The Broken Place

2007-03-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

I wrote this about two months ago, the day I found out I'm gonna be a daddy. We're now three months in and enjoying every minute of it. Thanks to all who are supporting us; who are going to make sure our kid has the best life ever! -Joe

Today I find myself not at a loss for words, but confused about which words should actually come out of my mouth. I’m all at once joyous, fearful, nervous, excited, guilty, angry, sad and triumphant. For today I discovered that I am to be a father.

Just seeing that word in writing reemphasizes the foreignness of it. Father. The word that for all my life has only applied to men older, wiser, and better than myself now will apply to me. My own father is to my mind and heart like a god, rarely capable of wrongdoing and full of wisdom, a seemingly bottomless pit of proverbial goodness. And my God… my God has been Father to me for as long as I’ve known him; at times He and I have been intimate and I have known Him as Abba, or Daddy, and at other times He has been stern with me, lovingly disciplining me and I have been unable to see Him as aught else than Father: definite, strong, lovingly firm.

How can this world apply to me? How can I be worthy of a term that means so much?

It does not help me to know that the title has oft been tarnished by lesser men; there are mere boys who have been given the title and squandered it by ignoring their duties or by “deleting the problem.” Surely, I can be a better father than these, but God’s holiness and my own father’s example are such stronger images to me that I find little comfort in the failure of others.

My trepidation is accompanied by a sickness to my stomach and a fear—not that I will make mistakes and damage my child… surprisingly I don’t fear that, perhaps because I accept it as a forgone conclusion. No, I am afraid for what my child will endure in this beautiful broken world we call home. And that is why I feel guilty. In my God given desire to reproduce, to bring more life into this world, imitating my Creator, I have sentenced my offspring to the same sorrows, pains, and difficulties I have experienced. My little boy or girl will someday become acquainted with pain. He will have to have his first experience with the soul jarring moment of a funeral; she will know the confusion of trying to reconcile the wickedness of the world with the goodness of the God her parents love and serve. And I fear what conclusion she will come to in the midst of that confusion.

I am angry that the world is so broken that I fear for my child growing up in it. I should not have to fear. I should not feel guilty for bringing a life into the world. So I am angry.

Yet this is all overshadowed by my joy, my excitement, my triumph! I have been successful in carryout God’s first mandate to be fruitful and multiply. The very thing God has created me to be and to do – I have done! And so I feel closer to God, for I am now more like Him. Surprise… I am surprised at the depth of love I can feel for a being that barely exists… joy. Depth of joy for this child is to be my own flesh. He will carry my DNA. She will have my eyes. He will be like me, but completely different. She will be new and beautiful. He will think like me, and yet have his own way of making sense of the world. She will disagree with me, but in a way I can understand. My child will be a person in fullness. And I will love him. She will be the apple of my eye. He already is.

2006-12-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

It smells like fresh ground coffee.

I think fresh ground coffee must be one of the best smells in the universe. I am sitting here in the Mt. Vernon Starbucks on College Way; it’s 7:36am and I’ve been up for over an hour… and I’m happy.

There are a lot of people to whom this won’t come as a shock. These are the people who mostly knew me in my pre-college days when I was primarily cheerful (though my journals reflect that I regularly engaged in self-hatred), and there are the people who have not known me long, or do not know me well. But there are a lot of people who will be pleasantly surprised at my admission of happiness.

About a year and a half ago I was diagnosed with depression, and given medication to help treat the symptoms – you know, help me sleep better, give me more energy, allow me to stop thinking all the time about how much I didn’t like my life – and fortunately, the medication helped out for a time. It allowed me to come up from the depths for a breath of fresh air. And the air tasted good.

Besides my depression, the last two years have been rather horrible at times. Between having few friends, disliking my work environment, missing the church that formed much of who I’ve become (props to G&G!), getting shafted by Multnomah two days before graduation, my wife slowly progressing toward blindness, and a whole host of minor annoyances, well, my life kinda sucked at some points. It actually made it impossible for me to go to the dark and difficult places in my own soul and let God’s light illuminate them. And so the darkness continued.

Until now. In the past few months, I have begun to see myself again. As I’ve done so, I’ve seen a lot of things I don’t like, but instead of retreating into my self-hatred, instead of becoming overwhelmed to the point of despair, God has allowed me to embrace his cleansing light and start becoming a changed me.

And so today I’m happy. My mind and Spirit are full from the times I’ve spent with God in the last month, and my muscles ache from the time I spent in the gym yesterday, and I’m a little hungry from my change in diet… and I’m the happiest I’ve been in… well, I’m not sure, but it’s been a long time.

And now for some coffee.

2006-11-25T21:08:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the anniversary.

It wasn’t the anniversary of the day I married my wife; nor was it the anniversary of the day I gave my life to Christ; and it certainly wasn’t the anniversary of the day I graduated from high school or college. All those would be wonderful anniversaries worthy of great festivities and celebrations.

No, yesterday was the anniversary of one of my best friends’ death. My dear friend, Vinnie Hovland, shot himself on November 24th, Thanksgiving, last year. Yesterday, to remember him, and because it seemed the appropriate thing to do, some friends and I visited his grave.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t the feeling of normalcy and contentment that I experienced standing next to Vinnie’s grave. It’s hard to describe, but I didn’t miss him any more than at any other point in my life. And after giving it some thought, I think I know why that is…

I miss Vinnie most in the places I knew him. I miss him in the places I remember being with him. So I miss him in my old apartment, because he was there every Tuesday for small group. And I miss him at Red Lotus, the Chinese restaurant down the street from where I lived, because we met there once for accountability (and had one of the best meals of my life). I miss him most when I lead worship, because I remember looking out into the congregation and seeing him raising his arms in undignified and unencumbered praise. He worshipped like there was no one in the world to watch him except Jesus, and he loved Jesus so much that he didn’t care if he looked like a crazy person.

But I didn’t miss him at his graveside, and I think that’s because I never knew him there – more than that, Vinnie was never there at all. Sure, his name is carved on a rock, along with a verse he liked, and people drop off flowers (I’m not sure Vinnie was a big flower man, but it’s nice for the family), but he’s not there. And yeah, some bits of his body are there, buried under the ground (though the grave doesn’t seem big enough for Vinnie; he was 6’4” and not a small man), but Vinnie isn’t in those bits of his body any more than I am.

Vinnie was a long way away before they ever put his body under the ground at Washington Park Cemetery. And while we stood around his name-carved rock and smoke his favorite brand of cigars, talking about how we remembered him, Vinnie was busy doing the thing he was best at on this earth; he was standing before the throne of Almighty God, praising him for his marvelous grace and glorious mercy – likely dancing an undignified jig with all of his glorified 6’4” spiritual body. I know that before long, I’ll be dancing with him.

Until then, I hope to worship like he does now.

2006-10-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23 (NIV)

The book of Hebrews is probably my favorite book in the Bible. I’m not sure why – maybe it’s because of the emphasis on Christ’s redemptive work; maybe it’s the no-holds-barred take on salvation and the part we play in it; maybe it’s the way the author connects the Old Testament to the New; maybe it’s just the mystery of us not knowing who wrote it – but I know that I’ve loved it for some time and turn there when I need encouragement. Which is why I’m so excited that the text for this week’s message on encouragement is coming out of Hebrews.

I’m not going to cover the entire passage we’re looking at (if you want that, you can come to Crossroads this Sunday and hear Bruce talk about it yourself), but I do want to take a moment and talk about hope.

Whenever hope is talked about in the Bible, it is with the idea that hope does not disappoint. You see, people in that culture understood hope differently than we do today. Today, it’s common to here a child say, “I hope to get some ice cream after church today.” Or I’ll say to a friend, “I hope some extra money comes along this week for groceries.” In today’s culture, hope is an uncertain wishing for something we do not yet have. There is no assurance of the fulfillment of our hope.

In biblical thought, hope is inseparably tied to assurance. Biblical hope leaves no question of whether or not that hope will be fulfilled; biblical hope is the waiting for our assurance to happen. You see, biblical hope is always predicated on the past, the way things have happened before. Themes of biblical hope are God’s patience, redemption, mercy; they are founded on the character of God, who he has proven himself to be.

A woman might throw her pen into the air and say, in a biblical sense of hope: “I hope my pen comes back down.” There is no real question as to it coming back down or not; the pen has come down every other time it’s been thrown.

In the same way, I might say: “I hope God is faithful to me in this trial.” God has been faithful in every other instance; he certainly will be faithful to me in this one.

Or, in the sense of the passage: “I hope for the redemption that will come when Christ returns and sets all things right.” This hope is based on the truthfulness of Christ, who has promised to return. He has never lied; I have no reason to doubt his promise.

Last Saturday, some friends and I played a concert at Common Ground Coffee House and Deli. We closed with a song I wrote, called “The Sun Will Rise Again.” The chorus says:

The sun will rise again, just wait and see
It always has before, the sun will rise
The sun will rise again, just like before
and hope does not disappoint, the sun will rise

The sun has always risen, and it will again tomorrow. So let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess.

-Joe

2006-09-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

“They came to [Jesus] and said, ‘Teacher, we know that you are a man of integrity. You aren’t swayed by others, because you pay no attention to who they are; but you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth.’” -Mark 12:14

Recently, I went to see the movie, “The Last Kiss,” starring Zach Braff (the crazy guy from Scrubs and Garden State). It’s a movie about a 29-year-old guy struggling with his quarter life crisis. He just found out his girlfriend is pregnant, and he doesn’t want to commit to marriage; his brainiac solution is to go have a one night stand with a college girl. Afterwards, he realizes his mistake and goes back to his girlfriend and tries to win her back. Though the movie was pretty disappointing (the characters were poorly developed and the plot was disturbing), one scene stood out in my mind. When Zach Braff’s character goes to win the girl back, he has a conversation with her father. The father asks him, “Why… should I let you try to win her back?”

“I know what I did was wrong… nothing I do could ever make it go away… I wish I could… but I love her. I really do. I love her.”

And then the dad says the line that made the $8.50 worth it for me.

“What you feel doesn’t matter to anyone but you. What you do to the ones you say you love – that’s what really matters.”

I think that’s a good explanation of integrity. Integrity is not so much about what goes on inside a person; it is about the extent to which what they do reflects what goes on inside them.

When the teachers of the law came to Jesus, they said to him, “We know that you are a man of integrity…” How did they know? They had seen him demonstrate the very things he taught. He didn’t take bribes, he wasn’t impressed by bigwigs, and he taught in accordance with the truth. His actions reflected the goodness in his own heart.

Being real is about showing what’s inside of you. Integrity is about having something inside worth showing off, and then being real about it.

2006-09-20T08:11:00.000-07:00

“And on a cold night, two under the same blanket can gain warmth from each other. But how can one be warm alone?” -Ecclesiastes 4:11

A few years ago, four of my college buddies and I decided to take a camping trip right after school got out. Now, you have to understand that our college semester ended in May, pre-Memorial Day, and we were located in the Pacific Northwest, where the sun rarely comes out before the middle of August. In May, the temperatures hover somewhere between forty and fifty degrees Fahrenheit. And it always rains. But we were college students, with untarnished appetites for adventures and hooligan-ing.

In our preparation, we decided that the most beautiful place within driving distance was Orcas Island, in the San Juans (whether we were right or not is still up for debate; other candidates include the Columbia Gorge, Mt. Rainier, and Canada). So we planned our trip; we were going tent camping in the San Juan Islands in May. Awesome…

We wanted to get as early a start as possible, but one of the other guys and I had a prior commitment the night school got out. Our solution? Leave after the evening commitment. It takes approximately five hours to get from Portland (where we went to school) to Anacortes (where the ferry leaves for Orcas Island), so we decided to drive all night. We left around 10:30pm, and made several stops along the way, so we got to Anacortes around 4am. The first ferry that day was scheduled to leave at 6:30am. We passed the time by tossing a Frisbee and hooligan-ing.

We got to the island at 7am, and found our campsite by 7:30am. As we drove past, we were surprised to find somebody in our site.

“Dude! Someone jacked our site! What’s up with that?” someone exclaimed.

“Dude. It says here that check in time is 1pm. We don’t have the site until this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

We collectively realized that in our excitement, we had traveled to the island way too early.

So we busied ourselves with more hooligan-ing.

By the time we got into our site and set up our tent, we were fatigued beyond recognition. None of us had slept for around 30 hours. We laid our tired bodies down for sleep, four college guys on the best adventure ever, yet too tired to enjoy any of it.

And then we had our second collective realization:

The San Juans in May are COLD!!!

After 10-15 minutes of trying to deny the cold and pretend we all were sleeping, someone finally broke the figurative and literal ice by shouting, “I’m freeeeeziiiing!”

Swallowing our last shreds of pride, we huddled together and engaged in the millennia old stay-warm technique of spooning. And as we slept in the warmth of each others’ embrace, it was good. It was very good.

I believe there is a lesson to be learned from this story (beyond “don’t go camping in the San Juans in May, and if you do, then bring a mummy bag and many layers of sweat pants”). Ecclesiastes talks about how people huddling together can keep warm, that no man can stay warm by himself. People need each other. We need community to survive against the many terrors the world throws at us. But within the story, there is one other small detail of vital importance: before warmth came to us, we had to admit to each other that we were freezing.

Often in life, we long to help people, to be a savior to them and care for their needs. Sadly, we are robbed of this pleasure by people refusing to open up and share their needs and weaknesses with us. For that matter, I am often guilty of hiding the fact that I’m cold, because I don’t want to appear needy. I don’t want other people to know that I can’t make it on my own.

I don’t know if we would have frozen to death that afternoon in Orcas Island (it certainly felt so at the time), but I know that life would have been more miserable if we hadn’t admitted our need for each other. And I know that life is going to be pretty tough for all of us if we don’t share about our needs with people we can trust.

2006-08-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
words and music by Bob Dylan

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
Iffen you don’t know by now
An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It’ll never do somehow
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on
Don't think twice, it's all right

It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin' anyway
But don't think twice, it's all right

It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
Like you never done before
It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
I can't hear you any more
I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' a walkin’ down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I'm told
I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don't think twice, it's all right

So long, honey babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
But goodbye's too good a word, babe
So I'll just say “fare thee well”
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right

I've been listening to a lot of Bob Dylan lately, and this song just stood out to me. Pretty much the best break-up song ever. Don't worry, Rachael and I are doing great.

-Joe

2006-06-20T09:52:00.000-07:00

Seeing hope through the pain.

When I was in middle school, I took sermon notes religiously. I did it mostly because I thought it would make me a better Christian. Now I just listen to the stories and write down the occasional thought that I really want to remember. I get a lot more out of sermons these days.

Anyway, about 8 years ago I was going through my middle school sermon notes, and I found a quote that I'd written down. I don't know where I got it or who said it, but it is a quote that has shaped my life. It said:

"Joy is looking at life from somewhere other than today's pains."

I typed it up on the computer and hung it on the side of my dresser. It hung there throughout my time in high school, and I believe it's still there, though now the dresser is in the laundry room at my parents house.

I've been thinking about that quote during the past few weeks. It's been six months since Vinnie left us, and during that six months, I've walked through a deep and long valley. In the valley I've encountered pain, heartache, anger, bitterness, hopelessness and a good deal of apathy. Joy, however, comes from outside the valley.

I used to think that "somewhere other than today's pains" meant that I should just think about times when I was happy, and let that make me happy now. Turns out that just makes me feel worse, because I realize how messed up my life is now compared to when I was doing good! No, "somewhere other than today's pains" means somewhere outside of the pain, but also outside of the happiness. It is a place outside of human experience, a place all of us know, but where none of us have yet been.

It is about informing my pain with the knowledge of my Creator. It is about thinking theocentrically about heartache. It is letting heaven absorb my anger. It is about holding on to hope, true biblical hope, the kind that doesn't disappoint, as a lifeline.

Informed experience is the joy of existence. God's sovereignty abounds in the valley, though my mind is incapable of understanding his presence.

So I trust and hope through the pain.

2006-03-23T20:02:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

"Baby, don't give up,
cause we're the kind of folks who will always live
right around the corner from somethig big...

Cause it's been one of those kinds of days
and I feel so out of place
and I hate everything
everything
I hate everything but you."

I've been listening to Derek Webb a lot lately, and these are the lyrics from a song off his new album, and somehow it just connects with me. To tell the truth, it's been "one of those kinds of days" for as long as I can remember. And it seems that it's been like that for a great many people here in Auburn.

AAAARGHHHHHHH!!!!

It hurts so much to be alive!!!

I have no one to talk to, no one to be real with, no one who understands me, no one who sees the world like I do...

and perhaps it's my fault.

And my thinking and my writing become nothing more than the yell/scream of a soul in need of care. A soul in need of grace. I keep wondering, "am I cut out for what I'm doing in my life."

I was talking to a good friend the other day about how there are days that I just want to quit life. You know, abandon everything, move across the country, and start over as an entirely new person. I'm so tired of the expectations of who I am place on me by those around me, but mostly by myself.

I remember when I was real. When I attempted to go everywhere and do everything in the real. Something has changed in me. I just want to hide. I don't want to be known, but I want to be known.

Oh Jesus, I am yours, save me.

2005-12-17T09:01:00.000-08:00

It keeps coming. The pain, the sorrow, the anger, the bitterness... all of it.

I woke up this morning with a lump in my throat. It still hasn't gone away. At least I didn't have any of the dreams. The dreams are the worst. I'll be walking down the street and see him through the crowd, and I'll stop and look, and it's really him. I call out, and I run over to him, realizing it was all just a huge joke. I'm angry, so I shove him and swear at him and tell him he never should have done it. Then we hug, and our friendship is renewed and all is well again.

And I wake up. It's gone.

The the friendship and joy is replaced by the knowledge I will never know that experience again. My friend is gone and I will not see him this week, or next week, or the week after that. I cannot go to him and pour out my heart, to have him shoulder the burden with me. I cannot tell him of everything else that has gone wrong this month - how the doctor called to say that Rachael's medication will not be approved by the insurance company, that she might just have to go blind because of the selfishness and greed of businessmen. Or the student I love and counsel whose father has forbidden her from talking to me. O God, how can I hope in you when all has fallen?!

And if he were here, maybe I could get through one more day, one more trial, one more problem. But he is gone, and will never come back. And my soul sinks back into hopelessness.

Maybe today I'll put a happy face on it so that everyone around me can move on.
Maybe I won't.

2005-12-04T10:11:00.000-08:00

How long, O Lord? How long?

I've never hurt more deeply than I have this week. Tears on Monday and Tuesday gave way again to anger and numbness on Wednesday and Thursday. The last few days I've traveled so far up and down that I have emotional vertigo and my plan is going down in the clouds.

I laughed this morning. That's something. I'm thankful I can still laugh. You know, I think that I can do everything I could do before, except for one thing: live. Living is the impossible thing for me. I have to busy myself so that I don't think, because thinking hurts. Whenever my mind wanders, it goes back to the same place-- and I wonder what that place is, because it feels as close to hell as anything I've known. And hell is not fire and sharp pains of burning flesh. Hell is when the pain is so deep and so strong that you cannot feel it, you only know it's presence by the absence of everything else. It's like when you listen to really deep bass -- you don't hear it, but you know it because you cannot hear anything else -- and somehow, it is present within every part of you. That's how I feel.

A year ago, I got ready to move to Auburn. In January, Rachael and I moved here, and I began praying desperately for God to bring a friend into my life. To be honest, I began praying for that two year ago, probably. Someone who would share my joys and struggles, who I felt comfortable with because they wore their brokenness in the same way I did. I guess I've felt I can only trust someone with my brokenness if they are obviously as broken as I am. In March, we went to a small group in Federal Way. A gal named Cindy invited us. That Tuesday night I met Vinnie. Though I didn't know it at the time, Vinnie was the answer to my prayer. We went back to that small group because of Vinnie. Because of his hugeness (was he 6'4"?) of body and heart. We went back because of his curly blond 'fro. We went back because we sense in him a fellow wounded healer.

It was August before I realized that Vinnie was the brother I was looking for. We didn't decide to start meeting weekly until about a month and a half ago.

The greatest hope in my life came from the realization that I finally had a friend, someone I trusted and felt more comfortable with than anyone I've talked to for a long time. I had a best friend.

We met the first Monday in November. Then we had trouble getting together the next week, but we finally did get together again on November 16th. We had coffee and a really good talk. I was struggling with my own sinful habits. He was struggling with overcommitment and burnout. We prayed for each other and showed each other the grace of God.

The following Tuesday, the 22nd, he came to our small group again. He was still tired, but he was making progress and stepping back from some things. I loved this man. We shared communion, the Lord's supper, a holy moment, together as a group and then he left. I think it was about 9:30pm. That was the last I ever saw my best friend. On Thursday, he killed himself with a gun.

When he died, I feel I died as well. How long until I come alive?

How long, O Lord? How long?

2005-10-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

The Desire for Desire.

I've been thinking lately about why I struggle to pray and read my Bible. It's always seemed to me that a pastor wouldn't struggle too much with that; maybe because I haven't seen a lot of pastors struggle with anything. The funny thing is, when I do read, I really enjoy it most of the time; same with prayer. Being close to God is something I like being, and being far away is something that really doesn't feel good. So, why do I not like doing what it takes to get there?...

Anyway, I've started praying a certain prayer.

"Lord, make me hungry for you."

I pray it often now. As often as I think of it, which is sometimes more than four times a day (yeah, for me that's a lot). And the funny thing about prayer--God answers it.

Three weeks ago it began. A small incident on a Sunday morning when my back was hurting and my mind was elsewhere. God showed up. He opened my mouth and I spoke. I spoke truth about our need and people's sin. I spoke truth about the Holy Spirit and what He wanted to do in our church.

The next week I prayed with the worship team, that God would make us hungry, that He would bring revival.

This week, I've been meeting with a small group of young men, "Men of the Morning," and we have been praying at 6am each day for the city of Auburn and Grace Community Church.

Last Sunday, the leadership of GCC got on their knees before the congregation and prayed for a filling of the Spirit.

Tomorrow, we will do it again.

It has begun.

The hunger is coming.

2005-08-24T10:30:00.000-07:00

The Deeper Well

The following insight is from my Dad's journal. He wrote it in the midst of a deep, 18 month depression. Though I am committed to posting my own thoughts on "the Broken Place," I thought this fit so well that I couldn't pass it up. All praise be to our Abba, the digger of deeper wells! -Joe

When God wants to dig a well deeper in a man’s soul, when he digs the existing shaft to make it go deeper and to enlarge it’s capacity to produce more, it requires digging in dirt and mud. During the time the shaft is being dug deeper, the springs are muddied; the water is no longer clear and fresh. The refreshment and enjoyment of the water is delayed. Thirst increases.

Sediment, stirred by the process, makes the water murky, torpid. Digging goes through layers— soft silt, sticky clay, hard rock. Some materials are easily removed, others require drills and dynamite. The deepening process is messy, arduous. In time it is completed. The waters settle, gradually clear, and at last become available to quench thirsts. The mess of digging is quickly forgotten in the freshness of the powerful new flow! What never could have been provided from the shallow well now pours forth generously from the deeper one.
Until that day comes in my life, dig on Lord!

2005-08-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

The Beautiful Mystery

There was a time in my life when my two favorite colors were black and white. Some of you may remember me in those days. It was a happy time for me; I was respected in church, I had authority among my peers, I was seen as a leader and a responsible young man. More than that, I had what many would call a strong ministry, especially for a high school student. Friends would come to me for advice, and underclassmen looked up to me. And all this (most of it, at least), is because I was a good Christian with the right answers.

You know what the right answers are, right?
"Just trust God, He'll get you through this."
"Love is a choice, just choose to love God."
"Try praying and reading your Bible; that always works for me."

Then I went to college.

The interesting thing about Bible college is not how much you learn about the God, but how much you learn you were wrong about God. Over the course of four years, most of my right answers were reduced to rubble by the constant crushing blows of the wrecking ball called "the Word of God." God ceased being my crutch and became my injury. He ceased being my sense-maker and became my greatest confusion. He broke out of the boxes into which I'd crammed Him and disolved every conception I had. In short, He became the Mystery.

and what a beautiful Mystery He is.

A core truth about worship that I've learned is that the how is not nearly as important as the who. We are all really good worshipers; 24 hours a day our time, money and attention are devoted to different pursuits, and at the end of those pursuits is the thing we worship. I long to get to the end of a day and find that finally, the one on the throne in my life is my Lord Jesus Christ. I'll let you know when I get there.

In Protestant Evangelical circles, we have often emphasized the systematizing of theology. Our modern predecessors sought to love God by understanding Him, and often they made great contributions to the church and our concept of God. We owe great debts to men like A.W Tozer ("Knowledge of the Holy"), Millard Erickson ("Christian Theology"), and C.S. Lewis (what didn't he write?). However, in the process, our churches at times forgot the mystery of God and in forgetting, lost a key piece of the worship of Him. We began to worship a God we understood, and a God we understand is not the God of scripture.

How can we understand a God who is logically impossible? He is three, and at the same time He is One. How can we understand a God who is gracious and just? He forgives even the worst of sinners, yet makes sure that justice is done. How can we understand a God who uses the weak to lead the strong? He uses worship leaders who are so full of questions and doubts that they can barely sing the songs they're leading. Trust me, I know this.

Ahhh, but this crazy God who is high and lofty, yet so near; He is the beautiful mystery we worship. Let us never forget the God who is the ocean compared to the spoon of our minds. And let us love Him. If we could understand Him, He would be too small.

"Sum of all perfection:
oblivion of the world
remembrance of the Maker
Look to your inner life
ever loving the Beloved."
-St. John of the Cross

2005-07-17T14:32:00.000-07:00

CHURCH 101: Ecclesiological Anatomy and Physiology

I stole the title of this entry from a good friend of mine named J.J. Bjordahl. He taught a seminar a couple of weeks ago at the Middle School camp where I was leading worship. A few days after we got back from camp, he and I and several other friends were lighting off bottle rockets on the banks of the Columbia when a policeman with a large flashlight decided to have a conversation with us. This relates to worship… somehow. Maybe because I worship God and give him thanks because the cop decided NOT to give me a ticket for $500. Amen.

So, I’ve been thinking about relationships between instrumentalists, singers, and techies. In the years that I’ve been involved with worship, I’ve seen myriad types of relationships happen. There was the band that I was in where there was the band, and then there was the sound tech. In those days, the sound tech was the first to show up, and the last to lead. She was also in charge of pulling overheads (does anybody else remember when we used those?), stage cleanup, and often was responsible for bringing dinner to the band. Although I commend this lady for her amazing servant’s heart, I also want to point out that at a certain point being a servant CAN turn into slavery.

I also remember a situation where the sound man had more years experience with worship than any of the rest of us, and at times would remind us of the fact. Also not recommended.

I was on a worship team once that had a major divide between the singers and the band. We had our rehearsals at the same time, but in different rooms. Some nights, we would go to our respective rooms and complain about one another. This was not very healthy for our worship leading.

These days, I’ve had the privilege of being a part of several worship teams that are doing great. In both of these teams, I’ve had the pleasure of filling the role of lead worshipper. That means I get to pick the songs and plan most of the orchestrations. On each of these teams we’ve had people who sing, people who turn dials, people who punch buttons, people who play guitar, people who pluck basses, and people who hit stuff (that would be the drummer). And in each of these teams, there has been an atmosphere of love and respect for each other. That doesn’t mean we don’t tease each other (most of the time we tease the bassist…thanks Miles and Ryan), but it does mean we love each other and we listen to each other. It means we allow each other to operate in our giftedness.

It kind of reminds me of a thing I read in my Bible awhile back.

“The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ… Now the body is not made up of one part but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.” (from 1st Corinthians 12)

So it seems to me that we have a great opportunity being involved in worship leading: we get to be a demonstration of Christ’s body in action. May we continually be a positive example and love one another even as Christ has loved us.

Have a great week!

2005-07-12T14:24:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Broken Place.

The Broken Place is a blog designed for students of worship and worship leading. I, Joe Poppino, will do my best to post bi-weekly, sharing my thoughts, ruminations, and anything I am learning about leading worship and living life.

A major value of The Broken Place is exactly what you'd expect: brokenness. What this means is that all the advice, thoughts, and such that I share will be shared from a perspective of imperfection and honesty. You will not find advice that says things like, "A worship leader must be the best christian out of everybody in the congregation," or "If you struggle with sin, then you shouldn't be a worship leader." What you will find is one broken man sharing his struggles, and finding God in the midst of them.

I hope that my journey can be an encouragement to you, and that you might even learn something or have your heart changed by the testimony of God's faithfulness to me in the Broken Place.