In a recent conversation, I was reminded of something quite critical to faith: assurance and action.

First, what I know, I must know. It’s really quite that simple. I must be assured. Without knowing my faith is assured, my convictions would be up for grabs. But they’re not. Because I know. I could go on and on, page after page on this one matter of faith (“pistis” in the original Greek), but that’s really unnecessary. Just know what you know. I do.

Second, it’s the issue of action. I was talking with my mother-in-law today about this very issue. She shared openly about the fear she lives with that she’s not living quite enough like Christ, or not doing enough for His Kingdom. As an outsider looking into her life, I’d say her fears are quite unfounded. However, I’m not her–she is and just like you and just like me, nobody’s in our head and thinks our thoughts the way we think them; whether they’re unfounded or not. Because they’re ours.

There’s a parable Jesus tells about a shepherd and a flock in front of him. Jesus says that when the Son of Man comes (that’s Jesus), and all His angels with Him, He’ll separate the nations like a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. (Alot to unwrap right there, but I’ll move on for now).

Basically–long parable short–it all comes down to what the sheep or goat DID. The sheep in the parable did the right and good things; like feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the imprisoned, etc. The goats didn’t. The criteria as to whether they were ushered into heaven or hell wasn’t based on belief–it was based on action….based on belief. I must be reminded that if what I believe doesn’t affect how I behave, then I don’t really believe it.

So, my spiritual life, at its core is knowing and doing. So much more to say, but its too much and I’m too tired.

I don’t know how long I’ll last typing this way. I’m standing up and my wrists are at a weird angle. I’m in St. Louis right now in the St. Louis convention center. I’m here for NYC ’07 with a group of high school students from our church. We’ve joined 9,500+ other teens from all over the country for a week of meeting with God, fraps, and pizza. A slice of heaven.

I’ve seen and heard a lot this week; mostly things I’ve heard before. But I’ve done somethings I’ve never done before. Blogging away from my home computer, for one. This afternoon, I was part of literally feeding 10,000+ people through nationwide donations of food from our Nazarene churches. I ate porridge for lunch, as a reminder of what others in the world experience daily (if they’re lucky), and I’ve seen God move in ways I couldn’t have expected.

The heart of the Gospel is action. A week ago, I might have said that the heart of the gospel is grace, or love, or forgiveness. These and other things are certainly an indelible part of the good news of Jesus, but God’s reminder to me this week is this: your faith is pointless and dead without action.

It seems that the world is awakening to this vibe. I suppose each generation has its turn that it takes to come alive and shape the world from how it is to how it will be, but for this generation there is an unmistakable vibrancy and urgency. It is as if this action is no longer optional. It can no longer be postponed or put off.

Jesus Himself lived this way. Of course, His message was one of hope, and grace, and forgiveness, but His life was one that put all these and so many more things into action. As our group of 20 sat and reflected about faith and our lives last night, I remember distinctly the observation that as a group, we were woefully missing action in a truly determinable sense. It was as if we’re realizing that we’re missing the point. And I believe that this realization comes just in time.

The spiritual life is full of seasons. We rise, we fall, we burn, we quench, we seek, we are fruitful, and we can even seem fruitless. And in the season now, we are being reborn into a new way of thinking and living. It is redemption in every living sense. It is a buying back of the world in every way; from environments, to human trafficking, to poverty, to HIV/AIDS. It is not how things have been, and I suspect it is the introduction of God’s next move in our generation.

Yesterday, while driving along with my family (my wife at the wheel), we approached a fork in the road; at which we were bearing to the right. Another car was coming off of that road, and was stopped at the stop sign–it was a woman with her head sticking out her window, and she was screaming at us. Perhaps we would have heard what she was saying if our windows had been down and our music hadn’t been rockin’. What was she saying? Reading her lips, was it “stop!” or “top” or “crop” or “pop”? About a hundred yards behind her, parked in a parking lot and facing the street was a — you guessed it — “cop”.

So, it turned out she wasn’t insanely screaming “flop” or “mop”. She was doing what she thought she ought to do: warning us of the law. But were we doing something that she thought was unlawful? Why was she so passionate about her message that she’d take the trouble to roll down her window, and risk her dignity by acting like a crazy person screaming out a window?

The closest I can guess is that she was acting out her neighborly instincts. She was giving us fair warning that we were about to encounter the law. But what good does that do? Did it slow us? Barely. Did it help us? No. It mostly just confused and amused us. And the cop wasn’t even paying attention to the 90 we were doing in a 25.

By the way, do you know what cop stands for? I’m 33 and I just learned last week that cop actually stands for something. And you know who told me? A cop.

Oh something else that happened to me today–I was trying to help someone order a pizza, it made me late for a meeting, and in the process of trying to help this person, I think I got blacklisted from our favorite pizza place. That’s what I get for trying to help. More on that never.

Ok, so I’m a student pastor. I work with middle school and high school students. That’s what I do. It’s funny because when I meet new people and they ask what I do (I love that question, and I’m so glad it’s part of civilized society’s small-talk), and when I tell them I’m a youth pastor and I work with teenagers I get these looks like I’m some hybrid of a cancer patient and a cancer researcher who’s just about to find the cure. It’s a mixture of “Oh God, I’m so sorry” and “Oh I’m so glad you’re doing that, so I don’t have to.” And throw in a pinch of “are you mental?” just for good measure. But quite honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t doing this. I’ve always thought I’d like to design miniature golf courses. Not build them, mind you. Just design them.

That reminds me of the show American Inventor. It’s a great show and I haven’t seen it in a while, what with all my time spent reading the lips of crazed motorists and trying to get kids not to smoke, or chew, or go with girls who do.

I was just downstairs when I came across something I’m sure somebody’s making good money off of. It’s a strap with a rubber circle on it. The rubber circle goes around the top of a bottled water so that kids can wear the water around their neck. My son got it at his end of the year picnic at school. The strap is pretty long, so that the bottle hangs pretty low; otherwise I’m sure the “water bottle strangulation strap” wouldn’t make too much money.

I think that when a blog reachs the point where water bottles are strangling kids, it’s time to stop.

A couple of weeks ago, I was approaching an overpass (over Rt. 288), when out of nowhere comes this squirrel. It wasn’t immediately in front of me, so I didn’t need to react or change my course. I simply watched and quickly thought–“We’re on an overpass; where in the world did that squirrel come from?” I mean, it’s not like I was driving down a road with forest or even grass on either side–this was an overpass over a highway! So, I slowed just a tad to watch what would happen. I’m sorry I did because I think what I saw was quite possibly something I will never see again–nor would I want to.

After scurrying quickly across my lane (going left to right), the squirrel hopped up on the guardrail of the overpass, gave one last sad look over his shoulder and *gulp…sob*….jumped.

A moment of silence, please…

Speaking of dead stuff, I just don’t mind seeing a dead cat on the side of the road. I figure, “one less”. Because I’m a dog guy. And yesterday, on my way home I sadly caught sight of a dead dog. I would’ve have been much sadder if I hadn’t been so intrigued by the position of its body. It was as if it was standing on all four legs one moment, and perhaps it had a severe heart attack at the exact time an 18 wheeler came by and the gust of wind from the truck just knocked it over. Honestly, I could have gotten out of my car, walked over to it, and stood it back up. And any other car that would have come after me would have simply thought the dog was waiting patiently to cross the street. That’s actually not a bad idea. I gotta go.

(I recently told a friend of mine that his blog had grown stale. And then I looked at my own blog and it’s been a month since my last entry. )

So, I was driving in my car today, a 1992 Crown Victoria given to me as a gift. Spinning in the cd player was what I call “The Crown Vic Mix”. Track 13 has these words…

“Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Mata ah-oo hima de

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Himitsu wo shiri tai…”

…And later in the song…

“The time has come at last

To throw away this mask

Now everyone can see

My true identity…

I’m Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy!”

This song, “Mr. Roboto”, by Styx tells of the plight of one outlawed rocker named Kilroy, who was captured by the MMM; and his struggle to be free from their tyrannical control of what used to be the free world. But there’s more to it than that. It’s about freedom to be who we are (who God made us to be) rather than being a captive of who we think we ought to be, or who people think we are or should be.

It seems that being a human being sometimes has a lot to do with maintaining an image; and sometimes it seems to be more like a mask. It takes different forms and shapes for different people. I was in Starbucks today waiting for my plain ‘ol cup of coffee when the man next to me placed his order–it seemed to have 8 different words making up its name. I thought, “Man, his coffee is complicated.”

I’m not old enough to turn this blog into a “I remember the good old days when…” kind of soliloquy. And I’m not interested in that either. But I do wonder about what kinds of masks people wear. I think just about anything can serve as a mask. A house, a car, a job, a wardrobe, a habit, and even a blog.

But I’m interested in living a life that is free from masks, free from worrying about other’s thoughts of me, and free to be who God made me to be. And I think the trick to it is to be o.k. with who I am. Really o.k.

I have a good friend who passed away several years ago, and he and I were kindred spirits, at least in one particular area: memory. He’d often say of himself, “I have a good memory, it’s just short.” I look at the previous blog (the silent game) and wonder, “where was I going with that?” I think it had something to do with rest, the Sabbath, and that rest, while usually something we need so desperately, is typically inconvenient; given our break-neck speed of American life. So many live that way. I refuse.

Today, I’m reflecting on our local McDonald’s. It occured to me in a new way last night (I was there with my wife and kids) that our McDonald’s, in it’s recently renovated state (they tore the old one down and built a brand new one in it’s place) is almost anti-kid, in the way McDonald’s has historically been. It seems that the designers took their cues from Starbucks more than anything else. It’s a ridiculous milange of red-nosed sophistication. The only thing there for kids is–get this–video games. What kind of McD’s is this? Where are the sweat-dripped tunnels and the stale smell of feet that I have come to enjoy with my almost 100% artificial meal?

But that’s not my point (not that I need one), it’s the Happy Meal issue. As a parent, it’s routine for our kids to ask upon pulling into a McDonald’s, “Can we get a happy meal?” A standard answer is no. Here’s why: they don’t eat the fries, they don’t need the chocolate milk, and toy that comes with it is rarely ever seen again after the first half hour in their possession.

But this time we indulged. It was Shrek 3 and I have to be honest that it was worth it to awaken this morning not to kids watching TV, but to 3 out of 4 (the 4 was still lounging in bed and could care less) all congregated in the living room playing with, you guessed it, their complete family of Shrek, Fiona, and whatever their offspring are called. It was heartening.

So here to McDonald’s. Not because of the countless horrible ways they contribute to our society, but for the one single way they brightened my kids world this morning.