Sunday, July 27th

I’m blogging tonight from Jaco, Costa Rica. I’ve been here with some of our high school students for the past week. We’ve renovated a community park where a local church holds weekly Kids Club, we’ve painted the roof of the Hermosa Elementary School, we’ve helped with the Kids Club, and we’ve taught kids how to surf, to name just a few of our activities.

Coming to the end of a trip like this is always a combination of bitter and sweet. Bitter, since I’m now leaving a wonderful week of ministry, not to mention spending the week surfing one of the hottest beaches in the world for surfing. To put it plainly, its been an epic week.

But not a typical “mission trip” at all, however. And purposefully so.

You’ve have perhaps already read my blog called “Mission the Point” about my disdain for “mission trips”. And where most mission trips, retreats, and other various youth events end with the “final night”, I have chosen instead to let kids simmer in the final few moments–not in tearful and emotional declarations, made sobbing en mass, but rather….well, swimming at the pool.

Here’s my logic (or lack thereof): If the closing night event, in the mind of students, serves as the “period on the sentence” of the weeklong experience, then by taking away the closing night “event” concept, I remove the perception that we are about to move from “here” to “there”. And in doing so, perhaps allow the transition from “here” to “there” be a bit more seamless.

No, I’m not fooling anyone, nor am I trying to; I’m merely looking at the past, seeing what does and doesn’t work, and making the appropriate changes. If the “final night” meeting of the trip reaps only temporary and emotionally driven results, then I say drop it like that cut and paste clip art–the kind you literally had to cut and paste.

Another example of dropping what doesn’t work–this week we’ve had prayer/Bible study times as a group. Well, 2 nights in a row saw exhausted students with bobbing heads during our supposed Bible study time. I’d say 60% of them were asleep for most of the group devo time.

So, on the 3rd night, I give a couple important announcements about the next day’s schedule, I get them into groups of 3 to briefly pray together, and that’s it. And you know what responses I immediately got? “That’s it?!?” and “You mean we’re done?” I even got a prayer hug; one of my favorite kinds. If its not working, why do it, right?

I just don’t want to hold onto anything that doesn’t work. I don’t want the reason we do things to be “because that’s the way we do things.”

This week, by the way, has been absolutely incredible. It started with a domino line of events that put us in Costa Rica 24 hours behind our planned schedule. From a delayed flight, to a rebooked flight, to an unplanned overnight stay in Atlanta. And through those and many other circumstances this week, we were blessed, moved, and blown away to see the hand of God moving. And those unexpected hours spent together served to bond our group even tighter before heading into our week in ministry to the people of Jaco.

At our “Learn To Surf” event for children yesterday, one of our adult leaders Sheldon, took a surfboard to the mouth, ending him up at the local Red Cross clinic receiving 9 stitches in 3 different places, including the inside of his mouth, his chin, and his neck. And while he was getting stitched up, another of the leaders was speaking to one of the clinic workers, ultimately leading him to a personal friendship with Jesus Christ.

In the van on one of our many rides from point A to point B, Sheldon shared with all our students that we just can never know what God is up to. What was at one moment me helping him out of the surf while blood poured from his mouth, turned into another moment where one person’s eternity changed forever. In Sheldon’s words, “I’d take a million stitches if it meant having the chance to see one person come to know Jesus.” And on top of all that, Sheldon testifys that he has had NO pain whatsoever. Not when it happened, not after, not now. No pain. Even with no pain medication. Nothing.

And its in these moments–so many of them peppered all througout our week–that we had those “green pasture” times as a group, and as individuals. So, while a closing meeting might serve to help tie the week up with a nice bow, I don’t want any part of anything being wrapped up, concluded, or ending.

And even this morning, as we joined the local church (check them out at http://www.ccfjaco.org/) for worship, several of our students participated in the open testimony time. One of our high school guys in particular spoke pointed about waiting for God to hit him with that “boom” moment–the one that he had come to expect as a staple in any half-decent retreat or mission trip. But with the week not having one “boom” moment, God taught him that life with God is truly so much more about the moment by moment walk with Him. As I’ve heard it put so perfectly: “God is more often found in the moment, and less in the momentous.” It was throughout the week that this high school student learned that if he wasn’t “feeling” God near, it wasn’t God’s fault.

And if you’ve read my “Mission the Point” blog, you know that I so want to see even more life change as a result of mission trips, not just week change. (And yes, our mission experiences are only one part of the big picture approach to discipleship.) But I truly believe that so much of the “mission trip’s” fruit still remains to be seen. Jaco, Costa Rica looks different because we’ve been there, but what will our students’ workplaces, lunch tables, school hallways, classrooms, families, and neighborhoods look like because we went to Jaco this summer? To me, that’s just as much a part of the mission experience as the trip was–maybe even more.

Because if it was a weeklong trip without lasting results, both in Jaco and in us, then we’d better adjust our perspective and approach on the viability of such trips.

Some insights I’ve developed both over the years, and in the wake of this most recent trip:
1. It’s best to downplay the differences between here and there, and magnify the similarities. Highlight transferable principles that will be invariably born out of cultural experiences.
2. Its in flexibility that we see God work. Its often in the unplanned and uncomfortable that God does His thing.
3. Build a strong prep and follow-up that allows students to prepare spiritually, so that as much as possible, the activities of the trip aren’t done only on the trip.
4. Spiritualize everything–it all is, anyway.
5. Allow all participants to be led by God to their own conclusions and commitments about their experiences. I’m not saying don’t do corporate worship or sharing (I’m not an idiot), but I am saying it isn’t wise to shoot for a synchronized group-wide “aha”. Let God handle that.

I hate when people say, “I know what you’re thinking…” because I’m thinking “No, you don’t.” So, I won’t slap a bunch of qualifiers and disclaimers on this thing, trying to explain myself out of the things that readers might certainly disagree with in what they read here.

Heck, I might read this in a week and totally disagree with myself. I’m as teachable as they come, but I doubt it.

So, I’ll just leave it right there.

Right now, I’m sitting in the library on the University of Richmond campus. I’ve been invited here by the leadership of the Governor’s School, after being nominated by one of my good friends (and students) Ashley Pitzer. Ashley is a phenomenal young woman with such a wide variety of talents, abilities, and passions. Which makes it all the more baffling as to why she would nominate ME as an “Outstanding Educator”; a title for which I am (try not to chuckle) receiving an award as well as a “Presidential Citation” tonight at a special ceremony.

When I was first notified of my inclusion in this evening’s ceremony, I had to check the envelope to make sure I didn’t get my neighbor’s mail again. But believe it or not, it’s me that’s here and apparently supposed to be here. Go figure.

But what am I doing here? I mean, out of all the people that Ashley COULD have nominated and invited to be with her today, why would I be the one so honored (and humbled) to be here?

Don’t expect an answer to that one. I don’t have one. But I am very humbled to be known by her, let alone recognized in any way.

And as I think about “Teacher Recognition Day” as it is also called here on campus, I can’t help but think about the greatest teacher of all time. And it is in His steps that I endeavor to walk as I live, think, speak, and even…gulp….teach. I’m also reminded of a wonderful little book; a book that could fit into my pocket–a simple book entitled “Jesus, the Teacher”. I was given this book by my father-in-law along with a boxful of other various books he thought I might be interested in.

Truth be told, anything that would credit me as an “Outstanding Educator” can be found in the yellowed pages of that pocket-size book.

Just moments ago, I stood in a hallway chatting with other teachers who are also a part of today’s festivities. And they began to ask one another what subject they teach, and at which school. My mind reached feverishly for what my answer might be when inevitably someone might ask me that question. The conumdrum? I’m not—

[I just saw an ant walk off a window sill and fall to the ground like a rock.]

—anyway, I’m not a teacher of a “subject” per se, and I don’t teach at a “school” per se. So, all the others in the circle fit nicely and neatly into a category. Like James who teaches math and theater in Virginia Beach. Or Paul who teaches history in Williamsburg (what a cool place to teach history, right?!?)

So, the time had come. Paul turned to me and asked, “What about you?”

I responded, “Oh a teach a little bit of everything…..I’m Ashley’s youth pastor.” It was a fair response, I suppose. I certainly couldn’t say “math” or “biology”, and I DEFINITELY didn’t want to say “religion” or “theology”; though those might have been a little closer to the mark–but would leave me susceptible to being misunderstood or worse: mislabeled.

And I suppose that’s my anxiety. Being labeled. Saying anything having to do with church, or Jesus, or God, or ministry and the common responses are similar to those I might receive had I said, “I’m with the IRS” mixed with the looks I might get had I said, “I’m a cancer patient…but also a cancer researcher.”

I heard recently that freedom isn’t “getting to do whatever you want”. Freedom is not being able to do whatever you want, and being o.k. with that. I think freedom also has to do with liberation from the anxiety we feel upon the prospect of being labeled; no matter what that label is.

OK, enough of that. I could go on and really get nowhere and even bore myself, let alone anyone who might ever read this.

As for now, I’m honored to, for a day, be labeled “Outstanding Educator”, even while inwardly I know that I have only tried to learn from the Greatest Teacher that has ever lived. So, as I receive whatever certificate or whatever token I am given tonight, I’ll be thinking about and thanking not only Ashley for inviting me here and bestowing this weird deal on me, but also thanking He whom I follow, learn from, and try to teach about.

OK, I’m out. Time to hit what’s next on the schedule.
Oh, and don’t forget that today is 7-11, and thus is “Free Slurpee Day”. Brain freeze? Bring it.

Last week, I took a large group of pretty typical middle school students and a handful of quite extraordinary adults to Kilmarnock, VA for our middle school mission trip. It is a trip we tend to make every summer. More on that in a moment.

First of all, let me say that I really find the concept of a “mission trip” distasteful. I don’t see much of anything that resembles anything close to a “mission trip” anywhere in Scripture. That is, of course, with the exception of the entire life of Christ. His 33 years of life were in and of themselves a “trip” that took Him from the glory of heaven to a broken earth, to the depths of hell, back to earth for a brief revisit, and then finally back home to heaven, where He now sits.
I can here some say, “What about the ‘missionary journeys of Paul’?” Really? You’re going to compare Paul’s mission LIFE to a short term TRIP we take students on? Think about the apostles being sent out two by two and reporting back. But even then, they seemed to miss the point.

But other than that, I’m not so sure the popular “mission trip” idea is a good idea at all. Here’s why:

Most mission trips fall woefully short in the department of any lasting impression they leave on anyone involved. They are inevitably “over there” and precious little of what goes on “over there” ends up “over here”. But, when [church] people see teenagers going “over there” and then coming back “over here” with pictures, stories, and even tears, it seems to look like something good. Maybe even something like Jesus would do. Or thinks we should do. Or something.

And I want to spill my guts here. I don’t like mission trips. I just don’t.

I like going to exotic places (I’m going on another “mission trip” to Costa Rica in less than a week). I like seeing new things. I like taking pictures and making videos of those places and things. I like watching people do things that freak them out a little bit. I like trying to talk to people who don’t understand anything I’m saying. I like eating foods of different cultures. I like all that. But none of that is Biblically mandated. None of it. And that’s pretty much all the stuff of today’s mission trips.

Let me tell you exactly the moment that drove the last nail into the coffin of “mission trips” for me. It happened just a few days ago, while I was still on that middle school mission trip in Kilmarnock. One of our middle school girls came to me late afternoon on Thursday. Let me back up. We had arrived there on Sunday evening, and we were leaving on Saturday morning. Friday was “play day” (jet skis, tubing, jellyfish stings, you know–fun stuff), so Thursday night was our final “worship service” as a group; the kind of gathering we had enjoyed every night that week. So, just hours before the Thursday night (final) worship service we’d have as a group on that trip, that girl came and asked me this question: “So Jerry….is tonight ‘Jesus night’?” I said, “What? What do you mean?” She responded, “You know, the night of the trip when everyone ‘gets saved’ and makes commitments they’re not going to keep.” Those were her exact words.

Well, inwardly I was absolutely blown away, deflated, and almost entirely sympathetic to this girl’s astute observation. Outwardly, however, I said something cutesy like, “Well, I’d like to think that every night is Jesus night. Every day is Jesus day. Every afternoon is Jesus afternoon. Every second is Jesus second.” She was then distracted by a friend calling for her attention and that was the end of our exchange. But the deed had been done. This girl, in her honest, innocent, and yet right on statement had summarized the very heart of why I don’t like “mission trips”.

It’s primarily because for some reason we’ve decided that God works best on the last night of the trip. And even unwittingly we orchestrate this climactic build; setting the stage for God to be right on time, but not too early. And for the last several years, I load any “trip” I lead students with overt messages that point out the very fact of the inherent danger of a trip being just that…a trip. Something that begins and ends; usually within the span of 7 days or so.

I sound jaded, don’t I? And I’m honestly not that cynical toward what God can do through mission trips. He’s used these trips for incredible good like opening the eyes of students (and adults) to the realities of poverty, injustice, despair, contentedness, and true joy. I’ve even watched Him lay “the call” to full-time missions (is there another kind?) on their hearts. Yep, I’ve see God do lots.

But when God gets predictable and we can come up with an identifiable “Jesus Night”, we’re not knocking on the right door. When that happens, we’ve led a group of students on a trip. Nothing more.

And I’m fully aware that I’m pretty much blowing the whistle on myself. After all, I’m the youth pastor leading this trip. But it also tells me that that middle school girl has been around the retreat/youth convention/mission trip block enough times to know that the final night is when the magic happens.

The root of this, or at least one of them, is the misunderstanding of the Great Commission. We typically translate the “Therefore go…” as “go over there and do that thing you do.” But the “Therefore go” is properly translated “as you are going” or “on the way”. So, “missions” becomes so much less about the destination and so much more about the journey. If my trip to Costa Rica is from July 21st to the 28th and we look the same on the 29th as we did on the 20th, then what was the point?

The “success” of the trip is not measured in whether or not we built that orphange, dug that well, played with those kids, learned that language, or cried those tears. The true measure of the trip’s success, I believe is this: What difference does it make “over here”? In essence, is the “trip” any closer to becoming the “life”? Ask a teen to pay $850 to go to another country to talk about Jesus to a stranger and they’ll do it all day. Ask them to talk to that person next to them in the lunchroom for free and you’re asking too much.

So is it any wonder then, why I don’t relish these “trips”? I’ve found that they do serve their purpose, but not usually any lasting ones. I’ve got some things I’m doing to change all this in my own ministry (and its likely not what you’re thinking), but more on that later.

For now, I’ve got to go pack.

While I’m sitting here typing, my wife is running. She’s a runner. And while I love that about her, I don’t really get it. I understand it logically/cerebrally, but not in any other way. And it turns out, the “other ways” are the ways that matter–the ways that make the difference.

My wife is training. She’s going to be a part of a team in September who will together run a 183 mile relay marathon. Why? Great question. I don’t understand THAT on any level.

But if I were to guess, the reason might have something to do with facing a challenge, looking at it in the eyes (or belt buckle–depending on the size of the challenge) and saying, “You don’t scare me.”

Just less than an hour ago, as my wife was heading out the door and adjusting her iPod earbuds, I sat down in the rocking chair (I sound old, don’t I?) to look at a magazine. It’s a magazine produced by a Christian publisher, and it’s one that I’ve learned to really like a lot. Since I had already read the article on sex, I thought I’d see what else was in this, the latest issue.

And while I flipped through the pages, picking out a page here, and a paragraph there that caught my eye, my mind started to wander and began to wonder…”What am I doing?” That question quickly led to “Why am I doing this?”

Sounds silly, and perhaps far too philosophical for real life (or a blog), but I honestly found myself wondering what drew me to that magazine, that rocking chair, next to that lamp, for those few minutes. One reason stands alone: Growth.

Somewhere within each one of us is an insatiable desire to become something other than what we are. It sent my wife out the door to train for a 183 mile relay, and it sent me to that rocker to find out, dwell in, and work on improving an(y) area of my life where something is lacking.

And as a follower of Christ, I find myself in constant need of growth. I am so often lagging so far behind Him–far more often than I would care to admit. Most days, when the eyes of my emotions would consider Him just a speck on the horizon, the reality of His grace reminds me that He is constantly moving at MY pace. HE’S the one who is actually IN me. Absurd, isn’t it?

But the disparity between who I am and who I believe He deserves is a chasm that actually doesn’t quench my spirit. On the contrary–it alivens my step. It kicks my rear. It says, “Grow.”

Because I believe the Spirit of God is cheering me on. And not from a far off sideline; from within this fallible, fumbling, flawed man He calls “friend”.

But the inner battle rages doesn’t it? Case in point: I say I want to get that six-pack stomach before summer gets here, and yet I’m drawn to ice cream like a moth to a flame. The battle rages indeed.

But here’s the kicker. I’m a “Discipleship Pastor”. I’m not kidding. Those two words are actually next to each other in my ministry title. Read this blog again, get to this point, and feel free to laugh aloud. And when someone hears and asks what you’re laughing at, do me a favor; don’t blow my cover. Tell them you were just remembering a Seinfeld or something.

So, its no wonder then that I am consumed with the issue of growth. And here’s something that will make you sad. I usually think about the growth of students over my own growth. I know, I know. I can hear my college professor, close friend, and mentor Len Kageler telling me that I’ve got to lead from experience, that I can’t take anyone where I haven’t already been, and that if I’m not feeding my spirit, what will I have to give to students? But I continually find it difficult to read a passage of Scripture and say, “Boy Jerry, you needed that. That was God’s gift to you today. Take that, digest it, allow it to penetrate your heart, and live it out with His help.” Instead my mind skips all that and goes to, “Boy, that would be an awesome lesson at youth group next time I speak. I can see those slides on the screen now! What graphics and imagery should I use to really drive that point home? Oh, I know the perfect way to close up the message, and really make it memorable for those students. Wow, I bet some of ’em will even cry! This is gonna be awesome!”

(I just deleted 2 full paragraphs that I typed, looked over, and wasn’t sure if I even agreed with myself. See what I mean when I say “flawed”? And I’m supposed to help people grow?)

So, in order to move from bloggishly rhetorical to hopefully practical, I’d like to offer myself some advice:

1. Remember your first love.
The truth is, I’m in love with Jesus. Might not seem like it to anybody but me (Lord knows the evidence is sometimes against me), but it’s true. I love Him for saving me. I love Him for putting up with me. I love Him for steering my life in a way that has, among countless other blessings, brought me the most phenomenal woman for a wife and 4 unbelievable kids. I love Him for even using me to somehow do something in other people’s lives. I love Him because He loved me first. And not just first–but before He created the world or anything in it. I love Him because…oops, I got distracted. Did I mention how patient He is with me?
But when I forget that this is a love affair, this relationship turns into just a religion. And that turns into a list of rules. And that turns into routine. And that turns into a rut. And that turns into Rigor mortis.

2. Take His Word seriously. Take it for all it is, all it has, and all it says; even though I still don’t know most of it.
So, is the Bible…
A. A love letter
B. A history book, or
C. A manual for right living?
The answer? Yes.
God’s Word tells me to “study”. It also tells me to “love”. It also tells me how to handle situations with grace, benevolence, compassion, and mercy.
God’s Word tells me to grow. So, by God, I better grow.

3. Be watching.
Maybe its just me, but I see and hear God teaching me most clearly through everyday occurances of life. Read most of the blogs I’ve ever written, and you’ll see they are nothing more than an attempt to convey how I am constantly reminded of God’s truth through what happened to me that day. It’s not like I was studying God’s Word–more like God’s Word was studying me. So, I always try and chronicle the things God is teaching me. And my life (for me) becomes a long string of supporting evidence that God’s Word is true.

As I look back over this blog, I can’t help but think that it seems incomplete. I’ve read it over a few times and beyond looking for grammatical errors and spelling mishaps, I’ve looked for ways to better it. But the fact that I’m coming up short is, I suppose, proving the very point I’ve endeavored to make. The growth that I need is so indelibly linked to the ways that I lack.

And I can either look at that lack and pout, or I can look at that lack and see the image of His fullness. Therein, growth is my living out the life that God already sees.

I went to Starbucks today. The reason? One free drink with my name on it and 20 minutes of an armchair with my behind’s name on it. Let me back up.

I went to Starbucks last week. I ordered a tall decaf. Brewed. You know: drip, drip, drip. That kind of coffee. As in: coffee. With a smile, the cheery barista told me it’d be a few minutes since they were just now brewing a fresh pot of decaf drip. “No problem”, I thought and said, my appointment was late to arrive anyway. I had time.
So, while the fresh decaf was dripping, I sat on the leather couch. Devoid of any reading material of my own, and despising the newspaper that Starbucks carries, I simply sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And sat.

I thought to myself, “Hmm…I sure do want some decaf.” But I’m a patient person. Ask my wife.

So, finally, with politeness in my step and a smile on my face, I mustered the gumption to investigate what was going on with the MIA decaf. Just as I approached the countoured partition separating me from the wonderment of the barista’s realm, the same cheery gal who took my order walked around the counter, decaf in hand, and toward me with a smile. As she did, she reached over the frosted glass and grabbed some type of slip of paper. Apologetically, she told me that she had simply forgotten about me and was so sorry to make me wait. Then she handed me the slip of paper. With verbage and verbosity that rivals even yours truly, I had received a heartfelt note from Mr. Starbucks himself, apologizing (in form letter) for my inconvenience and stating that my next cup was on him. Or them. Or it. Or however you choose to identify the juggernaut of Starbucks. You get the point.

So, back to today.

I had approx. 20 minutes to enjoy my free drink. And here’s a tip: When Starbucks gives you a piece of paper that entitles you to a free drink, get the biggest, most expensive drink they offer. And I did just that. So, it ended up that I paid $1.53 for a tall decaf and got my decaf (eventually) PLUS a Venti Java Chip Frappucino for $4.85. Take that, Starbucks. Vengenance was theirs however; most of the chips didn’t fit easily through the straw. I had to suck hard enough to turn my face inside out to get it through. “Who’s laughing now?”, Starbucks says with a grin.

So, I got my drink, had a book in hand I have long wanted to at least start. And within moments of ordering and receiving my free slice of paradise, someone I know walked in behind me. And not just someone, but someone who needs attention…..MY attention. Someone whom I care deeply about, but don’t have any more answers for. Someone who consumed >15 of my 20 minutes. So, with 4 minutes and a handful of seconds, I got as much reading of that book in as I could. I’m on page 2 of chapter 1.

But you know what? Even that 4+ minutes was refreshing. Even such a brief retreat was a retreat nonetheless. Even with barely no time at all, I stood up, walked out, and found my step a bit peppier. Why? I’ll tell you my guess.

When we rest–even briefly–we touch the Divine. And in case you don’t know me or know what my backdrop is, when I say “Divine”, I mean “God”. And when I say “God”, I mean the God of the Bible. The YAHWEH of the Old Testament and the MESSIAH of the New Testament. When we rest, we reflect the nature and person of God.

God is never hurried.
God is never overscheduled.
God is never overcommitted.
God is never strained, stressed, or strapped for time.
God is never rushed.
God is never late.
God is never early.
God is never even slightly winded by the things that exhaust me.

And when we rest, we come in contact with His character, the very being of our Creator.

So, with my total of 4 minutes of quiet rest and retreat, though I wished for more, I was able to walk out and back to my day reminded that the rest of my day was His.

Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click….
That’s the sound of the last 11 years as we’ve ridden the roller coaster up the first hill of the ride called “Parenting A Teen”. At this moment, we’re at the top, tipping over the first drop and holding on to the lap bar with white knuckles and smiles mixed with trepidation, exhilaration, and a touch of nausea.
Well, we’re the parents of an 11 year old girl. And as a youth pastor for lo these many years, I’ve watching thousands of teens step through the door of pre-adolescence. But few people understand that that first step usually means that they turn in most of their brain function and trade it for strides toward self-identification, social acceptance, and overall funky malaise.
Today is class picture day at our (pre-teen) daughter’s school. Remember those days? And today’s drama was focused on white pants that her Mom wanted her to wear vs. the green pants SHE wanted to wear. She wore the white pants with a scowl. Should make for a lovely class picture!
An no amount of rational thought coming from us could penetrate the steel fortress of a pre-teen brain. It’s just too unplugged.
Just a couple of days ago, Merritt (my wife) called from the other room after observing Madison’s suddenly erratic behavior–and said, “Our daughter just turned into a teenager!” No joke, I’ve seen things happen in the pre-teen years, where it’s as if somebody literally reached in and flipped a switch on the inside wall of their skull; the switch that reads “polite” on one side and “psychopath” on the other.
Ah, the joys of parenting.

I got an email recently that was lengthy, kind of preachy, and quite predictable in its ending.

Apparently, the amount of love I have for God is linked directly to how many people I forward that email to. The email was also broadly accusational toward anyone who would not forward the email to their entire email address book, because not doing so meant I was ashamed of being a follower of God. The author of said email pulled out the tried and true Bible verse I like to call the “uzi of guilt”… “But if anyone denies me before men, I will also deny him before my Father in heaven.” (Matt. 10:33) Really? Are we going to stretch out the definition of fervency for God to include how many people I forward an email to? Really? I can see myself standing before the God of the Universe as He says, “Yes, Jerry, I know you believe that I sent my Son to pay the price for your sin. I know I said I forgive you. I know that you spent your life loving people and serving Me…but it comes down to this: Remember that email you got in April of 2008? How many people did you forward that email to? Was it your whole address book? No? Well, I’m afraid that you’ve damned yourself to eternal hell. Next time you’d better think before deleting.”

I’d be more offended if I wasn’t so busy laughing. But it got me thinking. And its about time, too. If you only gauged that by my blog entries, you’d think I haven’t done that in over a month.

Last night, I sat in a Taco Bell with 8 high school students around a couple of tables and talked. At first, it was just catching up with each other and talking about life. But then we turned our attention to John 2:1-11. Look it up and read it if you want to. It’s here.

It was a wedding at Cana. And Jesus was just Jesus as far as anybody really knew. He was Jesus like Bob was Bob, and Stephanie was Stephanie; nothing really setting him apart was special. Sure, he had called disciples; but that’s what Rabbis did. The weirdest thing that had happened up to that point in Jesus’ life was that a voice was heard from heaven at his baptism; the voice of God saying that He was (and is) pleased with Jesus. Other than that (if you can overlook it), nothing peculiar. No walking on water. No waking up dead people. No 5 loaves, 2 fish, and 5,000 men to feed. Just Jesus.

So, it’s no wonder that Jesus for the first time recorded in Scripture says “No” to His mom. Jesus was at this wedding party (and parties then are not like parties today. They pale in comparison). And as often happened…the wine ran out.

Now, I’m not too shy to stop right here and point out something that probably most followers of Christ and even “church-goers” have long wrestled with…what’s Jesus doing with a glass of wine in his hand?!? I mean, c’mon Jesus…you’re making us churchy people uncomfortable! Put that wine down! Did Jesus really drink wine? I mean WINE?!? You know…WINE!?!

I don’t want to take the time to get into the argument of “was it wine or grape juice?” I’ll just leave it at the fact that my understanding of the Bible, Jewish culture, and exposition leaves me with no other choice than to accept that this drink was in fact wine, which is the fermented grape juice, and therefore containing alcohol, and so consequently having the power to allow people to be drunk. Yep, that kind of wine. (After all, if John had meant grape juice, wouldn’t he have described it as “grape juice”?)

So, the wine runs out early–too early. The party’s wasn’t over (is it ever?) and the wine was gone. So Jesus’ mom comes to Him since she knows who He is and the power He has. I love the fact that Mary calls on Jesus’ power not for the purpose of healing a sick person or casting out a demon, but because the booze was gone. To me, that’s just hilarious.

But Jesus initially says “No” to His mom’s request. Actually, it was worded, “Dear woman, why do you involve me?” He probably used that line when she complained about a mess in his bedroom at home.

Mary: “Jesus, you need to pick up that room before you go outside to play!”

Jesus: “Dear woman, why do you involve me?”

And it wasn’t that Jesus didn’t care about the wine situation. It’s that He knew what time it was and what time is wasn’t. And then, something weird happened. His mom trumped him with the Mom Card. Even after Jesus clearly states that his time is not yet come, that is, that he is not ready for his “close-up”; not ready to be revealed as who He is, Mary ignores him. She turned to the servants (putting Jesus on the spot), and said, “Do whatever he tells you to do.”

So, a few minutes go by and 6 servants carry about 150 gallons of wine back to the party.

Yep, I typed that right: 150 GALLONS. Not a couple more bottles, not a case, but 150 gallons. Not only that, but when the master of the party tasted the wine he questioned the groom as to why in the world would he save the good stuff til later? Every self-respecting party-goer knows that you put the good stuff out first! I mean, it only makes sense–let the partiers get drunk on the best stuff, and then bring out the cheap stuff when nobody knows or cares about the difference. I mean, duh.

But this account of Jesus’ first miracle wraps up with a peculiar distinction. It was well before the wedding in Cana that Jesus had called His disciples. So, they were already following him and most likely right there with him at the wedding feast. They were disciples only in the sense of following, but look what happened after the party: “He thus revealed his glory, and the disciples put their faith in him.” (John 2:11)

Is it possible to follow Christ without putting your faith in Him? Is it possible that thousands, even tens of thousands, even millions of “followers” have yet to put their faith in Jesus? Is it possible that there are church buildings filled every week with followers who remain faithless?