Jesus is for Losers

Last week, I went to City Church on a Saturday night with some friends.  This was because it was man-night, and my pastor was involved.  I had been to City Church once before, and all I remember of it is that they served root-beer floats.  Thus, I was pretty excited to go to the City Church again.

I was also kind of nervous for some reason.  Something deep down inside me was telling me that someone would judge me for what I was wearing, not speaking in tongues, or not wearing skinny-jeans like the lead pastor.  I wanted to be able to go in there without any one looking at me, because I felt like the minute that they looked at me, was the minute that they would start judging me.

I feel like this is how a lot of people think when they go to an unfamiliar church.  "They're going to judge me, they aren't going to like me, I've never sacrificed a goat before."  And in all honesty, except for the last one, maybe we as Christians have brought that on.  Maybe we are constantly trying to hide in a shell of self-righteous works, pretending that we're perfect even though we're screwed up inside.

I thought about how people who come to Overlake must feel, and how thinking that we're going to judge them at all is so off base of what we actually try to do. 

You see, the whole point of Jesus is not that He came for the good little boys and girls who never have problems, and never struggle with anything, and do everything that they're supposed to.  Jesus didn't die for perfect people, because that would be pointless. 

Jesus died for the broken, and the sinful.  He Himself says that He didn't come for the healthy, but for the sick.  He came for the people who can't do it by themselves.  He came for the sick.  Jesus came for the losers like me who can't seem to do what is right very often. 

So why then do people think of Christians as judgmental people who look down on other people because of all the bad stuff that they do?  If anything, Christians should be the most humble people on the face of the earth, because the description of a Christian is someone who knows they aren't good enough, and therefore let Jesus save them.

And yet we still get a reputation as being the good boys and girls of society who never have issues and look down on the kids that do.  That is completely and utterly wrong, and not what we're supposed to be doing. 

So for all the people who are reading this and think that Christians are judgmental, I say sorry on behalf of all of them, including myself.  I'm sorry that we've been a poor representation of truth.  I'm sorry that we've looked down on you even though we're just as bad off as you.  I'm sorry.

And to all the Christians reading this, I say let's step up our game a little bit.  It's our job to represent Jesus, the one who ate dinner with the tax collectors and prostitutes and the fallen and the sinners.  Let's show people who see us what our Lord is really like, rather than a twisted version of what He came to do.  Jesus died for the losers, so let's not be prideful, judgy, or arrogant.  Deal?   

My future wife!

Right now I'm listening to Marvin Gaye.  Thus, this blog post is going to be about my future wife.  Duh.

I think a lot about my future wife, probably due to never having had a girfriend.  I'm actually kind of stoked. 

Here's what I've decided about her:
1. She is going to love Jesus more than she loves me.
2. She's still going to love me a ton though.
3.  She's going to be beautiful, and when I say beautiful, I mean "If she's walking around in a garbage bag with holes cut in it for legs and arms, she's gonna be a stunner.''
4.  She's going to actually laugh at my jokes.  Boy, one-in-a-million, huh?
5. She'll be hilarious. 
6.  She has to balance out my social awkwardness, so that our overall average will be at least 7.5 on the Acone scale of awkwardness.  This means that she'll have to have at least 14 Acone points.
7.  She's going to be super cute. 
8.  Gorgeous.
9.  She has to be appreciative of 80s R&B Soul.  I won't know how to woo her otherwise.
10.  She'll watch sports with me, and we'll snuggle. 

But having said all that, I need to work on stuff myself, because I'm not ready at all for anything like marriage.  You can call me "15", but I just call myself "AHHH, I still don't have a job."  Here's the list of stuff that I want to be for my wife.

1.  I want to be a leader that she can trust to lead her in the right way. 
2.  I want to be able to bench press her body weight.  Is that too much to ask?
3.  I want to be a provider for her.  So that we can, like, eat.
4.  I want to be able to be a bit better of a hugger for her.  Ah well, we'll practice that in the context of marriage.
5.  I want to be totally Christ centered.  As in, "too busy being centered around Jesus to write a long blog post about her."
6.  I want to be able to know which colors match with what.  Because that could be important, I feel like.
7.  I want to be able to ask to see a wine-list without the waiter laughing at me.
8.  I want to rely on Christ everyday, so that the relationship isn't about us, but it's about Jesus.
9.  I want to know the Bible.  Really well.
10.  I want to resemble Bruce Wayne at least a little bit.

So there you go, that's what you get when listening to Marvin Gaye.  Until I get married, I'm going to become what I want to be so I'm ready.  And also, I'm going to be so pure, it'll be awesome.  Super hot abstinence.

The story of Danny and Zsa-Zsa

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived a family made up of a little boy named Danny, and a little girl named Zsa-Zsa.  Yes, Zsa-Zsa.  They were in a household in which their dad loved them very much, and they were always joyful and happy, playing basketball like life was perfect.

One day, they were watching Rocky, and Danny and Zsa-Zsa realized that they too wanted to become boxers so that one day they could be even stronger than their dad.  They wanted to be the best boxers in the world, so obviously they moved to Philadelphia, where Rocky trained. 

Once there, they quickly realized that not all of Philadelphia was a meat processing plant in which they could train, and they became quite disappointed.  Trying to mask their sadness, Danny and Zsa-Zsa decided that their next best option was to be WWE fighters instead of what was shown in Rocky and Million Dollar Baby. 

They got into a rhythm of loving WWE, and they soon forgot all about basketball at home, or their boxing dreams, and they started enjoying "fighting" in the WWE.  They were making money, on pay-per-view, and their lives seemed just great.

But soon even their fighting days were gone, and they found themselves homeless, entertaining themselves by making toy boats out of thrown away newspapers and floating them down the torrent of water that was flowing down the gutters.  Yeah, life had gone downhill.

But you see, their dad had never actually forgotten about their basketball dreams, or their boxing dreams, and remembered how much passion they had for those things, and how much he knew they enjoyed it.  Mostly though, their dad just missed them.  He was longing for the days where they would watch a movie together, or wrestle them until they were too tired to get up, lying on the floor giggling. 

Often times, he would try to call them, or to hook them up with a facebook message.  But they never responded.  You see, they were quite content with their boat making, and they were getting good at it.

Finally, though, he sent Michael Jordan to convince the kids that the dad wanted them back, and to come back into the household and hang out with Jordan and the dad.

"No," they replied, "we're actually getting really good at making these little boats.  See?  Look at that one.  Look at the sails and how fast it goes down the street."

The Air himself tried to convince them, but it wouldn't work.  They could no longer imagine a land besides the paper boats, and were convinced that this "dad" that they heard of was just like a Nigerian prince who often emailed them looking for their bank account numbers.

Michael kept persisting however.  One day he told them straight out, that there was more to life than paper boats, and that they could have a better life.  Becoming defensive, they  shook their heads in fury and screamed "Don't take us away from this life!  You're a liar, and we don't want anything to do with you!"

And they stabbed poor Michael with the only weapon they could find, their scissors.  And Michael Jordan died that day.

 And three days later, Danny and Zsa-Zsa saw MJ playing basketball on a playground.  "MJ," they said, "What the heck just happened.  Why are you still alive?"

Michael was still alive because, let's be honest, we all know what's going on in this story already, of God.  And because I couldn't think of a relevant thing that would be equated to someone dying and then raising to life.  Because that doesn't really ever happen.  

Michael explained to Danny and Zsa-Zsa that it was true.  They had a dad, he existed, and he actually really liked them.  He also explained that his Rolls-Royce Phantom was the only way to get out of the hood and to his dad.  They jumped into the Rolls and headed towards their dads house. 

There, they played a game of 2 on 2, which, of course, the dad and Michael Jordan won.  But it was still a party.  And the kids promised to never ever leave their father again.  And everyone was very happy.  And, if you haven't noticed, that was more than a story of Michael Jordan's only successful comeback in his life.

Nerd Alert.

This past weekend, I drove to Washington State University to visit my sister, who goes to WSU and majors in something about broadcasting and Spanish.  It was pretty much a party all weekend, and on Sunday we pulled ourselves off of the couches in the basement to go to their church, called "Real Life."

Once there, I quickly realized that I was in the wrong spot.  This is what my brain immediately jumped to as an uncool church.  The nerd alert in my brain was blasting through my brain as I entered into a time of worship.

I couldn't stop thinking about how the woman keyboardist looked like Tina Fey.  The male keyboardist looked like Phil Collins.  Gabe from "The Office" was playing guitar, and the main singer kept throwing up hand gestures that I was convinced were Christian gang symbols that people who were holier than me knew.

I'm not used to this atmosphere.  My church has pool tables, people who dress in basketball shorts, and a worship pastor with mountain man facial hair.  We listen to Christian rap, and this church probably liked Michael W. Smith.  Yes, I was in a different style of church, and I was freaking out.

Then something in me began to stir.  The Jim Gaffigan look-a-like came out for announcements, and I laughed at his jokes.  Surely I was already becoming one of them, and might walk out of the church saying "thee", "thy", and calling people "bless-ed." 

But I kept being stirred.  A back-up pastor came up and began to speak about prayer, and it was awesome.  I found myself learning, and applying what he was saying to my life.  And I realized that the coolness of a church is based off of Christ, not cultural relevance. 

I began to process the amount of time that I think about what people think, rather than what I know about God, and what He thinks of me. 

I realized that people think that I look like a main character from "American Pie", and that that's a lot worse than looking like the guy who wrote the Tarzan soundtrack.

So as I go into life, I need to focus on Jesus, rather than myself.  I need to look to Him, so I know what I should be like.  I need to stop judging people.  And I need to realize what God has done for me, and what He will continue to do in this world. 

High treason

Today I marched in a parade, I did yard work, and I just ate two cinnamon rolls.  The first two things gave me plenty of time to think, and the last one just gave me satisfaction and a feeling of grossness.  Here are my thoughts as of late:

The act of treason is a violation of allegiance to one's sovereign or to one's state.  It's betraying the trust of your superior whom you've said that you would follow.  


In Brazil, treason during war fare is the only crime punishable by death.  The only one.  Worse then killing people, worse then raping people, worse then stealing, worse than having a ginormous Ponzi scheme and taking everyone's money.  


So all this time I've been thinking of this, I'm thinking that if in Brazil, you commit treason during war fare once, you're done.  No second chances, no opportunities for redemption.  Death.


And frankly, that might be how it should be.  When some one pledges their life to some one, and then turns around and back fires, their pledge is their life, and maybe they shouldn't have even that.  

The main point I'm trying to make is not about treason in Brazil.  I'm not a social commenter telling you what to think.  I just think this is incredibly important.  Because, as you may know, we are all held guilty of high treason, the kind of treason that directly affects the King. 


And we should be dead.


After we first decided to run away from God, we should've died.  When we say that we follow Christ, and we don't, we should die.  Our whole existence seems like a treason indictment should be coming our way soon, leading us to death.


But our King is better than that.  Our King has unlimited grace, constant waves of mercy, and a bottomless (Red Robin influence) love for us.  We commit treason every day, and He gives us a chance to serve again.  We are the cause of His Son's death, but His Son's death was also caused by His Son's love.  


So as you go out today, keep in mind one thing: You are insufficient, but God gives you grace, God gives you power, and God won't leave you behind.  Treason during warfare is punishable by death in Brazil.  We aren't in Brazil, but we're certainly in warfare.  So let's let God's grace wash upon us, so that we could be the best warriors for Him that we can be.

Home schooling

If you guys didn't know, I go to Sammamish High School.  If you didn't know, I have an English class there that gives me homework.  Also, if you didn't know, I used to be home schooled.  This was a writing project that I did, but I wanted to write more about it, because he only gave me one page to do it.  So here goes.

Up until my 9th grade when I joined Sammamish High School, I was home schooled.  I mostly liked it, because it was a chill environment and it was fairly easy.  Up until about 4th grade, though, I was oblivious to the fact that a couple socially awkward, nerdly home schoolers had spread myths  about the dangers of homeschooling.  It was then I recognized the confused, disgusted look on people's faces when I would tell them that I was, in fact, educated at home.

I would tell them about it, and then immediately try to cover up my sin with a "but it's pretty much the same as public school, just without other people, and my mom doesn't teach me, I have teachers, but if I need help I ask my mom, like public schoolers, and I even play sports and I have a life."

It was too late though.  Weird Al's "Amish Paradise" had already spread to their brain, and they suddenly realized the cause of my stupidity, awkwardness, and acne.  They then had three choices of how to act when around me: to be very liberal, conservative, or normal.

Occasionally, when I showed people my scarlet letter of regular society, they would drop a swear word, or tell me a joke about sex, or tell something involving technology, and  step back to watch the inevitable horror that would soon permeate my facial expression.  Surely I would be shocked that there were bad words in the world, or sex, or cell phones. 

At other times, they would walk on egg shells around me, carefully choosing their words and conversation topics, and never thumbing their PSPs in their pocket or asking me to come play XBOX with them, because I would surely be in question about what an XBOX was, and whether father Jebediah would approve of it.  The conversations somehow would drift towards plowing fields or churning butter, none of which I knew anything about, and they regarded me as incompetent, for I didn't even know how to do what I was born to do.  Attempts at avoiding my harsh judgment were made, so that we could still play basketball together.

Having now gotten past the pain of telling people that I am a nerd destined to be an outcast, whenever I meet a homeschooler, I try to lead the conversations to their life on an Amish farm.  As I notice their disconcerted facial expressions and squirming, I admit to them that I too was once a home schooler.

And then I pull out my cell phone.

Grace.

"You called and You shouted, broke through my deafness, now I'm breathing in, and breathing out, I'm alive again.  You shattered my darkness, washed away my blindness, now I'm breathing in, and breathing out, I'm alive again." - Matt Maher, Alive Again.

Dangle.  We were dead, hard-core.  We had no chance.  We were hopeless, and yet our darkness was shattered, our eyes were cleared, and life was given.  This is awesome.  

And we pass by it.  Everyday, we forget about it.  Just like our previous (or present) life (not talking reincarnation here, folks, more like regeneration), we blindly run to death.  In the words of John Donne, in his Holy Sonnet #1:

"I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;

I dare not move my dim eyes any way,

Despair behind, and death before doth cast

Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste

By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;

Only thou art above, and when towards thee

By thy leave I can look, I rise again;

But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,

That not one hour my self I can sustain." 

 

That's just it.  We may not chose death, but we're sure running to it.   "And when towards thee..I can look, I rise again."  Even though my blogs may sound like a broken record, this is it!  By Christ's power, people rise.  The lame are healed, the blind can see, and the dead rise from death. 

 

The dead rise from death!  We can't be good enough to work our way into heaven.  We can't earn God's love.  We will never be able to impress God.  We've grown accustomed to the thought that "God loves good little boys and girls."  And "if you are polite and don't kill people or do porn or lie, then God will love you." 

 

Something is wrong with that.   As Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel:

"Our huffing and puffing to impress God, our scrambling for brownie points, our thrashing about trying to fix ourselves while hiding our pettiness and wallowing in guilt are nauseating to God and are a flat denial of the gospel of grace."

When you read the Gospels, you will notice that Jesus never hates on the poor in Spirit, or the prostitutes, or the broken, but He comes and completely blows down the self-righteous doors of the hypocrites and the Pharisees.  

 

"For it is by grace that you have been saved, not by works, so that no man can boast."

 

"As Jesus was walking on from there he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax office, and he said to him, 'Follow me.'  And he got up and followed him.  Now while he was at table in the house it happened that a number of tax collectors ad sinners came to sit at the table with Jesus and his disciples.  When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, ' why does your master eat with tax collectors and sinners?'  When he heard this he replied, 'It is not the healthy who need the doctor, but the sick.  Go and learn the meaning of the words: Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice.  And indeed I cam to call not the upright, but sinners.'

Dangle.  In finishing the sonnet of John Donne that I started before, here's the last couplet:

 

"Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his (satan's) art,

And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart." 

 

God's not giving up on the chase.  So as you go along your way to school or to jobs or whatever it is that you do, remember this:  Grace and mercy are the only ways to draw near to God, trying to do works after works isn't going to do anything.  God's drawing your heart.  Now go out and be drawn.