government, more in awe of God than we are of our problems, more in awe of God than we are of our beliefs about abortion, more in awe of God than we are of our doctrines and agendas. Our God is perfectly capable of calming the storm or putting us into the middle of one. Either way, if it’s God, we will be speechless and trembling.

Our world is tired of people whose God is tame. It is longing to see people whose God is big and holy and frightening and gentle and tender...and ours; a God whose love frightens us into His strong and powerful arms where He longs to whisper those terrifying words, »I love you.«

One of my son’s friends (I’ll call him Greg), recently celebrated his 28th birthday. Greg’s parents weren’t happy with his life choices, especially his decision to live with his girlfriend. Knowing his parents’ displeasure, Greg and his girlfriend decided to get married, and they called his parents to give them the good news. »We want to be married in Minnesota, so the entire family can come.« Greg’s parents were happy, but restrained.

While they were planning the wedding, Greg’s girlfriend discovered she was pregnant. Realizing the coming pregnancy would upset his parents, Greg decided to call off the wedding and use the money they were going to spend on the wedding for their new baby instead.

Greg and Diane opted for a courthouse wedding with a justice of the peace presiding. Only my son and his girlfriend witnessed the union.

A couple of weeks after the »wedding,« my son and his girlfriend were with some friends, and the subject of Greg’s marriage came up. Everyone concluded that it was more like a »non-wedding«—impersonal and isolated. As Greg and Diane’s friends talked, their conviction grew. No wedding should be an impersonal, isolated, bureaucratic, legal transaction. Weddings should be celebrated. The couple should be surrounded with the support and care of family and friends.

The group looked at each other and almost in unison said the same thing: »Why don’t we give Greg and Diane the wedding they never had?« As soon as the words left their mouths, they knew what had to be done. Even though Greg and Diane were legally married, the group decided to gift them with a »real« wedding. The date was set, both families were called, and, surprisingly, all agreed to come to the surprise wedding at their own expense. Sixty friends and family were involved in a conspiracy of grace.

To ensure that the couple was available on their new wedding day, Greg and Diane were invited to my son’s home for a »dress up« dinner on the day of the wedding conspiracy. When the couple arrived for dinner, a group of Diane and Greg’s friends kidnapped each of them separately and each was given the bachelor and bachelorette party they’d never had. The »bride« and »groom« were separately driven to a secluded place where, seated in a circle with their same-gender friends, they were asked a series of questions like, »Now that you have been married for three months, what mistakes have you made? How can we help you in your marriage?« Both the young husband and wife were given a picture of their spouse and asked to write on the back of the photo all the reasons they loved that person.

When the individual parties were finished, Greg and Diane thought that the surprise was over. You can imagine their shock when they were returned to the house, only to discover 60 of their family and friends waiting for them, laughing, yelling »Surprise!!!« The hugging and the crying began. It took Greg and Diane a long time to stop crying and after they regained their composure, the entire group moved into the back yard surrounded with flowers where a minister was waiting. The couple exchanged vows, each parent vowed their support, and each friend walked by and whispered a blessing to the couple. When the service was completed, there wasn’t a dry eye anywhere. Everyone left knowing they had participated in a moment of grace. This wedding had »Jesus« written all over it.

Do you have any friends? Really close friends? Friends for life?

I came to a startling revelation a few months ago. I don’t have any friends. I don’t. I have a lot of acquaintances but, other than my wife, I really have no close friends.

I’ve had some friends in the past, but not many. Eventually something happened—nothing sinister, just something—like moving, having a baby, changing jobs, building a home, going back to school, changing churches; nothing bad or wrong, just something that happened and, the next thing I knew, another friendship slowly eroded.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are half a dozen guys who I consider to be close, caring people and who I always look forward to being with. They are people with whom, on occasion, I have shared my guts...and I would again. They are people who know how to have fun, who accept me as I am—no pretense, no persona to maintain—just simple, meaningful relationships.

But a close friend? Nope. Not one.

You are probably wondering why. I have been wondering why for a long time. After some very painful soul-searching, I think I have discovered the reasons.

I am too busy. I am gone too much, travel too much, speak too much, and work too much. I have done an excellent job of convincing the people around me that I am too busy—too busy doing the very important work that I am doing—to have any time for friendships. In other words, I have »snowed« everyone around me. I have convinced them to buy into the myth of my busy-ness to such a degree that the possibility of my being their friend (or them being mine) never enters their mind. That’s what people like me do. We hide behind the walls of our busy-ness so that we don’t have to worry about anyone wanting to be our friend. You see, people don’t want to impose. They don’t want to rob my wife and me of the very few moments we have together, so they enable us by staying away from us so that we can be even busier.

This week I am speaking in England, next week New York, the week after that Hawaii, then Australia, then Dallas, then Vancouver. And then I come home for a few days...exhausted, jet lagged, useless to everyone around me while my body and mind adjust to the new and unfamiliar surroundings—my home. I spend a day with my wife and kids getting reacquainted, and all the while I’m anxious to get to the phone messages and correspondence that have fallen way behind. I’m home, but I’m not home. I am present, but I am not really present. And then one morning I wake up and realize that I am alone. Very alone. I realize I need to do something about all of this, then I race to catch the plane for my next trip and vow to change when I get home. But I never do.

When will it occur to those of us who are in the ministry, who are in the public eye, that we cannot keep doing this? We cannot keep hiding behind our busy schedules. We cannot keep acting like we have no choice because without us the world will fall apart.

Instead of the world falling apart, we fall apart...or our families, or our kids, or our congregations fall apart.

I’ll never forget a statement Janis Joplin once made after a big concert: »I’ve just made love to 25,000 people and I’m going home alone.«

Let me speak as bluntly as I possibly can to all of us, including myself: If we are too busy to have friends, we are much too busy. If we are too busy to have time for our families, kids, or neighbors, we are much too busy. Most of us in the ministry are lone rangers, isolated from everyone, separated by our »fame« and our giftedness. We have surrounded ourselves with employees whose job is to keep the peons away from us. No wonder so many ministers crack up. No wonder so many ministers end up having affairs, or end up using their churches as a place to pad their pocketbooks and/or build monuments to themselves.

Friendship is not an option for Christians.

Jesus’ disciples were friends, not groupies...even Judas.

Let’s get real. Let’s quit being so busy. Take a sabbatical. Take the time required to build the kind of friendships that will last. After all, that’s what Jesus did. He wasn’t so busy that He didn’t take time to make friends first, then disciples. He only had three years. Isn’t that one of the great parts of the Good News? The God of the Universe—Who should be fairly busy Himself—wants to be our friend.

Instead of building a ministry to thousands, maybe we ought to build a friendship with one. Instead of speaking 200 times a year, maybe we ought to listen to our children and our spouse. Maybe we should be known not for how many converts we make or radio stations we acquire or crusades we hold. Maybe we should be known as someone who knows how to have friends.

I have decided to make some friends.

It will mean I have to stay home. It will mean I have to spend time with someone doing absolutely nothing. It will mean I have to work at something that is not easy for me. But I am not worried. My friend Jesus is willing to help.

Please tell me why God allowed over 6000 innocent people to be murdered on September 11, 2001?

Answer?

I don’t know.

Where was God?

I don’t know.

When Leslie Weatherhead, a minister in London during the Second World War, was asked by a member in his congregation where God was when his son was killed in a bombing raid, Weatherhead replied, »I guess he was where he was when his son was killed.«

And where was that?

I don’t know.

Isn’t »I don’t know« too ambiguous? Isn’t »I don’t know« an unconvincing way to convince young people Christianity is true?

Actually, »I don’t know« confirms one critical truth about Christianity…it’s a mystery!

Jesus loves us, right?

Of course.

So if he loves us, he protects us, right?

If he loves us…he is with us.

Jesus can heal, can’t he? And perform miracles?

Of course. Just not very often.

Why?

I don’t know.

What about God’s will?

My youth director says we’re supposed to seek God’s will. There are lots of verses in the Bible that tell us to do God’s will, aren’t there? God does have a will, right?

Absolutely.

Trouble is God’s will is not like a to-do list. It’s more like an undecipherable code. The Bible definitely gives us some clues about the code of God’s will, which means we can figure out part of it; but, because it’s God, we will never crack the code.

Clues?

Yeah, like, follow me, serve me, love me, live by my commandments, point people to me.

That’s it? Just follow me, serve me, love me and trust me?

That’s about it.

What do you mean »that’s about it?«

You don’t want to know.

Yes I do.

We get a cross.

Cross????? What does that mean?

I don’t know.

But God does heal people, doesn’t he?

Certainly.

And miracles do happen, don’t they.

Right.

So we can count on God helping us, can’t we?

We can count on God being God.

Which means…??

I don’t know.

And what does that mean?

It means we can trust God if we lost someone in the WTC or if they survived.

It means we can trust God when we have cancer and when we’re healed.

We can trust God if we survive a natural disaster or if we don’t.

We can trust God when we get a glimpse of Divine will and when we don’t.

We can trust God in the answers and the questions, in the good and the bad, in the light and the dark, when we’re winning and when we’re losing.

We can trust God even when the Truth doesn’t answer all our questions or leaves us with even more questions.

And, most importantly, just beyond our »I don’t know’s,« Jesus is waiting with open arms to snuggle us in the mystery of his love.

What happens when people like you and me no longer believe in God? When the reality of God is not reality in our everyday lives? When the decisions I make are not affected by the presence of God? Does my practical atheism cause me to become an alcoholic, drug-soaked, pornographic, adulterous leacher? Or does the absence of God cause something far more sinister, far more frightening? Does God’s absence make me sin, or does it make me...dull, lifeless, passionless? Does it rob me of the joy and wonder of meaningful work?

I would like to suggest that what a pagan culture does first is steal the wonder and mystery from life. A pagan culture methodically takes away risk, danger, spontaneity, intuition, passion, chance, threat, and peril. We become the slaves of predictability, rules, policies, uniformity, and sameness. We learn how to teach, but we are not really teachers. We learn how to be ministers, but we are not really ministers. We train ourselves to be manicurists, doctors, engineers, athletes, but we are not any of those things. We have the training. We have the title. We have the credentials. But what is gone is the passion, the sense of belonging, the pleasure, the joy that comes from knowing you are called.

Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sin, sure. But I would suggest that more than Jesus saving us from our sins, He saved us from meaningless, boring, predictable, shallow, empty, dehumanizing work. I am convinced that what characterizes people who know Jesus is not their lack of sin, but the presence of a radical, wild, mysterious calling from God.

I am embarrassed to say that until a couple of years ago, I had never seen a book by Arthur Gordon, A Touch Of Wonder. From the moment it was given to me, it has been a rare friend, a lingual mentor—a treasure I keep returning to. (I hope we all have books like that—cover faded and worn, the pages brown and cluttered with markings and hilighter, sprinkled with folded corners to mark those passages that have marked our souls.)

Where was I? Oh, yes. In A Touch of Wonder, there is a wonderful dialogue between Arthur Gordon and an old man he meets on the tawny marshes of the Georgia coast. The man is somewhat mysterious, shaman-like. There is magnetism about him, a gentle authority, an attractive strangeness, a holy knowledge about life. The old man is a teacher, and Gordon asks him what he teaches. »In the school catalog they call it English,« the old man says. »But I like to think of it as a course in magic—in the mystery and magic of words...Words—just little black marks on paper. Just sounds in the empty air. But think of the power they have! They can make you laugh or cry, love or hate, fight or run away. They can heal or hurt.«

Oh, for an English teacher for whom words are magic, filled with mystery and power—an English teacher whose love of words overflows into his or her heart and soul, and whose students are not taught, they are caught, captured by words, intrigued by syntax, entranced by grammar, seduced into the mysterious land of sounds and meanings.

Arthur Gordon’s teacher/friend had found his calling. Teaching, for this teacher, was not a job. He was doing what he was made to do, what he was born to do—the only thing he could do.

The mission of the church in America is not only saving souls, it is saving people from a life without calling. The Church, through Jesus, must save its people from a life of meaningless, unfulfilling empty work.

A member of my church does women’s nails. I doubt if there are many manicurists better than Elaine. Elaine recently told me, »Mike, I don’t do nails. Doing nails is nothing more than putting stuff on the ends of women’s fingers and painting it. What I do is listen to women talk. I cry. I laugh. I share in their pain. And I talk, too. After all, the women can’t go anywhere. Their hands are stuck in front of me for two hours. In fact, if I have a customer who doesn’t like to talk, I suggest that she go somewhere else, because I don’t just do nails.« Elaine is a minister—ministering with acrylic and polish—becoming a friend, confidant, listener, affirmer, counselor, advice-giver, evangelist. Elaine is the Minister of Manicures. What a calling!

The Door’s accountant is also a Vice President of Youth Specialties. Steve is a CPA with a master’s degree in accounting from UCLA. Most accountants have allowed what they do to shape who they are. As a result, most accountants look like accountants: glasses, suit and tie, conservative, afraid to move outside the world of numbers, taxes, and financial policies.

Not Steve. He looks more like a camp counsellor. Steve may be a CPA, but he is not like any CPA you’ve ever met. Steve is a Tamer Of Numbers. He doesn’t allow numbers to control and frighten all the employees. Rather than net profits and account payables being allowed to run wild, Steve captures them and tames them, so that the employees feel comfortable around them. Steve has managed to make the numbers of our company an adventure—a story that he tells with wonder and excitement. He is the Storyteller Of Numbers.

A friend of mine spends his weekends and summers directing a junior high camp in the mountains. I asked him one day to describe his job. He replied, »I am a Memory Maker. I make memories for kids. In a world where good memories for children—memories that will live with them the rest of their lives.« A Memory Maker. You won’t find that on any list of approved classes for recreation majors. But that is because this friend doesn’t have a »job.« Rather, he is living in the calling of God.

I am always amazed when I read the story of Matthew, the wealthy tax collector—a man who had it made. Sure, Matthew was hated and feared by many, but he had it all—power, great wealth, and the support of the state. Jesus walked by and casually said to Matthew, »Follow me.« Ridiculous. Who in Matthew’s position would respond to some vagabond? But Matthew does exactly that! He immediately left his wealth and power and followed Jesus. What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. Matthew was called. Every bone in his body, every part of his being stood on tiptoe when the master spoke those words. »Follow Me!« Matthew’s ears tingled with excitement, his heart thundered with anticipation, his mind was filled with electricity. He had been called. He didn’t know it until that moment, but he had been waiting all his life to hear those words.

May God capture our unspoken dreams. May Jesus speak those words that cause our souls to stand on tiptoe. May each of us find our calling in Jesus.