Belong

Legacy

"...not on tablets of stone but on tablets of the human heart" (2 CO 3:3b).

I saw a monument this weekend in the middle of the Wyoming prairie built to honor the Ames brothers of Massachusettes who were instrumental in building the first transcontinental railroad. The monument was erected on this high plain in 1882 at a staggering cost of $65,000 and at the highest point on the railroad at just over 8,700 feet. It's an impressive 30 foot high granite structure resembling a pyramid with the portraits of both men carved into red sandstone towards the top, and the noses of both men appear to be eroding. It was built on a choice site beside the rail line and was a centerpiece of the town of Sherman, Wyoming.

There is no trace of either the town of Sherman or the old rail line. Both have completely vanished long ago.

All that remains of what once was is this odd monument so strangely placed in the lost space of the Wyoming prairie. With the exception of a few ranchers and wayfarers like myself who wander off the beaten path, this monolith, I'm sure, goes largely unnoticed. To be honest, I didn't stumble across it by accident but found it because my brother told me it was there. I was amazed at its immensity and a little amused at its peculiarity.

Having our legacy written in stone is important to some. We erect monuments to commemorate significant events and place headstones on our graves as proof that we were once here. Whether we inscribe our name in marble monuments or carve our name onto the bark of a tender aspen tree, it seems like we are grasping for a little bit of permanence that will out-live our presence here.

Proof that we existed. Something that says our life here mattered.

I love walking through old cemeteries to see the dates on the tombstones and think about what life must have been like back then, but even the finest crafted stone can only extend the reminder of our existence by a 100 years or so. Eventually, the stone will erode and be returned to the earth from which it was hewn. Our best efforts at gaining permanence and validity in stone and structure are temporary at best.

I don't really believe that our structures validate our existence or measure our success. We can obsess over our buildings as though they validate our existence and provide proof that we've "arrived". Often, I've heard that a church isn't a "real church" until it has its own building. For some people, they believe personal success is found in owning your own home rather than in renting. Although these structures provide a sense of permanence, I feel we miss the point when we base so much of our security on what moth, rust, and decay will eventually claim.

In the Kingdom of God, what matters is what is passed from person to person. The scriptures teach us that Christ is building a spiritual house with living stones, not one of bricks and mortar. The love of God is inscribed into the hearts of men, women, and children, and we are His legacy...participating with Him in loving and serving the world in which we live. Our lives don't become legitimate because of what we build but are legitimate because of Who's identity we carry in our lives. Our success as a church or as individuals is not in building or owning but in passing the love of God from person to person. It is His Spirit that keeps this spiritual house alive from generation to generation.

Religion builds institutions and trusts structures, but Jesus calls us to invest in people the same sacrificial love and grace that has been invested into us. Our legitimacy doesn't come from the number of years we've existed or the number of monuments and buildings connected with our name but is, instead, something much more spiritual...

...and much more real.

Safe

What Is Not Said

"A loud voice cannot compete with a clear voice, even if it's a whisper" (B.N. Kaufman).

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, "In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends." I was reminded of that quote the other day upon having a conversation with one of my students who was struggling with the detached silence he was receiving from his friends. He remarked to me that he would rather get into an argument with his friends and have that friendship end abruptly rather than having it all fade away in a malicious blackout. At least then, he would have the dignity of knowing what was going on.

Silence can be used as a powerful weapon in any relationship, from the school yard to the marriage bed. Silence as a weapon is one thing; silence that is simply neglectful, I think, can be much more painful for people to deal with. Early on in life, we learn the whole "sticks and stones" routine to save face when pummelled with words and taunts from our classmates or main street bullies, but who can prepare someone for the silence? How do we reverse the effects that silence has on the child who has never had encouragement, counsel, or affirmation? How does someone recover from the absence of friends and the quiet of family?

From my experience, what people don't say is often much more powerful than what they do.

Just as a small cup of water can do a lot for someone in a drought, words of life change things for those in desolate families and desperate situations. I see the light in my high school student's eyes when they are affirmed and praised, and I seem to get better results with them when they are not ducking from a barrage of criticism and fault-finding. I see a difference in my students on those days that my negativity may cause me to focus on theirs rather than affirm in them what is good, unique, and right about who they are.

Unfortunately, many of us have learned that "if we have nothing good to say, then we shouldn't say anything at all."

So we don't say anything.

Either we don't see the good in people or we don't look for the good in people. I'm not sure which is more acurate, but I am convinced that followers of Christ need to be much more in tuned to people's lives and careful to be a voice of life and hope. Yes, Jesus spoke the harsh word, especially to some of his disciples, but I am confident that he was able to make the difficult withdrawals because of all the healthy investment.

Admittedly, sometimes it is easier to say nothing at all, especially when we don't know what to say. While that might be convenient for us, it is probably not beneficial for those in our lives who need a hopeful voice. I suppose it would be good to ask God to transform our eyes to see what he sees and feel what he feels towards them. I am almost certain that is a prayer he would answer.

B.F. Kaufman said, "A loud voice cannot compete with a clear voice, even if it is a whisper." Even if our words are few, words of life can compete with -- even pierce through-- the onslaught of negativity or mute the deafening silence of neglect.

Even if your words are few, let there be words.

Ornament

Absence and Sadness

My cousin, Philip "Butch" Rink, is being buried today in Indiana. Unfortunately, today is the first day of students at my school, and I am unable to be with the family today. I was asked to write some thoughts to be read at his funeral, and so I pass them along to you today in honor of his life.

Dear Family.

By now, I am sure much of your conversation has centered around what an exceptional life Butch lived – how his longevity far surpassed what his doctors could have ever imagined. I,for one, am glad they missed the mark by 50 years or so! Those extra decades gave us all the opportunity to know, love, and appreciate the life of someone I believe to be a remarkable person.

I am Butch’s first cousin – the youngest of all the first cousins born to the Bechtel six. Butch was the oldest, and I reminded him of that fact every time we got together. We got a laugh out of it every time, and I don’t think we ever got tired of the banter. I’d call it to his attention that he was so much older than me, and he’d fire back about how he was wiser and better looking, too.

He was probably right.

That was always the way it was with Butch when I saw him. His weezing, lively laugh was infectious, and it was in those times that his whole body seemed to dance in the laughter. I recall many Sunday afternoon visits with Butch and Aunt Evelyn where we would cackle so hard that we would cough, cry, and nearly be sick! Something would hit his funny bone, and we wouldn’t stop until we were exhausted with laughter.

My mother enjoyed telling stories of when her first nephew (Butch) was born, and looking through her photo albums again today, I found so many black and white pictures of little Butch. Don’t be jealous…there were plenty of pictures of Marcia and Roger, Diane, Pamm and the twins, too...but Butch was her first. And she loved him! She never failed to mention after a visit with him how glad she was the doctors were so wrong!

As for me, many of the milestones of my life were marked with the presence of Butch: my graduation parties from high school and college, many of my very early days of preaching, and so many funerals of those we love who have gone before us. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to a family reunion, but I’d have a difficult time imagining such gatherings without my cousin Butch to harass and catch up with. He loved his family – his sister and brother, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins and all. And we loved him, too.

He lived such a rich and full life! To have loved and have been loved as Butch has been is one of the greatest things that can be said of a man. At the end of the journey, there is little else that matters more. How many people have been able to pursue career, wealth, and everything expected of a man and yet meet their end empty and alone? While Butch may have been limited in some areas, he certainly was not lacking in fullness of life!

Along with so many of you gathered here today, I affirm my belief that his Hope is now realized. He has shaken off this body, and he dances in new-found liberty and in the love of the Lord, and he dwells in the company of those he has been longing to see again. Who among us would be so cruel that we would want him to come back? It’s time for Butch to enjoy what the Father has in store for him!

To Marcia and Roger and the rest of the family, I wish that I could have been with you today in person to celebrate Butch’s life. God knows that my heart is there with you. I would love to sit around and recount the stories of his life and re-live those memories that still cause us to laugh. Marcia, you are a remarkable woman to have given Butch so much (Ken, you’re not so bad, either!). I am happy that you were able to be with him and share those special moments as he made his transition from this life to the next. Those irreplaceable moments are some of the most difficult but precious.

Until we see each other again, and with much love,

Mark

An Almighty Alternative

"...hear his voice..."

I came across a couple paragraphs on self-image while I was clearing out some files while preparing for the new school year. Somewhere along the line, someone thought I would be interested in the content. I was, and so now I pass some of it along to you. (Unfortunately, there was no source attached to the paragraphs.)

“The beliefs we have about ourselves were formed in the past. All of our experiences, successes, failures, embarrassments, victories, and relationships with others have helped shape our self-images. Once this image is planted in our brains, we see it as being completely true. We don’t ask ourselves whether our self-image is false or not. We accept it as the absolute truth without asking questions.

Each of us, from the beginning of childhood, weaves a fine web of self-images that grows from our ideas, our parent’s comments to us, and the comment of our teachers and friends. These self-images begin as flimsy cobwebs that become stronger over time, like steel cables. They can support us and make us strong, or they can weigh us down like a ball and chain. All self-images can be changed though. The power of suggestion can have a very strong effect on us. Remember: It’s not what you are that holds you back; it’s what you think you are.”

Our past experiences contribute to our collective self-perception (how we view ourselves). Included in this collection is a narrative of voices that have judged us, criticized us, coddled us, praised us, limited us, rejected us, encouraged us, and loved us. This combined voice continues to speak to us subtly but strongly, often affecting how we live our life and the decisions we make. Someone whose compiled voice tells them they are weak and insignificant will live very differently than someone who lives under the influence of a voice telling them that they are capable and strong. I see these voices at play in the lives of my students and friends constantly.

I see it in my own life.

I often wonder about what my voice adds to people’s collective self-perception. Knowing that the tongue has both the power to give life and destroy it, shouldn’t we be more aware of the significance of our contribution to people’s lives? Every day, we have the opportunity to add life through positive affirmation and hopeful, constructive dialogue. The augmentation of our voice can tilt the scale from self-doubt to self-confidence, self-hatred to self-respect, indifference to motivation.

At some point, we all need the Voice of God and His truth about us interjected into our lives to correct the slanted inaccuracies of a very vocal world. Knowing the truth of our identity as His beloved has a way of erasing the toll taken on us by those who would mislead us about who we really are. It reminds us to participate in the love of God and offer others an almighty alternative to what they believe about themselves.

The challenge for us is to move beyond our neutral silence and engage the neighbor, the student, the friend, the spouse in meaningful conversation, moving beyond shallow-sounding clichés and into relevant relationship. Our aim shouldn’t be to pamper people with bluffing accolades but to simply bring a little life, a little hope.

A small rudder can turn a big ship.

Involved

"Tell me and I forget;

show me and I remember;

involve me and I understand."

Bridge

Four-Wheeled Sanctuary

Somewhere on the American road.

With limited vacation time allowed to me this year, I decided to spread my time out over a series of three and four day weekends in order to take a series of road trips across parts of the American west I had yet to see. Each trip has been as different as the people I have asked to go with me. I explored Mexican-America with Brenda, Native America with Sput, and weird and wonderful America with our extended family. My latest escapade took me far north to wild America with my friend Jon.

Our extended weekend on the road began with a 14-hour drive to Glacier National Park in northern Montana. Glacier is one of America's pristine wilderness areas full of ice-carved peaks, sweeping valleys, impressive wildlife and wildflowers that set the place on fire. It's all a very spectacular and brilliant sight -- one that I have to admit, stirs my soul. Like most of these road trips, however, they are just a great excuse, really, to spend time with the people I love. As impressive as Glacier is, the park wasn't the highlight. The time with my friend was.

I guess that's one of the most appealing aspects of the classic American road trip. The destinations are always great, but the destination isn't necessarily the point. They journey to get there and who you share it with is.

Some might say that driving 2,000 miles in four days plus the wear and tear on the truck combined with the expense of gas isn't really worth it. Were it simply a matter of economics, that might be a valid point. I'll accept that such a trip is ridiculous, but I am more than happy to go well out of my way for time with a friend, family, or neighbor. Do we really need to justify the time, effort, or money that goes into these relationships?

While on the road, Jon suggested that we read aloud the book "The Shack" written by William Young. This book had been recommended to me on many occasions by friends and others who thought that I would appreciate its message. One of the unanticipated delights of this road trip was all the conversation that spun from what we were reading. Our discussions on the goodness of God, the nature of the God-head, and living in loving relationship with the Father and each other consumed the miles. At times, these two grown men were cruising down the interstate at 75(ish) miles an hour fighting back tears and choking on the words we were attempting to read.

It was sloppy. It was funny. It was good for us.

It seemed as though the story on paper was confirming so much of the story unfolding in our lives and how we enjoy the presence of God. Our conversation was rich and deep, something we both crave. He'd laugh whenever I would respond to a poignant message with a short, muffled "hmm" that indicated something hit home. I grinned to myself when I heard him do the same. Like the little child with a bedtime story, we wanted to hear more each time a chapter ended.

We were two men joined by a Third in our four-wheeled sanctuary.

Our road trip ended back where it started at 2300 Poplar Street. We were exausted but thankful that God had orchestrated our meeting five years ago and had built a friendship that was mutually-serving, honest, challenging, and fun. As impressive as Glacier was, it was relationship that delighted me the most. As I glanced over an awesome and inspiring creation, I was reminded that above everything else God put his hand to -- as impressive as His creation is -- it is His relationship with people that He delights in the most.

It's good to have Him as a friend. And just like the road, I'm sure the destination will be great, but I'm enjoying the getting there.

Neighborhood

# & $

The measure of a church?

There can be no doubt that church, as we have understood it, is changing. One of the changes that I am most encouraged by is how we measure growth and success. Traditional paradigms for church success have usually been measured by the following questions:

How much?

How many?

How often?

Church growth proponents and others have long suggested that a healthy church is a growing church (with a large budget). "Growth", of course, seems to be focused on growing our numbers rather than growing our people. Like many others, you may have visited a large church only to discover very little Christian maturity or community ministry coming from the masses. On the other hand, I have visited many small congregations whose maturity and presence were mighty despite their small numbers. Personally, I am most encouraged by the increasing presence of small communities of believers who are embedding themselves in the culture and are serving the communities of our nation in the love of Christ.

I can't help but wonder what is our real aim for "growth" in the Kingdom of God or whose kingdom we are interested in growing. Bigger crowds mean bigger offerings which mean bigger budgets which mean bigger programs and buildings which, in turn, means that we can reach more people (so they say). I see the logic, but I am not so certain the logic is flawless.

If our model is always "growth", we're going to fail. It's inevitable. We can't always grow. Like our present economy, after years of rapid growth, there was an almost obligatory decline (and correction) in the economy. The toll on churches whose measure of success is increasing numbers and growing budgets is calamitous when they begin to decline. Ever-shrinking numbers carry the burden of excessive bugdet deficits and building debt, not to mention the general sense of failure and malaise that accompanies these churches who live in the memory of the "glory days" and struggle to cope with the finacial pressure.

I am not so sure this represents the vitality of God's people living in God's purpose on earth.

I have served in churches whose numbers were declining and whose budgets were strained... and witnessed the stress and anxiety and grief it caused. I've lost a church job because of budget cuts and had to leave our ministry in Ireland because the money wasn't there. I have personally felt the sting. In the pain (and frustration), I have thought a great deal about how dependent so much ministry is upon numbers and dollars...and it has caused me to re-evaluate what I consider ministry to be and how determined I am that we are not so limited when the mammon doesn't come.

I wonder just how much of our emphasis (and security) on church growth is the product of growing up under the influence of capitalism and consumerism. I'm not mocking our American system, but the idea that bigger is better is more of a societal expectation than it is a biblical one.

I work for an organization that thrives on "meeting numbers" and "measuring growth". I must admit that numerical growth has never really meant much to me. I have always delighted in the individual and have thrived in the one-on-one, small group, and changed life. I find reward in telling the stories of my students and friends who have overcome great odds and have discovered life in Christ. I measure success by those who are walking with their God and in the footsteps of Jesus, those who are serving across the globe and right next door with tangible expressions of the love of God. I love the people who fill my life and see them all as a gift from God and a life to be celebrated (Christian or not).

I am just not sure that "how much?", "how many?", and "how often?" can adequately measure the important things in the Kingdom of God or adequately relate what constitutes "success". Success, I believe, is measured differently than what we may be used to or what our traditions may allow.

"You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing. But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked.'" (Revelation 3:17)