Frozen Heart

For the first time this year (and the first significant time this whole winter long), snow rages through the air and settles deep on the ground.  And as I sit here, coffee betwixt my fingers and thumb, warm to the bones and full to the brim with everything I need and many of the things I want, I remember...

I remember Walter, the man with the cardboard sign who only asked for help to keep his 6-year-old son off the streets.  I remember the many veterans, men and women, who have fought long and hard with body and mind, now frail in both, who sit on the side of the highway exits, judged for being physically and emotionally and mentally scarred by the battles they've seen.  I remember the man under the overpass, his bed of old, smelly sleeping bags made with care, practicing his kirate -- or dancing; I couldn't quite tell.  And the snow flew anyway.  And as the ground beneath them froze, so did my heart.  And I realize I don't know the meaning of these words as well as I often think I do:

Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness.

Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me.

No, that I do not remember.  But they do.

But it's not too late for them, for their frozen bodies.  Nor me, for my frozen heart.

This I recall to my mind, 

Therefore I have hope.

The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,

For His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness.

His lovingkindness and compassion are extended to my heart each and every day, and I have the choice each day to extend it beyond myself, to those in need.  

I've said it before, and I'll say it again:

I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it."  Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present.  The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth!  The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you.  And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given. 

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves. 

That means giving people things that they didn't work for. 

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not.  Because neither are we.  Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

And you know what?  You and every other person on this planet may not be worthy of another's unconditional love and provision, but we all have eternal, immeasurable value -- God's image imprinted on every eye and every fingerprint and every soul.  And with that value comes responsibility for making that choice, for extending that grace, for loving God by loving our neighbors.

Yes, my heart is often distracted -- or even intentionally turned away -- from the needs of others.  But I pray God above and within will help me turn my eyes and spirit to those in need, and help me extend to them my arms and my love, cold though it may be, that His love working through me might warm and thaw this frozen heart.

Adopting the Unadoptable

You know that feeling you get when you just know God is asking you to do something kinda difficult, and you don't know how or when you'll be able to do it, but the peace you need for the process finally rests in your heart after years of uncertainty?  We had that feeling this past Saturday, when we attended a conference called "Together for Adoption."

We didn't mean to go.  I mean, E and I have given a little thought to adoption, and always figured that the time would come someday in which we'd need to give it serious consideration, given both the theological and practical reasons for pursuing it.  But with no plans or finances or second bedroom to make it happen now, we weren't planning to go to this particular event.  Then, three weeks ago, we were asked if Thornfield would be willing to play some background music during the lunch break.  Jenna had already been planning to go, and since one of Thornfield's missions is to support mercy ministries, we agreed to play for free, and with it came complimentary tickets to the whole shindig.  We were officially going.  And what began as a gig ended as a life-altering calling.

Orphans by Thomas Kennington

It's impossible to convey all that transpired in those seven hours, but suffice it to say: God is moving hearts and souls and hands and feet toward helping the helpless and loving the unloved, sometimes unlovable.  He always has been, of course, but only in the last few years have I begun to open my own eyes to the needs of others and allowed myself to understand that God wants to use my heart, my soul, my hands and my feet to bring about His will "on the earth as it is in heaven."  Sure, I've known for ten years now that He was calling me into Ministry Proper.  It's only just now that I'm seeing the vast, organic, dirty, crazy, lovely world that is Ministry Improper, and seeing that I have a much larger role to play in that than in the other.  

Anyway, What about all this Adoption Business?, you may be wondering.  Me too.  The first speaker at the conference was Vermon Pierre, who spoke of "The God Who Adopts" from Ephesians 1.  Here's part of the Scripture he read:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved... In Him also we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to His purpose who works all things after the counsel of His will, to the end that we who were the first to hope in Christ would be to the praise of His glory. In Him, you also, after listening to the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation—having also believed, you were sealed in Him with the Holy Spirit of promise, who is given as a pledge of our inheritance, with a view to the redemption of God’s own possession, to the praise of His glory.

To be honest, these verses, though absolutely overflowing with the superfluously wonderful merits of God's grace, always make me a little nervous when they're about to be preached on.  It was while at Moody -- where Calvinism is the presumed doctrine of the educated believer -- that I became suspicious of the word, predestined.  To my utmost relief, Pierre didn't once focus on predestination as a calling of "the elect," but explained the word's use as it shows God's very deliberate and intentional purpose from the very beginning of creation to adopt His people.  Before the foundation of the world, it says, He chose us, to adopt us, to lavish upon us an inheritance not merely of riches but of His very presence as the Holy Spirit within us.  

What really struck me about Pierre's message, what's so remarkable about all of this, is that before God adopted us, we were unadoptable.  We were unwanted, unruly, unworthy to be children of God.  Pierre explained that when people decide to adopt, they're given, basically, a list of things to choose from in a child.  First, they get to decide definite traits, like whether they want a boy or girl, how old a child they'd like, etc.  After that form comes another with checkboxes beside other, less tangible, likely less desirable traits.  Traits such as "Likes to start fires," "Has extreme ADHD," "Has emotional baggage," "Is violent," "Has a history of scraping walls with knives," etc.  This page is often skipped entirely, as these children are often considered "unadoptable."  Now, it may be difficult for us to see ourselves as unadoptable when we compare ourselves to these children.  But if we put ourselves in their shoes, take on their experiences, memories, etc., we may find ourselves closer to their states than we're comfortable with.  And if we believe the gospel is true -- that Jesus died for us -- then we must also believe that we were each personally involved in His death, that we victimized and brutalized and killed God's Son.  

And yet, He still wants us in the family.  

And yet, He planned to use our own violence to provide salvation for us.

What a gospel!  What hope!  What a good, unbelievably good God!

But notice why He did this, this amazing adoption of the unadoptable, according to Ephesians 1: "that we would be holy and blameless before Him."  In other words, that we would be set apart, that we would be conformed to His own image by and through His Son.  That we would become more like our Heavenly Dad, extending gracious love like He does, adopting the unadoptable like He does.  

And that's why my own thoughts concerning adoption have changed from, "This is something we should really think about, Lord willing," to "This is something we should actually do, and He is."  I won't be anyone else's Holy Spirit, of course.  He leads us each according to His own will for each.  But I've become convinced, not only through this amazing Scriptural concept but also through the callings all Christians are given in James 1, in Zechariah 7, in Proverbs 31, in Isaiah 1, and in countless other verses and chapters and books in God's word, that it is every believer's direct calling to care for the helpless, and in many cases the orphan specifically.  What that looks like for each family will be different.  What that looks like for our family -- I'm nervous but excited and timid but eager to say -- will hopefully someday be a house overflowing with love for each other, adopted and non-adopted children alike.  Because, actually, we're all adopted.

A father of the fatherless ... is God in His holy habitation.

{Psalm 68:5}

The Same Grace We Were Given

I've been gone for a long time.  Over a month, I see...  

Don't know what kept me away, except the realization that I didn't have to do this.  I didn't have to have a steady flow of blog posts to have friends who think I'm pretty fun.  I didn't have to write cleverly or poetically or even thoughtfully about trivial or important things in order to be understood and loved.  I just needed to step away for a while to see that.  Now that I'm back, I find I'm the recipient of a bloggerrific honor (Much to my surprise! Thanks, Jenna!), and that -- while I may not have a storehouse of interesting things to converse about with my world wide websters -- I do have a few things stored up in my heart that are longing for an out.  And I do have friends out there who might be interested to hear about them.  And as long as I don't base my self esteem on the inflow of positive comments, I can actually enjoy this outlet.

And so I return, fresh blog post in hand and my heart not quite so on my sleeve, but certainly available to those who ask for it kindly.  Or those who rip it from my chest.  Well, I'm getting ahead of myself...

*****

One thing I've been thinking a lot about in the last several days is urban poverty and homelessness.  Last week Hope For Chicago (who's Executive Director I work for) and Holy Trinity Church (our home away from home), along with several other gospel-centered social justice groups, sponsored/attended a one-day conference (directly following the three-day Gospel Coalition Conference) entitled Christ+City, which was headlined by Manhattan church-planter Tim Keller (who has a most excellent theology of the gospel lived out as both justification by faith and social justice in our communities... but that's a parenthetical statement for another day!).  I can't believe I just sputtered that out all in one sentence, but there you have it.

Between that conference and BSF's recent study of Isaiah 58, I've been done in with thoughts and prayers for the urban poor.  Especially on days like today -- cold, windy, rainy, pretty much the epitome of miserable days -- I am quick to think of my own misfortunes (Sheesh!  I can't take a leisurely walk to my favorite new coffee bar and drink in Spring's glory!) and not the misfortunes of others, which may very likely exclude the cozy chair and warm cup of one's own home-brewed coffee with a roof over one's head and dry clothes on one's back.  

It's taken a long, long time to see poverty through the eyes of Jesus.  I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it."  Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present.  The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth!  The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you.  And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given.  

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves.  

That means giving people things that they didn't work for.  

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not.  Because neither are we.  Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

The gospel -- justification by grace alone -- demands that we extend it in just the same way we received it.  It demands that we care more about the person on the corner with the cardboard sign than we care about what that dollar or two that we painstakingly give him might be spent on.  (Really?  You care more about a practically worthless piece of paper than a human soul?)  Please forgive me if this sounds like a frustrated rant.  I promise you it's as much -- and even more -- directed to my own heart than it is to anyone else's.  I suppose part most of my frustration comes from the realization that I've been walking with the Lord, meditating on his word, sitting under the teaching of good theology for years, and am only just now starting to have these sore, oozing eyes parted, slowly and painfully and resistantly opened to the reality of my place among the poor and my calling to their welfare.  Consider these words, spoken from God's lips to our hearts:

  Is this not the fast which I choose,
         To loosen the bonds of wickedness,
         To undo the bands of the yoke,
         And to let the oppressed go free
         And break every yoke?
   Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry
         And bring the homeless poor into the house;
         When you see the naked, to cover him;
         And not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

That is our calling, my friend.  That is our fast, our prayer, our demonstration of our faith to our God and our fellow earth-dwellers.  To bring freedom through the gospel to people.  Freedom not only for the poor, enslaved to their poverty, but freedom also for the rich, enslaved to their wealth; freedom that breaks every yoke.  And freedom involves sacrifice.  For Jesus that involved death.  Can I, then, not spare some food, money, shelter, clothing, etc., for the freedom of others?  For me, that's what it will sometimes involve.  It most definitely always involves giving respect: Is the fast which I choose not to hide yourself from your own flesh?  To me that says, don't turn away.  Don't look in the other direction when you see someone in need.  Don't ignore them.  Respect their personhood by looking them in the eyes.  Respect them by not only acknowledging them but speaking to them, and not with pity but with compassion.  Showing pity is not the same thing as showing compassion.  Pity says, "I'm sorry," and then may spare some loose change for the alleviation of one's own guilt over being richer than someone else.  Compassion builds a relationship with someone, and then says, "What do you need?  How can I help?"

I've shared a song, "Winter's Ashes" on here before.  Eric and I recently worked on a video/montage for it (for the above conference), so I hope you won't mind me sharing it again.  Look and listen and pray let the spirit stir in your heart and mine a grace for others more like God's... more like the grace we were given...