My brother, the rabbi of relax

"Dan, we’re not playing golf. We’re having fun." My brother smiled at me as he picked my ball out of the deep rough and tossed it back on the edge of the fairway.

Now for some guys playing golf and having fun may not seem like opposites, but in my family of hackers, it definitely made sense. While the family and I are out here in Colorado on vacation, my brother Dave had gotten a free foursome in a high-dollar mountain tournament, and so with a couple of other friends, we hacked away with all the gusto of geeky college freshmen who somehow got invited to a big frat party.

Now we were in no danger of winning any of the various tournament contests (other than the highest score gag award), but still, Dave’s blessing of rampant mulliganism seemed a bit, well, unrighteous-- especially for a pastor. But Dave was insistent: “Look, Dan, if you want to kill yourself (and the wildflowers) hacking through all the underbrush, do that on another course. It’s my foursome and I want everyone to have fun.”

And he was right. He was the host; was his guest. But there’s something about following the rules of golf, however unforgiving, that seems obligatory when you’re a Christian. I looked up and down the course. I didn’t want people to think we were cheaters. But it seemed like my brother was interested in something more important. He was more interested in his friends having fun on this once-in-a-lifetime golf course than in what other people were thinking. Plus, I think he was being courteous to the foursome behind us by not watching us spend five minutes a hole looking for our sliced drives.

Since I’m especially lousy off the tee, instead of battling my way out of the rough on my shanked drives like usual, I simply rejoined my foursome on the fairway and tried again.

By the end of the 18 holes, I was exhausted and, ironically, a little proud (yeah, thanks to all the mulligans I ended up in the low 130s)! And boy, did I have fun! It also inspired to me to actually do the most important thing for having fun at a sport—practice.

My brother Dave is a Christian, but yesterday he was my rabbi. He reminded me of the difference between point-keeping and fun-having. When the order of the day was Sabbath—-or holy rest and enjoyment—-the legislation wasn’t as important as the recreation. We weren’t turning in any scorecards, or bragging in the clubhouse—-we were having fun. Our liberal use of mulligans on a Masters-level course was exhilarating. And for a people-pleasing, type-A guy like me, that was quite a gift-—to me, my foursome, the foursome behind us. And to the alpine wildflowers that cascade along the fairways.

Mark 2:23One Sabbath day as Jesus was walking through some grainfields, his disciples began breaking off heads of grain to eat. 24 But the Pharisees said to Jesus, “Look, why are they breaking the law by harvesting grain on the Sabbath?”…27 Then Jesus said to them, “The Sabbath was made to meet the needs of people, and not people to meet the requirements of the Sabbath.

D-Day in the Flint Hills

I had a spiritual experience early this morning as I cruised home on I-70 this morning from beautiful Bethany College in Lindsborg. I woke up knowing it was the anniversary of D-Day, and that so I said a prayer of thanksgiving as I drove past Abilene, home of WWII Allied Commander General Eisenhower. 'Ike' was the humble farmtown-boy–turned-soldier who had to make the scary call to invade German-occupied Europe on the stormy June 6 morning 65 years ago today. I remembered how Ike had delivered a brief but stirring departure address to the hundreds of thousands, and he had two speeches written once the outcome was determined--one if it succeeded, one if it failed.

As I drove past Abilene into the Flint Hills (or at least the stretch of I-70 that slashes through them), I remembered why I love the Kansas landscape so much: It’s the beautiful rock walls that line the road where the highway slices the undulating, grassy hills. I love how the hills are boring, plain and simple—- until they get cut open for the roads. Then with the flowers, rock-striations, plant-outcroppings, and more, those brutal dynamite-made scars end up being the most beautiful places on the road.

As a wise man said, “There’s no point in pain if you’re not going to learn from it.” As I thought today of the horrific carnage on Normandy that began the end of WWII, I remembered the many interviews of quiet, resilient, and deeply appreciative old men I’ve seen on TV. They're men who are the remaining heroes of a war that shaped the world like few others, men who came from humble roots to make the world bloom more honorably for generations to come, and yet, they're remarkably indistinguishable from the rest of their generation. You couldn’t pick any of them out in a crowd—they look like anyone else’s great-grandpas, for the most part. But like the beautiful Flint Hills that rise above from the Kaw watershed, those men are incredibly remarkable, beautiful, and world-changing--in the shadow of their far-off scars.

As for me, may I never boast about anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ...for I bear on my body the scars that show I belong to Jesus. Gal 6:14-17

Teary on the Prairie

If you saw me get weepy-eyed before Communion at last Sunday’s 9:00am service, you probably know what I’m gonna write here:

I was deeply moved by the Holy Spirit during our first Sunday worship in the new building. Part of it was just exhausted exhilaration: we’re finally here! (Although the person who had the most right to be teary-eyed was our really exhausted and exhilarated Operations Manager Dick Frohardt—who led the Building Leadership Oversight Team, affectionately known as BLOT, throughout the last year’s building process!) He’s a sensitive lug just like me!

But part of my emotionality was the looming foreshadow of large responsibility: God really did make this marvelous dream of a building come true for us. And, as Jesus said, “When someone has been given much, much will be required in return; and when someone has been entrusted with much, even more will be required.” (Luke 12:48 NLT). Through the generosity of our Presbyterian partners specifically, God has given us—a 5-year-old young sapling of a church—a mighty-oak-sized location for ministry. And since we know God longs to change lives with Jesus’ love, we know He’s eager for us to do even more creative and challenging ministry now that our “toolbox” is open and increasingly full of tools.

What are some of those things we as Kaw Prairie Christ-followers can do right away to help realize some of God’s vision for our new toolbox?

• Thank God. When your family sits down for meals, when you tuck in your children for bed, when you start your devotional time, or when you and your spouse, or you and your friends, are sitting up late talking—offer a prayer of thanksgiving for what God has honored us to do in His name as a church.
• Ask God. And then ask God to make our church—and you in particular—instruments of the Gospel. Ask God to tell you whom He want you to invite to worship?
• Serve God. Look for God pointing where He wants you to serve in His new house. Homeowners know that there’s a lot more to do to keep up with the responsibilities than there was when you were renting. But I don’t just mean in a physical sort of way—our ability to serve God, and our obligation to be available to God’s people—has increased now that we’ve opened our doors! But to a joyful Jesus-follower, that’s not more work, it’s more fun!
• Seek God. One our three missional sub-purposes is “to cultivate hearts like Christ.” What about this exciting time in our church’s history can make your personal walk with Christ more exciting, too? What learnings will He show you about yourself—and about your heart, mind and soul—that will be gifts for a lifetime?

So yeah, one of the reasons I was all weepy on Sunday was my sense of thankfulness and impending responsibility. But the other was simply joy: Knowing and serving Jesus in the fun-loving, Jesus-loving company of servants like you has been the thrill of my life! And like a marriage that only gets better with time, I had a realization all of a sudden as I looked over the roomful of excited faces: we are a family of God, starting to grow up—and I was, and am, in awe of what God will let our future hold!

No 'Rush' to Grow Up

Cards on the table: I think Rush Limbaugh acts like a baby. I mean that in a bad way, for all you parents of perfect babies.

More precisely, I think Rush’s behavior frequently mimics that of spoiled toddlers. While he occasionally offers helpful insights to important conversations, most of the time his goal seems clearly to attract attention—and in so doing, to justify to the marketplace his many-zeroed salary. Like a spoiled toddler in a home with clueless, exhausted, or distracted parents, he seems to succeed because when they're clueless, exhausted or distracted, most all of us enjoy name-calling more than nuance, and jingoism more than journalism. Thoughtful conservatives I respect, like George Will, John Danforth, or Gen. Colin Powell, do what discreet people of courage and character usually do with windbags: They usually keep silent (except when they can’t!)

Rush’s whining about the newest Supreme Court nominee, Judge Sonia Sotomayor, is one example. As a pre-law major in Constitutional Democracy, I tend to agree with conservative, textually-based interpretations of constitutional law. (I also notice that oftentimes justices who enjoy the label of strict-interpretationalists seem unaware of their own cultural-cognitive ghetto when interpreting). And because she apparently doesn’t think exactly like I do, I’m not sure that I’ll like all the calls Judge Sotomayor’s will make from her new & bigger bench.

But calling any accomplished professional, dedicated civil servant a racist because of one or two slightly offensive (to high-paid people in power like himself) shout-outs to her home-town base (lower-paid people without power like most Hispanics) strikes me as self-serving, hate-mongering, and just logically baseless (my attempt not use the word ‘stupid’, which you should never call a toddler). And to have a hugely powerful white guy call the first minority female success-story at the door of the Supreme Court "a racist" for trivial remarks years ago—-that borders on the sin God finds most abominable: insolent pride.

I speak from experience, which is not an altogether bad lens with which to look at constitutions—or Bible passages, for that matter. I worked for years with a brilliant female pastor who was the wife of a strong, good-humored man, and the confident, whining-intolerant mother of four gifted, gracious kids. (She was whining-intolerant of staff & colleagues, too, a trait I tried to value exceedingly!) I came into the staff as the book-smart, in-charge white guy, and because I had the longer resume and bigger title, I assumed that, in a pinch, I’d make the better decisions. In contrast, my colleague had the quiet confidence of someone whose life full of much more diverse experiences made her more capable of seeing forests through the trees (and frankly, seeing some toxic trees in otherwise peaceful forest!) Our church ended up honoring Jesus more as it listened to her insights more often. In many ways, the church grew healthier as she grew into the power her greater experience deserved.

So when Judge Sotomayor said,

"a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn't lived that life,”

did it betray a certain pride and confidence that God had given her the challenges He did for a reason? I hope so. Did it convey that she had seen white men in power make momentous decisions without much life-wisdom? It sure did. Does it also imply that she may have a certain empathy for the poor, so that all else being equal (though it never is, really), she’d be alert to the effects of decisions on them? Maybe.

But unlike temper-tantrumy toddlers, schoolyard bullies, and radio roughnecks, I don’t find her confidence threatening. (Ok, that there was kind of a schoolyard brag--sorry.) I think that hers is a healthy grown-up perspective from someone who worked her tail off to rise in power from an economically and politically underprivileged community. It’s not the only healthy perspective an honorable jurist could have. But it’s not unhealthy. It’s not unpatriotic. And it certainly is not injudicious. In fact, I bet it’ll be darn good for Americans of all paychecks and colors.

Angry rich white ones included.

Psalm 72:1 Give your love of justice to the king, O God,
and righteousness to the king’s son.
2 Help him judge your people in the right way;
let the poor always be treated fairly.
3 May the mountains yield prosperity for all,
and may the hills be fruitful.
4 Help him to defend the poor,
to rescue the children of the needy,
and to crush their oppressors.
5 May they fear you as long as the sun shines,
as long as the moon remains in the sky.

What Jesus built...and some friends

Today was it-- the first day of worship for our young church in our first-ever, brand-new building. It was a powerful experience for me (I was lost in prayer during the opening worship set, and I started choking & tearing up during Communion). But what I'm remembering most is the countless hugs & high-fives I shared in--with friends & co-workers in the Gospel whom I've labored beside for as many as five years. Tears in my eyes, tears in their eyes, Holy Spirit in the air (it was Pentecost, after all...).

But the comment that's stayed with me the most about the gorgeous new building wasn't from a ministry leader, core team veteran, or new worshipper. It was from my youngest son, a verbally advanced but not very socially-conscious 3rd grader. He looked for me in the lobby, slung his arm around my waist, and said "Dad, this church you and your friends built really rocks." Interesting wording-- but that's exactly what he said.

That he thinks his church's new building rocks is no surprise. There's a basketball/volleyball court, a cafe that serves hot chocolate, and a 2-story children's playland that can keep 50 children busy & sweaty and away from parents for several cupsworth of coffee. My teammate German uses the word 'rocktastic' to describe it, in fact.

That he thinks any of us 'built' it is a bit more remarkable. A building that complex isn't like finishing a basement or installing a washing machine. So, no, in no way did any of us amateurs build much of anything (other than a few stage platforms and some storage carts!)

But what he said that struck me so: no one (that I can remember) has ever come up to me and pointed out that the church God has privileged me to lead is full of my friends. I've been praying about that all day, and my son is right:

The Kaw Prairiers with whom I do ministry aren't just my 'church.' Sure, the teams they lead, the bands they play in, the bible studies they lead, and the crews they volunteer to do grunt work in-- that's part of our story. But the love I feel from and for them in that big new room-- that's not a tertiary by-product of ministry, nor a professional obligation to be managed. That's the love among friends--and the friendship among God-lovers.

It's been a long time since I felt so surrounded by friends (sometimes ministry can be a pretty lonely calling). But thanks to my one son who has to work hard to make friends and loves time alone, I was reminded of how deeply I have been blessed--with real friends. People who love Jesus so much they're willing to love me, too. And thus, in a very intimate way, how much my life has been changed with Jesus' love!

This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you slaves, because a master doesn’t confide in his slaves. Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me. You didn’t choose me. I chose you. John 15:12-15

PS. Check out a review of our first Sunday at 'the Daily Bailey' by Kaw Prairer Bailey Brewer, barista extrordinaire.

Gravely Grateful

I spent some time in a cemetery the other day. I don’t usually go to cemeteries alone; when I do go I’m usually carrying a Bible and some funeral notes, and I’m walking silently behind a casket toward a gravesite. I’m either in prayer for the family who walks behind me, or sometimes, wondering whether I remembered to turn my cellphone to vibrate. Once I didn’t— and it came back to haunt me mid-service. No pun intended.

There are a few cemeteries I used to visit often—where friends, family or church-members are buried. But the other day I had 20 minutes before an appointment, and a cemetery just happened to be nearby. So I drove through the gate, parked the car under a big old tree, and started to walk around.

As I walked, I began thinking about Memorial Day coming up this Monday—remembering my relatives who’d been in the armed forces, and praying for the former youth group kids I led who joined the Marines, and for the sons and daughters of Kaw Prairiers who are in harm’s way now.

As I walked, I realized that I like Memorial Day a lot. Partially because I admire sacrifice. And partially because I believe in gratitude.

And a cemetery is great place to be grateful.

Years ago, when we lived in the Chicago area, I used to spend a lot of time at Dennis Bloomquist’s grave on warm summer & blustery fall days. Dennis was the blind, irreverent keyboardist who worked with me to start the first church I planted—and who died in his early 40’s of pancreatic cancer, leaving a wife and two children behind. Before I met him canvassing for the new church, Dennis had never been asked to play his instrument in worship. As he told me on his doorstoop over a decade ago, “I don’t know very much church music. I’m afraid I just play at bars and parties.” Then, with a confident smirk he added, “I offered to play in a church once, but when they heard my music, they said I was gonna go to hell someday.” I think he would have loved German!

A few years later, after playing contemporary Christian music, classic rock, and a sprinkling of “religious songs,” in front of hundreds of worshippers every Sunday, Dennis invited me out to lunch one day (the two of us grabbed lunch at a fish place every so often because he loved to get out and Laura hates the smell of fish.) And over lunch he told me he was paying for our food that day because he wanted to say thank you. He was grateful that I had invited him to find his way back to God, and that our church had encouraged him to dedicate his talent, his life, and his sins, and his future to Jesus. As he talked, he teared up a little. Then, embarrassed, he added, “I bet you didn’t know a guy with a glass eye could cry.” Within a couple months Dennis called me to tell me he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors said he didn’t have long to live, and they were right.

We’ve been blessed with remarkable amounts of liberty and justice here in America, and this weekend coming up is a blessed opportunity for us to be grateful for our country’s soldier-heroes. In fact, I invite you to take your family for a walk through a local cemetery and look for the graves of soldiers. And then, parents, you can lead a prayer of gratitude over one of them.

But there’s another blessing we’re celebrating as a people of Christ this weekend, too. It’s Kaw Prairie’s last Sunday as a “portable church”— and we’ll be giving thanks for this before walking down the street to our very own worship & ministry building—where we’ll sing and pray with grateful hearts again.

If you’re grateful for what God’s done in your life, if you sometimes tear-up when you think of how Jesus has both taken your sins and given you your talents to use to change the world with His love, then I invite you take part in the 12pm walk (or car-procession!) down the street to the new Kaw Prairie Community Church Building. I, for one, will be insanely excited! And gravely grateful, all at once.

Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom. Psalm 90:12

Opposite Criticism: Being Mean to Beauty Queens

Perez Hilton: Vermont recently became the 4th state to legalize same-sex marriage. Do you think every state should follow suit - why or why not?

Miss California: Well, I think it's great that Americans are able to choose one or the other. We live in a land that you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage, and you know what, in my country and in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that's how I was raised and that's how I think it should be between a man and a woman.

Readers of Kaw Talk, and worshippers at Kaw Prairie, might know by now that while I am an eager evangelical Christ-follower, I believe eager evangelicals are among the people most destructive to the cause of Christ. When our eagerness for Jesus is decoupled from humility, grace, education, and yes, plain old intelligence, it can become shrill, stupid, and toxic to the Kingdom cause.

For instance, the evangelical anti-science cartel annoys God, I’m totally sure, since He’s probably delighted to watch us learn the secrets He's well-proud of. And most evangelicals who put a “the” in front of the word “liberals” probably need to watch more than one TV station.

So I find myself in unfamiliar water today, writing in defense of a clumsy, inarticulate, but genuine-seeming and decidedly "non-mean" evangelical Christian, Carrie Prejean, aka Miss California 2009. The amount of ridicule and invective this unfortunate young lady has been subject to is tremendous (just Google the phrase “opposite marriage” for instance). The ridicule might be a bit more fair if she’d been competing for Miss Grammarian or even High School Valedictorian, but which Miss USA candidate raises that kind of expectation?

So as someone who’s misspoken from the pulpit, verbally stumbled in small talk, and sounded stupid in public (a radio interview I gave last summer – and which was aired scores of times throughout a long day – still makes me cringe!), I want to stand up for our scantily-clad sister in distress. A fellow Kaw Prairie friend was bemoaning the disdain and hatefulness shown to Carrie, and I agreed that we Christians over the centuries have been so hypocritical, closed-minded, power-hungry and rigid that we shouldn’t be surprised when the shoes are on the feet.

But we should admit that the disparaging, mean-spirited words we hear used against Christians like Ms. Prejean are the very reasons it’s so imperative that humble, hard-working Christians take the Gospel of Jesus Christ urgently but gently to a smug, manipulative world that needs it so badly. And why it’s so imperative to stop doing unto them like they’re doing to us.