The Law - Our Best Friend

Psalm 1:1 continued...

Blessed is the man

who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,

nor stands in the way of sinners,

nor sits in the seat of scoffers…

The happy man does not find his primary source of instruction from men—but from God. He turns away from the counsel of the wicked—but toward the infallible counsel of the Spirit.

If we are to appropriate the words of the Psalmist and distance ourselves from the likes of scoffers, sinners and such—we must master the art of identifying these folk—which is a more meticulous task than one might imagine. If the impression is left from this verse that the sinner referenced is always easy to spot—the reader is mistaken. The instinct of evil is to find hiding places and to charade. And sometimes it occupies the best motives of the redeemed, (i.e. Jesus directing his rebuke of Satan at His lead disciple Peter) making this enterprise particularly difficult.

Psychologists and counselors divide relationship offenders into two categories: aggressors and passive-aggressors. Aggressors are the outwardly abusive types. Passive aggressors offend in more creative, secret and subtle ways. Our archenemy has mastered the latter so well that if donning an appearance, he would likely worm quietly into our closest circle of friends—and we, dangerously unaware.

Public vagrants are conspicuous—but the wolf in sheep’s clothing is all the more poisonous—more likely found in pews of churches than stools at bars or pubs. To make matters worse, these persons are versed in the Law, but tend to distort it—turning it away from its essence and toward their own private agenda or religious obsessions. These persons are religious—and proud; carry an air of righteousness, casting their judgment in spiritual language, but fail to practice justice or administer mercy. They quietly take personal credit for the accomplishments of others. They heap burdens on the already burdened, but fail to relieve it. They join the morality police yet are not skilled in grace. Making matters even worse, the worst enemy of the gospel in our life is only sometimes external—but also situated in our own skin. We can be and most often are our own worst and cruel enemy.

The best alternative friend for the listener then, according to the Psalmist, is the Word itself. The Word both confronts the sin and provides a path for restorative love and prosperity. It comforts the distressed and heals the wounded.

Our objective then is to quiet the counsel and influence of men and harken to the perfections and promises of the law. We must turn up the volume and influence of God’s gospel over our lives and measure the influence of men altogether against the authoritative voice of the Word. 

If we knew how great a friend the Word is to us--we would run to it more often, delight in it more consistently and bare its fruit more prosperously.

Psalm 1:1 - Considering Friendship

Psalm 1:1

Blessed is the man

who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,

nor stands in the way of sinners,

nor sits in the seat of scoffers…

This is an interesting way to start the Book of Jewish Hymns. Happy is the man who is discriminating about his relationships! We all have friends—we all need them. The man that is truly happy—so says the Psalmist—is one who knows that the selection of friends is an extremely important and lofty enterprise. He chooses his friends carefully. One should not choose friends based upon external and visible qualities but with greater deference to internal ones.

Good friends are loyal and long-suffering, forgiving and wise. A good friend—so says Jesus—is one willing to lay down His life for you—one who walks alongside you and stimulates and inspires the best in you—confronting like Nathan the worst in you.

Some of us are particularly social and good at relationships—drawing inspiration and strength from many acquaintances. Some of us are social hermits finding the gatherings of people particularly draining. No matter where one falls on the personality continuum—he should be careful to extend the privilege of friendship to not so many people. This is one area where discrimination is not only permissible but necessary.

In all likelihood, the Psalmist speaks from experience. He’s probably had “friends” with whom he shared much in common (externally), who became a source of great pain, abandonment and disappointment later. Probably he chose friends who were poor moral influences—and he discovered the misery of bad ones. Perhaps those ill-advised friendships became a source for many ill-advised adventures.

We know from other portions of scripture that true friendship is born of adversity—meaning not only that we can find our true friends in the midst of adversity, but also that we can find good use of them there. I wrote some verses based upon this logic:

Do you find me friend or foe?

In adversity I’ll know.

When my troubles overflow,

Then pretend friends always go. (from In A Row, on the CD It’s Alright)

What does one do when friendships turn sour—when the true nature of a person is born out in hardship? The Psalmist says—it’s ok to let them go. Often when we do, we are not only ridding our self of their deleterious influence, but by standing up for ourselves in this way—we indirectly become a more positive influence on them.

Reflective Questions:

Who are your present friends and why?

What person in history would you find the most intriguing friend to have and why?

Do you possess qualities that make for a good friend? In what areas do you need to develop to become a person worthy of authentic friendship?

Do you have, or have you ever had friends that you needed to cut off? 

Reflections in the Psalms

Dear reader,

I am seeking through humble reflections in the Psalms to become one of your best friends. Of course we know that people-pleasing as an objective can be unhealthy—even a disorder—but if delighting in the Law of God is what makes us most prosperous and truly happy—then my efforts here are a high act of genuine friendship.

What qualifies me to help you through this process…you might ask. Nothing much, except that I am a wounded warrior and a humbled lyricist myself, who has found great respite, refreshment and release in these ancient words and from the One who stands behind them.

Back in the days when albums were CD’s and lyrics were profound and legible, I would lay upon the floor with album sleeves propped in front of me, basking in the verse of singer-song writers, feeding upon their depth of insight or clever use of poetic device. But none of those songs has so moved me as these Psalms. Recently, (meaning the last 10 years or so), though all of the scriptures are inspired and inspirational—I have camped in this part of the Bible and have found incredible permission to grieve, to be angry, to be hurt and to raise serious questions and even complaints before the Potentate of Time and the Creator of all the universe.

Christian music today is driven mostly by business ends—what sells? Songs of lament or justice are not so popular anymore. But the Psalms are full of them. We are not allowed to speak of our enemies in our music—much less to curse them—but the Psalmists do, in terms hard to believe sanctioned in the Scriptures. Contemporary songs of worship tend to be happier in tone—as if we are not a depressed generation—as if we are not a nation given to hardship and spiritual famine—as if we are not desperate to find authentic spiritual connection but struggle to do so. Contemporary Christian music too often presumes to offer the answer while invalidating and nullifying the question.

Will you walk with me through these great Psalms and encounter with me not only God—but also our truest selves. As we reflect upon these great lyrics of old, we will be moved to deep but cleansing sadness, profound and penetrating insight not only into the character of God but into the character of our friendship with Him. I will be your partner and friend—but the Spirit of God will be our teacher and physician—not only by instructing the mind, but also by healing and validating the soul.

Your friend,

mo leverett 

Nativity Reflection, Part 1

This Christmas season, we live in a world being transformed by technology, seismic shifts in geopolitical, philosophical movements and globalization. Yet the fundamentals remain the same. Human need - both intrinsic and existential - remain virtually the same as it did in previous epochs. That which was compelling and attractive with prior generations is also endearing now. While the church has adapted to the age of technology - it has not done so well. It is not enough to convey our worship with the most recent hi-tech delivery systems. In the end, we will still be judged by the world and by God Himself on whether we love well - whether we continue Christ's legacy of compassion to a hurting world.

If we increase in number yet diminish in influence this is indicative not of a need for more religious expression but in its quality. The abundance of salt, if it loses its saltiness is of less value - and is no longer salt - but sand, so says Jesus. In other words if our religion loses its precise expression - then it is no longer attractive or impactful. The true measure of effect is how well we love. The Word - was made flesh and moved in our neighborhood, so says St. John. The Word manifest itself in sacrificial love. We cannot distance ourselves from the world's problem. We must enter it - identify with those who are experiencing its crushing blow and testify to its remedy, in person.

A Savior was born into poverty to make others rich. Two questions we should ask of ourselves this Christmas is this: where is my personal Bethlehem and am I extending His legacy of love there?

Reviving the Diaconal Impulse of the Church

The evangelical movement is encountering a bit of a theological and structural awakening to the significance of justice and mercy. This is progress. Yet while there is a new openness to understanding the nature of following Christ and doing church while prioritizing our collective role in compassion, we must admit that in this regard we are at best like children learning to ride our bikes, with training wheels.

Some of us have dabbled in the ministry to the poor, only to grow frustrated with the enormity of the task and to return to our more narrow instincts of word ministry. Some have dived headlong into the challenge, and learned much valuable insight for the church at large through our successes and failures. But the evangelical church, or at least it's suburban enclaves, admittedly is more interested in the insights of wealth development and management - through Dave Ramsey seminars and the like - than we are to sit and listen to community development experts and missionaries as they advise us toward strategies to help the poor.

It is not enough to believe that mercy is an important tenant of our faith to which we give theological assent - it is also important to internalize and act upon that biblical instinct - to program and develop purpose toward that end. The role of the pastor, overseer is critically important in the church - worthy of much structured preparative study and diligence.

Yet one might argue that the task of accomplishing justice among the poor requires at least as much theological/sociological insight to do with excellence. Protestant churches that grow, instinctively apply their resources to the replication of more pastoral ministry. We hire professional elders/pastors/overseers - but among protestants it is rare to see churches hiring professional deacons - giving oversight to ministries of recovery and community development. We thus reflexively assume that missions is primarily a ministry of the word - exporting our theological framework to a world that has not yet heard.

But if we look to Christ as our example, we see - not only a didactic ministry of teaching - but a diaconal ministry - one of healing, recovery and justice. To follow Christ in His ministry paradigm means not only to convey the truth of the gospel in words, but also in sacrificial deeds. We should not only be focused on the establishment of churches - but also schools for the poor, physical infirmaries and clinics, mental health facilities and other community development works.

Where am I wrong?

The San Lotano Oval, Maduro - by A.J. Fernandez

The joy of cigar smoking is something I've become partially infamous for. In keeping with this reputation, and along with my other blogging, I plan to put down my thoughts regarding my favorite smokes and my favorite places to smoke them. Perhaps by sharing my thoughts, I might be able to help others in their pursuit of the pleasures of the perfect smoke. One of the greatest discoveries I've made in my relatively short pilgrimage into the world of fine cigars, (which humbly began with Swisher Sweets in the 5th grade), is the delectable experience I am enjoying in this very moment - the Nicaraguan born San Lotano Oval in its various incantations. Today I happen to be enjoying the Maduro. I am not as versed as I hope to be on how cigars are made and what makes them so different. But I've developed a sophisticated enough palate over the years to know when I've placed a masterpiece in my mouth. The name Oval indicates an innovation in cigar shapes. Most cigars are round - a few are box pressed. But the Oval contours to the mouth perfectly. Immediately the peppery, soft wrap tingles the lip and when the cigar is lit a delightful complexity of yummyness immediately greets the palate. Woody, rich spicy flavors are strong and variant. The cigar remained lit through the entire experience - a rare accomplishment. The draw is perfect - not too tight - but full. The lightly rolled cigar lends to a steady light and a relatively shorter smoke - but by the time you're done the partaker is satisfied with a pleasant light-headedness that cigar smokers know as a good cigar buzz. At no point during the smoke is there a bitter pill to swallow - rather its richness remains consistent while it evolves to a spicier motif. This cigar is not designed for the rookie smoker but for those who have a developed a palate for the heavier cigar. Yet, it is never meaninglessly potent - as some stronger cigars are. Its strength is met equally with the highest quality flavors. For those of us who are aided by a good cigar to reflect, relax, converse and yes, in my case, to worship - this cigar is a sure stimulating delight. After this good stick I am more mindful than ever of the goodness of God and His sacred comforts. Since discovering the San Lotano Oval, I have explored the world of A.J. Fernandez creativity. I have sampled many others and am looking forward to future creations of this great Cigar Entrepreneurial Roller and writing about them. For those looking for a variety of creations www.cigar.com offers a generous sampler of A.J. Fernandez smokes which includes some of his San Lotano creations and others from his Man 'O War series as well as his Diesel selections. I enjoyed this cigar in the comfortable setting of Waterwheel Cigar Shop in Amelia Island, FL. Off the beaten path, in the quieter settings outside the metropolitan area of Jacksonville, FL on A1A, surrounded by leather seats, unfinished wooden walls and large flat screen TV's, tended to by the personable and knowledgeable staff - it is the perfect place to get some work done while being treated to the bellowing smoke of this wonderful A.J. Fernandez creation. On a scale from 1 to 100 this cigar receives a happy and enthusiastic Mo rating of 97. Happy smokes to all and may the Lord bless you with many long ashes!

Discovering Desire

It was simply breath taking. I had never seen anything like it before. I had grown up in the Deep South and had seen other pockets of poverty – but none like what I was staring at through the lens of my Yashika Camera and telephoto lens. My friend, who had brought me to see the Desire Housing Projects had been advised by everyone – not to drive into them – that they were exceedingly dangerous. He felt we were taking risks by driving on their outskirts. After seeing them firsthand – I understood his reservation.

We had only driven a little ways off of the interstate, over some railroad tracks. But it was like we had crossed a border and entered a war-ravaged third world country with seemingly endless rows of dilapidated government brick buildings covered with graffiti registering the deaths of dozens of youth killed within its darker corridors. Some buildings still standing, unrepaired after being damaged by fire. Busted out windows. Crumbling brick. Though it appeared unlivable – it was teeming with people – mostly children.

I zoomed in on one of the apartments deep in the heart of the vast housing complex – one that had obviously suffered fire damage – though it looked as though a bomb had gone off and had left crumbling brick, smoked doorways and broken window frames. I push my finger to take the snapshot and then suddenly held off. Out of the doorway came strolling small children – one still in diapers. My jaw dropped as well as my heart. People are still living there, I thought.

Later I researched and discovered that the Desire Projects were deemed uninhabitable in the 70’s, were poorly constructed and built adjacent to a former municipal dump called the Agriculture street landfill. Interstate 10 and a railroad track on its northern and western boundaries along with a barbed wire fence encompassed it. The Industrial Canal ran along its eastern boundary, with lines of industrial warehouses, a railroad track and barbed wire fences. The Florida Canal, the Florida Housing Projects, a railroad track and a barbed wire fence, separated it on the southern boundary. There were over 1,800 apartment units that “officially” housed 16,000 plus residents. I say officially because there were undoubtedly more than reported. Single parents headed 98% of its units. 60% of its residents were under 16 years of age. The men were present – simply under-reported. This dynamic was indicative of the many ways in which federal government assistance programs had deleterious effects on family – the God-given infrastructure for social stability.

The sight was permanently branded upon the film in my camera – but even more deeply and permanently upon the film of my heart. Never had my heart been so moved. It is the closest encounter with heaven’s hand inviting me, even reaching out to me, I had ever had. And while I was not ready to vocalize it – I had undoubtedly found my new place of purpose and calling.

A couple of years later after having moved into this neighborhood to start a ministry from scratch, New Orleans earned the notorious distinction of capital city for homicides. Over half of the murders which took place in the city happened in this area. I’ll never forget the first New Year’s evening we slept in the neighborhood. Literally thousands of gunshots filled the night air. The next day I climbed upon the roof of our home – the house picked out by the kids we had begun to minister to – and gathered at least a dozen bullets that had previously fallen on our roof and rolled into its gutters.

My wife, Ellen, was 5 feet tall – she was not naturally a brave soul. She lived with normal feminine instincts to avoid danger. Yet here we were – the only white family within a couple miles radius starting an incarnational work in the nation’s worst housing project community.

Ironically, Desire Street ran through the middle of this – the nation’s worst public housing project – and was intersected by streets called Abundance, Benefit, Pleasure, Treasure, Piety and Humanity streets. Those inscriptions would seem more befitting the streets of gold in the Kingdom of Heaven – than these treacherous paths through dilapidated buildings in a forsaken part of New Orleans. Nevertheless those inscriptions became for us the content of our prayers and the contours of our mission – to see this community rise up to its lofty hyperbolic street signs, to defy human expectations and through gospel power become a desirable place to live.

beginnings

a buoy on short rope in a rising tide
a kite in a waning wind
the hesitation before things collide

the lapse before the end

I tell this story reluctantly. I’ve been asked numerous times by various persons to do so, but have resisted until now. But one of my daughters has made a compelling argument – promising to stop talking to me if I don’t start.

This is not a story of personal triumph or accomplishment – but of brokenness and grace. It is not a story at all as much a rendering of random thoughts, knit together like a Carolina quilt. I live in a world of 7 billion people or so – each of us has a story – mine is not more or less interesting in my own estimation – or more worthy to tell. Nevertheless…

At this moment I sit outdoors a coffee shop in Tallahassee, FL – the place where my children and first wife live – a place where I once shepherded a church. Perhaps I will speak of this later – we’ll see. My son has a game tonight that I will attend. I rarely miss one, though I live almost 3 hours away. Yesterday he stroked a ball that hit the top of the fence about a foot short from going over. I’ve had similar hits – and never a home run. Such is the story of my life. I hope by my support and encouragement before the season’s over – he’ll have that memory of circling the bases triumphantly. Something his Dad has not yet known but aspired to and probably secretly continues to vicariously through him.

Men want that – to be celebrated, respected. Wise women understand. Our dream is not so much to be cherished but to be heroic. I always dreamed of being significant – I used to imagine myself on a field of football dreams making an incredible move, followed by overpowering an unsuspecting defensive cornerback or linebacker, accelerating with incomparable speed and crossing the goal line with football high-lifted in the air. That’s where my dreams began – with a football.

My father played football and we, my siblings and I, were immersed in it as a pseudo-religion. For me it was the only worthwhile life aspiration – to play professional football. Everything else was something short of the pinnacle plan. My love of football was in its essence a form of father worship. It was the place where I had hoped to please him, to gain his respect, approval and affirmation. For my father it was a place of discipline into the higher manifestations of hyper-masculinity.

Yet I was not blessed with exceptional athletic ability – above average perhaps – but again, that is the story of my life. I do a lot of things well – none with excellence – none that would allow me to trounce around the bases to the roar of the crowd and standing ovation, to the hugs and high fives of proud teammates. I did not score touchdowns or throw for any. My fate was to develop expertise in the most underappreciated and seemingly inconsequential position on the field – punter. If one aspires to fame – punting is not the path to take.

Few are inspired by a punter. Ray Guy – the greatest punter ever to walk onto a football field – just recently lost his final chance to be considered for the NFL Hall of Fame – a tragedy for him and all punters, yes, but indicative of the way that the rest of the football world views us – as an unfortunate necessity – and a non-athlete.

The art of punting requires incredible hand, eye and foot skill, balance, symmetry, timing and coordination. Line all the other position players on the football field – ask them to throw a football. Many can. Ask them to catch a football. Many still can. Now ask them to punt a football and watch it devolve into a live circus. Nevertheless we are the Rodney Dangerfield’s of football – we get no respect.

My senior year in high school I averaged over 40 yards a punt. I must admit to having felt proud of myself. I had worked really hard to perfect the craft. My father, who was my first mentor in the art of punting, had died two years previously – but I imagined that he would be proud too – I prayed before every game that I would play in a way that would make him so. Yet, there were no awards, no recognition for my accomplishment, no scholarship offers. A kind high school referee noticed me game after game – saw that I was talented and took it upon himself to market me to colleges and encourage me to attend. I was so grateful.

He brought me to see a college game in Athens, GA. There I saw true football greatness – the incomparable and incarnate Herschel Walker – all I can say is that whatever you saw of Herschel on TV does not compare to what I saw in person. What a human specimen of football divinity he was that day – and I was in football heaven. It was not destined for me to play between the hedges – too intimidating and large a stage for me. Rather, I chose to go to the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. They were graduating a senior punter – which was my open door and opportunity for greatness, as I then perceived it.

I offered to God an irresistible and generous plan. If He were to give to me the desire of my heart and allow me to play professional football – I would use that platform as an opportunity to witness for Him. How could He possibly turn that down? I thought. But I did not end my regretful prayer there. So confident was I that God was impressed and enticed by my offer, I continued…but if it is not Your will for me to do so, make it obvious. Injure my leg in a way that I will not be able to recover from or return to the aspirations of this dream.

Silliest prayer I’ve ever prayed and God has chosen to ignore many of my silly prayers before. Yet predictably, He was faithful to answer this one. During spring workouts I tore tendons in my hip, eventually requiring invasive surgery. An insecure ego and a room full of weights can be a dangerous equation. But I have always perceived this as no simple mishap or accident but an answer to my prayer – for I had torn the same tendons that Jacob tore when he wrestled with God. Now not a day goes by in my life that this particular injury does not remind me of God’s fateful answer – and that my destiny were different from my dreams.

My son and I discuss major league pitchers and hitters like the Apostle Paul talked with Timothy about discipleship. We study the craft that has become his dream. I know in my heart that he will not only hit homeruns but in my mind and heart he already is one. There is a sense in which my greatest feat of accomplishment stands before me in the towering grandeur of an aspiring son – who has chosen his own dreams. I for one, whether he hits it over the fence or not, will stand to my feet and feel surging and swelling pride – every time he comes to bat.

God did not give me my heart’s desire but He gifted me another – a better one – one that I would not trade for anything in the world. I have had the unusual opportunity and privilege not only of raising my son – and three beautiful daughters – but also to play a surrogate role in the lives of many additional sons and daughters who see me as a spiritual Dad. This enterprise is one that is dear to the heart of God who makes it His own mission to “Father the fatherless.” Ironically it was the art of punting that allowed me access to their lives and even more uniquely to do so in a neighborhood – ironically called Desire.

By the way – my son did not hit a homerun this night – he struck out 10 of 12 batters he faced and threw a no hitter. ☺

Mastering the Art of Pressing On

Today, I’m sporting a T-shirt designed by my beautiful daughter Maggie - who, along with her sister Lacey, is my world’s favorite artist! It has a beautifully crafted rendition of our ministry name - Rebirth International - on the front, along with a wooden cross and spiraling vine. On the back it has our website clearly spelled out - www.myrebirth.org, along with her personal recommendation - GET INVOLVED!

Trust me if you saw it, you would be inspired by Maggie’s mature artistry. And if you had the privilege of knowing my Mags-a-million you would be equally inspired by the artistry of her sheer determination.

I wear it with pride. It represents more than naturally proud father sentiments. It also symbolizes the level of support I’ve enjoyed from this amazing family that I husband and father.

I remember the first economic downturn we endured. It was right after we built a $3 million facility across from the Desire Projects. Our budget tripled, as did our staff. Opportunities were bursting at the seams. There was more than we could handle - more than we could afford.

I knew of many other ministries that went under or were in the risk of doing so. We were vulnerable too. At the end of the summer I was staring at a $200,000 deficit.

I had two undesirable choices - either drastically cut staff and programs or hustle. I chose to hustle.

I remember coming home and sheepishly looking at my wife, telling her, “Honey, I need to travel.” What that meant was that I was needing to travel more - almost perpetually - that every invitation would be accepted - no opportunity ignored. I was determined. Our ministry was not going under, not if I had anything to do with it. Nor would any of my staff lose their jobs.

I’m now in the middle of our second major economic downturn. Everyone is hurting - feeling the pinch. I know that. Frankly, though I’m not an economist, I feel this one may last longer and cut more deeply than the first. So what’s a guy who’s committed his life to developing ministry among the poor to do?

We have now consulted with ministries and churches all across the eastern U.S. We are looking to launch new ministries along the I-10 and I-55 corridors - E. St. Louis, New Orleans, Mobile, Tallahasse, Orlando and more. We are connecting with my alma mater - Reformed Theological Seminary - around a partnership to prepare future urban missionaries for the unique task before them. There is a lot of opportunity. But there’s a shortage of funds.

Nevertheless we endure and press on. I am hustling. But I’m not willing to become the road hog I once was.

I am pursuing alternative possibilities for creatively funding the Rebirth vision. I’m not sure how the Lord is leading, but I’m listening and looking.

Despite the shortfalls, my sweet family is doing amazingly well. Ellen is a woman of tremendous faith and long-suffering - a woman of tremendous stature - despite her 5 foot frame. My children are, simply put, the best Christians I know.

I am thankful.

I watched my daughter Lindsay play in the championship game in her fast-pitch softball league last night. You’ll never see anyone more attractively determined than my Dee Dee Brown (one of her Daddy’s favorite nicknames for her - there are more). Whether she is running after overthrown balls, sliding into bases or swinging for the fences, I realize that my daughter Lindsay, like her sister Maggie, has been cursed with her Daddy’s DNA. She’s also learned, for better or worse, from my example. We all have reduced drive and determination to an art form.

And so the Leverett’s are pressing on. We are encouraging others to get involved - hopefully in the most artistic of ways!

Punting Perfection

I was a punter in high school and college. Nobody likes a punter. The punter only comes on the field when the offense has failed. Punters are most despised by perfectionists - persons who think failure an unacceptable option.

When we consider the men of the Bible - we get a picture of the nature of achievable spirituality. Often they fail. And yet it is wrong to hyper-moralize their failure. Their failures not only open the door for grace, it demonstrates what is non-achievable spirituality - perfection.

I think one of the most unbecoming features of the American evangelical church is the perpetual state of surprise with failure. And while it is good to strive for holiness, even perfection, it is not good what we do to those who naturally fall short of it.

Ironically and sadly the church is no longer a safe place for sinners. An institution who is a recipient of the Kingdom of Heaven precisely because it acknowledged its state of sinfulness, is now in the state of denial about that same spiritual state - as if her sinfulness was a brief episode, a bad moment.

The biggest surprise for the perfectionist will be when the sinners they once judged and condescended to, will be appointed to judge them. Perfectionism is among the greatest of sins, not only because the perfectionist assumes the place of God - but perhaps more poignant than that, they withhold the grace that God so freely offers.

Despite the fact that David, for instance, King David, was a murderer and an adulterer - he was also a man after the heart of God, the author of divinely inspired psalms and the leader of an incomparable army of men. And while he has landed a sacred place in the family tree of Jesus, so that Jesus, the KING of kings is called the Son of David - it is quite uncertain whether or not the American church would receive him, much less defend his right to leadership.

Despite the fact that Elijah brought down fire from heaven and was the greatest of the prophets, he was bedeviled by a single solitary woman, sank into a great depression, wallowed in doubt and self-pity as he was exiled in fear.

The American church tends to worship perfection, therefore its leaders pretend to be so. And as the church perceiving the men of God statuesque in virtue behind their fancy pulpits, it should be known that their wives could pull the chord on the curtain in a moment’s notice, unless they too have fallen prey to the Christian masquerade. Some pastor’s wives are expected to represent a level of spirituality that sweet Mother Mary herself wouldn’t aspire to - no offense intended to my Catholic brothers.

Perhaps we should become more like Paul, also a murderer, and glory in our sinfulness, and wear the title with pride - Chief of Sinners, not because we love our sin, but because we love what our sin has wrought - the precious and limitless supply of grace that flows to us through Christ.

And when one pretends that he is not a sinner, he prohibits the flow of grace. Rather that we cut off our own limbs than to cut off God’s grace.

True men of God are measured not by the sins they’ve avoided in this life, but by their authentic encounters with grace. Fortunately, access to grace is not restricted to those who have achieved perfection, rather to those who have rejected it.

I for one want to be in the fellowship of sinners when they encounter the final dose of God’s grace. Then and only then will we be made perfect. And until that day comes, we will fail, fall short and miss the mark.

Rather than surprised, we should be supportive. For until that final day, we need each other. And we need from each other the identical grace that has been so lavishly offered to us. Then the church will regain her beauty and irresistibility to a lost, dying and sinful world.

So will you join me in realizing that there are times to punt. And while we’re at it, maybe we should give some thought to punting perfection.

Keeping Perspective

I woke up this morning mostly focused on bodily weariness from the almost 30 hours of driving through the panhandle of Florida, consulting with churches in Quincy, Tallahassee and Orlando, Florida.

I know when I’m pressing too hard - I tend to get sick, overwhelmed, excessively forgetful and disengaged. My symptoms today are evidence that I’ve been pressing too hard.

I’ve been pressing, though, because of our present dire financial situation. My inability to make payroll was causing me to feel vulnerable, anxious and afraid. Money issues are larger than maybe they ought to be, but they loom large nonetheless.

What I failed to focus on was God’s perfect plan for my prosperity, my security, my salvation, my sanctification. I failed to remind myself that God’s mercies toward me have been renewed today, as it is everyday. I chose to think about the temporal instead of the eternal.

Even so, underlying every discouragement is the clear awareness within me of the call of God on my life toward this vision. I never really question it - never have, and I don’t now.

But this is hard, when you have a wife and children. Living in a state of total trust was easier when I was a young college student, living in my Volkswagen Rabbit, eating pimento cheese sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I have been on the faith walk for almost 20 years now. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone to the post office box on the day of payroll and SHAZAM - there it is! The fact that I’m coming up short has me looking into alternatives about how to make the vision of Rebirth work.

No matter what, I’m committed to this vision - because I’m convinced of God’s call. However, running all over the country, living off the last sold CD or the most recent honorarium is not going to cut it. This summer is going to be tough. I have very few concerts scheduled - no high dollar consulting or speaking engagements on the docket.

And so I need your prayer. But, no matter what happens, I am reminded that God’s love is steadfast for my orphaned soul, that He sustains through the times of drought and famine, that He is above it all and that this vision is HIS, not mine. He cares for me, and what more could I ask for?

Pray for Rebirth

Rebirth International is an organization in a launch mode. We are still raising the awareness of our work to the general Christian community. And we are developing a new donor base.

Our purpose is to advance urban ministry initiatives in pockets of poverty stateside and worldwide. In service to that vision we are focusing on three primary objectives: 1) REVIVING indigenous ministry in post-Katrina New Orleans; 2) RESOURCING the church in urban ministry consultation services; and 3) REPLICATING incarnational ministry in specifically targeted communities across the country.

God has been faithful. After barely a year and a half in existence, we have consulted with churches and ministries across the country, and have thus contributed in a variety of ways, in a number of cities to the advancement of God’s cause among the poor. I have taught and spoken at colleges from North Florida College to Yale University. I have taught and spoken at seminaries including Reformed and Covenant.

I have performed dozens of concerts, produced a new CD, with others in the oven. God continues to use my music to keep the vision of Rebirth before the next generation of followers of Christ. Many who will make up the army of recruits for the future, will be reached through this vital aspect of my ongoing ministry.

Our ministry of Replication is well on the way. I have decided to narrow my focus initially to the I-10 and I-55 corridors. This Phase I focus will allow me to inspire the development of ministries from Jacksonville to Los Angeles and from New Orleans to Chicago. Already there are two ministries in the hopper and other interested parties scattered throughout these intersecting highways.

We have successfully recruited a highly gifted couple, Shane and Kristen Fast, to launch an incarnational work in one of the most challenged urban areas of our country: East St. Louis. We will continue to support and under gird this work in prayer and urban ministry coaching all along the way. We are on the front end of working with a potential couple to launch a new work in the Prichard community of North Mobile - another leading community of need in the Deep South.

The New Orleans staff of Rebirth, or REBIRTH ORLEANS, are not only working diligently to help give foundation to a widening and expansive movement, but we are also relaunching work here in our city, which still lies in ruin. We have started a strategic outreach in Clark High School and intend to expand our outreach into other resurgent public high schools. We are praying about God’s timing to plant a local church.

Our present staff - myself, my lovely wife, Christian Angeletti (who is handling all things financial and administrative), Richard Johnson (who is presently volunteering but giving effective leadership to the Clark outreach) are fully committed to the task at hand. I have a solid board of indigenous leaders and I’m working on finding Trustees for the cause. There are many others who are willing to join staff and help.

And while it is a sheer miracle to have not only survived during this time, but to thrive in advancing urban ministry, Rebirth is nevertheless sorely under-funded. I’m traveling as much as my heart and present circumstances will allow. As soon as I am done writing this blog, I will be driving to Tallahassee to do a concert and some further consulting, and then to Orlando to do the same. This trip will hopefully inject some much needed resources into our coffers, raise awareness of the vision of Rebirth and widen the network of friends for Rebirth.

Please pray for us. As we consider new strategies for developing the resources for this work, would you also consider how God might lead you to help us in that effort. If all that you are able to do is to buy a few CD’s to give out to friends, along with the gift of an accompanying Rebirth brochure and a note from you, this might help considerably. (I do have plenty of CD’s to sell!)

We believe in what we are doing. I know you do too! We’re seeing God’s hand at work. And we are thankful to be in service to Him for His glory!

Pray for the success of my upcoming trip and pray for my most ardent supporters and partners - my sweet wife and amazing children.

Many blessings…