Housekeeping, in.

I loathe housekeeping posts. They're so dry and dull. They're so real-life and nitty gritty. But they're also so, I don't know, refreshing? In a way? It's a good reminder to me and to you that we're all people and doing life and struggling with real life things, spilled coffee beans in the morning and wrinkled shirts, yogurt pooling with liquid and raspberries I bought three days ago now with a curious white fuzz on them. Maybe that's not your everyday, but it's mine. Well, it's one of my mine. There's also a measly fly buzzing around our house. Urgh.

Tomorrow is July 1st, which is my brother's birthday, but that's not what this post is about (However, he was recently shipped off (again) to Afghanistan for (yet another) deployment for this insufferable war, so I wouldn't mind if you'd pray for him (and thousands others) tomorrow on his birthday.). July 1st is also the very last day of Google Reader. If you don't know what GR is, carry on. If you do, and you use it, I hope you're aware of all the chatter online about the fact that it is about to go the way of dinosaurs and Christians who date. That is, extinct.

Here's the skinny:

Your alternatives are many, but the two most popular feed readers seem to be:

Feedly: This is what I've switched to. It seamlessly integrates with your GR subscriptions, has an okay interface, beautiful design, and great mobile app. I'm still not completely adjusted to feedly and there are some things about GR that I sorely miss, but no use crying over spilled milk, as we've already established. Here's how to switch. 

Bloglovin': This seems to be the near close favorite alternative to feedly. I am not familiar with it as a reader, but you can find out more about switching here.

Another alternative is to subscribe to Sayable using email, which you can do by simply putting your email in the box below and then approving it once you get a verification email.

Subscribe to Sayable via email here:

Or you could simply read Sayable the old fashioned way, which is not really old fashioned at all, because what about the web is? Just come right to the page. Voila! Don't feel like you're in the minority for doing that, a whopping 2/3 of you regularly read Sayable that way and there ain't no shame in it.

Another alternative is to stop reading Sayable altogether. Wait. Am I allowed to say that? Yes, yes I am. Go outside, write in your journal, ignore the internet, stop reading blogs, read your Bible, talk with a friend, schedule a meeting with your pastor or counselor. Whatever your reasons for reading Sayable regularly, I'll bet none of them are better than any of those options above. So yeah, I love you, but feel free to shut your lappy, power off your iPad, and say, "Jiminy Cricket! I'm done with all these newfangled changes, I want something real."

Because isn't that what we all want?

Housekeeping, out.

PS. I've heard from a good many of you that your feed for Sayable hasn't been working for a while and I just found out why: if you subscribed to Sayable back in the lore.unskewed.com days, that is no longer forwarding to Sayable.net. There's your culprit! Update your feeds, you ancient of days!

Nothing I own will ever look like this. Ever. 

A hedge of doubt

I woke this morning for the first time in weeks without the heaviness of condemnation on me. I haven't been able to shake those feelings lately, no matter how hard I've pressed myself against the robe, no matter how much I've bent my face over Jesus' feet. I'll be honest, I began to doubt some things. Even now, writing this, my mind is replaying a litany of doubts. Do you really believe that God loves you? Do you really believe you're worth something to Him? Do you really believe that anyone could love you at all? What makes you think He'll be happy with you? They pile up and attack what I know to be true. And so this morning when I woke up gently, quietly, I held my breath for a moment or two, waiting for the doubts to assemble and charge. But they didn't. And I couldn't figure out why.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

One of the greatest gifts God gave me was the gift of doubt. I doubt that many of us would see it as a gift, but I know it to be the deepest grace to me. He gave me the wide pasture of doubt and pleasant boundary line of truth. He wounds me with my doubt, but heals with me with His truth.

Like most who grew up in the church in one manner or another, I bought the lie that a fortified moralism would lead me to paths of great joy—purity until marriage, marriage by 22, children by 24, ducks lined up before me and behind me, I got them in a row. I organized my life to make sense.

And then life didn't make sense. Life dealt me, as one person called it, a bad hand. I'll never forget walking away from that conversation wondering how to play these cards. What do you do with a handful of threes and no partner in this game? I'll tell you what you do: you doubt.

You fall full into it, bathe yourself in it, wash your soul with sin and shame. When the answers you've been given by well-meaning people fail, when the theology you believe (that God responds when we pray harder, give more, seek deeper, and repent faster) proves you the fool, and when God does not seem good, I'll tell you what you do: you doubt.

And here's the thing about doubt: it is a seemingly endless plateau. God has given us the gift of reason and logic and thought, and so doubt will take us where nothing else can because there is always another question, another possibility. Even if we bump up against a wall of truth, we are like little squares in Atari games, bouncing for eternity.

Doubt doesn't seem like a gift.

This morning I read the first chapter of Job, the righteous man who we might also say was dealt a bad hand. But today I noticed a word: hedge.

"Have you not put a hedge around him and all that he has?" The enemy asked God before he unleashed upon Job the full fury of his minions.

God permitted the enemy to do what he would, only told to keep his hand from Job himself, and today I think about the hedge God has set around us. I want to believe that the hedge prevents the enemy from coming in, but that is not what we're told. No, the hedge prevents the enemy from going outside the bounds of what God has set for him. It is Job's hedge, but it is also the enemy's.

This morning I woke up and felt myself hit the hedge. Not my limitations, but God's. Not the end of myself, but the time when God holds up His hand and says "No more. This is the safest place I have for you. Within these boundary lines. Here. All the rest I have for you lies within these boundaries. All the struggles I have for you too lie within these boundaries. But do not worry: I have set this hedge around you and the enemy will not prevail."

IF : Leadership is Lonely

Leadership is lonely, a leader once told me, and he was right. Whenever my name gets caught up in the throes of conversation about lines and where we draw them, whenever hard and fast lines are drawn on secondary issues, I find myself back at the drawing board. I write on this subject more than perhaps any other, and still! When the Next New Thing comes out the heads swivel toward the movers and shakers waiting to see if we'll take the bait.

Most of the time we do take the bait. Leaders become leaders because they stand for something, do something, are something, or see something. To not respond is to slink into the dimly lit corners of history, and who wants to do that?

But I guess I do.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This past week the IF : Gathering was announced. We are touching our toes on the possibility that a unifying love for Jesus and the Church can bring together women from all over the world. We are women who love Jesus deeply, love working out the gospel within our lives and personal contexts. Over the past several months as our small Facebook group has burst at the seams of these 50 women, it has been truly a treasure to catch an occasional glimpse of gospel unity from one woman to another—women who could stand 80 percent of their theology side by side and find themselves an unlikely pair. We disagree on the roles of men and women, we disagree on the doctrine of election, we disagree on how evangelism is done best, we disagree on how to educate children, and what submission looks like in the home. We are the most mismatched group of individuals I think I've ever been a part of.

And I think it's really amazing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A few nights ago I talked to a friend about Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners, whores and liars. He sat right there at their table and it isn't so much that He sat there amongst sinners, but that he sat there amongst sinners who loved Him—even when they stumbled over how to work it out.

Among some feedback I've heard on IF, there are the rumblings of "feminists," "emergents," and "enemies of the gospel," in regard to the ragtag group Jennie Allen has pulled together. I've seen assumptions made about the quality of the teaching, the speakers, the head-shots used on the website, the place of the gospel among the group. And to be honest, I'm shaking my head.

Because leadership is lonely, y'all. When you find a group of ragamuffin gospel-loving mover shaker messy beautiful broken women who aren't afraid of your fear of clasping hands over party lines because they have it too, leadership is so lonely that nobody thinks you can do anything with that.

What Jennie and all of us at IF are doing has the potential to be messy and confusing and cause the skeptics to raise an eyebrow.

But what sort of comfort is it to us if Jesus is the only one who could ever share bread and wine with those who were not His exact likeness?

I'm willing to be lonely, to have my name counted as "one who eats with them," I care little about my name or its place in history. But this is one place where I think some are sorely off. I won't stand here idly while stones are cast at my sisters who love Jesus as fiercely as I do.

I won't waste my loneliness on those accusations.

Is it unconventional? Is it still in the making? Are some things a little unclear? Sure. Does God make something from nothing?

Every day.

My Camp, Your Camp, and Virtual Shunning

A few months ago I wrote an article that caused a bit of a firestorm among some of my writing compadres. Perhaps I gave it a provocative title, but I maintain its truth: Mark Driscoll is Not My Pastor. Amongst the backlash of that article there was also a curious phenomenon on the twitter chat: the affirmation of the virtual church.

What was being espoused by person after person was the reality that they considered their online friends their church. "Twitter is my church" and "You guys are my church and my pastors" were among some of the statements I read. The definition of virtual is "Existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form, or name."

Hear me out, one of the ministries to which God has called me is of the online variety. This blog and other publications I write for take a good amount of mental and spiritual energy. You are my ministry. But you are not my local church.

More and more I read articles lumping authors into clear and present camps. You have the Jesus feminists, the red letter Christians, the social justice-cause driven, the reformed, the story-tellers, the orthodox. There are these hard and fast lines boxing authors to a particular movement or theological framework, and once they have been flagged as such, they are blacklisted or embraced. There is little room for grace in this world because if I confess I agree with Rob Bell in this one area, that is a blight on my character to those who disagree with him. If I confess I agree with John Piper in this area, well, count me out of an entire sector of the blogosphere.

If we are in an age of the virtual church, then we are also in an age of virtual shunning.

You won't ever hear me disavow the importance of the global Church. That I can consider someone who lives thousands of miles from me one of my closest friends—that is the power of the bond we have in Christ.

But love for the global Church does not negate the biblical importance of the local church. Too often I hear great passion in my brothers and sisters for the health of the Church, without seeing evidence that they value it at its most local level. I see bloggers calling men and women to task, and shunning those who associate with them, without seeing any accountability to authority in their own lives. I see much concern for orthodoxy and discipleship and brotherly love, without seeing evidence of those things in their lives.

I am not saying those things are not happening, what I am saying is that I don't see it.

I don't see it because they are not my local church and I do not know them in the way I know the people alongside whom I walk. I don't see it because I am not privy to the conversations they have with their pastors (if they have pastors) or elders. I don't see it because I don't see them taking meals to new moms or visiting the sick or weeping with those who weep. Seeing those things is reserved for those who are not virtual, but real life, flesh and blood.

I'm writing this because too often the assumption is made that the virtual groups with whom I am associated are somehow the people to whom I am submitted. The assumption is we ascribe to the same set of theological ideals, we have discussions behind closed doors, spit-shake on how we'll handle certain situations, administer church discipline and the sacraments together. And it's simply not the truth.

I have pastors and a local church. I write for publications, enjoy friendships, but they are not my local church or my elders. Simply because a publication for which I write or a group of online acquaintances embrace a certain stance or ideal, does not mean I agree with them.

A year ago I had a conversation with one of my pastors. I met with him to discuss an opportunity put before me to participate in a publication where I would share the platform with some diametrically opposing authors. Should I do it? was my question. Yes, was his answer. Why? Because every opportunity we have to proclaim the gospel is good and we should prayerfully consider taking it. Some of the places I write, I write because I do disagree with their stance on certain issues. I write because it is my prayer that the gospel would go forth. My name doesn't matter, but Christ's does.

We proclaim Christ best by loving what He loves. What Christ loves best is the glory of His Father, and the Father is glorified when we are his disciples, when we love one another—at the most difficult, personal, beautiful level: right here, locally.

Love the Church, friends, but start by loving the church.

He-Man Woman Haters

Can we talk about He-Man for a sec? I don't actually know anything about He-Man, except that he was among the repertoire of cartoons banned from our house growing up. My only context for him was a "club" my older brother and his friends started, "The He-Man Woman Haters," of which I was an honorary member. Blame it on my brother's hand-me-downs, worn flannel shirts and jeans with holes in the knees. You don't grow up in a houseful of boys without your inner tomboy making an early entrance. I could keep up with the best of them, run faster, spit farther, and climb higher. Among the women the He-Men hated, I was not counted. We spit-shook on it.

When people find out I grew up with seven brothers they assume I was the protected, doted-upon, princess of the lot. The story above, though, testifies just a bit of how that was not the case. I did not grow up feeling protected; if anything, I grew up feeling fiercely protective. My parents' deep work ethic was ingrained in us from a young age: we worked hard and were worked hard. Nothing was worth doing half-way and everything was worth doing. "Try, try again" was oft quoted and failure was only one practice session on the way to perfection. There were no traces of feminism in our home, but there was and is a deep sense of independence in each of us.

In the face of secular feminism, there has been a return to gentility among men in the church. They are encouraged to protect and serve their sisters, leading boldly amidst admonishments to "be a man!" It's been a great privilege to learn how to let men lead me, to refrain from mental spitting contests if they serve to do nothing more than assert my position among the guys around me. As a young unmarried woman with multiple degrees, a great job, and seeming success in multiple areas, it can be tempting to shrug off the efforts of my brothers to care for me. The reality is, I don't need them to take care of me (nor do I think the Bible instructs them specifically to do so.).

"Treat younger women as sisters," is the go-to verse for headstrong Timothys busting at the seams to swoop in and fix what they perceive to be broken. Many of them perceive many young women as broken and in need of their protection. Yet the absurdity of a young woman being under the protection of every young man resembles a page from a Where's Waldo book. Women trying to figure out who exactly they're supposed to seek for protection, and men running everywhere to put women everywhere under the proverbial umbrella. It's madness and chaotic—not the sort of thing an orderly God would ordain.

Here are three thoughts that have helped me think through this relationally:

1. Protection is not the same as headship.

There have been several times when young men in my life have stepped up and offered to "take care of a guy" for me—this doesn't, however, give them headship over me. There are other times when I have turned to my brothers and warned them to steer clear of unhealthy situations with girls.

We need leadership, yes, but we should not seek it in every willing body. There are two or three pastors at my church who hold that position for me: they are my protectors and my safe place, they keep watch over my soul.

2. If you are a young woman who feels unprotected, there is nothing wrong with you.

If you are a young woman who does not feel the immediate need of protection, there is also nothing wrong with you. God knit us together in unique and beautiful ways; some women are naturally wired to be capable and strong; some women are naturally wired to be mild and quiet. Both women, however, can learn from their sisters. And both women can learn from their brothers. I will always gravitate toward strong leadership because I am a strong leader. However, I am also fairly gentle and slow to speak up for myself, so I have had to learn that it is sometimes necessary for someone to speak up on my behalf.

If you're a single girl and a brother shows obvious partiality and protection toward you, ask him to make intentions clear. That is true protection, for you and for him. He needs to know it isn't his role to protect you. If he finds himself wanting to lead and guide you, see point three.

3. If you are a young man who finds yourself drawn to lead or be protective toward one young women more than others, consider that might be the nudging of the Holy Spirit.

Don't dismiss those "brotherly" feelings as simply that. If, however, you have checked your heart and are certain she is not the one for you, make it clear you are just looking out for a sister and do not show partiality. We women may be the weaker vessel, but no worries, we can spot a cad a mile away. Don't show partiality toward her unless you are interested in the possibility of showing partiality to her until death do you part. Feeling protective? Ask her out for coffee and tell her; see where it goes.

Reminders, not rules

Protection is not a male to female action, it is a sighted person leading a blind person to safety. It is the one who knows how to swim giving the drowning an arm. It is removing yourself or others from a dangerous situation. And sometimes it is simply looking at the facts and being honest with yourself and others about the implications. It is recognizing a capable person does not mean a perfect person.

This has nothing to do with headship or hierarchal relationships—this is christian brotherhood, loving and caring for the health of the sheep. These actions merely reinforce the reality that God protects His sheep, it's a physical reality of a spiritual truth. It is a reminder and not a rule.

Coffee Shop Confessional

We are lifting the tea bags heavy with Earl Grey loose leaf tea, setting them on the saucer between us, liquid spooling around them. I ask her if it ever stops—the assumption of being known. "You know," she says, her brown eyes lower, "I don't know if it ever does. Or if it should. Jesus hid," she says. She lifts her mug to take a sip, pursing her lips and blowing into the cup, the tea swirls and slows. I wait for her to finish. "I don't know if we're meant to hide when we're in public," she says, "I think there are times for hiding and those need to be intentional. But don't you think that Jesus felt everyone knew Him when even His disciples were wrong? Peter!" She laughs. "The most right he ever was was when he said, 'To whom else would we go?' No. I think we are meant to be only ever partially known. I think Jesus knew we wouldn't have the treasure of being truly known outside of heaven."

"I think it was CS Lewis," I say to her, "who said the only place outside of heaven where we can be safe from the dangers of love is hell." Now I'm the one blowing whirlpools of cool air into my tea.

"I wonder the same thing goes for being safe from being truly known," she says. "I wonder if all the dangers that come from being partially known, people's assumptions about us, if those are only gone in Heaven—or hell. In heaven or hell we know who you are. You're either saved or unsaved. It's across the board; no differentiation."

"This is what makes us all such fools here on earth," I say. "It's that we are so set on hierarchies and systems and compartmentalizing and celebrity. We can't keep ourselves from categorizing the whole world from blue collars to white collars to blue-blood to white trash—we can't keep our grimy fists off the identities of everyone else. Jesus knew though." I set my tea down and flip the pages in my bible til it lands on Luke 23, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do."

"He knew we were a bunch of fools, all laid out, splayed out, played out fools. Bare and ignorant, all of us. He leveled it for us right there. Forgive them, Father, the whole lot of 'em."

We shake our heads and laugh. I catch her eye and we both glance down quickly. To know a person is a difficult thing indeed. We hide, even in public places, across steaming cups of Earl Grey tea in busy coffee shops where tables are confessionals and the table between us is flat and equal.

All of Us Strangers Sitting on a Footstool

Somewhere along the way I forgot I had a story. It is more accurate to say somewhere along the way I forgot I was living a story.

There's so much noise these days and I don't know how to shut it out and down and over and out. Our home is a quiet place, filled with simple things, but it is a small place, and there is no hiding from life's noise. The coming and going, the phone calls with family, the boyfriends, the dishes piling, and the laundry. Some have said the single life is simple, but I dare anyone to say that to me who has had 32 roommates in a dozen years. As soon as I learn the rhythms and graces of one, she marries or moves and I plunge into another lesson with another girl. I cannot complain and do not: these girls have been family to me, each one of them slipping into her new life while I mourn her leaving, she has been family to me.

One and I are walking yesterday and the sun is setting, "You're going to move with me?" I ask her, because we will close up shop on this house soon I think. She tells me she doesn't know how to process the invitation that I would want her to meld her life with mine. I feel a sense of Naomi in that moment and she my Ruth: where you go, I'll go; only I am the one saying to her: where I go, you come. (Ruth 1:16)

It is foreign to us both, the togethering that happens with strange people in a strange land. And we are all strangers, I think, we just haven't awakened to its reality yet. Or life has been kinder to you than to me. Or perhaps, after all, it has been kinder to me than to you. We shouldn't bother ourselves with such things.

I am scrubbing the laundry room floor tonight and I know I ought to feel at home in this place, but it feels more a placeholder to me, a dog-eared page, a bookmark: Don't Forget What God Has Done Here. And I don't know if He means this house or Texas or this world, but it could be any and is all. We are all so enamored with making a place for ourselves when it is He who has made a place for all of us. His thumbnail is the sliver of moon, heaven is His home, the earth is His footstool, dare we even imagine we could build a place for Him? (Isaiah 66:1)

The air catches beneath the tablecloth as it settles centered, dust particles float, and I put the broom in the corner. The dishwasher and the washer both run, their steady hum sounding steady with the air-conditioner. It smells like lemon furniture polish and maybe the grapefruit in the bowl on the table. We have made a home here, placed ourselves in the center of our story. The doors revolve around us, the world revolves around us, and I wonder sometimes how little idea we have of His grandness and this home a vapor, our lives a breath, our whole story His.

The Pornified Mind and the Glory of God

A new film is set to release this year; the protagonist is a guy who values, “My body, my pad, my ride, my family, my church, my boys, my girls…and my porn.” As best as I can tell from the trailer, when he finally encounters a girl who meets his porn-infused standards, he’s surprised to find out she has some standards of her own. Her porn, though, is chick flicks—stories of tender, strong, fictional gentlemen who will meet her emotional and physical needs; needs which our principle guy finds he is hardly qualified to meet. I'm over at Project TGM today. Continue reading  The Pornified Mind and the Glory of God. 

If you're interested, I also wrote at The Gospel Coalition this week.

Increasingly, doubt and doubters are given platforms in church culture, and I see some good reason for it: arrogant certainty in rules and principles has led into a legalism of culture and spirit. The only answer for many dechurched or post-evangelicals is to circle their doubt like the drain in a bathtub. The problem with it, though, is the only place it leads is down.

Continue reading Doubt Your Doubts. 

Reflections on a Year of Accidental Seminary

We just completed the pilot year of a hybrid-seminary-discipleship-program at my church. We were the guinea pigs—emphasis on the guinea because nothing makes you feel smaller than subsisting on an average of five hours of sleep a night for ten months while simultaneously realizing you are just not as smart as you think you are. Aside from reading and homework assignments, inclusion in this program required we:

Be covenant members at our church Be serving in lay or official ministry at our church Not show up even a minute late to classes each day (This one had consequences with embarrassing results—so much for sola gratia here...)

Going into the program I thought:

Getting up at 4:30am won't be that bad, plus it'll train me to wake up that early every morning: think of what I could do with an extra three hours awake on my off days!?

This much Bible reading will be the most concerted effort I'll have ever made to read straight through scripture. That can't be a bad thing.

Studying some key books inductively sounds on one hand exhausting (won't we get tired of the same book?) and on the other hand thrilling (18 weeks in the book of Romans? Yes, please.).

On this side of the program, here are some reflections:

My enthusiasm for rising early waned quickly because I am a morning person. However, my morning-person mornings break with sunshine, yes? Lacking sunshine I am apparently not a morning person. I desperately missed regular mornings at home, reading quietly over my morning coffee.

At the beginning of the program we were encouraged to read devotionally (the Bible as well as supplemental texts) instead of academically. However, the volume of required reading was so far out of my normal reading style, that I struggled to read it devotionally at all. I had to change the way I read, which wasn't a bad thing, and it helped me step back from the texts to see a more holistic picture.

I need sleep. I tried to do everything I normally do, plus this program (including the extra commute it added to my day), and do it on minimal sleep. I hit March and realized I just couldn't do it. It wasn't that I was doing too much, it was that I was doing it on not enough sleep. My relationships have suffered, my work suffered, my writing projects suffered, and my soul suffered under the guilt of what I wasn't able to do. Looking back, it would have been worth it for me to move closer to my church for this year simply to save on the amount of driving I had to do in the morning.

One section of the program required the students to teach through the book of Psalms. Rising early on those mornings was pure joy. To hear my fellow students wrestle with a text, the Lord, and their testimony every morning was a recipe for worship. We couldn't help but worship.

The most healing section of the program for me was studying the book of Acts inductively. I have a lot of baggage from that book and going through it start to finish was so completely complete. We studied it historically, geographically, theologically, and spiritually. It's a beautiful book.

The most challenging section of the program for me personally were theology classes. Every week I learned of more misconceptions and errors in my thinking and understanding of theology. This was challenging and relieving. We're all theologians, but we don't all have good theology.

The most rewarding aspect of the program was the opportunity to walk alongside about 30 other individuals (most of whom I knew or knew of already) who deeply loved Jesus, His Church, and His word. These were people who were chosen to pilot the program, who would give their all, and who were actively serving others. Coming together each morning and just extolling the name of Jesus together, shouldering burdens with one another, praying for one another, laughing, questioning, and wrestling with texts, theology, verbiage, and life together was a deep blessing for me personally. I don't know that there will be another opportunity in my life to walk alongside men and women of such caliber so closely for ten months.

Fin

As we finished our last class the other day, reflecting on what went well and offering feedback for future years of the program, I couldn't help but just reflect on what the Lord has done in my life in ten years. Ten years ago I participated in a similar program (though less rigorous) at my church in New York. It was the first real discipleship I'd ever experienced and the men who taught those classes shaped so much of my formative thinking in regard to theology and the word of God. Walking through this experience, ten years later, lent such perspective to what the Lord has done in me in a decade. He has been good to me. 

Sabbatical End and Saintly Sinners

Thank you so much for a month's respite from writing on Sayable. In reality, that grace wasn't yours to give, but thank you for not giving me a hard time if I saw you around real life. The month was good for me to just step back, remember why I write, or rather, for Whom I write. I hope the coming weeks will show evidence of fruit born there. If you're interested, I'm over at Deeper Church today on what one person called a Faukneresque piece and another person asked if there was unresolved bitterness stemming over in it. The truth is I did write this piece with the fire of a soul who longs for the Church to be free of her trappings. I did not write it with one local church in mind. I've darkened the doors of more churches than I remember in my life. They each gave me treasures and they each gave me baggage. And I love my church home, but last night around the dinner table, I sure was glad to hear my pastor talk about opportunities for repentance and areas of growth. Further up, further in.

Church Camp is where we learned about the power of the Holy Ghost and felt the damning when we didn’t speak in tongues. Maybe next year, we thought. Maybe next year I’ll have my junk together and the Holy Ghost will condescend to fall on me. But next year came and I was still swallowing my dry and unloosed tongue. This is where we learned about demons and maybe I have one. Maybe he isn’t scared off by my verses and stars and Sunday School attendance. Maybe he knows the bible better than I do.

Continue reading The Saintly Sinners of Evangelicalism.

This is Not a Blog

I received many requests to make this blog into a typographic poster. I didn't have time to give it some real artistic flair, but if you're interested, these are free to download. Just click on them and the pdf will open print-ready. If you print them, they are sized at 24/36" and I would recommend getting them printed on 100# text weight or 80# cover weight paper (your printer will know what that means). These are free, please don't alter or sell them in any way. Spread the love!

Responding to Sexual Brokenness in Our Families and Churches

As part of some Bible study curriculum I've been working on for Project Red Light Rescue, I spent a bit of time studying the Joseph narrative in Genesis. There are many elements in Joseph's life that address aspects of the sex industry: angry family members, the selling of Joseph to slave traders, the attempted seduction of Joseph by Potiphar's wife, and more. But there is one bit of whole story that caught our attention as we discussed the story: thrown in the middle of this riveting narrative of Joseph's life, there's a chapter given over to Judah, his sons, and his daughter-in-law Tamar. Why, in the middle of Joseph's epic story of rags to riches, forgotten to forgiving, is there a putrid story of sex, lies, incest, and temple prostitutes?

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Do you ever take a good hard look at the Church around you? For those who find themselves in healthy local church environments, do you let yourself be blinded to the brokenness present? Do you gloss over sin? Do you confront it? Do you shelter those affected by it? And for those who have been in less than healthy environments, do you ever see the good that was done? Do you see how God intends every part of everyone's story for good? Are you able to exercise gratefulness to those who led well and walked humbly, and forgiveness to those who do not deserve it?

It seems there's always another controversy rising up in the Church these days. One pastor falls into adultery, another worship leader catapults into sexual sin, another outcry of sexual abuse scandals comes to light—where is the good in any of this?

I've been asking myself this question for the past few months as more and more stories come forward of individuals who have been harmed by sexual scandal in the church, and their churches purportedly did nothing about it.

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Back to the house of Judah:

Tamar is given in marriage to Judah's oldest son who dies before Tamar becomes pregnant, so Tamar is given (as is the custom) to the next brother in line, Onan, who in turn "spills his seed" on the ground; Tamar is given to the next son, but he's still too young to father a baby, so at this point she is left without a husband and no children. So she does what nearly every girl in this situation will do to snag herself a baby-daddy: she dresses the part of the prostitute and stands by the city entrance waiting for a man to take note. The one she's waiting for, though, is her father-in-law, Judah, the man who hadn't kept his word to give her a baby. And, well, you know the rest of the story. If you don't, here. There are many implications and nuances to this narrative that should be explored in light of the Gospel.

Then the intermission is over and we're back to Joseph, who is about to have a similar little shebang pulled on him by Potiphar's wife.

The difference is, unlike Judah, Joseph flees. 

At great peril to his life, livelihood, and final freedom, Joseph runs away. And then he's imprisoned for what he didn't do.

But we know the rest of the story, which ends with those beautiful words, "What you intended for evil, God meant for good." Those words have been caricatured, tshirted, coffee-cupped, and spouted more than enough to lose their potency. But if you can step back far enough and see the whole picture, from Joseph's wild dreams and inheritance cloak, to final restoration with his family, including Judah—I think we can agree there was much evil there and not so much seeming good.

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This is conjecture of course, but I think the reason we're given that small intermission into Judah's messy household matters is because God wanted to juxtapose the sort of life Joseph came from and the different decisions he made. Where his brother was abdicating his responsibility to his family, frequenting houses of ill-repute, and impregnating his desperate daughter-in-law, Joseph was running from what could have offered him security and comfort in an illicit affair. Joseph was not held captive to the brokenness in his family or his place of employment. Even when he was trafficked as a slave, accused of rape wrongly, imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, he was held tightly in the hand of God and God's ultimate purposes.

Because this is a blog post, and not a full-on inductive Bible Study on Joseph (which you can, and should, find here), there are deeper matters and more difficult nuances to this narrative, but what I would like to say is this:

If you have a background with sexual brokenness, whether you were abused or the abuser, the seductress or the succumbed, you have the opportunity to walk free from that. This is not to say you will walk without consequences or pain, but you can walk in the full goodness of a God who intends good from evil and secreted deeds, from hearts soiled by greed and lust, and from bodies broken by abuse and neglect.

He is a God who does not lose one of His. Not one. He completes the purpose of every person's life with victory and finality; He brings His children home to glory and there is not one crushed bone or broken spirit among them (Ps 34).

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On Thursday, April 25th, there is a free one-day conference to train and equip the Church to protect the vulnerable, to confront abusers, and to counsel and care for victims. The line-up of speakers is stellar, particularly Justin Holcomb whose ministry is dedicated to freedom for those in bondage by sexual issues. Paul David Tripp, Matt Chandler, and Greg Love will also be speaking. I will be there representing Project Red Light Rescue, and there will be other ministries there to equip anyone and everyone with how to RESPOND to sexual brokenness within the Church.

For a long time I've heard many people ask the question, "Why doesn't the Church talk about these issues? Why don't they protect the victims?" If you've asked those questions, I hope you'll take comfort. We are talking about it. This Thursday. Come if you can.

RespondConPromo FINAL1280 from Respond Conference on Vimeo.

Resurrection

O God of my Exodus,

Great was the joy of Israel’s sons, when Egypt died upon the shore, Far greater the joy when the Redeemer’s foe lay crushed in the dust.

Jesus strides forth as the victor, conqueror of death, hell, and all opposing might; He bursts the bands of death, tramples the powers of darkness down, and lives forever.

He, my gracious surety, apprehended for payment of my debt, comes forth from the prison house of the grave free, and triumphant over sin, Satan, and death.

Show me herein the proof that his vicarious offering is accepted, that the claims of justice are satisfied, that the devil’s sceptre is shivered, that his wrongful throne is levelled.

Give me the assurance that in Christ I died, in him I rose, in his life I live, in his victory I triumph, in his ascension I shall be glorified.

Adorable Redeemer, Thou who was lifted up upon a cross art ascended to the highest heaven. Thou, who as Man of sorrows wast crowned with thorns, art now as Lord of life wreathed with glory.

Once, no shame more deep than thine, no agony more bitter, no death more cruel. Now, no exaltation more high, no life more glorious, no advocate more effective.

Thou art in the triumph car leading captive thine enemies behind thee.

What more could be done than Thou hast done! Thy death is my life, Thy resurrection my peace, Thy ascension my hope, Thy prayers my comfort.

Valley of Vision

Link Love

Why We Need More Women in Ministry: "Second, male leaders can intentionally seek out female input. Women have an incredible wealth of wisdom, insight and parallel perspectives to offer the Church and the world—as men do." Should a Christian Dentist Fire His Too-Hot Hygienist? "At the root of this is, I fear, a kind of misogyny which identifies women themselves as the problem rather than one’s own lust and self-control. That’s not what the Bible teaches."

Sanctification in a Season of Singleness: "I think that this regular emphasis on our roles as men and women, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, and so forth can obscure the one aspect of our identity that we have in common..."

In light of some blog-battles recently, regardless of where you stand on issues, we all ought to stand in goodwill and charity toward one another. It is not enough to simply admire someone's level-headed in matters of controversy, without taking a cue for oneself. A few bloggers had some good things to add.

The Blogs, the Battles and the Gospel: "I commend these seven rules to my fellow bloggers and to all of us who engage in online discussion."

Dude, Watch Your Jargon: "The easiest thing to do in a world where we get more air time but less ears is to nestle ourselves into a rut of discourse. We speak macro-jargon."

On the Separateness of Preaching and Healing: "Some broken people you want to love, and other judgmental people (even though we know in our hearts that this, too, is a form of brokenness) you want to give a double-barrel of exegesis."

And this week's winner of all, Say Something Right Now, or Else! "Silence is not always golden. But the “say something, or else!” form of public shaming is frequently manipulative and the cries are sometimes best ignored."

An Apology to the Wounded Birds

I'm sorry.

You were sold the story, hook, line, and sinker. Do this, don't do that, build it, tear it down, cover it up, write it over—do it all and then this...

This will happen for you. Or this bad thing, that won't happen for you. Obey, honor, submit, then shut your mouth, don't ask questions, don't dare defy. Do all that and it will go well for you.

And then it didn't. It didn't go well and it went really bad. Really, really bad. On the other side you stood there with nothing. No morals, no laurels, no crowns of glory, all your delight in shambles and your hope in rags. They said it would go well for you and then it didn't.

This is a letter to you, you women who grew up asking how short was too short, how obedient was obedient enough, how submission looked on you, and if every single thing you did was right enough, good enough, pure enough.

This is letter to you, you girls who grew up with mothers barefoot in the kitchen, with fathers stern and unappreciative, with every boy a threat, and every girl a comparison.

This is a letter to you, liberated woman. You came out in college roaring. You threw off the shackles of fundamentalism, of second guessing, of moralism, of theology that bound instead of freed.

This is a letter to you, freed women, ones who are looking for the voices of your sisters, the ones who know it as acutely as you do. Who know the shackles, the questions, the fears, and the injustice of growing up always looking over your shoulder.

I'm sorry.

I am so, so sorry.

I am sorry that something beautiful was perverted by an enemy who steals, kills, and destroys. I am deeply sorry that you felt damaged, a cowering bird in a coyote's world. I am so sorry that you spent your life in front of a fun-house mirror, a distortion of who you truly are. I am not your parent or your pastor, but I am you, and I am sorry.

I know you are looking for strong female voices, women who will lead the charge toward full freedom, birds who have found their flight above the heads of squabbling coyotes. I know you are looking for women who will say that yes, that was wrong, what happened to you. That, yes, the reflection you've been shown is not a true woman, a woman who fears the Lord and loves His word. That, yes, the subservient cloistered crouching woman is nothing like what a daughter of the King ought to look like.

I know you are looking for her.

And so I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I haven't spoken up. I'm sorry that in the face of one perversion, I've let another extreme pass me by without saying anything.

The enemy's favorite tactic is to pervert what is good, and there is none good, no not one. Except Him. And the wholeness of Him cannot be perverted.

Here is my promise to you, my sister, my friend: I promise you I will fight on your behalf. I promise I will fight for truth, for the culmination of all things in the Only One Who Is Good. I promise I will wrestle with theology and that I will not let go of God. That I will not let go until He has changed the names of each of us. Until we do not find our identity in a name or label, but that we find it in the fullness of Christlikeness. I cannot promise we will not walk with a limp, each one of us, but I think our limp will be our mark, our Ebenezer, our fist in the face of the enemy.

I promise to wrestle with the One who promises to lead us through to the other side.

After much prayer, counsel, and time, I've accepted an offer to join the teams of writers over at the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood. Many of you are encouraged to have my voice there and I know many of you are disappointed in me. My promise to both of you is that my fight is not for equality or distinction, biblical womanhood or feminism, my fight is against the powers of darkness and my delight is to walk in the light.

I believe that CBMW recognizes the lack of a strong young female voices in the Church today and they care about the practical implications of a complementarian view. I am a complementarian, that hasn't changed, but I believe the answers many egalitarians have been pressing for have not been handled well. Unanswered questions, coupled with the distortion of truth many of us grew up with in evangelicalism, only breeds room for more distortions. I do not aim to answer questions, so much as I am to fight for purity of the Gospel. With the Lord's help, I will aim for clarity and consistency, that's my promise to you.