When Giving Thanks is Costly

This year I had the assignment of going to our friendly supermarket to order a turkey. This was in preparation to host all the field staff working with our mission in France for a big Thanksgiving meal. There is no frozen turkey section in the grocery stores here, so.turkeys must be ordered in advance for them to come whole - and they don’t come frozen. Usually they come wrapped loosely in plastic and placed in a cardboard box. This is probably just as good, because I remember once years ago when we were rookie turkey chefs and we we didn’t begin thawing the frozen turkey early enough. It eventually would come out of the oven nice and done, but not before our hands were raw, and would be for days afterward, due to our vigorous massaging of the turkey under water in order  to get it to soft enough to cook.

My main goal this time in ordering the bird was to make sure it would yield enough meat to feed all our guests.  Satisfied that I chosen well, I left the store last week with my pink copy of the order slip. Unfortunately, I never thought to check the price per kilogram, just glad that we would have a bird in time. So yesterday when I returned to pick up the turkey, the butcher put it on the scale and rang it up. I did a double take and about doubled over when I saw the price - 75 euros!  That’s right folks. The privilege of asking for white, dark or drumstick this year is going to cost us about the price of a hotel room.

I remember another Thanksgiving where having a turkey on Thanksgiving was probably even more costly to someone. When we were living in Bangladesh, turkeys were not something available in stores. This particular year,  a pastor was coming to visit and decided to bless us by bringing a turkey in his suitcase. He packed the bag with dry ice, put the turkey inside and hoped it would stay cold all the way through the 22 hour flight from the U.S. His hopes of sneaking the meat product through customs seemed to be dashed as he watched his suitcase come down the baggage claim belt and noticed a layer of frost had formed on the outside of his suitcase because of the dry ice. He imagined a scowling customs agent tipped off by his frosty suitcase, fining him for having commited a "fowl". He tried not to look suspicious as he exited the airport and fortunately, the turkey did not get confiscated and made it safely to the Thanksgiving table that year.

It’s amazing what lengths we will go to have the trappings we associate with giving thanks. But the reality is that I don’t need a turkey to be thankful. And there are many other things we might enjoy or think we need to adequately thank God.  Polished worship bands, expensive presentation software, complex lighting systems, and even smoke machines in many churches help set the atmosphere for thanking God in worship. But the most costly thing in giving thanks is not the stuff we do it with. It’s always when we pay the price necessary for getting our hearts into an attitude of humble and sincere gratitude. That’s still the price God sees as a worthwhile investment.

Call Waiting

On July 14th, France’s National Day, better known as Bastille Day, we were trying to enjoy an impromptu picnic at Grenoble’s Parc Mistral. A handful of us had gathered on the dry cement of a local  monument, playing cards as we waited for the fireworks to start. It had been raining off and on all day, and a recent break in the weather had given us hope that the annual municipal  “feu d’artifice” display would go through as planned. But as we waited, a last minute deluge just before dusk sent everyone scurrying for cover.  We reluctantly headed home, disappointed that after hours of waiting, we would not see any fireworks this year after all.

Little did we know, that 380 kilometers away in Nice, there would be those that evening whose  enjoyment of fireworks would end in something far more horrible than disappointment. A different kind of dark cloud loomed over this gathering of families and children, that would also see people fleeing for cover but cast a sickening and horrible dark pall over the festivities of an entire nation.  Ironically, if the fireworks in that city had been cancelled as it was in ours, a tragedy might possibly have been avoided.  But instead, as the smoke of the last fireworks dissipated in the clear coastal skies over the Promenade des Anglais, hatred in the form of a man and a large rented truck prematurely ended the lives of 83 innocent people and seriously wounded scores more.

The carnage was nearly incomprehensible. As many bodies lay motionless, strewn here and there in the wake of the attack, one off-duty paramedic instinctively tried to get to those who urgently needed medical care. But he was held back by police who had created a perimeter around the scene, fearing that the vehicle which had just torn through the crowd could be full of explosives and go off at any time. He shared how he began hearing a faint chorus of unanswered cell-phones, their the blue light from the screens eerily illuminating the darkness from the pockets and purses of the deceased.

One can only imagine the feelings of desperation and dread of family and friends on the other end of those unsuccessful phone calls quickly alerted through news and social media of what had just happened. As I thought of these loved ones, I also couldn’t help but make the comparison to God’s attempts in these trying days to reach out to France. Like a loving Father, he too is desperate to connect with those who are exposed to the attacks of an enemy. But too often, those He loves and wishes to speak to are unable to hear His call because the events of life have rendered them unresponsive and spiritually dead.

What is is that holds me back from rushing to the aid of those who lay numb and immovable in their personal pain and agony?  During danger and crisis, many people run away as they go into self-preservation mode. But for those called and trained to rescue and heal, there is no place for fear, indifference or inaction in the face of tragedy. We are surrounded every day by victims of a real and relentless devil who is raging in his attempts to indiscriminately kill and destroy. And it should break our hearts, as it does God’s, that His calls offering help and concern go mostly unanswered.

The Museum of Me

News from France this week broadcast bizarre images of Paris residents navigating boats down flooded streets. Tourists who would normally be shopping, were now sopping.  Due to torrential rains, the Seine river, which snakes through and around the capital, had crested at 20 feet above normal, shutting down metro lines and closing many tourist sites. The City of Lights, now had become a city of plight, as many visitors were forced to rethink their itineraries, cancel tickets and have a literal damper put on their dream vacations.

In an unprecedented move, curators at the Louvre had to move to higher ground 150,000 artifacts and works of art that had been stored in the basement of the famous landmark in order to save them from potential damage.  Who knew that a museum that already boasted 380,000 individual cultural treasures, all accessible to the public, had so much more hidden below the surface?  It took a disaster to bring what was hidden out of its unexplored recesses.

Have you ever noticed how a crisis tends to bring to the surface of our lives things that we maybe did not realize were there?  We usually keep the best looking and most interesting part of us

accessible above the surface. But it’s what we either consciously or unconsciously keep buried in the dark storerooms of our soul that we deem unfit to be viewed by the public. And they usually stay where we want them -  safely tucked away under lock and key. That is until a flood of stress or worry forces them to higher ground and we become acutely aware and unmistakably uncomfortable with what is being dredged up and dusted off.

I turned 51 this year and a recent deluge precipitated some murky swirling deep waters. And let’s just say I was keeping some old bones (I prefer to not use the word skeletons) where I knew my emotional elevator rarely went.  Before I knew it, though, old and unpleasant musty things from my private stockpile of memories and experiences were being hauled up from sub-terrain of my past. It was unanticipated and uncomfortable. These historical articles had not been sanitized or polished and were definitely now unprotected.

But the truth is, it was their previously undetected hiding place that actually made me more vulnerable. Those unsightly relics are now getting a proper cleaning and actually look pretty acceptable next to the old exhibit’s standard fare. There’s now a bit less lying in the underbelly of my life that makes me liable and I’ve found that what I considered too ugly or damaged is actually worth more than I thought when seen in a better light. In the Museum of Me, I’ve found it’s just best to get everything out into view while remembering a couple of things. One, don’t expect that everyone will be able to accurately appraise every article’s real value; and two, every artifact from our past together makes up a rare and unique collection that has to be seen in its entirety to be truly treasured.

Titles and Deeds

en·ti·tle·ment

/inˈtīdlmənt/

Noun

“Having a right to something or believing that one deserves to be given something

”No one looks the way I do

I have noticed that it’s true

No one walks the way I walk

No one talks the way I talk

No one plays the way I play

No one says the things I say

I am special

I am me  

(nursery song sung by Gen Y children from 1978-1997)

It is said that today’s generation feels the greatest sense of entitlement ever. This may be in comparison to previous American generations who prided themselves on pulling themselves up by the bootstraps and telling each other “There’s no elevator to the top, just the stairs”, not to mention enduring shoe shortages and  horrific blizzard conditions on that walk to school.

But if you come from France, entitlement is still alive and well and has been for centuries. It’s interesting to note that entitlement has the word “title” in it. And pre-revolutionary France was full of folks with important titles. From Duke to Marquis to Comte to Baron, anyone who was “someone” had a title. And as a result expected a high degree of special treatment and privileges in society as a member of the noblesse. Titles breed entitlement and entitlement needs titles.

France severed themselves, quite literally, from this social structure during the guillotine-crazed revolution. What emerged today is a strongly socialist form of government where the super rich are taxed at up to 75% to help pay for a social welfare system that takes care of citizens of the republic from cradle to grave. This has produced another kind of entitlement. People expect their government to take care of each and every one of their needs.  35 hour work weeks, six weeks of vacation a year and a pension at age 60 is the expectation of every person. Oh, and fresh bread baked daily with 365 varieties of cheese is also high on the list.

And there lies the irony. No, not that every leap year leaves you one cheese short. But the society that did away with an elite class of title-bearing narcissists never completely eradicated the spirit of entitlement. Which brings us to a current generation of American kids who are all about fairness and equality. And who seldom hear a no from moms and dads that want to be pals more than parents. Or lazy students who are given  C’s by teachers afraid of holding them back lest they damage precious self-esteem. And let’s not forget how every player nowadays gets a trophy from the coach just for participating. Even birthday party invitees go home laden with  a goodie bag, because God forbid they would have to watch the birthday person get something and they walk away empty handed.

We’ve created a culture where everything must be fair. No one is to be held in higher esteem than another. Hard work or talent cannot be allowed to cause those less diligent or less capable from feeling any twinge of inferiority. So our American brand of egalitarianism-on-steroids has actually engendered a high degree of entitlement, like France. We’ve produced little, and not-so-little, modern-day Dukes and Duchesses with every bit of expectation of something for nothing as any spoiled Renaissance-era  Countess.

And this culture has found its way into leadership, both in the office chair and the church. Today’s generation of emerging leaders have inherited the maximum for the least amount of work than any other before them. The less one works for what they have, the more the intangible things of leadership, like  respect and influence, are simply expected to come with a title like manager, coordinator, or pastor.

The great egalitarian experiment has failed because it produces new leaders who have neither the capacity for nor the knowledge of the kind of hard work that goes into earning the respect and influence necessary to lead successfully.  I don’t have to bother to earn respect if my sense of fairness says I deserve as much as the next guy with the same degree or a similar position. It’s always so much easier have a title and then tell people what to do than it is to earn trust and respect through sacrifice and hard work. and leading through influence.

Jesus eschewed titles, special treatment and honored seats at the table. He worked hard, served tirelessly  and loved intensely. The result is that whether you called him Rabbi, King, Messiah, or friend - he had people who would die for him and followed him to the ends of the earth. He laid down His titles and never expected fairness because there’s nothing fair about an innocent man being ruthlessly executed. So it's always worth remembering that the only thing that truly puts us all on equal footing is the level ground at the foot of the cross. Nobles and nothings, murderers and moms all find there the same grace which makes them equally worthy of His love. And that's not fair. But it sure is fantastic.

Flip-Flops and Slippers

There is a now famous old Cherokee adage, which I am sure you know, that says “Don’t judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes.” I recently was thinking of adding a follow-up proverb. No, it wasn’t, “before you walk in another man’s shoes, use foot powder.”  But I was thinking of how in reality, we cannot really walk in someone else’s shoes unless they are willing to hand them over. So my add-on saying would go something like, “You can’t walk in someone else’s shoes unless he’s willing to take them off for you.”  So empathy has a bit less to do with imagination and is possibly more about identification.

Since most people keep their shoes near their front door or maybe in their bedroom closet, you have to get down from your observation perch and actually go near to where that someone lives to get that chance at trying on their size. That’s why I love missions. Because it forces us, hopefully, to lay aside our preconceived notions of what people are like. And because it’s really like walking in Jesus’ shoes, who left his all-seeing viewpoint to put on a pair of sandals and trek a few thousand miles over 31/2 years with his disciples. He couldn’t have tried on those sandals without first leaving heaven, coming to earth and paying a visit to a cobbler’s shop.

When we were living in Bangladesh, a man tried to walk in my shoes once. Actually he stole my brand new slip-on dress shoes from the back of the church. I had looked all over Bangkok Thailand for those, and was quite fond of them. Everyone leaves their shoes at the back in order to not track dirt and much worse on the clean floor or carpet. So while I was praying for people, he decided to find out what it would be like to trade shoes with me. When I went looking for my fancy, expensive shoes, the only unclaimed ones were a well-worn pair of flip-flops.  I had no choice but to put them on, even though they were entirely too small for me. What I found is that my feet became a lot dirtier and hurt a lot more from my walk. And I also did not appreciate the look of disdain that the concierge gave me as I walked into the lobby of my hotel. Tie and dress pants combined with miniature rubber sandals, caked with mud. Talk about shabby-chic. I felt the twinge of shame experienced only by the have-nots of society who cannot afford what the wealthy and beautiful take for granted.

I learned something from this experience. I found out what it is like both physically and emotionally for an average Bangladeshi to walk a considerable distance. And this valuable lesson would have been missed by me if I had not been willing to leave America, go to Bangladesh and take off my shoes.

I have also taken off my shoes when invited over to French families’ homes and found that most French hosts have a pair of slippers to hand each of their guests. They are Europe’s biggest consumers of house slippers. And so my willingness to leave my own culture and enter theirs allowed me the privilege to talk, eat, laugh and cry in the homes of my French friends. By walking what was only a few meters in their house shoes, I learned what no tourist on vacation  who walks and shops the streets of Paris can know. The French are wonderful people. Warm, hospitable, self-depreciating, and deeply caring. How sad that I run into many people in my travels who’ve never gone deeper in French culture than the Notre Dame and eating a baguette.  So they have missed this reality about the French and yet seem pretty content and self-assured of their assessments.

I guess the biggest overall lesson here is to reserve judgment. All we know from the media and other people’s experiences is simply biased, second-hand information. Bengalis are so much more to me than Muslims trying to get into my country. The French are infinitely more to me than the caricature of beret wearing cheese and wine connoisseurs. I am thankful for the privilege to have worn flip-flops in Bangladesh and slippers in France. And I believe I am a better man for it. 

The Sheep Grazer, the Star Gazer, and Video Gamer

I was a bit alarmed when I recently Googled “christmas gifts for men” and saw the result from a few online stores. Guys must be hard to shop for, evidenced by the alternately humorous and sad gift ideas that came up, like a hockey stick ice scraper or an f-bomb paperweight. I was a bit alarmed at how many gifts pertained to alcohol, sports and barbecuing. It seems that the 21st century dad is better known for tailgating than trailblazing.

This got me to thinking about my gender and the holidays and what is and isn’t right in male-dom. As I see it, there are three kinds of men that are closely related to Christmas. Two of them I am sure most of you are familiar with, while the third one may only need a bit of explanation if you don’t happen to have a brother, cousin, son or male friend under the age of thirty.  

The sheep grazer in the Christmas story is the shepherd. He can be described as hard-working and faithful, prepared to defend the young and proficient at caring for the sick and weak.  Where could the shepherds be found that fateful night that the angels came to announce the Messiah’s birth looking for some free publicity? Where they always were and should have been - loyal on the job in spite of the long hours and lingering cold. Neither afraid to break a sweat or sweat the small stuff, the sheep grazer finds fulfillment in making a commitment and keeping it.

The narrative’s stargazer is the wise man. More than a guy with his head in the clouds, the magi was someone who was a visionary. This type of man is not afraid to take risks. His vision of what lies in the heavens dictates the path he will doggedly follow on earth. The wise man is the one who seeks to spend his time and riches pursuing honor, who can’t be misled by deceivers, and is willing to pay whatever price is necessary to achieve his destiny, even if that future includes leaving the comforts of home and country.

The video gamer may not be a part of the traditional Christmas tale, but he is definitely a character in the modern one.  Peruse any of the big box stores’ ads this season and you will see that a large part of their advertising space is taken up with video games, consoles, tv screens, bluetooth headphones and sound systems all designed to ensure that a generation of young men have the latest, most realistic and most comfortable game playing experience possible.

Even a small portion of the global video gaming industry’s 163 billion dollar global video gaming revenue can make someone very rich this Christmas.  Companies like Microsoft and  Nintendo will rake in astronomical profits made off of the billions of hours wasted by young men entrenched in front of their HD plasma screens. Christmas has become Commerce-mas, and nothing makes the cash registers hum like a whole generation of boys addicted to the hard work of expertly manipulating a joystick and the thrill of being a make-believe hero.

We have too many video gamers and not enough victory gainers.  Stargazers who will not be AWOL in fantasy land but will use their thirst for adventure and transcendence to make epic journeys out of their lives in pursuit of excellence.  Sheep grazers who willingly make lifelong commitments to serve others in face to face, flesh and blood relationships, not virtual ones lived out from the safety of the couch and hidden behind an avatar.  There is a dearth of young men on the mission field, on the worship team, and in the prayer room. And I know where a large number of them can be found.

But my prayer this Christmas is that their hearts and imaginations will be inspired anew by the majesty and realism of a story where a son leaves his place of comfort and privilege and risks everything to save the day and give his all. Jesus is the ultimate male role model. May a whole new generation aspire to be the true men of Christmas.

How Do You Find the View?

After returning to the States from France, there are a few things I now possess that I didn't have before. One is a belly that has curiously become much more perpendicular. I attribute this partially to the genetically modified foods or the steroids in meat and dairy products one finds here. But I think it mostly has to do with the size of Chipotle's burritos.

Another recent acquisition for me on American soil has been an iPhone. Our team of tech-savvy Gen-Xers and Millennials had been after me for a while to get one. I imagine just so they could have the option of FaceTiming me or syncing calendars or whatever other convenience my lack of a smartphone deprived their sad, young lives of. But in the end, I got an iPhone not for its hipness factor but because it was the cheapest option for the family the day I walked into the Verizon store. At least that's what the guy named Jeffrey with the man-bun told me.

So now we all have pretty decent cameras on our phones. Which is why I couldn't figure out why my daughter keeps needing to borrow mine. Until I realized that my phone acts as her back up when she has used all her battery listening to Spotify or watching incessant vlogs of her favorite teen dystopian romance book reviewers.

So occasionally I will reach for my phone to catch an important photo, like someone blowing out birthday candles, a beautiful fading sunset, or the 49ers actually scoring a touchdown. Furiously scrolling to the camera icon so as not to miss the proverbial Kodak moment, I point the camera to its intended subject and what do I see? My own squinting face staring back at me from the screen. And it usually takes a moment for me to realize that my daughter has once again left my camera in selfie mode. And the important moment meant to be captured and preserved ends up completely missed.

So often the lens through which I observe people and events in my world is pitifully stuck in selfie mode. God brings certain scenarios into my field of vision and too often the significance of the moment and what He wishes to show me is missed. All because the eyes of my heart are self-focused. And though I should be seeing injustice or opportunity or something life-changing whose image should capture my attention, arrest my heart and stay with me forever, all I see is how a certain thing affects me or interferes with what's mine.

How sad if I have the opportunity to visit a thousand landscapes but come home with only self-portraits. I will have nothing to show for my journey other than a big wide world filled with me. But really only God is worthy to take up that much space. He told us early on in His word that we are not to make for ourselves any image that competes with Him for our focus or affection.

It only takes the swipe of a finger to get a smartphone out of selfie mode. God can easily do the same for us with just a simple touch of our hearts. We just need to give him access to the icon.

I Am a Refugee

I am a refugee
You know, part of that unseemly and really needy
     melee of freedom seekers
     fleeing their meager means of existence;
     whose plight is merely intriguing to those seeing
     the evening TV screens of competing scenes
     of my people's misery pitted against trivial reality series
     and cheap ads for viagra or designer jeans.
Maybe I'm just another news item to you, not a big to-do
     for those comfortable in pews used
     to limitless consuming and using.
     But for those who don't do huge parties of schmoozing over booze
     and whose brood never even got a taste
     of what you deemed as refuse and refused to eat,
     we're just confused and can't get used to this abuse of privilege.

I've been deprived my whole life of good living, having instead
     to trade my trite livelihood for life in this forsaken neighborhood.
Fate made me inherit in this R-rated estate
     of inherently degraded concrete castles saturated with hate
Berated by raging suburban white faces as the reason why the races
     of those who immigrate to your crowded city gates
     is the place to squarely place the blame
     of what plagues the space you embrace as YOUR home.

I am an immigrant, yes.
But more than just a grungy dark runt who grunts
     in an unintelligible accent you poke fun at.
     I bear the brunt of all the social ills that confront
     the society that I aspire to.
I've longed to linger longer here and stay long-term
     even if only as a stranger langouring just to make it
     rankled by the anger strangely aimed at us,
     your estranged neighbors
All because you haven't been able to lay a finger on the bling
     you figure you deserve.

I sigh as a seeker of asylum
     assigned to be lumped
     together with every other border jumper
Jinxed to be linked with the illegals or those on the lam
     limited by slim chances
     slum walls and meager choices,
     slammed by all manner of malicious banter.
My means to make for myself a meaningful future
     was a boat bloated with bodies
     that stank and nearly sank in the dank starkness
     of an endless sea,
     endlessly floating in the darkness
     toward a nameless coastal destiny.
Finally that drifting raft of rowdy pilgrims arrived to drink in
     the refreshing draft of intoxicating freedom.

Now that I am here, hear me out sittin' out here
     on the fringes and margins of your plague-ridden inner city
     where pity is hard to be had.
     And had I heard how hard it would be here
     hidden and forgotten in the nitty-gritty of immigrant living
I might have given it more thought.

Cause right now I am at the bottom rung,
     an all-wrung-out dead-ringer for a lifer
     on the wrong side of the tracks
But I was born for more than being some faceless, brown skinned
     brow-beaten burned-out row house renter.
I entered this nation with a notion of a better future
     than barely keeping my head above a bleak
     bare-bones state of being.
I believed this to be a continent that contained
     considerable opportunities and possibilities. I promise you,
     I will prove I can surpass the limited potential
     passed on to me by my predecessors.

But could you cast aside for awhile
     the condescending and sideways glances
     given in my direction and instead give the same chance
     to my generation of dream chasers as was given yours?
Not closing your mind or minding your borders
     but first putting your own house in order.
Remembering how those other imigrés who bore you,
     bred you and bequeathed to you your name
     once walked my pathetic path -
     but put forth enough faith and fortitude to forge the
     future you now know as your present reality

We are all a family of immigrants.
Let's not let deception and misconceptions limit us
     but accept all, without exception.
We're in the same boat
     in need of liberty, if you please.
In general, we're all just a few generations removed
     from the immigrant stranger
We're all seekers
We're all dreamers

All of us are refugees.

Scared by the Sacred

The Charlie Hebdo attacks in Paris inspired many people who had never heard of the magazine to look online and see for themselves just what had inflamed Muslim jihadists to resort to such violence.  A quick perusal of the magazine's back issues would be enough to offend the sentiments of any person of faith. No one and nothing was off-limits to the irreverent pens of the targeted cartoonists.  I think it natural that Christians are appalled at their relentless mockery of God, Jesus, scriptures and other people's faith even as we condemn their brutal murders in the name of religion. In the aftermath of the carnage, as heightened emotions give way to more objective analysis, we are left to wonder if there is nothing sacred any more, no place our culture's media and artists won't go. The very existence ofboundary lines are interpreted as an invitation to cross them and the most shocking of extremes beg to be explored to their fullest extent.

     And yet people of faith should stop and look in the mirror to ask ourselves if we have escaped crossing sacred lines only because we have conveniently moved them.  Our precious faith handed down to us is constantly subjected to the barrage of profane culture where freedom is worshiped to the point of callousness to the sentiments of God and everyone else. Growing up, I always thought my Dad was a bit harsh when he enforced a no running or chewing gum policy in church. But now I realize it was just one of the ways he fought in his generation to guard the ever-encroached line, as he saw it, between the sacred and profane. Blasphemy today hides behind the smiling mask of comedy and satire. When society stops only to value one thing at the expense of all others, such as freedom of expression, it becomes imbalanced to the point of spinning out of control. Lack of control eventually leads to a great crash, the only question being how much and how many will become damaged or injured along the wild trajectory. France will be dealing with the fallout for years to come.

     When believers reject limits on their own thoughts, what language they use or listen to or what movie they will sit through, all in the name of rejecting "legalism", we are guilty of the same crime of Charlie Hebdo, just of a lesser charge. The keeper of the boundary of profane territory is neither pop culture nor pew culture. God somehow remains unaffected by the ratings of Netflix, Playstation or iTunes as well as the entertainment habits of the majority of today's parishoners. The fact that the Assemblies of God denomination even felt compelled to publish a stance for its adherents on 50 Shades of Grey should be commentary enough on the sad state of affairs at your average seeker friendly church. Prudish has been rejected, yet sadly replaced by permissive. In our zeal to lighten things up, we've rejected myopic Victorian but rushed headlong into Miami Vice. The sacred can often be unpopular and inconvenient. Rearrange the letters and you have what a lot of 21st century Christians are by any mention of accountability and standards - scared.

     Liberty and accountability must always remain close friends, otherwise society is doomed to a slow death by moral decay. Charlie Hebdo taught us that absolute, no-holds barred freedom leads to extreme self-absorption and calloused offensiveness. Followers of Christ, even American ones, do not worship freedom. We bow at the throne of our Liberator while responsibly and gratefully enjoying the freedoms He allows and honoring the limits that He imposes knowing that otherwise we end up forfeiting the hard-won spiritual freedom we enjoy today. Freedom as god is a masquerading, cruel despot who promises beauty but eventually delivers only bondage. And the absence of boundaries produces perpetual wanderers who forget their origins while never finding home. As for me, I am content to not color outside the borders and declare to my Master, as David did, "You are my portion and the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places."

20 Important Principles I Learned About Ministry

Every Tuesday, Dalene and I have the privilege of teaching nine interns and short term missions workers. It is one of the highlights of my week, as I love to pour into young men and women who are hungry to learn and to pursue their call to missions and ministry. Since we are leaving soon for the US to itinerate, I had my last session with them this morning. I shared with them the top 20 things I have learned in the past 26 years of full-time ministry that I want them to know. I thought I would share them below. They are in no particular order:
 

1) There is never any regret for hard work

2) As my Father-in-law always taught, "preparation precedes blessing".

3) Faith is a lifestyle we embrace, not an event we endure.

4) Share power - don't hoard it. It's what Jesus modeled with the 12 and the 70 he sent out.

5) Don't copy others' style or methods - you were designed to create! 

6) Be vulnerable to your followers and listeners. It actually engenders respect and it combats a religious spirit.

7) Work at keeping your heart soft. "Today if you hear His voice, do not harden your heart".

8) Ministry's greatest skill to acquire is forgiveness and its most important quality is humility.

9) Never stop reading and never stop learning. Keep a spirit that is teachable and passionate to grow.

10) Become secure in your unique gifts and talents. Know and admit your weaknesses. Comparison and competition are the enemies of joy and effectiveness.

11) There is nothing more fulfilling or secure than the assurance that where you are and what you are doing are in the center of God' will for your life.

12) Your payoff is God's pleasure - not a paycheck.

13) An irreplaceable gift in life is a lifetime partner who is called and fully invested in going the same direction, with the same values and pursuing the same goals.

14) Social intelligence is more valuable than IQ in ministry.

15) Ministry leadership is all about towels and not about titles.

16) People always take priority over applause, awards, achievements and accolades.

17) There is nothing worth trading for the anointing of the Holy Spirit and it is worth whatever the cost.

18) All success starts with an appointment with God you keep every day.

19) Your spirit never stops its capacity to gain strength even when your mind and body fail. Be careful to feed it.

20) Keep your eyes on Jesus. He is the only one who never fails.