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?

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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.

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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.”

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Life is made up of stories. And every story we have is a part of a bigger story within our own lives, and the lives of those around us, and the lives of everyone we’ve ever come in contact, and ultimately everyone on earth.

It’s all a story.

And often, we can’t figure out what part of the story we’re in. John Eldredge put it this way: “For most of us, life feels like a movie we’ve arrived at forty-five minutes late” (Epic).

I’ve felt this confusion time and time again. But what helps me is knowing that my story fits in somewhere as part of a larger story, and that the story has already been written. Well, the important parts, that is.

But I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve been looking at this story the wrong way for generations. And I think that’s where the confusion comes in.

We’ve been searching for meaning in our lives, but we haven’t discovered that meaning comes when we find out that our lives aren’t a puzzle. Rather, they’re puzzle pieces. And they all fit together to create a picture that, at its heart, centers around Jesus.

But I really think people—no, Christians—have gotten it wrong.

To find meaning for life, we have to center life around Christ. But to truly center our lives around him, we first have to discover who he is.

Look at his life. What made him happy? What made him angry? Whom did he cherish? Whom did he criticize?

Can you relate what went on during his life to what’s going on in your life?

What makes you happy? What makes you angry? Whom do you cherish? Whom do you criticize?

No, this isn’t a rehash of WWJD?. It’s much deeper than that. It’s a challenge to rediscover.

Rediscover what life looks like through Jesus’ eyes. Rediscover what people look like through Jesus’ eyes. Rediscover what you look like through Jesus’ eyes.

Can you find meaning in that? He found meaning in you. Enough meaning to die.

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And at 9:00am every Sunday, the first service at Liquid Church begins.

But somewhere in the middle of all this seemingly frenetic activity, real life change is taking place.

During the longer break between services I was wandering around the Hyatt peeking in on some of the volunteers who were finally getting their first break of the day. Some of the band members were napping behind the stage. A roadie was lying on some chairs in the back of the main ballroom. A few mentors were enjoying some snacks by the hotel bar.

I stopped at a small group of high schoolers sitting in a circle of chairs in the hotel lobby. They all had matching notebooks out and looked like they were having a good time; the sight intrigued me, so I decided to have a look. One of them showed me a chart from their notebooks. Across the top in bold letters was the phrase “Systematic Theology.” This revelation to me couldn’t have come at a better time. It reinforced in my mind that there’s a generation coming after mine that is doing everything possible to get to know God better.

I almost cried when I saw it.

Because sometimes it’s easy, especially at a church like mine, to get caught up in a Christianity that gives you that immediate spiritual high. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all. Hearing a song set that moves you from dancing in the aisles celebrating our freedom in Christ to raising our arms in complete surrender to his love to breaking down in tears of humility knowing we have nothing apart from him—that’s a fantastic place to be. Sitting under powerful teaching that points your heart and mind to the intensity of Christ’s love and grace—it’s phenomenal to get that.

Seeing the looks on people’s faces when you’re giving them free coats with no strings attached—it’s no wonder Christ told us that giving is more blessed than receiving.

And I see it in our high schoolers when they open their Bibles and really search for who Christ is. I see it in our middles schoolers when they’re riveted to our youth pastor as he unveils to them a Jesus that doesn’t their their preconceived notions of who Jesus is.

They want to know God.

And when the middle and high schoolers get excited about knowing God, the ripple effects of their excitement spread to all other parts of the Church. A church filled with kids who want more of Jesus is an insanely powerful church. The strength of Liquid Church isn’t going to be measured by how loud the music is or how eloquently Pastor Tim speaks. It won’t be measured by how many new volunteers start serving each week or how many first-time guests show up.

No, the strength of Liquid Church will be measured by how many kids in our Student Ministries program discover who Jesus is and study the Bible to encounter him.

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A group of people nearby noticed us and started chatting with us. We told them that we’re part of a church, and the natural skepticism ensued, followed by a bit of curiosity. As we chatted more I found that these people actually admired us. I’m pretty sure we’re different from most Christians they’ve come across.

Christ said that the world would know that we are his followers because of our love. For a while I’d thought of it this way: our love is so pervasive that people take notice of it. But I think that it’s actually deeper than that. Sure, our love is pervasive and overwhelming, but there’s something else going on.

Jesus distinctly said that it would be our love for each other that would distinguish us from the world.

Let me put it into perspective. One of the guys who was chatting with us noticed a girl in our group. He asked me if I’d planned on hitting that (and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t joking, but he was genuinely curious based on some other stuff I’d said earlier in our conversation). I said simply that I loved her too much to do that. And he was a bit confused.

See, the world defines love in these terms: “I love her so much that I should have sex with her.” But a Christian packs a whole lot more into the concept of love that it actually sounds like this: “I love her too much to have sex with her.” Because to a Christian, the “her” in question is a sister. A sister that should be loved, cherished, respected, and protected.

Of course, that earns us labels like “prude” and “anti-sex.” It’s unfortunate because sex is what I believe to be the most powerful manifestation of the image of God in humanity. So why is the Church considered anti-sex?

It’s tragic that the Church has given sex over to society. We’ve shirked our responsibility to show the beauty of God’s relationship with humanity through sex and decided to not talk about it.

Someone had to pick up the slack. Turns out it’s the culture.

So here’s my question: are we going to do anything about it? Or are we going to let society control sex? Let’s go, Church! We’ve got an opportunity here. . . let’s not waste anymore time.

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In John 17 Christ spends time praying for his followers. The conversation he has here are the last recorded words he exchanges with the Father before he is sentenced to death.

He knows its the last time he’ll get to be alone with his Father while on earth.

And what does he ask for? He asks for unity among his followers.

And look at what we’ve done to answer his prayer. Baptist, Christian Missionary Alliance, Pentecostal, Catholic, Episcopalian, Reformed, Presbyterian, Evangelical-Free, Anglican, Methodist, Apostolic, Lutheran, Fundamentalist, Charismatic, Brethren. . . . Do you see where I’m going?

So last night at Life Group we talked about Catholicism. Interesting topic given the fact that our group is overwhelmingly Protestant. But the ability to discuss our differences without bashing each other’s beliefs was so refreshing.

I’m fairly certain that one of Satan’s primary goals is to disrupt unity among Christ-followers. I’m not saying that Martin Luther was wrong for inciting division in the Catholic Church. There was an obvious need for change, and he pointed out many practices that were poisoning the minds of Christ-followers.

But as the Protestant movement became a powerful tool for the Kingdom, Satan seized the opportunity to attack it. And his attack came in the form of division.

Christ prayed for unity, and Satan is battling that as much as he can.

But last night, divisiveness was defeated. In one room, Catholic, CMA, E-Free, Reformed (and whoever else was sitting in that circle) came together and declared that our God and Saviour is Jesus, and that life is about nothing more or less than knowing and loving him.

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I found a book about the Apostle Paul and flipped through it a little. As I did, I began to daydream a little. What would it have been like to travel with him? Was he a somber guy, or did he have a clever sense of humor?

And what would it be like to walk alongside someone who understood that deeply what it meant to live a missional lifestyle, who understood the synergy created when cross, culture, and community meet within a life?

As I was making my way from the Religion section to the Science Fiction section, I heard my name called. It was my friend.

After barely a minute of small talk, our conversation dove right into ministry. As we shared our hearts, passions, and discoveries with each other, I couldn’t help but sense that she too was experiencing the same “dip” that I am now crawling out of.

And it’s tough.

It’s tough when God has given you a gift and placed on you a calling, and circumstances push you away from where you feel called. And it’s tough when you look within and find that your own sin, guilt, and depression are pulling you away from taking any step towards what God has called you to.

And it’s tough when that call is ministry, and you know that your ability to serve is almost completely shot.

But, like my friend said tonight, finding yourself drawn to ministry, regardless of how often you’re tossed around and pulled away from it, means that you’re meant for it. When you long for the trenches, for the spiritual battle over the souls of people who surround you. When your mind isn’t satisfied until you’ve filled it with God’s word. When your arms itch to embrace the hurting and broken soul. When your lips purse at the thought of sharing with others everything God has taught you. When your ears perk up at the cries of the youth who is lost, frightened, and alone.

You were meant to be in the trenches.

As I sipped my tea, my friend looked straight into my eyes and asked me, “How is your relationship with God?”

She was meant to be in the trenches.

She drove right to that question. Everything else in our conversation had flowed organically, but this question didn’t. No, it was purposed. Directed. Intentional.

It was as if that was the only thing she wanted to ask me. As if the night would be incomplete if she didn’t help wake me up to the realization that I was headed down the same path the led me into this dark valley I’ve been in.

She knew what was important and how to get at it.

And she opened my heart to a truth I only recently began to notice.

I’ve not been connecting with my Daddy.

And crucial to living a missional lifestyle is maintaining an unbroken, open connection with God.

Because without that connection, we can’t be like Jesus.

And being missional is being like Jesus,

(who was more human than anyone else)

which makes us more human than we were before,

so that we can better connect to the broken and hurting humans who would never listen to us unless we fully realize our own humanity.

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I won’t bore you with all the details of the changes in store for our SM program or annoy you with boastings of some of the great things we have planned as a youth ministry, but I will tell you this: never before have I felt that my journey in faith had landed somewhere until now.

I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I placed my trust in Christ, but at some point just two years ago, I knew beyond any doubt that my life belonged to the King of the universe. And over the course of the last two years I went through so many changes and shifts that I began to lose any sense that I even remotely resembled the Nate Nakao prior to 2007.

And while I still feel like I’m in a bit of a “dip,” my future is beginning to come into focus just a little more. But even if the specifics change, I know without any lack of conviction that the rest of my life will be dictated by this sentence: I love the next generation.

I took on an interim directorial role for the children’s program at Liquid, but as I look back on my term in that position, I realize, to my shame, the lack of seriousness I had with the role. I was tasked with taking the gospel to a future generation, and I could barely stay focused long enough to complete that task Sunday to Sunday. It’s a wonder the program didn’t fall apart with me at the helm.

But the gravity of my calling hit me last night. My role as a youth leader is one of utmost importance. My task is a grave and urgent one. My Missio Dei is the same as that of all others: take the gospel to all. But in its specificity, my mission calls me to the youth culture. A culture where the idea of a Creator God who loves them enough to die for them is a foreign idea. A culture that is crying out for connection in all areas that they turn to social media—the greatest tool for and weapon against the fulfillment of their desire to connect. A culture that has found something to live for, but is longing for something to die for.

And so I go forward, taking what I’ve learned and experienced these last few years and building it into who I am going to be.

I lay for my life a foundation characterised by:
Grace – Nothing distinguishes the believer more than his/her unbounded love.
The Cross – The Chosen one of God selected death as his means to bring life to a dead world. It is the central point of history and the fabric by which all life holds together.
The Culture – The point at which I am ineffective in connecting to the culture is the point at which I cease to live out my call. Universally, the point at which any believer ceases to communicate effectively with the culture that surrounds him/her is the point at which he is no longer fulfilling the Missio Dei given directly to him/her in Matthew 28.18-20.

Today I declare my life’s mission. And every tomorrow to follow will carry with it an opportunity to live my mission. My prayer is that I will seize every one of those opportunities. I just hope I never miss one again.

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And in the middle of this whirlwind was a man named Moses—a man who was born a slave, raised a prince, trained a shephered—a man with the audacity to defy the king of the most powerful empire in the world.

But like so many times throughout human history, God chose to use the ordinary to accomplish the miraculous.

Moses was not the epic leader we think of him as.

Sure, Egypt may have hailed him as her future king. And yes, he led Israel out of her captivity under Egypt’s fist.

But Moses was a coward who was full of excuses.

He ran away after killing a man, afraid of his royal family’s power.

When God gave him the charge to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt, he whined. “I can’t face Pharaoh. Who am I to such a great king?”

You mean, other than a prince who might have been in line to take the throne of Egypt?

But God says, “I will be with you.” The Almighty has placed his Spirit upon Moses.

And still he complains?

“But what if they ask me who sent me? What do I tell them?”

Moses, isn’t it enough that the God of the universe has asked you to do something and has given you his power to accomplish the task? You have to keep worrying about the hypothetical?

“But what if they don’t believe me?”

Jeez, Moses! What do you want, a miracle?

“Oh, I forgot. . . I suck at public speaking.”

Who created you, Moses? Who gave you the ability to speak? What does God have to do to get our attention?

And as annoyed as God might have been with Moses, there’s a sentence in Exodus 33 that reads: “Inside the Tent of Meeting, the Lord would speak to Moses face-to-face, as a man speaks to a friend” (emphasis added).

God doesn’t come to us as a friend because we ask him to. He doesn’t bend to the will and desires of humans. God speaks to us as a friend because he wants to.

His words are right in front of you. He’s writing to you as a friend. Are you paying attention to him?

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