Most of what I’ve used to define myself is a reaction to the traditional Christianity—namely, Independent Baptist Fundamentalism—that I spent seventeen years of my life identifying with. I go to church wearing shorts and flip-flops because I grew up in a religious system that told me that I had to wear a jacket and necktie every Sunday.

I attend churches that use really loud alternative rock as their primary vehicle for worshipping God musically because I grew up in a religious system that taught me that rock music is inherently evil.

I make friends with people at bars and taverns because I grew up in a religious system that told me that going to those kinds of places is sinful.

Okay, to be totally honest, that’s not entirely true. I wear flip-flops because I really like them. I worship with alterna-rock because it’s the music style that speaks most clearly to me. And I hang out at taverns because I enjoy the taste of a good lager.

But do you see what I’m getting at? There’s a lot in my life that can easily be a reaction to the religion I grew up in.

And by reacting to that religious system, I’m creating a new religious system for myself instead of embracing the grace that Christ offers me daily.

How is reacting to a religious system creating a new religious system? In balking at the standards that were placed on me at my former church I created a new standard for what it looks like to be a follower of Jesus. And it wasn’t necessarily a biblical one.

A true follower of Jesus should look like this.

Not like this.

Or this.

Or this.

Or even this.

Being a missional community, to borrow once again from Bill, means going into the culture, speaking the language of the culture, in order to be a counter-culture for the culture. In other words, we as a Church should learn to contextualize in order to better reach the culture we find ourselves in.

And I’m beginning to believe that applies to the individual in a different way. Yes, I found it easy to embrace being missional in the culture I identify with (as mentioned above). But the question I face now is this: can I still apply a missional lifestyle if God called me to reach out to the people who are trapped in the religious system I came from?

Would I be able to lay aside the “look” I’ve created of a follower of Jesus in order to allow the people I’m called to reach a little bit of comfort?

Would I be able to contextualize by putting aside my love for rock, my love for beer, and my love for shorts and flip-flops in order to reach certain people with the gospel of Christ?

Would you?

Tweet This Post

In the first conversion, we find the story of an Ethiopian eunuch whose curiosity for the things of God led him to discover Jesus. Let’s assume this guy has had no contact with any sort of religious education. After all, according to Deuteronomy 23.1, he wasn’t allowed in the temple anyway.

And yet as Philip talks with him about the ancient book of Isaiah, this eunuch very readily and simply trusts Jesus.

In stark contrast to the story of the eunuch’s conversion is Saul’s conversion in chapter 9. While the eunuch followed Jesus without the need for any real coaxing, it took a supernatural slap in the face for Saul to finally follow Jesus. And his road was marked with pain, suffering, and humiliation.

He was slammed off his horse, exposed to an extremely bright light, lectured by Jesus himself, left blind and completely dependent on someone else’s help, and cared for by the very man he was planning on executing.

Here’s the funny thing—Saul was the religious one.

So what have I learned from this? For starters, no one is outside of God’s reach. From the broken and remorseful sinner to the passionate and violent religious leader, God reaches all of us.

But I think he has to hit religious people a little harder. We’re stubborn, set in our ways, and we believe we’re right about everything. So he steps in, introduces a little bit of pain because, unlike the “sinner,” we haven’t experienced life’s hardships that would draw us to him, and confronts us directly.

So what does that mean for me? I’m not totally sure. I think God’s telling me that I need to love religious people just as much as I love non-religious people. They need his grace just as much as anyone else. The problem is that we’re often very unwilling to accept it.

Tweet This Post

“I Bear Witness”

Let the mighty oceans roar
And the rain from heaven pour
As the great Almighty stands
With the Christ at his right hand

Let the nations testify
And the earth in wonder cry
That this awesome God of all
Would redeem us from the fall

Listen to the words of love
That call out to you and me
Through a purchase paid in blood
Heaven’s Son has set us free

See the guilty human race
Beat and spit upon his face
Yet he reached down from above
Kissed the world in perfect love

Now I bow before the throne
With perfection not my own
For I’m clothed in righteousness
Saved by grace, no more, no less

Sacred blood was shed for me
That through death new life I see
Bought by heaven’s love divine
Endless life I claim as mine

I bear witness to the love
That calls out to you and me
Through a purchase paid in blood
Heaven’s Son has set me free

Tweet This Post

I got out of bed, did a handful of pushups, brushed my teeth, and grabbed a bowl of cereal before heading into the heat to mow the lawn. The day was loud; kids were running up and down the street or playing in their backyards as parents did yardwork in preparation for the arrival of their barbecue guests.

As I started my lawnmower’s engine I felt my name being whispered in the breeze. Nate, I sensed. There’s something I want you to see.

The vibrating hum of the lawnmower lulled me into a rhythmic daze, but each time I turned I looked up at the nearly cloudless sky, unable to shake the feeling that something was happening to me.

As I rounded another corner it hit me. I came face to face with the Creator of the universe right there in my front yard. It was the last place I expected to have an encounter with God, but there he was, waiting for me to listen.

He reminded me of the cross, of what he did to tell me how much he loved me. He reminded me of all that I have, of what he does everyday to show me how much he continues to love me.

And he reminded me of his overwhelming majesty and power. The sun peaked through the trees, calling my attention to the limitless power of the God I was witnessing. The power to both sit on the throne of the universe and at the same time preside over the tiniest detail of the most insignificant life.

“Through Christ all things hold together. . .”

With all that I’ve been battling internally, I was begging God to comfort me. But he didn’t. Instead he chose to show me who he was, is, and will forever be—the God of all days.

Nate, he said. Each day I’m writing a story. You’re a part of this story. As insignificant as your life is, it’s still crucial to what I’m doing. And while it may be crucial, it’s still only a part. This story isn’t about you. It’s about my Love. It’s about the Christ.

Drenched in sweat and covered in grass clippings I discovered—or perhaps rediscovered—something about God. That he is in everything—every sound, every sight, every smile, every hug, every kiss, every moment—and that this God will never stop relentlessly loving me.

Tweet This Post

I asked God the most difficult question I’ve ever asked him.

“Who am I?”

I can’t even relate to you how much strength it took me to get those words out. And when I did, the answer wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“You’re my child, and I love you so much.”

“Yeah, I know that. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re my child, and I love you so much.”

I grew a little frustrated, so I asked again, “No, God, who am I?”

And again, “You’re my child, and I love you so much.”

And then it hit me. I really don’t know what it means to be loved.

By God.

By my friends.

Or by myself.

After a shower this morning I looked at myself in the mirror and again I heard God speaking. “Do you like what you see? Because I do.”

“No.”

“Really? Because I made you. Nate, you may think that’s some kind of warped humility, but in reality, that’s as selfish and proud as the people who love themselves a bit too much. Because you’re saying that you have the right to have an opinion about yourself. You don’t. Only I do. And I like what I see because I made what I see, and I spent time shaping your life and drafting every moment of your so-called insignificant existence.”

And I paused, angrier with God than I can ever remember being.

And as if to rub it in even more, very faintly (and I don’t know if this was just my mind’s residual thoughts or if he was still speaking) I heard, “And if that’s not enough, I died for what you see in the mirror.”

Tweet This Post

But despite having walked up and down Main Street in Madison so many times throughout my life, I seemed to always miss the best things about it.

For instance, on the corner where Main Street becomes Park Avenue, there’s a little coffee shop called Drip. It’s a quiet little placed tucked away and not nearly as prominently displayed as something like Greenberry’s on the Green in Morristown. But there’s something wonderful about this place. The smiles, the laughs, the soft rock playing in the background.

How have I missed this place over and over again?

And then there’s Poor Herbie’s. At the end of my search for the perfect tavern lay this great little place. It’s close enough to be convenient yet not so close that it feels redundant. The food is great, the beer selection is excellent, but neither of these is what draws me in.

I feel at home there. Comfortable. Happy.

How is it that you can feel so at home in a place that’s so new to you?

In many ways it’s a lot like connecting with God. We go through life, seeing the same things over and over again, reading the same passages in Scripture over and over again, and we miss the best truths God has for us.

And when we discover them, it’s like finding something completely new and unexpected.

But at the same time, it’s like coming home.

Tweet This Post

With my voice I cry out to the Lord;
With my voice I plead for mercy to the Lord.
I pour out my complaint before him;
I tell my trouble before him.
When my spirit faints within me,
you know my way!
In the path where I walk
they have hidden a trap for me.
Look to the right and see:
There is none who takes notice of me;
no refuge remains to me;
no one cares for my soul.
I cry to you, O Lord;
I say, “You are my refuge,
my portion in the land of the living.”

The last few days haven’t been easy. And it becomes so difficult to trust God when it feels like he’s taking things away from me. To be totally honest, I’m actually angry at him right now. I almost feel like he’s given me glimpses of the great things he has planned for me, only to rip them away with the words, “You’re not ready for this yet, Nate.”

He gave me something to pour my abilities and efforts into, and then I hear, “I can’t let you do that, Nate. Not when you’ve lost sight of whom this is really about.” And it hurt, but I knew I needed to make some changes in my own life.

And just as I’m on the brink of taking that first step towards change, a gift he’d given me very recently was quickly snatched away, and I hear, “You’re not ready for this gift, Nate. This was my gift to you, but you’re not a gift yourself.” And again, it hurt.

Like any child who’s being corrected by his father, I’m angry because the correcting hurts. But, like that child, I know that I have nowhere else to turn, and that the hand that’s correcting me is the same hand that comforts me.

So I’ll run into the refuge of my Father’s arms, knowing that, even though I can’t have what I want right now, he’s providing me what I need.

My old mentor told me recently to stop “seeking change for yourself and start seeking the God who changes.” Because change may be everything I want in my life right now, but this God is everything I need.

Tweet This Post

Tweet This Post

Anyway, here’s the list (not including the aforementioned post). . .

1. To my future bride (whoever you may be). . .

2. A day at Liquid Church. . .

3. God, the Lover. . .

4. What does true love look like?. . .

5. Through new eyes. . .

6. Communications and children’s ministries. . .

7. Fear in love. . .

8. Break my heart. . .

9. The fury of God’s grief. . .

10. Shorts and flip flops at church. . .

Tweet This Post

Actually, no. It hurts all the time.

Do you ever feel alone? Like there isn’t a single person who’ll listen to you? Like all your friends are there simply as a courtesy, but when your heart is crying out to them for a hug or an ear to listen to your fears or pain, they suddenly disappear or tune out?

I do.

Everyday.

Some nights I set it aside and numb the pain by escaping into a book or watching a movie or playing video games.

Not tonight though.

Tonight I’m screaming. Tonight I’m calling. Tonight I’m crying for that friend who’ll wrap their arms around me and let me pour everything I’m hiding onto their shoulders.

And tonight, like every other night I feel alone and abandoned. . .

He answers.

He listens intently when I unload the hurt that’s eating at my soul. He sits beside me when I feel like no one else will.

He rests his hand on my shoulder and says, “I won’t leave you.”

“Is that a promise?” I ask him (night after night).

“I told you, I’m always with you.”

He says the same thing every time. No matter what I say or do.

He’s always there.

I rarely follow his advice (even though I try so hard to). I often forget to do what he asks me to. I don’t communicate well with him, and when I do, I’m almost always asking him to do something and never listening to what he has to say.

Some friend I am.

But he’s always there. He’s always listening. He’s always holding me.

He destroyed death for me. . .

By dying himself.

And here I am crying out for a friend when this one is already here beside me.

Tweet This Post