Each year, my dad, brother, and I play 18 holes of golf for bragging rights and this amazing trophy:
When I was 14 years old, I took a trophy I won in school (I think it was for straight A's), stuck red letters on the nameplate to spell out "Fuller Cup" (you'll notice it fits perfectly), and a tradition was born.
Nineteen years later, here we are.
I won the first eight Fuller Cups. My brother broke that streak in 1999 when I missed a three-foot putt. I won again in 2000, but then lost the next three. My dad won two and my brother won his second. Since then, I have won four out of the last five.
That's thirteen victories for me, three for my dad, and two for my brother. I rule.
In 2000, I became a Christian at the age of 23. Two years later, I was working at one of the largest churches in the country. After two more years, I left that job to help start a brand new church. Four years later, I stopped attending church. So...no church, to attending church, to working in a church, to starting a church, to leaving the church - all in less than eight years. Now, I am visiting 52 churches in 52 weeks in order to redefine my faith. This is reflection 45 of 52.
I appreciate all of the encouraging words last week. Keep praying for Charlie's wife and children.
As I reflected on last week's emotional roller coaster, I realized something. You guys have become part of my spiritual community. I specifically mentioned my Vineyard family in that post, but this experiment has morphed into much more than words on a computer screen. It would be strange if many of you suddenly disappeared. There are too many names to list, but you guys have become another form of spiritual community for me. We've laughed, we've cried, we've debated, and we've bonded. If this was only a book, I would have quit months ago.
This experiment hasn't just been about visiting churches; it's been about the dialogue you guys have created. Perhaps more than the visits themselves, that dialogue has helped me learn and grow. I am so thankful for that.
I definitely experienced an emotional hangover this week. After my "epiphany" that the purpose of church is to experience spiritual community in ways that resemble our biological families, I wasn't excited about showing up at some random church. Next week, things will be back to normal, but this week, I decided to organize my own personal church experience.
Last year, I argued that most church functions could be accomplished outside of church membership. I can read my Bible, serve my neighbor, pray, listen to an inspirational message, and donate to charity without ever stepping foot inside a church building. Yesterday, I put that theory to the test. If I were to create my own church experience inside the comfort of my own home, here's what it would look like (I am including links so you can experience the exact process if you would like):
1) Three "worship" songs. I put worship in quotes because I branched out from traditional Christian music. I have been struggling lately with falling back into some old habits (Bea Arthur and I have renewed our love affair since my cable reinstallation), so I chose three of my favorites.
"Ain't No Reason," by Brett Dennen
"Hurt," by Johnny Cash
"Brand New Day," by Joshua Radin
Great, meaningful music speaks to my soul, even if God isn't mentioned by name. That Johnny Cash song always smacks me across the face.
I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real.
But as Joshua Radin sings, today is a brand new day. And with this beautiful weather, how can you not feel optimistic about the future?
2) A story from the Bible. After much deliberation, I chose to read the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. You can read the whole thing here. What struck me from the story was this exchange:
When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. "Where have you laid him?" he asked. "Come and see, Lord," they replied. Jesus wept. Then the Jews said, "See how he loved him!" But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?"
There is a ton to unpack in those few verses, but I'll focus on two points.
One, Jesus wept. Last week, as I screamed at God for letting Charlie die, I got a picture of Jesus sitting with Charlie's friends and family, weeping with them. In my vision, God's heart was broken. And my very next thought was, "God, if you are so heartbroken about Charlie dying, why didn't you heal him?" Almost the same exact question some of the Jews asked two thousand years ago.
That story ends with Jesus healing Lazarus. Not so with Charlie. And I don't have any answers for God's inaction. But I do know this: God was there with Charlie up until the end. And he has been comforting Charlie's friends and family ever since. I can't explain God, but I do know he cares. He is a God that weeps with us.
3) A message. I used to listen to podcasts like it was my job. Literally, two or three per day. Mark Driscoll, Matt Chandler, Erwin McManus, Rob Bell, John Ortberg, and others. I scanned the list to see if any recent messages stood out, and I decided to go with John Ortberg's message called "Imagine."
More than ever, I am confronted with life's fraility. One of my favorite quotes from the movie Insomnia is when Robin Williams says, "Life is so important; how can it be so f@#king fragile?"
Ortberg's message hit home. In fact, I have to be honest. My selfish nature is warring against the desire to live sacrificially. It sounds too difficult. It sounds too boring. I want to have stuff, and be popular, and pursue the spotlight. I want to live by my own rules. I want to be the god of my own life. I know this is my key battle.
When faced with personal mortality, people typically move in one of two directions. We either realize time is short, so we need to acquire more - more money, more stuff, more fun, more women, more security. Or we realize time is short, so we choose to give more away. To create a legacy of love and generosity that will live on after we are gone.
I am fighting that battle this week. Acquire more, or give more away?
The right answer is obvious, of course, but living that answer is difficult.
I claim to believe in God. I claim to put my hope in him, but my life doesn't always reflect that claim. I know very few people who believe in God and place their trust in him. Instead, we trust our human relationships. Can you imagine how your faith would be rocked if your spouse died at age 37, leaving behind your two young children? We trust our stuff. Real estate, retirement funds, material possessions. We trust our political system. People worship Rush Limbaugh the way they should be worshipping God. People are relying on Barack Obama for deliverance the way they should be relying on Jesus.
A question I asked myself a lot this week: Do I really believe? Do I really believe there is some existence after death called Heaven, or is it just a nice bedtime story to keep us sane? Do I really believe in a supernatural God, or did humanity have to create a grandpa in the sky to keep us civilized?
John Ortberg finished his talk with this prayer: "God, help us to die to small and petty dreams."
4) A closing prayer. I have been yelling at God a lot lately, but I haven't really taken time out of my life to meaningfully pray. I finished off my Sunday by having a heart-to-heart with God. I was completely honest with my doubts, my fears, and my conflicting desires. I don't want to pretend with God anymore. He knows my heart. He knows how screwed up I am. He knows my mixed motives. And he chooses to love me anyway.
Amazing grace, indeed.
I still believe you can worship alone in a room. I believe people can read scripture and pray alone. And there are lots of great messages online. But life was never meant to be lived in isolation. That wasn't God's original plan.
In the movie, Into the Wild, Christopher journeys into the unknown. He's fed up with his family, with society, and with life. On his journey, he meets lots of interesting people and learns a lot about himself. Perhaps this loner's greatest lesson was his last. Christopher died by himself in the Alaskan wilderness, but before he starved to death, he wrote these words in his notebook:
Some very talented friends of mine made a movie this summer. Also, Christopher Day was there.
The movie won't be released until next summer, but they have already put together a trailer.
If you don't associate with creative folks, you should change that immediately. Creative energy is contagious, and definitely helped motivate me over the past two years.
I recently heard an interview with former basketball star and current television analyst, Charles Barkley. Barkley is outspoken, controversial, and hilarious.
When asked about his volatile personality, Barkley said, "I learned a long time ago, some people will love you, and some people will hate you, so you might as well be yourself."
Adjusting who you are to meet everyone else's expectations might build a nice following, but it's exhausting. And it's lame.
I respect honesty. I respect people who take unpopular stances because they believe it's the right thing to do. That takes guts. Pretending seems like such a waste of time.
Some people will love you, and others will hate you, so you might as well be yourself.
In 2000, I became a Christian at the age of 23. Two years later, I was working at one of the largest churches in the country. After two more years, I left that job to help start a brand new church. Four years later, I stopped attending church. So...no church, to attending church, to working in a church, to starting a church, to leaving the church - all in less than eight years. Now, I am visiting 52 churches in 52 weeks in order to redefine my faith. This is reflection 44 of 52.
I write this week with a heavy heart.
I am confused, angry, and in shock.
Saturday morning, Charlie Matthews passed away. Charlie was the lead pastor at Mason Vineyard Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. He served in various roles at Vineyard Community Church for many years. One of those roles was Director of Alpha. I was a speaker at Alpha. While in that position, I worked with Charlie for over a year.
But I knew Charlie long before that. He was a star volunteer many years ago when my ex-girlfriend helped lead outreach at the Vineyard. That was Charlie - he loved the church; he loved people; he loved serving.
I was incredibly conflicted this week. I had planned on visiting Mason Vineyard before hearing the news. Charlie had been sick for about a month, and I was curious how a relatively new church was functioning without their leader. But I also didn't want to exploit Charlie's tragic death. In the end, no matter where I ended up Sunday, I knew my thoughts would be with Charlie, his family, and the Mason Vineyard.
Bottom line: Charlie's death has rocked me in ways that took me by surprise. We weren't close friends, but Charlie was a part of my Vineyard family. I just talked to him a couple of months ago. Honestly, I needed to be with "family" Sunday. I needed to see people from the Vineyard. I needed to hug old friends. I wanted to celebrate Charlie's life and mourn his death with those who knew him best.
Charlie Matthews was a good man. He is survived by his wife and two children. And, in whatever platform I have been given, I want to speak about Charlie's legacy today.
There are no easy answers when someone dies long before his time. When that person leaves behind a wife and two young children, it's infuriating.
God, seriously, what the f@#k?
This makes no sense to me. Saturday night, I screamed at God a lot. I dropped a lot of f-bombs. There was literally an army of Christians praying for his recovery. You're telling me God heals headaches and sore elbows, but he allows a father of two to die just as his church is launching?
I am incredibly confused, so I went to the Mason Vineyard on Sunday to look for answers. I followed that up with a visit to Vineyard Community Church. A number of things happened.
First, I was able to laugh and cry with some folks who love Charlie dearly. It was quite therapeutic.
Second, I had a hard time worshipping God. "God is great, God is holy, God is amazing, God is so loving, God is awesome." I don't want to be blasphemous, but I felt none of that this weekend. What is awesome about letting Charlie die? There may be some bigger purpose that I can't see, but on the surface, it seems like a really stupid plan.
Third, I was challenged by Kent Odor and Dave Workman to really consider the rest of my life. No one is guaranteed anything. Not one more minute. How will I spend the rest of my days? Kent spoke about Charlie's character. Am I living a life of integrity? Is my character strong?
Four, I was surrounded by my spiritual family. I got to hug a handful of folks, shake hands with many more, and debrief with some old friends. It was especially good hanging out with Duane, Shirkie, Sean, and Suzanne.
And through it all, here's what God taught me this weekend:
I said this way back in week thirteen, but I really felt it this week. Church is family. Yes, there are other reasons for going to church, but as I've mentioned before, a lot of the functions of church can be met elsewhere. What you can't reproduce in a vacuum, or find online, or get from reading a book, is the sense of community that happens in church.
Unfortunately, churches are dysfunctional, but whose family isn't? There are freaks, and jerks, and flawed human beings, but that's what makes the experience genuine. I've never met a perfect family, but when the shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
I've never met a perfect church, but when the spiritual shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
God, I'm really pissed off that you took Charlie long before his time. I'll keep processing, but your ways make no sense to me. What's the point of prayer? Why heal some people and not others? Do you heal anyone, or do people just pretend? So annoying.
Charlie, you left quite a legacy behind. I saw it in so many faces Sunday. You have already inspired me to become more of the man God created me to be. You will be missed.
To everyone else, I am guilty of taking my life for granted. I assume I can goof around for a while and always put off living until tomorrow. I waste time. I allow my character to slip. I ignore significant relationships. I get angry about the wrong stuff and remain apathetic about the stuff that truly matters.
I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and be perfect. I'll still struggle with everything I mentioned above. But I'm going to get better. I'm going to keep fighting.
This is mind-blowing, but a few weeks before Charlie got sick, he planned a series at Mason Vineyard called the, "One Month to Live Challenge." Charlie died a little over a month later. Mason Vineyard is currently in the middle of that series. Are you freaking kidding me?
When someone like Charlie dies, it forces everyone to take a step back and ask, "Am I really living?" I hope we can all take some time this week to ask ourselves that question.
I played this song on my blog a few months ago, but it seems fitting today:
Oh, the thought of death has yet to make me afraid, 'Cause I will march right off of this world into the next Lke it's a grand parade. But if you feel lonely just like you want to run and hide, Then I'll wrap my wings around you and give you strength And I won't leave your side.
Please keep Charlie's family in your thoughts and prayers.
