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“And so one more time I say to you, beloved, this is the Word of God.”

/ jerrythinks / 4 Comments

I’m writing this blog post in an attempt (futile as it will most assuredly be) to honor the man who has shaped my understanding of scripture more than any other person has. My dad has been my pastor for my entire life, and growing up in the home of a preacher is–well–a unique experience to say the very least. (Speaking of saying the very least, I chuckle at comments about preachers preaching too long. I grew up in a church where the average sermon was 45 minutes long.)

Ronald Earl Varner began his pastoral ministry at the age of 30, in North Carolina at Davis Grove Baptist Church. Yours truly was but a wee lad, with foggy memories of that time. When I was between Kindergarten and first grade, my family moved from North Carolina to New Jersey; quite a culture shift. I vividly remember walking several feet behind my parents on the sidewalk outside my elementary school, where I had just been withdrawn as a student as we prepared to move to NJ, tears rolling down my Kindergarten cheeks. It was my first taste of sacrifice as a son of a preacher man.

Some of my first memories of helping my dad as he pastored South Jersey Baptist Church in North Cape May, NJ, were being in his small study in the lower level of the parsonage in which we lived, and standing next to a mimeograph machine. My dad would load up the original on that weird type of paper, make sure there was ink in the drum, and then I’d begin to crank that handle like a circus monkey, pumping out the bulletins for the next Sunday’s worship service. I can still smell that ink; one type from the typewriter and another type from the mimeograph. In my mind right now, I can hear the sound of that ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum as freshly printed bulletins were imprinted with that week’s hymn numbers, prayer requests, and sermon title.

My dad has always been a servant of the Church. His faithfulness to preparation, diligent study, and exposition of God’s Word is what I’d dare stand at the core of the legacy he has created throughout his pastoral ministry. But not only has he been faithful to “preach the Word, in season and out of season” as Paul admonished Timothy to do in 2 Timothy 4:2, but he also layered a level of comfort and friendliness into his ministry to others. My dad was never “too good” for anyone or too busy to help someone who might have a need.

We lived a driveway’s width from the church building where He pastored, and so I grew very accustomed to helping out with service preparation. Anything from unlocking the doors, to straightening the hymnals in the hymnal racks on the back of those long wooden pews, to sliding those cardboard number tiles into the wooden rails on the sign up front so that everyone could see the hymn numbers for that day, the attendance from last week, and the offering amount that had been given.

He would bring me along on countless visits to church members homes (my dad is king of the “pop-in”) where we’d sit and talk about church matters and about life over a cup of coffee he himself most likely made in whatever person’s kitchen he was in.

He would bring me along to drop off that cassette recording of that week’s sermon at the local radio station. There was a sense of awe that my Dad’s preaching would reach beyond the four walls of our modest little church building there on Townbank Road.

He would bring me along to the homes of shut-ins that he’d seek to encourage and keep connected. I recall sitting at the kitchen table of a very, very old woman who had lost her husband and most of her sight as she served us both a piece of pie from her fridge, not able to see the mold that had grown on the pie. I remember my dad graciously trying to honor our hostess by eating as much of the pie as was safe, and encouraging me to be careful as I did the same. (Neither of us suffered any effects of eating that pie, by the way.) She was simply wanting to show us gratitude for the yard work he had done and brought me along for.

He would bring me along to South Cape Nursing Home, where he would conduct a time of worship for the residents there–many left alone and forgotten by their families and society. I remember handing out hymnals to those who could still hold one and whose eyes and/or mind would still let them read. I remember the tinny sound of that upright piano and the way it echoed down the long, dimly-lit, urine-scented corridor of that nursing home. I remember sitting next to Frank, an amputee with a three-tooth grin, hunched over in his wheelchair, listening to my dad give a miniature version of that week’s Sunday morning message.

Over my lifetime, my dad has taught me so many spiritual truths from God’s Word, as well as principles that help shape my understanding of being a disciple of Jesus. One of those statements is “Salvation is free, but from here to eternity it’ll cost you your life.” What a succinct, powerful packaging of words that summarize the entirety of full surrender–the kind of surrender that must follow a confession of faith in Jesus as Savior. It was from my Dad that I learned the inseparability of Jesus as Savior and Jesus as Lord. The expression “If Jesus isn’t Lord OF all, then Jesus isn’t Lord AT all” when it comes to my personal relationship with Him may not have been original to my Dad, but it was something he was faithful to challenge me with. It was from my Dad that I learned about “The Believer and the Sin of Anxiety”, one of his sermons that, for whatever reason, has gotten especially stuck in my mind. That message crafted my understanding of how to live a life free from worry. Can you imagine being equipped as a young person to walk through the rest of your life worry-free? That’s what that message did for me, and I walk that way to this day. I remember my Dad’s teaching on Isaiah’s vision of God in the temple. I wrote about that recently, and you can read just a taste of my understanding of this passage, an understanding that came straight from my Dad’s preaching and teaching of it.

Why am I telling you all this (and believe me, I could pack a 45-minute sermon with the rest of it, and more)? It’s because yesterday marked the end of pastoral ministry for my Dad. After 50 years of pastoring at the local church level, He has retired and is moving into the next chapter of God’s story for his life. And I want you to know that I’m proud to call Ron Varner my Dad.

I feel compelled to pause here and extol the incredible qualities of my Mom, Beverly Varner. You’ve likely heard the expression, “Behind every great man there’s an even greater woman.” Well, that statement is especially true of pastors. No pastor who’s worth their weight would be able to do what they do without the loving, often overlooked support of their spouse. And I know this is true of Ron and Beverly Varner. My Mom has served my Dad just as diligently, faithfully, and beautifully as my Dad has served the local church. There cannot and would not be the impactful ministry of Ron Varner without the ministry of Bev Varner. They have decided from the start to be a team in this ministry; my Dad with all the public parts and my Mom with the mostly silent, unseen parts. One might be tempted to say that it’s the man up front who does the heavy lifting of ministry. That person would be dead wrong. I honor and bless my Mom for her 50 years of sacrifice for the good of the Kingdom and the gospel message being preached, and countless numbers of disciples being equipped to live Godly lives. My Mom’s ministry cannot be overstated. To all the spouses of pastors who might read these words: You are seen, you are loved, you are appreciated, you are so very vitally valuable to the mission of your spouse, and God will reward you Himself for your faithful ministry.

My Dad has been a faithful steward of God’s Word, and as I sat down this morning to listen to his final sermon to those gathered in that church building in North Carolina, so similarly sized to the church building I grew up in, I heard these words spoken after my Dad read that morning passage of scripture from Revelation that he was about to preach on: “And so one more time I say to you, beloved, this is the Word of God.”

“And so one more time…” If I’m not careful, that lump in my throat will turn into tears as I think about what those few words represent. It isn’t merely a pastor in front of his flock for a final sermon. It’s a man at a very distinct juncture in his own life and ministry, boldly proclaiming for “one more time” in the context of that local church the only thing that will stand for as long as the earth stands: the Word of God.

“Beloved…” I’ll confess that over the years my Dad’s overuse of the word “beloved” has become a bit of a running joke. He loves to use that word in reference to God’s people. If you’ve ever heard him preach, you have heard him refer to the Church as “beloved” on multiple occasions in any given sermon. But that is merely a glimpse of his heart for God’s people. He simply wants to remind all of us that “beloved” is what we are in God’s sight. From the youngest to the oldest. From the wealthiest to the most impoverished. From the most influential to the most seemingly insignificant. All people are beloved by God, first by virtue of Him being our Creator, and then even more so by Him being our Redeemer. And my Dad took every opportunity to remind God’s people that they are at the center of God’s heart, eternally beloved.

“This is the Word of God.” I can tell you unequivocally that when the dust settles on a lifetime of ministry, my Dad would only want to have said about him that he faithfully preached God’s Word, in the power of God’s Spirit, for the good of God’s people, and to the glory of God alone.

So while I’m sure that more preaching opportunities await Rev. Ron Varner, his connection to a local congregation and his responsibility to shepherd a specific group of people have now closed. Now, as God guides, he can turn his attention to first enjoying even more time with his bride, then swinging golf clubs, and ministering through providing solid biblical preaching and teaching both online and as guest preaching opportunities arise. (And of course, you’ll also find him frequently fielding questions about the Bible from his son.)

So if you have a pastor, let me encourage you to encourage them. (I totally get that I’m a pastor, so that statement sounds a bit self-serving. Just trust me that it isn’t.) Reach out to them and let them know you’re praying for them. Ask what you can take off their plate. Show up early next time there’s a worship gathering and offer to pray with them before they preach. When a service is over, don’t bolt out the door; stay and fellowship. One of the greatest joys of a pastor isn’t preaching in the spotlight, it’s conversing in the trenches. Invite your pastor to lunch. He probably eats every day, just like you do. Ask him how you can specifically be in prayer for his family. Send a note to the pastor’s spouse. If you love and agree with the vision of that local church, go all in on it. I mean ALL IN. If you don’t love and agree with the vision/direction, find another local church where you can go all in. Your pastor doesn’t want your butt in a seat on Sunday nearly as much as they want your heart handed over to Jesus, to His mission on earth, and to spiritually community where you can thrive and flourish.

I’ll wrap up here with another “attaboy” for Reverend Ron Varner. Well done, Dad. You’ve walked a road few are called to, and even fewer survive, and you’ve done so well.

As he has shared on numerous occasions with me and his congregation, these words borrowed from the plaque on the wall in the barber shop on that Air Force base he grew up on:

“Only one life, ’twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

Additives & Preservatives

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What thing, quality, or experience–if added to your life–do you strongly suspect would enhance it greatly? We’ve all likely been prone to the regularly occuring daydream where we think “If only I had ______…” or “If only I did _____ for a living, then I’d be….” or “If I could just get to _______, I know I’d feel so much happier, more fulfilled, and content.”

I want to ask you specifically to think about that thought:

What thing, quality, or experience–if added to your life–do you strongly suspect would enhance it greatly? Use the comment section below to share your answer. Or find me on social media and send me a DM. Or if you’ve got my number, text or call me. Yes, really.

This isn’t an exercise in discontentment, and I’m not trying to stir up some angst within you, forcing you to focus on and gripe about what isn’t there. This is more of an exercise in capturing (or at least spotting) the elusive bird called aspiration. Why? Because in our typical work-a-day lives, we can sometimes lose sight of what it means to dream, to plan, to move, to morph, to advance, to attain what seems good to us.

And let me be clear: wanting is not a sin. I have a long list of wants. Here are a few:

I want all my children to know, adore, and follow Jesus– not because my wife and I do, but because a living, vibrant love relationship with Christ is the only solid ground that exists in this world. I want my wife to never doubt that she married a man who thinks of her continually, and can’t wait to see her again. I want to see the Church live out its Commission in the power of the unexplainable Holy Spirit so that the whole world gets a better view of grace than we have given it. I want to commute to work on a Vespa GTS 310 or a Honda X-ADV scooter. I want to hike Ireland with my wife. I want young people to boldly take their place in this unique piece of history in God’s story of humanity. I want to win Chipotle for life. I want more land and a bigger house, so my future grandkids can build sweet memories of going there to catch frogs, wrestle goats, eat ice cream, and find joy. I want to be a wildly friendly person. I want French fries from Dante’s on Ironbridge Road. I want lower cholesterol (And yes, I see the connection). I want Post to bring back Maple Pecan Crunch cereal (believe me, I’ve asked). I want clean water for every person in the world. I want pastors who seem to revel in celebrity status to pack it up and do something else. I want us as a human race to slow our roll on AI. I want New York bagels to be available in central VA (Cupertino’s is closest, in my opinion). I want to better understand anxiety and depression so I can better connect with those who struggle daily. I want 7-11 to finally figure out how to do a sweet tea Slurpee. It seems so doable. I want more wealthy people to be more generous, and I want more impoverished people to find their way out of poverty. I want to understand why so many of my wants seem to gravitate to food and drink. I guess more than anything, I want Jesus to make good on His promise to return for His bride.

No, wants aren’t bad. Wants we have that either stand opposed to God’s wants or pull us away from intimacy with Jesus are what’s bad. Jesus speaks extensively in the gospels, and Paul speaks at length in his letters about managing our desires and aligning with God’s desires for us (which, by definition, are far better anyway). If you want to read more about those, here are some passages for you:

  • Matthew 6:24
  • Matthew 10:33
  • Matthew 20:26-28
  • Matthew 23:11-12
  • John 5:44
  • Romans 8:7
  • Ephesians 5:8-10
  • Philippians 2:3
  • 1 Thessalonians 4:11

So what would you like to add to your life right now, if you could? And being as objective as possible, what would be the logical conclusion to getting that want?

Here’s my working theory: The best additives (things we seek to add to our lives) are also the best preservatives (those things that uphold and protect the most important relationships in our lives). If you have (or attain) a want but the expense of the want is the erosion of a relationship, you had a bad want.

Likewise, if your main aim is to simply preserve what you are and what you have, you’re going to forfeit your ambition for some (or all) of your wants. Some Christians seem to operate this way. They live in a perpetual circling of the wagons in an effort to simply hold on to some illusion that things are now as they used to be.

Lord, help us to be a people driven by the mission you gave us: To love people in a way that simply points them to Your love so that the gift of salvation is the message of our lives. And while we do, help us to navigate and when necessary, surrender the things that would get in the way of our closeness with You. Give us grace to interact with others so that Your grace is clearly reflected. Protect us from attitudes that are not fueled by Your Holy Spirit. Make Your Church a unified Bride, busy at the work you’ve given us to do. We temper our wants and submit them to You. Sanctify us wholly.
Amen.

Figuring It Out

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Have you ever been in one of those escape rooms where you and some friends are locked in a room and given an hour to figure out how to get out? There’s typically some scene or theme that you’re immersed in while you’re presumably surrounded by clues, objects, and mind puzzles that–when solved–reveal exactly how to escape the room, and you’re challenged to emerge victorious over this kooky scene in 59:59…59:58…59:57…59:56…59:55…

I’m not great at all in those escape rooms. Setting aside being locked in a room and unable to escape, my focus goes instead to the people I’m with, what they’re doing, and what they think about how to get out of this stereotypical science lab, old-timey apartment, or pirate ship…wherever we may be trapped.

If you’re reading these words and you’re a follower of Jesus like I am, you can probably finish this statement by Jesus–it’s one of the final things He instructed His followers to do: “Go ____ _______ __________…”

Did your mind fill those blanks in automatically? If not, it’s okay. Keep reading. What you read might shed some light on those in your life who know what goes in those blanks.

I want to point something out that I’m sure I’ve brought up before. And if I haven’t done this clearly in the past, I want to invite a serious consideration on your part and an actual response to what you’re reading here. You can leave a comment below, text me, call me, or email me. Seriously.

So here’s the thing I want to point out: Even though Jesus told us clearly to make more disciples in the world, He left out the “how” to make disciples. Have you ever noticed that? It was almost as if He told us exactly what He wanted His followers to be doing while He’s gone for a quick break to sit at the right hand of God the Father, just before His return for His followers–but never specifies how He expects us to make disciples. Does that seem odd to anyone else?

We have nothing to go on but the example He set. (Good thing that’s enough.)

So for the rest of this blog post, we’re going to take a close look at the how. How did Jesus conduct Himself throughout His public ministry? These observations will shape the blueprint by which we live our daily lives. I understand that this is granular and in some places nebulous or perhaps redundant, but I also think it’s so very important.

Here’s the scene on the Mount of Olives those approximate 2,000 years ago:

Jesus: “Therefore go and make disciples.”

Disciples: “Okay. But how?”

Jesus: “Figure it out.”

Obviously, I’m taking some liberty with the actual interchange there, but without a clear manual handed over to the followers of Jesus in that moment, they were left to simply figure it out. What they knew of Jesus, and the promise of the coming Holy Spirit would have to be enough. Good thing it was. And is.

What do you know of Jesus? Take a minute or two right now and think it through. Make a mental (or actual) list and get as specific as you can. List the things you know for sure about Jesus. Once you do that, ask yourself: Where is the chapter and verse that goes along with each of those items on the list? Or have I simply made assumptions or believed what’s been told to me or handed down by tradition?

If you’re a follower of Jesus, you’re only going to emulate the image of Jesus that your mind and heart hold. You cannot do otherwise. So who is He? And more to the point: Who is He to you?

My list: Compassionate. Methodical. Articulate. Authoritative (but in a comforting way). Tender. Firm. Relaxed. Unhurried. Flexible. Powerful. Purposeful. Loving. Focused. Gentle. Caring. Giving. Merciful. Approachable. Wise. Lovingly confrontational, Welcoming. Willing.

Those are just a few of the words that come to my mind when I think of words to describe Jesus. He has been all of those things in my life, as well as throughout the gospels.

So through the power of His own promised Spirit living within me, it becomes entirely possible and probable that as I live my life, I exhibit these traits as well. Not all of them perfectly at every moment, but as I continue to submit my life to Him, I am incrementally growing in all these ways. And as I seek for my life to be one that makes disciples, I am able to more clearly “figure it out” day by day.

Answer this: What’s the “how” of making disciples, in your view?

Day One.

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You aren’t living in yesterday. Obviously.

But there are probably ways that your mind, thoughts, emotions, and habits are. So this is a quick attempt to break you (and me) free from the things that would want to keep us stuck in what was, which almost always equals us missing what is and what might be.

So may I present to you: Day One. It’s today. It’s the start of something.

Everything, actually.

But just as importantly, it’s the end of other things. Things that happened yesterday. Or last month, year, or decade. They’re over. Done. Gone. Sift any lessons you can from yesterday, then give it the ‘ol heave-ho. Or kick it to the curb. Or yeet it. Or whatever the cool kids are saying these days.

Face forward.

Onward.

It’s…

Closer to the pin

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I love golf.

Hang on. Let me back up.

I love the idea of golf.

Yeah, that’s better.

I used to play a fair amount of golf, back in the day.

Actually—hold up—let me modify that statement:

I used to play golf when my golf-loving Dad would invite me to play with him.

Yeah, that’s definitely more accurate.

Some of the things I can appreciate about golf are:

  • It’s never the same game twice; you’ll literally never take the exact same stance or swing the same way twice.
  • It demands focus. And I mean FOCUS to do it well consistently.
  • It’s as much mental as it is physical. (I hear some of you jeering that it isn’t really that physical, and that’s okay.)
  • It interacts with nature, which as we all know can be brutally unpredictable. Winds, grass length, tree branches, water, and light all play their part in making up every swing of the club.
  • There’s an etiquette embedded in the game. Did you know men must wear a collared shirt when they play? The three key words to acceptable golf fashion are “neat, clean, and comfortable.”
  • It’s a game that encourages teamwork, but ultimately, the outcome is up to me.

There are more reasons, but you get it. I want to share something I learned about golf years ago, and how I define success in golf whenever I play (I don’t play much anymore, but would love it if invited. Hint Hint).

One day I was out golfing with my Dad, and since he is a much, MUCH better golfer than I, he took every single shot to heart; as if every shot he took was determining whether he’d wear that famous green jacket or not. If I recall correctly, we were, that day, on an unremarkable golf course in Winchester, VA, where I was living at the time. He was visiting and, of course, brought his clubs so we could spend the day on the links.

As time went on, I could see his frustration rising. You see, golfers have this thing that happens where one bad shot can very easily give birth to another bad shot. String a few bad shots together, and you’re suddenly someone who has no right holding a club. Take it to its logical conclusion and you’ll see why some golfers resort to wrapping their club around the nearest tree trunk. But no one can argue with their passion, I’ll say that.

So as I recall, I stopped my Dad mid-tirade and made a suggestion. “Dad, how about we redefine what a good shot is?” We instantly both agreed that our new definition of success for any shot we took would be “Closer to the pin.” (For those of you who aren’t golfers, the “pin” is the flag that sticks up and out of the “cup”. And the “cup” is the technical name for the hole you’re trying to ultimately get the ball into.)

So there we were, on some random fairway on some random golf course on some random day in Northern Virginia, with a new vision of what good golfing looks like, right in the middle of our game. The cloud hanging over us broke up, the wind was suddenly sweeter, and the overall mood turned weightless. It was a decision we made together that instantly changed the game.

Christians, let’s be honest. Many of us need to let go of some of the rigidity of religion that has caused us to view it as a score-keeping regimen rather than a fiery relationship born out of and rooted in grace. In other words, we ought to tear up the scorecard we’ve been clutching.

Each day, ask one simple question: Am I closer to Jesus today than I was yesterday?

That’s it. And use your honest answer to that one question to calibrate your heart, decide your trajectory, and fuel your passion for Him and Him alone.

Putting the “me” in “mess”

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It was the final frame of the 2012 U.S. Open Bowling Championship in my childhood home state of New Jersey. Bowling legend Pete Weber was poised to clinch his 5th championship title, and a strike here would crown him bowling king once again, by a one-pin margin. Weber slipped three of his fingers into the holes of his perfectly weighted, balanced, and shined bowling ball. All during the championship, and as he made his approach on this historic frame that would decide the outcome of the tournament, Pete Weber had in his mind (and ears) a young heckler (unidentified to this day) who jeered at him. Unphased, Pete Weber maintained his steely focus on the 10 pins at the end of that finely oiled lane; pins that were doing their own heckling of Pete Weber.

Moments later, Pete Weber celebrated a perfect strike and, in exuberant celebration, gave the sporting world one of the greatest, most bizarre, most perfect-fitting exclamations of victory ever to be uttered:

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I AM!”

It’s a messy, awkward, nonsensical declaration that somehow fit the personality of Pete Weber and the alpha-male moment perfectly. But still…it was just…odd.

I appreciate how AI took this statement of Weber’s and straightens things out with a more logical explanation:

“Who do you think you are?” Implies that the person believes they are bigger than what they are. It elicits the thought of a powerful person. “I am” confirms that I am, in fact, who you think you are.

What’s the moral to this story, and why am I telling you about it? It’s because it’s the perfect reminder that people are messy. If you’re going to interact with other people, you’re going to get mess on your hands. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And when is always either “now” or “very very soon.”

I remember the moment in my life when I realized that people are messy. I don’t think I’ve ever shared this story with anyone. Somehow, this morning it slipped back into my consciousness, and with it, a trickling of some childhood emotions.

In elementary school (sixth grade, I think, which in those days was still elementary school), I had a really good classmate and friend named Jeff. We played trumpets together in the elementary school band, and we just got along really well. We were always joking around, laughing, and making the best of our school day. Jeff had become a good, positive, pleasant, and fun part of my school day as a young boy. We didn’t do much together outside of our school day, but when we were there together, it was always a good time.

Then one day I happened to see Jeff at a small shopping plaza–the Acme shopping plaza, I believe–in the little town of North Cape May, New Jersey, where I grew up. When I saw Jeff in that context, he wasn’t the Jeff I knew from school. He wasn’t smiling or even friendly. In fact, he was aggressive. He seemed angry. And in a matter of moments, became violent. I recall him pushing me, as if to invoke some kind of fighting response from me. I had no training either in self-defense or even about what to do in such a situation. He kept pushing me as I kept trying to get away from him.

This is part of the front of that old Acme shopping plaza, now vacant.

My young mind was racing, confused, and frightened at what was happening to me in that moment, in broad daylight on the cement walkway that ran along the front of that shopping plaza. What had I done wrong? Nothing I could think of. Why was Jeff acting this way? I had no earthly idea. I simply wanted to get away from this person, whom until that moment I had considered a good friend.

I understood in that moment for the first time, that people aren’t always easy to understand. That people aren’t always going to do what you expect or think they should. That, in short, people are messy.

My time in ministry for over three decades now has only served to support this truth. I know that anytime we’re interacting with others, we can count on it statistically that a mess is going to emerge. There’ll be some miscommunication, some misunderstanding, or even some perceived hurtful thing that happens or gets said. If you don’t believe me or agree, you’ve likely never had a conversation with anyone at any time about anything. For those of you who have, you’re nodding your head in agreement.

One of the most critical components of mess management, however, begins with the first two letters of “mess”: me. I should never have as my default setting the idea that when a mess arises, it certainly can’t be because of me. A healthy stance to take when interacting with any mess is to ask questions like, “What part do I have in this?” or even “What have I done–even inadvertently–that has contributed to the mess at hand?” Simply put: “What ownership do I need to take when it comes to the current mess?”

Here’s what that kind of honest vulnerability will do:

  1. It will make you humble and approachable, two qualities that do what nothing else can.
  2. It will disarm and diffuse the tendency for blame-laying over responsibility-taking.
  3. It will level the field in terms of anyone involved, allowing everyone to work together.
  4. It focuses energy on solutions rather than causes. (Not that fact-finding isn’t important.)
  5. It creates malleability instead of rigidity. Being malleable is a key ingredient to resolving messes.

So the next time you encounter a mess, don’t do anything before you remember the “me” in the mess.

Before shoving someone down a cement walkway, take stock of where the “me” in the mess is. When you do, reach out to me and tell me what transpired and what you learned from it.

Case in point: This morning, I have on my mind a situation that just happened this past weekend. I had an understanding of something that I thought was clearly planned and settled, and yet someone else had a different version of reality. At a certain point, those two perceptions of reality–mine and theirs–collided and made a small mess. Thankfully, it was easily rectified and we moved forward, but I had to do the work of mentally reviewing the situation, and thinking intentionally about my part in what had transpired.

I was tempted to dig in my heels, doubling down on my version of what was supposed to happen, but when faced with a different version, I chose instead to believe the best in the other person and give way to a different route. Then in quick hindsight, revisit the situation to see what can be learned and strengthened in me and my leadership. I hope this brief example can help put skin on the concept of effective mess management.

“But wait….there’s more!”

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There’s often a disparity between what I know and what I feel. They don’t always line up or even agree.

If I based my existence and daily decisions on my feelings, I’d be living a very different life indeed.

If you want to dig into the issues of emotions, experience and evidence as I wrote about a couple of years ago, feel free to click here. But I’d like to take us in a slightly different direction this time.

The most often asked question in scripture that is asked by humans to God is, “How long, O Lord?” This is a question that indicates discomfort, maybe even distance, and maybe even disenfranchisement. When we are in a situation that we’d rather not be in, the fuse of our patience typically shortens as we seem to bear up under the weight of whatever it is we’re facing. Even when we sense/feel God’s strength, we are not immune to wondering just how long this situation will last.

By contrast, the most often stated command given by God to humans is, “Do not fear.” It isn’t that God is dismissing our discomfort, but rather He is reminding and recalibrating our hearts to the truth that the present reality is not the permanent reality.

There’s always going to be more to the story. Always. As those catchy lyrics to that song go: “If I’m not dead, God’s not done.”

But feelings and facts can sometimes conflict with one another, can’t they? In fact, feelings can more often be a busted compass leading us in the wrong direction. Here’s the thing: While most people believe that God exists, not nearly enough people view him as personally interested and invested in who they are, where they are, or what they’re dealing with. So the only other option is to go it alone (or with other human friends) and use your human feelings as your guide. Can you see now why we’re a mess?

Imagine instead for a minute that the God who made the universe and stars in our galaxy is the same God who made you, your hands, your eyes, and your feet. Imagine that because He made you, He’s keenly interested in who you are, where you are, what you’re doing, and how you’re doing. Imagine that.

If God is not only real but personal, well, that changes everything. If God is personally interested in what your today holds, then you’ve got everything He is and every ounce of His powerful presence making the difference in your life. You can throw away that busted compass and instead rely on the higher, better, stronger, wiser, ever-present God who refuses to simply let you flounder and figure things out based on your feelings.

With this new reality, you move instantly from scraping by to walking on water. You move from having to muster up human strength to accessing God’s might that cannot be depleted. You get to leave behind fearful thoughts like “What if _____ happens?” and instead walk in the confidence that says, “Even if _____ happens…” and know that God is not merely near you but WITH you. And not merely with you, but FOR you.

I believe the “more” of what we all want is found in extracting ourselves out of natural living and planting our hearts in supernatural realities.

These are thoughts I simply wanted to set on a table and invite you to come and break bread with me and talk about. Leave a comment below for others to share, or feel free to text me. Either way, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

  • What role does fear play in your life?
  • What role do feelings play in your decision-making process(es)?
  • What difference does God’s personal presence and interest in you make on a practical level?
  • How do you imagine God to be? What do you think His thoughts of you are right now? Why?