I was standing in a distinguished chapel at Yale University with towering stone walls under vaulted ceilings sustained by ornate pillars. The architecture was from a distant century - the acoustics like no room I’ve ever played in before. No one so small as me has been privileged to perform in so grand and dignified a place. I was singing but underneath I was reflecting about the significance of the moment. I was thinking that I’ll never forget this occasion - I’ll remember it always - the day that Mo Leverett performed his music in these hallowed halls.
And then it happened. And God seems to always do this to me in the moment I need it most. He fed me some humble pie.
It started with one person, then another, then two more - exiting in the middle of a song. I thought at first…maybe he’s got a night class…and then I remembered it was Saturday. After the second one left I thought…maybe he has another commitment. But then when the two girls left abruptly, I got the message. It was God. And He was thumping me on the head while saying…”Hey you down there! Get your head out of the clouds!”
And so I awakened from my little dream. I finished my little concert and I gave my little talk.
But there was a girl in the back - an uninhibited black girl with dreadlocks that swayed to the rhythm of my music. When I finished, I put up my guitar, gathered my lyrics and licked my wounds. She rushed to the front of the chapel and when I turned around she threw her arms around me, thanked me, gave some encouraging words about my songs and my talk. It seems that I got through to her, maybe others, who knows? But it doesn’t matter. I preached. I sang. God remains sovereign.
I’ve preached in other less dignified places like the locker room at Carver High School or the simplicity of my own living room. I’ve seen those humble places turned into sacred ground as empowered by the Holy Spirit of God sinners turn to the Savior. In truth it matters not what surrounds you when you preach, but who surrounds you when you do. And truth be told, I’d rather be at home teaching and training them.
Nevertheless, my time in Connecticut has been good. I’ve performed and taught at the University of Connecticut, Hartford University, Wesleyan and Yale. I have done a little workshop for urban ministry workers in New Haven. I’ve consulted with a couple of church’s venturing into new works in the inner-city. Tomorrow I will speak in a Presbyterian church’s Sunday school and then hustle over to the Baptist church’s worship service to preach. I’ll then drive to JFK Airport in New York and fly to Orlando to ready myself to teach a week long urban ministry course at Reformed Theological Seminary. I will then sing in 6 or so services the following weekend at Northland Community Church. Between those services Greg Doles and I will record the remaining number of hymns for my next CD project. When I’m done with all these things I’ll fly home the following Tuesday just in time to catch a few beads at a Mardis Gras parade with my Manny Man as well as the rest of the family.
Pray for my family while I’m gone. And pray for me as I miss them all terribly! Pray for stamina for myself until I return. Pray that God would be glorified and His Kingdom advanced. Pray that my many efforts would go a long way in providing the support necessary for the new initiatives at Rebirth! Thank you for your prayers and partnership!
While you’re praying, I’ll be finishing the last bite of my pie. Blessings…
Showing posts with label Devotional. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Devotional. Show all posts
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Making our Father Proud
Dads are mystical figures. Whether they intend to or not, to our betterment or detriment, they yield incredible sway over our lives. Even when they are not there, their absence is impactful. When they are there, the impression is deep, even as we resist. When their numbered days expire and they pass, their shadow nevertheless clings, their memory lingers, their presence remains.
Ellen and I had taken our kids to the mountains. We took a short hike to a majestic waterfall which cascaded into a shallow pool of water my kids could safely swim and play in. Bored, I decided that I would climb the left side of the 100 foot waterfall until I had reached the top. After a rather arduous climb through brush and over slick rock, I reached the top overlooking the falls and waved to my kids from this high perch. I then came down after enjoying a moment of quiet solitude at the crest of the falls.
When I returned, my son, who had been mightily impressed with his father’s conquest of the falls, was fixated on my right thigh. He said with as much grave concern as a 5 year old can muster, “Daddy, what happened to you?”
“What?” I said as my eyes followed his…until I saw 5 or so deep scratches into my thigh. I must have run unaware into a little briar bush. There was blood trickling from the wounds, but I was not aware of it until my son had pointed it out to me. Of course, this was an opportunity for a tall tale, the occasion for which I rarely miss with my boy. “Ohhhh….” I said. “You’re talking about the bear scratch….that’s nothing!”
Seeing my son’s eyes widen was priceless. I wish I had it on videotape. I continued….
“Manning,” I said, “there was a bear on top of that waterfall. He was staring down off of the mountain looking at you when I reached the top. I yelled at him, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’”
The bear incredulous, responded with a gruff voice, “I’m going to eat that little boy and I’ll eat you if you get in my way!”
Manning’s eyes widen further…
“Over my dead body!” I exclaimed. “No man or bear is going to hurt my son!”
I look hard into the eyes of Manning. I continued…”Then it’s hard to describe. It happened so fast. The bear on all fours began to run toward the path towards my family! I jumped out in front of him sliding down a rock and like a carved statue stood in front of the bear. He also stood up on his hind legs and took a swipe for me. I jumped back - (that must have been when the bear scratched my leg). I then countered with a left fist into the side of the bear. He buckled, surprised and a little hurt. I then followed with a hard right hand square into the nose of the bear. He stumbled backwards, regained his footing just in time to run away humbled and afraid deep into the woods.”
Manning quickly followed, “How big was the bear Dad?”
Oh he was big, son. Real big.
Then my wife decided she had heard enough. “Mo…stop!” she said.
Then my conscience struck. I shouldn’t be telling this tall-tale to my gullible child. So I said,
“Manning, I was just teasing.”
Manning responded. “OK, Dad…but how big was he? How big was the bear?”
No matter what I said, Manning had chosen to believe the story. It was branded upon his heart and he was not going to let it go! It was not until recently that he figured out that it was just a story.
My son looks up to me, still. My older children have matured enough to have a more sober view of their father. Even so, I know that my life is indelibly important to theirs. It’s funny…I’ve spent the first part of my life trying to impress my Dad. I’ve spent the second part trying to impress my children.
Some of you may know already where the name Manning came from. My first son, who is in heaven, received my name. Ellen picked out the name Manning out of a name book because she liked it’s meaning - Son of a Hero. I’m not sure that my wife has ever paid me a higher compliment.
The other day my son asked, “Dad, what do you do for a living now…besides type on the computer?”
I responded…Son, I’m trying to build a new ministry. One that will make my…I mean, our Father proud.
He said, “I love you Dad.”
I got a little lump in my throat and said, “I love you too, Manning…I really do.”
Ellen and I had taken our kids to the mountains. We took a short hike to a majestic waterfall which cascaded into a shallow pool of water my kids could safely swim and play in. Bored, I decided that I would climb the left side of the 100 foot waterfall until I had reached the top. After a rather arduous climb through brush and over slick rock, I reached the top overlooking the falls and waved to my kids from this high perch. I then came down after enjoying a moment of quiet solitude at the crest of the falls.
When I returned, my son, who had been mightily impressed with his father’s conquest of the falls, was fixated on my right thigh. He said with as much grave concern as a 5 year old can muster, “Daddy, what happened to you?”
“What?” I said as my eyes followed his…until I saw 5 or so deep scratches into my thigh. I must have run unaware into a little briar bush. There was blood trickling from the wounds, but I was not aware of it until my son had pointed it out to me. Of course, this was an opportunity for a tall tale, the occasion for which I rarely miss with my boy. “Ohhhh….” I said. “You’re talking about the bear scratch….that’s nothing!”
Seeing my son’s eyes widen was priceless. I wish I had it on videotape. I continued….
“Manning,” I said, “there was a bear on top of that waterfall. He was staring down off of the mountain looking at you when I reached the top. I yelled at him, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’”
The bear incredulous, responded with a gruff voice, “I’m going to eat that little boy and I’ll eat you if you get in my way!”
Manning’s eyes widen further…
“Over my dead body!” I exclaimed. “No man or bear is going to hurt my son!”
I look hard into the eyes of Manning. I continued…”Then it’s hard to describe. It happened so fast. The bear on all fours began to run toward the path towards my family! I jumped out in front of him sliding down a rock and like a carved statue stood in front of the bear. He also stood up on his hind legs and took a swipe for me. I jumped back - (that must have been when the bear scratched my leg). I then countered with a left fist into the side of the bear. He buckled, surprised and a little hurt. I then followed with a hard right hand square into the nose of the bear. He stumbled backwards, regained his footing just in time to run away humbled and afraid deep into the woods.”
Manning quickly followed, “How big was the bear Dad?”
Oh he was big, son. Real big.
Then my wife decided she had heard enough. “Mo…stop!” she said.
Then my conscience struck. I shouldn’t be telling this tall-tale to my gullible child. So I said,
“Manning, I was just teasing.”
Manning responded. “OK, Dad…but how big was he? How big was the bear?”
No matter what I said, Manning had chosen to believe the story. It was branded upon his heart and he was not going to let it go! It was not until recently that he figured out that it was just a story.
My son looks up to me, still. My older children have matured enough to have a more sober view of their father. Even so, I know that my life is indelibly important to theirs. It’s funny…I’ve spent the first part of my life trying to impress my Dad. I’ve spent the second part trying to impress my children.
Some of you may know already where the name Manning came from. My first son, who is in heaven, received my name. Ellen picked out the name Manning out of a name book because she liked it’s meaning - Son of a Hero. I’m not sure that my wife has ever paid me a higher compliment.
The other day my son asked, “Dad, what do you do for a living now…besides type on the computer?”
I responded…Son, I’m trying to build a new ministry. One that will make my…I mean, our Father proud.
He said, “I love you Dad.”
I got a little lump in my throat and said, “I love you too, Manning…I really do.”
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Cure for an Average Life
I am 5 feet, 11 and 1/2 inches tall. And that is the story of my life.
For men - or maybe I should only speak for myself - being 6 feet tall feels like a significant threshold. And I never met it. My children remind me periodically that I used to claim 6 feet - and I did. That was my tall tale. A particular nurse garnished me with the cherished title, but she was either rounding up or simply failed to discount the half inch attributable to the sneakers on my feet. So I admit…I am only 5 feet, 11 and 1/2. (I guess the half is similar to children who add 1/2 to their age. You’re almost the next number and you’re way removed from the previous one. So it helps just a bit in the ego department.)
In most ways, I am an exceedingly average guy. I do many things, but in an average way. I play the guitar and write songs, I even record them, but I’ve never won an award for it, and likely never will. I’ve never filled an auditorium. I usually receive tepid ovations - but that could be because I often play for Presbyterians who turn tepid into cool. But I can’t blame it on my Presbyterian brethren, truth be told, my music notoriously arouses introspection, if not a deep depression.
I’m an OK athlete - but my football friends remind me that I was just a punter. Even if you punt the ball better than anyone else, in the football world, you’re still average. And no expert has ever brandished a punter - an athlete. You’ll not find many cocky punters…not many of their teammates would allow it…no reporters sticking microphones in their faces…no body asking for their autograph.
I’ve always been an average student, an average preacher, an average photographer…just fill in the blank, I can probably be counted on to do it in an average way. And so, even though I know it is wrong to do so, I nevertheless find myself envying the abilities and talents of others.
There are some things that I’ve developed a reputation for being really good at, like fighting my way through traffic, but I don’t think it is especially good to be talented at that. I’ve mastered the art of selfishness, among many other vulnerabilities I’m too embarrassed to reveal, but none of these superior traits are to my credit.
Perhaps, you can identify with me. Perhaps you find yourself envying the talents of others in their spheres. Maybe you’re an engineer and have been successful, but you know some other engineers whose skills tower over yours. Maybe you’re a businessman, and you’ve had some success, but you’ve never come close to reaching your goals. Maybe you’re a stay at home Mom, but your best friends mini-van is plastered with bumper stickers highlighting their honor role kids. For all of you, my friends - those of you who do average in the most excellent way - there is some really good news that I’m eager to share. Just hang on. I’m getting around to the main point.
First, did you know that pastors play the envy game too? I recently met a person who admitted that he possessed a "man crush" for Tim Keller. Tim Keller is a Presbyterian Pastor in Manhattan, NY who exudes excellence and intellect. There are an abundance of contemporary pastors in my denomination that envy his towering gifts. Many folks order his tapes, name their churches after his and spend their down time with fellow pastor friends talking about him. And if you’ve never heard of him - attend at least three or so of those churches - and you will. At least one of the pastors is likely to be re-preaching his material.
I on the other hand respect Tim a great deal, but have never envied his gifts. Tim is really smart. I mean REAL smart. But I’ve never desired that particular burden. And I never wanted to embarrass myself by trying to create the impression that I was a man of his intellectual caliber. Most persons with at least an average intelligence and who know me well would know I was faking it.
The truth is many of us succumb to the the thought that it is only the highly talented who can make a difference - those who are gifted that can change the world. But this is not the case. In fact, Jesus did not recruit highly talented people. He took average people, just like you and me, and taught them how to live radical lives. And through these average people, Jesus turned the world upside down!
Jesus himself suprisingly did not appear to be an extraordinarily talented person. Or at least the Bible doesn’t make record of his special talents. But his life continues to be the most historically and redemptively important human life ever lived.
And the lifestyle that Jesus calls us to, is in fact the stuff that changes the world. And that lifestyle is not limited by the lack of talent, nor is it especially enhanced by talents either.
So there is good news for the average person out there - good news for those who are devoid of incredible talent. YOU TOO can play a big role in the building of His Kingdom. Suffice it to say for the time being that we - the average person - can make a tremendous impact in the Kingdom of Christ by making ourselves willing to take the radical step of simply following Jesus. For when we come to a true understanding of what that means - to follow Him - we’ll find our lives becoming anything but average! And in the eyes of those that really matter, we’ll be standing taller than we could ever thought possible.
I hope you are all deeply encouraged and walking with Him!
Keep praying for us in New Orleans and for my travels. I’ll send out a detailed update on my activities soon.
For men - or maybe I should only speak for myself - being 6 feet tall feels like a significant threshold. And I never met it. My children remind me periodically that I used to claim 6 feet - and I did. That was my tall tale. A particular nurse garnished me with the cherished title, but she was either rounding up or simply failed to discount the half inch attributable to the sneakers on my feet. So I admit…I am only 5 feet, 11 and 1/2. (I guess the half is similar to children who add 1/2 to their age. You’re almost the next number and you’re way removed from the previous one. So it helps just a bit in the ego department.)
In most ways, I am an exceedingly average guy. I do many things, but in an average way. I play the guitar and write songs, I even record them, but I’ve never won an award for it, and likely never will. I’ve never filled an auditorium. I usually receive tepid ovations - but that could be because I often play for Presbyterians who turn tepid into cool. But I can’t blame it on my Presbyterian brethren, truth be told, my music notoriously arouses introspection, if not a deep depression.
I’m an OK athlete - but my football friends remind me that I was just a punter. Even if you punt the ball better than anyone else, in the football world, you’re still average. And no expert has ever brandished a punter - an athlete. You’ll not find many cocky punters…not many of their teammates would allow it…no reporters sticking microphones in their faces…no body asking for their autograph.
I’ve always been an average student, an average preacher, an average photographer…just fill in the blank, I can probably be counted on to do it in an average way. And so, even though I know it is wrong to do so, I nevertheless find myself envying the abilities and talents of others.
There are some things that I’ve developed a reputation for being really good at, like fighting my way through traffic, but I don’t think it is especially good to be talented at that. I’ve mastered the art of selfishness, among many other vulnerabilities I’m too embarrassed to reveal, but none of these superior traits are to my credit.
Perhaps, you can identify with me. Perhaps you find yourself envying the talents of others in their spheres. Maybe you’re an engineer and have been successful, but you know some other engineers whose skills tower over yours. Maybe you’re a businessman, and you’ve had some success, but you’ve never come close to reaching your goals. Maybe you’re a stay at home Mom, but your best friends mini-van is plastered with bumper stickers highlighting their honor role kids. For all of you, my friends - those of you who do average in the most excellent way - there is some really good news that I’m eager to share. Just hang on. I’m getting around to the main point.
First, did you know that pastors play the envy game too? I recently met a person who admitted that he possessed a "man crush" for Tim Keller. Tim Keller is a Presbyterian Pastor in Manhattan, NY who exudes excellence and intellect. There are an abundance of contemporary pastors in my denomination that envy his towering gifts. Many folks order his tapes, name their churches after his and spend their down time with fellow pastor friends talking about him. And if you’ve never heard of him - attend at least three or so of those churches - and you will. At least one of the pastors is likely to be re-preaching his material.
I on the other hand respect Tim a great deal, but have never envied his gifts. Tim is really smart. I mean REAL smart. But I’ve never desired that particular burden. And I never wanted to embarrass myself by trying to create the impression that I was a man of his intellectual caliber. Most persons with at least an average intelligence and who know me well would know I was faking it.
The truth is many of us succumb to the the thought that it is only the highly talented who can make a difference - those who are gifted that can change the world. But this is not the case. In fact, Jesus did not recruit highly talented people. He took average people, just like you and me, and taught them how to live radical lives. And through these average people, Jesus turned the world upside down!
Jesus himself suprisingly did not appear to be an extraordinarily talented person. Or at least the Bible doesn’t make record of his special talents. But his life continues to be the most historically and redemptively important human life ever lived.
And the lifestyle that Jesus calls us to, is in fact the stuff that changes the world. And that lifestyle is not limited by the lack of talent, nor is it especially enhanced by talents either.
So there is good news for the average person out there - good news for those who are devoid of incredible talent. YOU TOO can play a big role in the building of His Kingdom. Suffice it to say for the time being that we - the average person - can make a tremendous impact in the Kingdom of Christ by making ourselves willing to take the radical step of simply following Jesus. For when we come to a true understanding of what that means - to follow Him - we’ll find our lives becoming anything but average! And in the eyes of those that really matter, we’ll be standing taller than we could ever thought possible.
I hope you are all deeply encouraged and walking with Him!
Keep praying for us in New Orleans and for my travels. I’ll send out a detailed update on my activities soon.
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Culture of the Rubber Glove
The scriptures are vast, deep and wider than can be explored fully in the scope of one’s natural life. As such, I find myself camping out in familiar places. There are certain passages that have become for me life passages - places of scripture that I go to regularly or rather come to me at peculiar times. This morning I woke thinking of the story of Christ’s encounter with the Leper. Not sure why this passage has always been one that feeds my soul, but it does, regularly.
In Luke 4, it begins, “While Jesus was in one of the towns, a man came along who as covered with leprosy.”
And of course we can imagine the scene. Here comes this guy who is visibly…not well. Not well at all. His appearance is so disgusting and the fear of infection so great among the crowds that we, if we were there, would be ill-advised to remain in close proximity. So we, like all the others, scatter. If we do not leave the scene altogether, we place ourselves at a significantly safer distance. No one wants to become sick.
While wellness on this side of the Jordan is illusory at best, advocating for it has become the high-pitched craze of our culture today. Certain individuals become so consumed with this trend that they become self-appointed ambassadors of the cause - the notorious, yet volunteer health police. A man tries to lose weight by drinking low-calorie drinks only to be lectured about the ill-effects of aspartame and sodium. You can’t drink a glass of old fashioned homogenized milk without the fat brigade looking at you funny. Everyday there is a new report that regular activity is dangerous, normal foods are deadly, certain necessary medicines are cancer-causing poisons. Educators seem the most eager to jump on the wellness bandwagon, and our children become the convenient emissaries of the crusade. Sometimes I hate to see them coming. Daddy, you know that cigars will kill you don’t you Daddy! Dad, cheeseburgers will kill you! Daddy, you know that fried food is bad for you. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…and fill in the blank.
Sick people these days thus are not looked at sympathetically. Sick people, often, are getting what they deserve. If only they had done this, that or the other, they wouldn’t be in this condition. Or if only they had abstained from this, that or the other they wouldn’t be ill. But let’s open our eyes. While healthy eating may contribute to a longer life, and I am not to be mistaken for making a theological case for my appreciation for the finer qualities of fast-food, we nevertheless all die. Each and everyone of us. Sickness catches up with all of us at some point and escorts us mercilessly to the grave, despite the volume of asparagus we may choose or fail to consume.
So we, if we were caught up in this story, would have admittedly been the first to flee. And the least likely to stick around during this person’s cry for help. We do not want to be around those who are sick. And most certainly not around those with infectious and terminal diseases. We are the culture of the rubber glove. We do not want our hands dirtied with the sicknesses of this world. And so we back-peddle. We retreat. But we do so at great cost to ourselves. Keep reading.Jesus did not retreat. By standing there, Jesus not only communicated that He was willing to risk infection on behalf of this man, but the fact that He did so serves as a metaphor of His willingness to internalize our infection and restore us all to the true state of health.
The more that I ruminate on the human condition and the older I get, the more I realize that there are only two types of people in this world. There are those who are not well. And then, there are those who know they are not well. The good fortune of this leper is that he knew how bad off he was. He knew that he was sick. He knew he needed help. The crowd of people who retreated were suffering with a much more deadly disease - the delusion that they were well. But Jesus knew they were sick. He knows that we, down to the last person, are deeply diseased.
There were many people in the crowd that day. But only one was touched by Jesus. It was the one who knew he was not well. If everyone there was thinking soberly, they would have all clasped the arms of the leper and proclaimed in unison with him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” They would have identified themselves with the leper. And they would have felt the touch of Jesus!
Moreover, those of us who fail to see our own sickness thus see ourselves in relationship with the world in a skewed way. We are tempted to see ourselves as somehow better than the bum in the street or the single-parent in the project. If the church saw things rightly there would be a flood of missionaries in the streets identifying with the least and the lost. If the church saw things rightly, we would peel off our rubber gloves, roll up our sleeves and become like Jesus: touching the untouchable and changing the world!Lord help me to identify the leprosy within, so that I might experience afresh the healing touch of Jesus. And Lord make my hands willing to also touch the sickness of this world, so that I might be with Jesus in the ongoing work in His name!
by Mo LeverettRebirth International
In Luke 4, it begins, “While Jesus was in one of the towns, a man came along who as covered with leprosy.”
And of course we can imagine the scene. Here comes this guy who is visibly…not well. Not well at all. His appearance is so disgusting and the fear of infection so great among the crowds that we, if we were there, would be ill-advised to remain in close proximity. So we, like all the others, scatter. If we do not leave the scene altogether, we place ourselves at a significantly safer distance. No one wants to become sick.
While wellness on this side of the Jordan is illusory at best, advocating for it has become the high-pitched craze of our culture today. Certain individuals become so consumed with this trend that they become self-appointed ambassadors of the cause - the notorious, yet volunteer health police. A man tries to lose weight by drinking low-calorie drinks only to be lectured about the ill-effects of aspartame and sodium. You can’t drink a glass of old fashioned homogenized milk without the fat brigade looking at you funny. Everyday there is a new report that regular activity is dangerous, normal foods are deadly, certain necessary medicines are cancer-causing poisons. Educators seem the most eager to jump on the wellness bandwagon, and our children become the convenient emissaries of the crusade. Sometimes I hate to see them coming. Daddy, you know that cigars will kill you don’t you Daddy! Dad, cheeseburgers will kill you! Daddy, you know that fried food is bad for you. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…and fill in the blank.
Sick people these days thus are not looked at sympathetically. Sick people, often, are getting what they deserve. If only they had done this, that or the other, they wouldn’t be in this condition. Or if only they had abstained from this, that or the other they wouldn’t be ill. But let’s open our eyes. While healthy eating may contribute to a longer life, and I am not to be mistaken for making a theological case for my appreciation for the finer qualities of fast-food, we nevertheless all die. Each and everyone of us. Sickness catches up with all of us at some point and escorts us mercilessly to the grave, despite the volume of asparagus we may choose or fail to consume.
So we, if we were caught up in this story, would have admittedly been the first to flee. And the least likely to stick around during this person’s cry for help. We do not want to be around those who are sick. And most certainly not around those with infectious and terminal diseases. We are the culture of the rubber glove. We do not want our hands dirtied with the sicknesses of this world. And so we back-peddle. We retreat. But we do so at great cost to ourselves. Keep reading.Jesus did not retreat. By standing there, Jesus not only communicated that He was willing to risk infection on behalf of this man, but the fact that He did so serves as a metaphor of His willingness to internalize our infection and restore us all to the true state of health.
The more that I ruminate on the human condition and the older I get, the more I realize that there are only two types of people in this world. There are those who are not well. And then, there are those who know they are not well. The good fortune of this leper is that he knew how bad off he was. He knew that he was sick. He knew he needed help. The crowd of people who retreated were suffering with a much more deadly disease - the delusion that they were well. But Jesus knew they were sick. He knows that we, down to the last person, are deeply diseased.
There were many people in the crowd that day. But only one was touched by Jesus. It was the one who knew he was not well. If everyone there was thinking soberly, they would have all clasped the arms of the leper and proclaimed in unison with him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” They would have identified themselves with the leper. And they would have felt the touch of Jesus!
Moreover, those of us who fail to see our own sickness thus see ourselves in relationship with the world in a skewed way. We are tempted to see ourselves as somehow better than the bum in the street or the single-parent in the project. If the church saw things rightly there would be a flood of missionaries in the streets identifying with the least and the lost. If the church saw things rightly, we would peel off our rubber gloves, roll up our sleeves and become like Jesus: touching the untouchable and changing the world!Lord help me to identify the leprosy within, so that I might experience afresh the healing touch of Jesus. And Lord make my hands willing to also touch the sickness of this world, so that I might be with Jesus in the ongoing work in His name!
by Mo LeverettRebirth International
Thursday, May 24, 2007
What I Love about Jesus? Part II
His attraction to my infection
I was born of the same stuff that is common to all of us who come crying into this harsh world. Like you and everyone else on this planet, I am flesh and blood - vulnerable and exposed, fallen and depraved. Even in my adulthood, I carry the frailties and fears of a wounded child. Like everyone else, that which has become the exterior of my adult life is a cracked shell. Inwardly I am still the child startled by the sharp coldness of this strange awakening.
And have you ever noticed that most people are more attracted to you when your cracks are covered and unexposed. We all know that cracked shells are endimic to humanity, but we nevertheless cover them so that no one will discover what they attest in principle to already know. I come from a movement and community that celebrates grace as a soteriological concept and theological postulate. We celebrate grace in the macro. But when the opportunity is afforded to us to turn this theory into practice, we revert to a previous principle of condemning cracks in others and covering up our own.
Though I am incredibly grateful to the church for gifting to me the gospel, one thing that has always confused me is this point. As a young person it was the practice of everyone, to the point of cultural pervasiveness, to dress up for church. I remember how awkward it was for me to be wearing shoes that didn’t fit, clothes that didn’t match and ties that were outdated by a generation just to satisfy this cultural requirement. It is still the common practice of most churches - this covering of our cracks - this attempt to look deceptively attractive, even though inwardly we are intensely aware of our insidious shortcomings.
Let’s face it. The church is not always a safe place for people with problems. The church is not always a safe place to uncover our spiritual nakedness and own and confess our hidden struggles. Actually it has become for many a place to pretend.
Jesus, on the other hand is not like that. On the contrary, he pursues intimacy with us precisely because of the cracks in our shell. When all have abandoned us in our state of shame, Jesus tends. When we are consumed with infection, he visits us. When we have lost all attractiveness, then He is attracted.
Though my memories do not carry me back this far, when I was a baby, my mother has reported to me later of a serious illness that threatened my short life. I was given medication that my infant body was not ready for. Almost immediately my muscles contracted, my eyes rolled back, my blood pressure spiked. Full of fever, my limbs contorted and though I had not been in the world but a short season, I was on the razor’s edge of death.
I can only imagine the frantic scene. Scurrying doctors and nurses barking orders of medical intervention. Pushing parents to wait in isolated quarters. Having four precious children of my own now, I know that if I had faced the same circumstance with one of my own lambs, my heart would have become overwhelmed with the category of fear that we only experience in the absolute darkest and most desperate of times.
My mother tenderly conveyed that during the crisis, my Father refused to let go of me. I could not be pried from His strong arms. Whatever it was that the hospital staff needed to do with me, simply had to be done while my father held me. What inspired such dramatic devotion is not altogether clear to me.
My father died when I was 15. And it is rare to recall a similar episode in my conscious state as a child. I rarely recall being held in my father’s arms, receiving his extended embrace, hearing his clear affirmations and knowing his healing affections. Whatever it was that held him back - fear, insecurity, or deprivation in his own childhood - I do not know, but I now take courage from my mother’s stories. And the deprivation has made me to have a deep and unmistakable longing both to receive and to give a father’s love. Moreover, it has caused there to be a cavernous hole which can only be filled with the love of my heavenly Father - the One who is passionate for the healing and salvation of my soul.
What I love about Jesus is that He willingly offered Himself to be pierced, bruised and broken to fill those holes of desperation in my life. He brought the loving enduring embrace of the Father to me and to all my orphaned brothers and sisters who want nothing more than to experience mercy and love from our Father. He said clearly, that He is in the Father, and the Father is in Him. Anyone who has seen Him has seen the Father. I have only heard of this love through biblical stories. The love of my heavenly Father is veiled in time and space but is strangely apparent through the spectacles of faith. And though I have not seen Him, He nevertheless reaches out to me. And though I have not felt his touch, I one day will. Until such time, He has promised to never let go of me, no matter what illness invades my soul, no matter what disfigurement becomes of me…no matter…there is no one powerful enough to pry me of his perpetual embrace.
That’s why I love Jesus. It is His confounding attraction to my infection. And there is great healing dispensed in His promise never to let go of me. He clings until I am completely healed, restored and assured of His eternal affection! Wow, what a Savior! What amazes me most is that we would ever resist Him or to project an image that we have no need of Him.
Wounded Flower
Mo Leverett
April 19, 2006 Elkhart, Texas
God defends His orphaned sons
and tends to all the injured ones
the more the shame, then more the care
that He distributes softly there
Thick the walls we form and raise
steeped in self-protective ways
infantiled and sulked within
like a child beneath the skin
Arms will speed from secret space
reaching toward our barren place
hidden holes where hope was hushed
deep where dignity was crushed
Lost and cold and desperate there
something sacred coming where
Wounded hands reach out to ours
opening like a wounded flower
Hands will raise us to our feet
fill our hearts with holy heat
lifting us toward heightened place
gifting us with stores of grace
Slowly changed and soon restored
mercies on our souls are poured
lavished love falls on the grieved
burdened hearts will be relieved.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
What I Love about Jesus?
The Christian Tradition of the Unconventional
One of the things I love most about Jesus, and there is much to draw from on this issue, is His approach to choice-making. Let’s be honest. Nearly every choice He made flew in the face of conventional wisdom – beginning with the decision to become human and thus take on our various disfigurements. The infinite, immortal and invisible God choosing to become one of us is akin to Bill Gates shedding all privilege, prestige and economic power, moving into a cardboard box in the slums of India in hopes to advance the cause of Microsoft – it makes no sense.
Choosing a mostly uneducated, rough and unimpressive group of working class men as the ambassadors of your newly launched international movement – makes no sense. Choosing to offend the powerful and empower the weak – makes no sense. Choosing to avoid the elite and yet invite the bum – makes no sense. Choosing to embrace the leper and confront the lawyer – makes no sense. Choosing your greatest persecutor as the leader of your missionary movement– makes no sense. At every turn he surprises us. At every turn he confounds us. At every turn he offends us.
This is partly why followers of Jesus, when we really are following Jesus, are called fools. When we launch something in the name of Jesus, not only should it look different from every other human initiative, it should naturally offend our innate sense of conventional wisdom and better judgment. His ways are clearly not ours.
When, for instance, in our modern day church, do we embrace HIV patients because they value both their falleness and ours? When do we make recovering alcoholics elders over our people because of their unique perspective on grace? How often do we establish former prostitutes or strippers as leaders over our women’s ministries because of their recovered capacity for true intimacy? When do we target for ministry the most offensive, beguiled and socially outcast and then ascribe to them the labels of light of the world and salt of the earth, much less invite them to our churches? Yet this is precisely what Jesus did. That is His tradition.
But then Jesus’ finest offense was the cross. When He elevated himself in utter humiliation for our sake, he confounds us. Yes, I know the cross is the emblem and banner of our movement. We cover it with carets of gold and wear it around our necks. But it was among the most despicable scenes in human history – and rarely as a principle is it imitated – not even in our circles. In its essence it is redemptive and beautiful. In its self-sacrificing essence it also offends our gross tendency toward self-absorption. In its meekness and gentle willingness to suffer it offends our instinctive need for self-preservation and self-defense.
This is why we should not seek to run our ministries or churches on proven business strategies or principles, or other worldly frames of reference. I don’t mean here that money should be managed inefficiently out from under professional accountability. And I don’t mean that ministries have nothing to learn from the business community. I only mean to suggest that the choices we make should be guided more by the unique frame of reference that directed Jesus’ choice-making. I don’t blame Christian businessmen for running their businesses on established workable theories of management. But I do warn them against establishing those principles as the appropriate philosophy of Christ’s church or mission. Frankly, the underpinnings of business and that of the church are not altogether the same.
More than anything else, the choice that Christ made which confounds me the most is this: His choice of me. Why? Why, after so many offenses, after so many failures, after so many painfully present personal flaws, would Christ choose me?
Of all the biblical figures I relate to the most, the leper seems most befitting. There are times when I would serve the public best by wearing a bell around my neck announcing my coming. Ring, ring…here comes a man who wounds…ring, ring…here comes a man with issues…ring, ring…here comes a man who offends…ring, ring…here comes a complicated man…ring, ring…here comes a dangerously difficult man…ring, ring…ring, ring…ring.
Or there are times when the tax collector in the tree is the better analogy. No, I’m not good with numbers like he is, but why in the crowd of so many, would Christ choose someone who has made a living on personal demands, manipulations and exploitations? Why would he come to our home? And dine at our table? And laugh at our jokes? And passionately love when the only thing we do well is imperfection.
Or maybe the former prostitute, Mary Magdalene is more analogous. I, like her, have reasons to be despised, reasons to be debunked, reasons to be defaced, reasons to be disgraced. And yet here He is, before me, receiving my tears, fears and twisted affections. Or maybe I’m like Paul, the chief of sinners. Or like Peter, the consummate foot in the mouth disciple. Or like Thomas, doubting. There are many other comparisons that could be made, and with them all there are 2 things we share in common – (1) our total depravity and (2) against all conventional wisdom, His choice. Against all conventional wisdom, He chose me and also the likes of me!
And so pray for me that in response I might follow in His tradition and make choices which are utterly unconventional. Pray for me that I too might be a fool. Pray that I might offend, as He did.
That’d be Jesus
Mo Leverett
November 7, 2006
Who from lofty sacred throne
Came as humble and alone
To the poor to give increase
To the slave to grant release?
Where to seek when all we crave
is an escort from the grave
Who gives life when death consumes
who gives rebirth in the tomb?
That’d be Jesus
Who has shared his holy seat
With the orphan from the street
Who has made deliverance free
And offers it eternally?
Who makes homeless sons a place
wounded children sacred space
Who puts rebels in a trance
Granting them their second chance?
That’d be Jesus
Who can satisfy the thirst
Of beggars then and make them first
Who can take the child recoiled
And give him bread that never spoils?
Who was here before the winds
and to broken souls attends
Who for pleasure does pursue
The likes of those like me and you?
That’d be Jesus!
One of the things I love most about Jesus, and there is much to draw from on this issue, is His approach to choice-making. Let’s be honest. Nearly every choice He made flew in the face of conventional wisdom – beginning with the decision to become human and thus take on our various disfigurements. The infinite, immortal and invisible God choosing to become one of us is akin to Bill Gates shedding all privilege, prestige and economic power, moving into a cardboard box in the slums of India in hopes to advance the cause of Microsoft – it makes no sense.
Choosing a mostly uneducated, rough and unimpressive group of working class men as the ambassadors of your newly launched international movement – makes no sense. Choosing to offend the powerful and empower the weak – makes no sense. Choosing to avoid the elite and yet invite the bum – makes no sense. Choosing to embrace the leper and confront the lawyer – makes no sense. Choosing your greatest persecutor as the leader of your missionary movement– makes no sense. At every turn he surprises us. At every turn he confounds us. At every turn he offends us.
This is partly why followers of Jesus, when we really are following Jesus, are called fools. When we launch something in the name of Jesus, not only should it look different from every other human initiative, it should naturally offend our innate sense of conventional wisdom and better judgment. His ways are clearly not ours.
When, for instance, in our modern day church, do we embrace HIV patients because they value both their falleness and ours? When do we make recovering alcoholics elders over our people because of their unique perspective on grace? How often do we establish former prostitutes or strippers as leaders over our women’s ministries because of their recovered capacity for true intimacy? When do we target for ministry the most offensive, beguiled and socially outcast and then ascribe to them the labels of light of the world and salt of the earth, much less invite them to our churches? Yet this is precisely what Jesus did. That is His tradition.
But then Jesus’ finest offense was the cross. When He elevated himself in utter humiliation for our sake, he confounds us. Yes, I know the cross is the emblem and banner of our movement. We cover it with carets of gold and wear it around our necks. But it was among the most despicable scenes in human history – and rarely as a principle is it imitated – not even in our circles. In its essence it is redemptive and beautiful. In its self-sacrificing essence it also offends our gross tendency toward self-absorption. In its meekness and gentle willingness to suffer it offends our instinctive need for self-preservation and self-defense.
This is why we should not seek to run our ministries or churches on proven business strategies or principles, or other worldly frames of reference. I don’t mean here that money should be managed inefficiently out from under professional accountability. And I don’t mean that ministries have nothing to learn from the business community. I only mean to suggest that the choices we make should be guided more by the unique frame of reference that directed Jesus’ choice-making. I don’t blame Christian businessmen for running their businesses on established workable theories of management. But I do warn them against establishing those principles as the appropriate philosophy of Christ’s church or mission. Frankly, the underpinnings of business and that of the church are not altogether the same.
More than anything else, the choice that Christ made which confounds me the most is this: His choice of me. Why? Why, after so many offenses, after so many failures, after so many painfully present personal flaws, would Christ choose me?
Of all the biblical figures I relate to the most, the leper seems most befitting. There are times when I would serve the public best by wearing a bell around my neck announcing my coming. Ring, ring…here comes a man who wounds…ring, ring…here comes a man with issues…ring, ring…here comes a man who offends…ring, ring…here comes a complicated man…ring, ring…here comes a dangerously difficult man…ring, ring…ring, ring…ring.
Or there are times when the tax collector in the tree is the better analogy. No, I’m not good with numbers like he is, but why in the crowd of so many, would Christ choose someone who has made a living on personal demands, manipulations and exploitations? Why would he come to our home? And dine at our table? And laugh at our jokes? And passionately love when the only thing we do well is imperfection.
Or maybe the former prostitute, Mary Magdalene is more analogous. I, like her, have reasons to be despised, reasons to be debunked, reasons to be defaced, reasons to be disgraced. And yet here He is, before me, receiving my tears, fears and twisted affections. Or maybe I’m like Paul, the chief of sinners. Or like Peter, the consummate foot in the mouth disciple. Or like Thomas, doubting. There are many other comparisons that could be made, and with them all there are 2 things we share in common – (1) our total depravity and (2) against all conventional wisdom, His choice. Against all conventional wisdom, He chose me and also the likes of me!
And so pray for me that in response I might follow in His tradition and make choices which are utterly unconventional. Pray for me that I too might be a fool. Pray that I might offend, as He did.
That’d be Jesus
Mo Leverett
November 7, 2006
Who from lofty sacred throne
Came as humble and alone
To the poor to give increase
To the slave to grant release?
Where to seek when all we crave
is an escort from the grave
Who gives life when death consumes
who gives rebirth in the tomb?
That’d be Jesus
Who has shared his holy seat
With the orphan from the street
Who has made deliverance free
And offers it eternally?
Who makes homeless sons a place
wounded children sacred space
Who puts rebels in a trance
Granting them their second chance?
That’d be Jesus
Who can satisfy the thirst
Of beggars then and make them first
Who can take the child recoiled
And give him bread that never spoils?
Who was here before the winds
and to broken souls attends
Who for pleasure does pursue
The likes of those like me and you?
That’d be Jesus!
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Living in Ten-Minute Increments of Grace
Among the many chores that I must do around the house is to periodically wash the dishes. What makes this chore particularly challenging is that I tend to procrastinate and then the job is harder. Trying to scrub a pan or bowl or plate the day after is a lot harder than it would be right after dinner.
One of the biggest mistakes that I make in my spiritual journey is that I seldom repent soon enough. I have in the past waited for services where repentence is emphasized or when I’m having a personal devotion. Then, because my memory is imperfect, I tend to repent in generalities and categories, instead of specific attitudes or actual acts that fall short of God’s righteous demands. This is a mistake with severe consequences on a number of levels.
First, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual disintegration. Sins and attitudes that go unchecked become internalized, habitual and eventually part of one’s person. One then experiences the consequences of those attitudes and behaviors on a personal and relational level and is diminished moment by moment.
Second, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual vulnerability. The enemy of our soul looks for every opening that he can find. A heart which has not fully and continually repentant is weakend and thus vulnerable to pride and temptation. In our weakened state we then are susceptible to being sifted by the enemy and wounded by His attack.
Third, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual isolation. An unrepentant heart is an impediment to intimacy with our heavenly Father and with our offended brothers. God is forgiving to be sure, but He desires continual fellowship with us. When we choose to wait for forgiveness we miss the opportunities of grace that are available to us at any and every hour. We miss the chance in that moment to crawl into his lap and receive from Him mercy and affection for our soul.
And so, I’m learning to live my life in ten-minute increments of grace - returning to my Savior regularly for refreshment and a clean slate. Until I am washed clean for good - it’s easier to wash up right after I’ve slipped in the mud than wait the following morning when its under or stuck to the skin.
One of the biggest mistakes that I make in my spiritual journey is that I seldom repent soon enough. I have in the past waited for services where repentence is emphasized or when I’m having a personal devotion. Then, because my memory is imperfect, I tend to repent in generalities and categories, instead of specific attitudes or actual acts that fall short of God’s righteous demands. This is a mistake with severe consequences on a number of levels.
First, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual disintegration. Sins and attitudes that go unchecked become internalized, habitual and eventually part of one’s person. One then experiences the consequences of those attitudes and behaviors on a personal and relational level and is diminished moment by moment.
Second, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual vulnerability. The enemy of our soul looks for every opening that he can find. A heart which has not fully and continually repentant is weakend and thus vulnerable to pride and temptation. In our weakened state we then are susceptible to being sifted by the enemy and wounded by His attack.
Third, failing to repent often, leads to spiritual isolation. An unrepentant heart is an impediment to intimacy with our heavenly Father and with our offended brothers. God is forgiving to be sure, but He desires continual fellowship with us. When we choose to wait for forgiveness we miss the opportunities of grace that are available to us at any and every hour. We miss the chance in that moment to crawl into his lap and receive from Him mercy and affection for our soul.
And so, I’m learning to live my life in ten-minute increments of grace - returning to my Savior regularly for refreshment and a clean slate. Until I am washed clean for good - it’s easier to wash up right after I’ve slipped in the mud than wait the following morning when its under or stuck to the skin.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Greatest of These is Love
When Jesus was questioned concerning the greatest commandment, a most familiar passage but seldom practiced, his answer was simply stated: love toward God. In other words the greatest obligation we have is to love God. We are commanded to give to God our chief affection. To reject every other affection and desire until we have fixed Him as first and originatior of all others.
Subtle and implicit in his answer, however, was the underlying principle of pre-existing, infinite, permanent, sacrificial and enduring love that God possesses and expresses toward us. In other words, we are able to make Him our chief affection because He made us the object of His. Unless God lavishes us with His love - our cupboard remains bare, our well is stone dry - and thus we have no will or capacity to love. But because, as the disciple John reminds us, God first loved us, He has made us capable of love. He has rebirthed in us a strange capacity to put God first in our lives and to love Him with an intensity never felt before. But it is not just love for God that is birthed in us, who in some ways is easy to love because He is so intrinsically and undeniably loveable, but love also and even especially for those who have injured us, have wounded us, even have hated us. And for some of us who have injured even ourselves, experiencing an immersion into God’s love for us makes us capable of forgiving and loving even ourselves!
I remember when I was a youth minister in Chattanooga, TN there was a young and beautiful Christian girl in our youth group. Late one night her house was broken into and her life was tragically and brutally taken from her. Her mother, when given the opportunity, visited the man who murdered her daughter while in prison. Amazingly, she pronounced her forgiveness toward the murderer and shared with him the eternal love of Christ for his soul.
The recent story of the forgiving Amish community in Pennsylvania toward the lunatic who went on a murderous rampage in their children’s schoolhouse is another example of mysterious grace and love. The natural man is incapable of such charity. Only the man who is baptized into a deeper perspective, and is existing on a higher plain because of his awakening to the redemptive love of God for sinners, can enter into this level of mercy.
This is why Christ said to us to love our enemies. Only the person who deeply understands how much enmity he possessed toward God can appreciate this principle. We are called to something greater, deeper and higher than most, if not any men and women ever accomplish or achieve. We are called to love. We are called to receive it then to spread it. However, the receiving of this love is not a single act or event in the life of the Christian. Only until recently in my spiritual pilgrimage have I come to more fully appreciate the need of my soul to crawl up into the lap of my heavenly Father on a continual even hourly basis. I have to remind myself to fall into the loving and outstretched arms of Jesus whenever situations beg for me to become distraught, hurt or bitter. I must be filled more than daily with the perspective of Christ’s conditionless affection for me. As the hymnist said, “I need thee, oh I need Thee. Every hour I need thee.”
What about you my friend? Who do you need to forgive? Have you taken the time to crawl into the lap of your forgiving Father? Only then can you forgive. Only then can you love.
Subtle and implicit in his answer, however, was the underlying principle of pre-existing, infinite, permanent, sacrificial and enduring love that God possesses and expresses toward us. In other words, we are able to make Him our chief affection because He made us the object of His. Unless God lavishes us with His love - our cupboard remains bare, our well is stone dry - and thus we have no will or capacity to love. But because, as the disciple John reminds us, God first loved us, He has made us capable of love. He has rebirthed in us a strange capacity to put God first in our lives and to love Him with an intensity never felt before. But it is not just love for God that is birthed in us, who in some ways is easy to love because He is so intrinsically and undeniably loveable, but love also and even especially for those who have injured us, have wounded us, even have hated us. And for some of us who have injured even ourselves, experiencing an immersion into God’s love for us makes us capable of forgiving and loving even ourselves!
I remember when I was a youth minister in Chattanooga, TN there was a young and beautiful Christian girl in our youth group. Late one night her house was broken into and her life was tragically and brutally taken from her. Her mother, when given the opportunity, visited the man who murdered her daughter while in prison. Amazingly, she pronounced her forgiveness toward the murderer and shared with him the eternal love of Christ for his soul.
The recent story of the forgiving Amish community in Pennsylvania toward the lunatic who went on a murderous rampage in their children’s schoolhouse is another example of mysterious grace and love. The natural man is incapable of such charity. Only the man who is baptized into a deeper perspective, and is existing on a higher plain because of his awakening to the redemptive love of God for sinners, can enter into this level of mercy.
This is why Christ said to us to love our enemies. Only the person who deeply understands how much enmity he possessed toward God can appreciate this principle. We are called to something greater, deeper and higher than most, if not any men and women ever accomplish or achieve. We are called to love. We are called to receive it then to spread it. However, the receiving of this love is not a single act or event in the life of the Christian. Only until recently in my spiritual pilgrimage have I come to more fully appreciate the need of my soul to crawl up into the lap of my heavenly Father on a continual even hourly basis. I have to remind myself to fall into the loving and outstretched arms of Jesus whenever situations beg for me to become distraught, hurt or bitter. I must be filled more than daily with the perspective of Christ’s conditionless affection for me. As the hymnist said, “I need thee, oh I need Thee. Every hour I need thee.”
What about you my friend? Who do you need to forgive? Have you taken the time to crawl into the lap of your forgiving Father? Only then can you forgive. Only then can you love.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The Future of New Orleans
The future of the city of New Orleans is the buzz, not only here, but all over the country. Every family in New Orleans faces the issue at least weekly if not daily. The halls of congress and even the oval office are consumed with it. Some have questioned the wisdom of rebuilding a city that is sinking and already below sea-level. The conditions of the city have worsened to an extent where those of us who remain appear either to be economically trapped, mentally imbalanced, fattally attracted, addicted to good eating or on a mission. At least four of those five apply to this member of the Leverett clan - you can try to figure out which ones.
Truth is, despite prevailing conventional wisdom and deductive reasoning or logic, now is not the time for us to pull anchor and leave. While no one can blame those who have left and put their roots down elsewhere, we have undoubtedly felt the call of God to stay and to finish the work God began through us.
Sometimes the Lord and His ways makes no sense to us at all. And let’s admit that those who are committed to fully pursuing the will of God appear a little looney to the rest of the human species. Take Paul who in obedience to the call of God re-entered the city of men that stoned him and left him for dead. Take Mother Theresa who chose the slums of India as her home and place of purpose. Or more convincingly take our Savior who for joy set before Him, endured the cross. All of the aforementioned were consumed by an unmistakable call to a particular mission that came from above - but none of their decisions made sense according to standards of this world.
When I originally came to New Orleans I remember hearing more than once the comment softly spoken and under the breath of onlookers, “Man, that’s one crazy white boy!” Well I can’t deny it. I am crazy for the city of New Orleans and I’m crazy for the mission of God here. It’s not that I don’t care for other places, I do. But there’s no place on earth like New Orleans and I believe whether others see it or not, Katrina made a way for us to better achieve our goals. And I also believe that it is the best headquarters for a replication movement. It is the center of the country’s attention and what works here can work anywhere. True we were wiped out. True I lost my position at DSM. But things are never as they seem and despite our human frailty God is still at work in and through us.
Until such time that God makes it obvious that we are to move on, that we’ve been called elsewhere and that our work is finished here…you know where to find me. I’ll be somewhere in the city dreaming of and planning for and working toward New Orleans rebirthed. Will you pray with us toward that end?
Truth is, despite prevailing conventional wisdom and deductive reasoning or logic, now is not the time for us to pull anchor and leave. While no one can blame those who have left and put their roots down elsewhere, we have undoubtedly felt the call of God to stay and to finish the work God began through us.
Sometimes the Lord and His ways makes no sense to us at all. And let’s admit that those who are committed to fully pursuing the will of God appear a little looney to the rest of the human species. Take Paul who in obedience to the call of God re-entered the city of men that stoned him and left him for dead. Take Mother Theresa who chose the slums of India as her home and place of purpose. Or more convincingly take our Savior who for joy set before Him, endured the cross. All of the aforementioned were consumed by an unmistakable call to a particular mission that came from above - but none of their decisions made sense according to standards of this world.
When I originally came to New Orleans I remember hearing more than once the comment softly spoken and under the breath of onlookers, “Man, that’s one crazy white boy!” Well I can’t deny it. I am crazy for the city of New Orleans and I’m crazy for the mission of God here. It’s not that I don’t care for other places, I do. But there’s no place on earth like New Orleans and I believe whether others see it or not, Katrina made a way for us to better achieve our goals. And I also believe that it is the best headquarters for a replication movement. It is the center of the country’s attention and what works here can work anywhere. True we were wiped out. True I lost my position at DSM. But things are never as they seem and despite our human frailty God is still at work in and through us.
Until such time that God makes it obvious that we are to move on, that we’ve been called elsewhere and that our work is finished here…you know where to find me. I’ll be somewhere in the city dreaming of and planning for and working toward New Orleans rebirthed. Will you pray with us toward that end?
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