Risky Business

    Two of my current female members took a trip to California, rented a van, visited Rick Warren’s church and saw the sights. Somewhere along the way they encountered an unexpected traffic jam. If you’ve ever been anywhere close to LA, traffic jams are to be expected, but usually they are traffic related. Such was not the case. As they inched their way forward, curiously scanning the road as to some reasonable cause, there it was. It was not the product of rubber necking (the bane of those of us with somewhere to be), or of an accident, or of a road hazard, but of a helpless creature with its head stuck in a Yoplait cup wandering in circles on the road. Thousands of motorists, if not tens of thousands, were stopping and inching their way around this hapless and helpless creature. Leave it to two from NAC to be the compassionate duo.
    Before you begin condemning Californians for being calloused or indifferent to one of God’s little creatures, you really need to know one more thing: it was a skunk! Need I say more to explain the lack of mercy? Our dynamic duo was determined to deliver Pepe Le Pew from his imprisonment. While Kim stopped the van, Linda eased around from the passenger side intent on a quick snatch-and-run maneuver. Linda succeeded in the snatch part, then fell in her hasty retreat. Fortunately for her, the skunk, surprised by its sudden deliverance but still rather upset, decided to deliver its gift of gratitude to Kim. Thankfully, she was able to roll up her widow in time while Linda returned to the safety of the vehicle. I’m guessing that traffic didn’t begin moving very fast as other drivers were recovering from their fit of hysterical laughter at this scene.
    Church planting is risky business and it does require that we exit our comfort (and safe) zones for those incapable of helping themselves. While some make church planting sound like a walk in the park to the road to becoming a spiritual celebrity, make no mistake, it is not. Thank goodness, at least some of the time, we can get the window up.

Secret Covenant

   My wife loves children’s literature. Even though she is a trained educator with a couple of degrees, her love for it grew out of her exposure as a child. She is able to cite author and title from the obscure. I, on the other hand, can’t even recognize the most famous! My taste and interest in literature couldn’t be more different, yet we have managed a happy marriage for 35 years. While she loves the sense of security that reading children’s literature gives her, I thrive on the adventurous, hazardous, dangerous. Strangely enough, these patterns emerged in our church planting experience.
   While the contemporary church planting strategy includes healthy financial backing, such was not the case for us. When we embarked on our adventure in 1993, we did so with a handful of people and a lot of faith. While our motley group was abuzz with the excitement of escaped convicts, freed from the fetters of traditional church politics and trappings, I was living the reality of reality. I wasn’t looking for a leisurely and secure walk in the park. I wanted to climb mountains, but I was not delusional enough to assume that I was doing what God wanted. I embraced the risk of potential failure by entering into a secret covenant with God that went something like: “Lord, if we do not exceed 100 in regular attendance the first year, I’ll pack it in because I will know that You are not in it.” God wasn’t out on a limb, but I was prepared to be.
   Five locations, eighteen years, 600+ baptisms and two campuses later I think I got my answer. Yet, what it turned into was never what I expected. While my previous church experience had been more akin to children’s literature meets Freddy Krueger, it had nonetheless been lived out within the framework of the familiar, the common, the traditional, the secure. How God answered that secret covenant was not unlike His taking an overqualified Pharisee named Saul and making him an eminently qualified ambassador to Gentiles. Talk about adventure!

Transitions

  I just completed reading "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" and as usual there were things in Aron's story that resonate with me. First, he writes about being raised in Ohio and his fear of moving with his family to Colorado. He had been led to believe that Colorado was buried under snow all year. It was only after moving there and discovering the truth that it all changed. He not only began skiing, but the outdoors became a passion. It was a life transition for him. Second, having earned a degree in mechanical engineering, he began working for Intel. Nothing should have been more rewarding and secure vocationally than working  at one of the great corporations in America. It was not enough. After only five years, his avocation trumped his vocation, his passion trumped his career. I get it.
  Having been reluctantly drafted (or so I felt) into ministry to preach, I embarked on the proper education. While doing so, I envisioned a lifetime serving in an established county seat church. Over time, reality paid a cruel and unwelcome visit. I discovered that my passion for the kingdom was not shared by that county seat church crowd. Consequently, I ended up moving to an unfamiliar region of the country and it was there that my transition found expression. I discovered a gift for reaching unchurched people, which strangely enough, did not square with the establishment. Much like Aron Ralston, I had to decide: security or passion?
  "So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which my appear to give peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endless changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun." (John Krakauer, Into the Wild) Oh, I so get that too!

Uncertain Seeds

     At 57, I have a lot to think about. While there may be another 30 years in front of me, there are 57 behind. Mathematically, that's almost a two-to-one ratio. More importantly, what is behind is certain while what is ahead is speculative. But it's that speculative that drives the desire to reflect on the certain. In this case and for the purposes of this blog I feel compelled to begin by probing the origins of the present.
     It's rare that I find anyone who knew in childhood what they wanted to do in life that actually did it. Unfortunately, I think that most perhaps simply stumble along into the next opportunity that presents itself based on family history and geography, which would account for the high percentage who never live far from where they grow up and carry on some family vocational tradition. And while it might appear that I have met a part of that criterion, nothing could be further from the truth. On the other hand, I have encountered a few who at age 40 were still trying to determine what they wanted to be when they grew up. They have bounced around through several vocational experiences never quite able to find one satisfying or lucrative enough to want to embrace as a career. I've done my own share of bouncing which has contributed no small part to the success of the last two decades.
     Somewhere back in the 60's there was a friend of the family who was doing what was known as "Church Planting." It seems that they had chosen to butterfly their way around the country, landing ever so briefly to gather a new group of people together, organized them into a church, then fly to the next location. I can remember thinking to myself, "that doesn't sound like much fun!" Of course, my perspective was being shaped by my own desire for roots. My father had begun preaching in the late 50's and was well on his way to maintaining that national average for church tenure: 18 to 24 months. We had and were never to stay anywhere very long. By the time I graduated from High School there had been twelve different schools.