The Power of Confession

I have a confession to make.  I have been way too slack about confessing my sins to God.  I have taken for granted that Jesus died on the cross for me, that I have received his gift of forgiveness, and that my sins are all gone.  That is all true.  But I can't take it for granted.  I need to confess my sins.  In my daily time with Jesus, I need to make sure that I acknowledge specifically how I need to repent.

I have often noticed a distance from the Lord, like my relationship with him is just flat.  As I am reading through Tim Keller's book on prayer, I obviously came across the importance of confession.  Oh yeah.  I need to do that.  Not just because I am supposed to, but because I need the life that comes from openly, specifically agreeing with God about my sin.

I began listing my sin.  It's worse than I thought.  Realizing one sin helps me realize another.  I'm not wallowing in woe-is-me depression.  I'm just seeing that addressing these areas of "missing the mark" will help me live more like God wants me to.  Duh.

Confession brings life.  Wow!

New Friends

We arrived back from Uganda on April 11, late in the evening.  I think everyone on the trip had a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Nearly every night since our return, I have dreamed about the people in Wakiso, the district outside of Kampala, Uganda.  Meeting these folks has struck a chord deep in my soul.

Thanks to the work of Scott and Erin Littleton with The Mighty River Project, relationships were established long ago.  On this trip, the Littletons introduced their friends from the U.S. to their friends in Uganda.  It felt like a family reunion.

We visited Sunday through Wednesday in the village, spending the nights at a guesthouse in Kampala.  Every day we were talking with the basket makers, playing with the children, and working alongside the young men.  They received us with warmth and gratitude like beloved extended family. 

On the last day in Wakiso, we shared gifts with them.  The basket-making women received gifts from their personal sponsors and The Mighty River Project.  All the kids received backpacks filled with pencils, notebooks, stickers and toys.  It felt like Christmas.  We were a big family who love each other, sharing gifts from the heart.  They also shared gifts with us.

These relationships have been cultivated for four years.  With this trip, the relationship has reached a whole new level.  Already folks at Crossroads are planning the next trip.  We are planning who will go, whom they will meet and what gifts they will bring.

For me, my prayer is that I will never be the same.  I have seen the world as never before.  I have seen the gospel at work as never before.  To Jesus be the glory!

Ugandan Easter

Today we saw the power of the Risen Savior. Jesus showed up in the welcome we received from our Ugandan hosts. At church, we were recognized as friends from the U.S. They allowed our Ugandan matriarch Dorothy to share about The Mighty River Project. Scott Littleton and I also expressed greetings and appreciation for their hospitality. After worship, we gathered at Dorothy's home for lunch and visiting. We shared a meal together, we played with the children, and they sang for us. It was humbling to be greeted with such warmth. I especially connected with Belam, Dorothy's son. He has studied to be an auto mechanic, but ran out of money for his studies. I expect to see him on Monday, and I can get to know him better.

A Good Friday to Uganda

Today our mission team is leaving for Uganda to work with The Mighty River Project.  On Good Friday, Jesus laid down his life.  He gave us life as he died for our sins.  His was the ultimate sacrifice.

As we leave for Uganda, I think our team feels more privileged than sacrificial.  How God has blessed us with this opportunity of a lifetime!  We will make new friends, experience worship in a Ugandan church on Easter Sunday, help locals as they begin construction of a kitchen, paint a few rooms, visit with orphans, and witness the work of God in this unfamiliar culture.

We have so much we can learn from them.  We trust God that they can also benefit from our visit.

I am looking forward to meeting Erina, the single mom that my family sponsors.  She and seven other single moms work to produce crafts that The Mighty River Project ships to the U.S. for sale. I hope that our friendship with these folks in Uganda will pave the way for God to transform more and more lives there and here!

More than a song

I'm a wannabe musician.  I play guitar to some degree.  I sing mostly on pitch, especially if I'm singing with somebody else.  I have been known to hold a bass or tap out one-note pads on the keyboard. 

Learning to play music takes lots of effort.  At least it does for most people.  There is the struggle with learning fingerings, chord structures, rhythms, scales and harmonies.  We work through the basics over a long period of time.  It takes hours, weeks, and years to become proficient.  Then at some point -- with determination, perseverance and effort -- the focus on technique and performance gives way to the flow of the music.  And that's the goal.  You want to reach that point that the melody flows from the soul.  It bypasses your effort and cascades through the air, apart from your will.

On many occasions I have experienced that thrill.  Strumming chords and singing (un-mic-ed) praise to Jesus connects my soul more and more deeply with my Lord.  It doesn't happen every time I play, but often enough to make me expect and desire it. 

Sadly, there are many musicians who reach a great degree of technical proficiency but never crest the hill of pure expression through music.  It sounds good, but it never truly flows.  This is true of worship musicians and nightclub musicians.  They are good, but not quite great.  They miss the feel of abandonment in the wave of acoustic beauty.  Real music is more than a song.

This same process applies to prayer.  When we first begin to pray, we recite prayers we have learned.  "Now I lay me down to sleep..." 
"God is great, God is good.  Let us thank him for our food..." 
"Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name..." 

We learn the grammar of prayer.  How to address God.  What kinds of things we say to him.  Prayer vocabulary, like grace, mercy and faith.  We learn helpful patterns like ACTS, for Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication.  These patterns are like practicing musical scales.  They help us learn the technique of prayer. 

Many of us labor at this level of prayer for years.  We systematize prayer with note cards (my favorite), notebooks, prayer apps.  We become thoroughly organized, and commit to following the program.  We set aside time every day for prayer.  All this is good and helpful, and maybe necessary.

But prayer is more than a song.  It is more than technique.  More than commitment and organization.  Much more. 

Sadly, many become stuck in this level of prayer.  The act of prayer feels mechanical, rote, or sterile.  It gets the job done, but without much joy or excitement.  We pray because we know it is good for us, like exercise or hummus.  Like plodding musicians hammering away note after note, we pray away request after request.  Some people will never be really good musicians because they don't have the raw talent.  But in Christ everyone has the "raw talent" to be a virtuoso pray-er.  We have the Holy Spirit himself living in us, flowing through us.  We need to set aside our self-effort, and let his Spirit take charge in us.

The form of prayer, like the mechanics of music, must give way to the abandonment of expression of the soul.  The forms have been like scaffolding, providing direction, shaping technique, until those forms become unnecessary.  We crest the hill of prayer after years of working with those guidelines.  Then we realize that the whole point of prayer is not to get stuff prayed for.  The point of prayer is to connect our souls with Jesus. 

The requests and the model prayers are merely ways for us to practice until we finally get it.  After cresting that hill, we still pray for requests, we still use model prayers.  But the prayer flows.  It becomes beautiful before the Lord.  It shapes us through the Spirit, as the Spirit flows through us.  He is in us, and we are in him.

I'm a wannabe pray-er.

One more thing

So often after I preach a sermon, I realize that I left something out. 

Last Sunday I preached from Acts 12:7-12.  In this story, Paul preaches to a group of Christians on a Sunday night.  They have gathered in a building in Troas, in a third story room.  As Paul preaches on toward midnight, a young man named Eutychus is sitting in an open window.  The young fellow drifts off to sleep, slips out of the window and falls to his death on the street below. 

Paul stops speaking and rushes down to the street, throws himself on the dead man, and announces that he's alive.  Amazing news!

Now, here's what I left out.  The name Eutychus means "Fortunate."  One wonders if that was his name all along, or maybe he got that nickname on his resurrection day.

Either way, the name fits.

Islam, Martyrs, and Us

It's getting real.  People are really losing their lives because they take a stand for Jesus.  I know it has always been that way, dating back to the Roman Colosseum.  I have heard about modern persecution in Sudan and India.  It's really been real all along, but it seemed so theoretical to me. 

Now we see the ceremonial execution of named believers by masked jihadists.  They, the murderers, are putting it in our faces.  They are intentionally provoking us.  And by "us," I mean Christians.  Or maybe I mean Americans.  Or the West.  Or non-Muslim theists.  Or all non-Muslims.  I'm not really sure.

Should the U.S. military bomb them, shoot them, invade them? 

This battle used to be clear to me.  They want us--Americans--dead.  So we kill them in self-defense.  But after reading this article in the Atlantic Journal I have a new appreciation for the complexity of the conflict.  I say I read the article.  I did the best I could to wade through the Arabic names and get the gist of it.

These radical Islamists are turning up the heat, emboldened by victories in Iraq and Syria, and relishing the developing caliphate.  It looks like they want an all-out war.  They point to the Koran for their authority to slaughter infidels.

But persecution comes with the territory for Christians.  Ever since Stephen was stoned, only months after the Resurrection of Jesus, Christians have been persecuted.  They were persecuted centuries before Muhammad was even born.  These Muslims are just the latest in a long line of persecutors, from Romans to Nazis to atheists to Jews.

Jesus expected his followers to be persecuted.  He repeatedly warned them and told them how to handle it.  The Book of Revelation prophesies about the martyrs and their strength of faith.  Somehow I thought those days were long behind us, providing mere inspirational stories of history.

And further, I'm ashamed to confess, I pictured Coptic Christians as ritualistic, cultural, nominal believers, caught up in tradition and the form of religion.  Then I saw the men in the orange jumpsuits.  And I learned that they were singing to Jesus as they died.  Just like Paul and Silas in prison at midnight.  But unlike Paul and Silas, these men did not live to see another day. 

Or maybe they are more alive now than ever before.  They stood with Jesus and now they stand with Jesus.  He makes their suffering more than worth it.  Death has brought them life.  Their deaths can also bring us--Christians--life.  Their deaths can wake us up.  Maybe I'm waking up.

It's getting real.  Now what will we do when it gets close to home?