If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part,  but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.  When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.  Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

The last couple of weeks, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I’ve come to terms with the fact that

Seriously, I can’t get away.

Over the last year or so, I’ve stretched myself theologically on so many levels. I’ve called into question many things I’ve believed wholeheartedly my entire life. I’ve bent my beliefs to the point of nearly breaking them. But by the Grace of God, I am only more in love with Jesus and the Scriptures.

But that A.W. Tozer quote puts so succinctly what Paul was getting at in 1 Corinthians 13: that knowledge and understanding, by themselves, are completely meaningless.

Am I, or have I been, completely spiritually empty? No. Have I been close? Of course. There has been some shaking of my spiritual life and community in general that has factored into this spiritual emptiness—this disconnected feeling—and I have been working towards healing and making those situations right. But beyond that, its just been too heavy of a focus on learning ABOUT God, and less of a focus on abiding IN God. Spending time WITH Him.

Do I believe theology and doctrine are unimportant? Not by any means. But I do believe there needs to be a perfect balance, and God has been tipping my scales in the right direction.

In the last few weeks, God has been doing a work in me. He has rekindled the experiential side of my faith. He has given me a new passion for walking with Him. He has, in a way, made me a little bored with theology for the time being. He has been more clearly and loudly showing His presence as the third (well, first) member of my wife and I’s “marital trinity”. I’m feeling less and less inclined to argue a theological point that, in light of the bigger picture, is more than likely near-meaningless anyway. I’m feeling less and less cynical. I’m feeling emotional again.

Best of all, I’m rediscovering Jesus for WHO HE IS, not for who I think He is. And I’m falling in love with Him all over again.

My son Rowan is almost two. He has discovered that he loves being outside, and he loves going for walks. All I have to do is say “do you want to go for a walk?” Once I say that sentence, he will stop at nothing to get out the door.

Generally, when we go for a walk, it ends up being a simple around-the-block, which adds up to about four total blocks. This is how that walk normally looks:

We leave the house. Rowan is excited and runs strong for the first block-and-a-half or so. He stops here and there—to pick up a rock, look at a dog, or try to open someone’s car door—but all it usually takes is me saying “let’s go, buddy” and gently pushing him along for him to start running again.

Around the halfway point, he gets worn out. He literally will just stop out of nowhere and sit down on the sidewalk. He just looks at up me, content as ever. In his head, he’s tired, he’s done walking, so our walk is done. This obviously isn’t true, but he also obviously doesn’t understand that. So I pick him up, and say, “alright, let’s go.” We start walking again, Rowan in my arms. He’s fine for 20 feet or so. Then he starts pushing me, wiggling, and saying “down, please!”

I set him down, he starts running again, and another 20 feet later, he sits down again.

So I pick him up again. He pushes me away again. I set him down again. This pattern goes on for the last two blocks of our walk.

And then we get about two houses away from ours. He sees our house, demands to be put down, and sprints to the steps. He climbs up the steps, and excitedly waits for me to open the door to that wonderful, safe, loving place that he couldn’t wait to leave a half hour earlier.

Think about it.

I totally understand what Israel said. To boil it down, generally, if you are a Christian who was raised in America, you have dealt with fear, guilt, homophobia, hatred of other religions and those not like you, etc. Many of us have discovered God’s wonderful, beautiful grace in the midst of this, and are “recovering fundamentalists” as Israel put it. This is a grace that is sufficient. This is a grace that knows that the Way of Love is the true way to live. The real Gospel.

And he proposes that we might be better off because of this. Our upbringing, our Christian culture, is what led us to this beautiful grace and mercy. We have been hungry for the true Gospel, and It’s been out of our reach, because of all the bullshit holding us back. I get that. And do I think that hunger is somewhat amplified by American religious Christianity? Sure. Are we better off because of being raised that way? This is where I disagree.

Maybe I’m thinking this way because I am a father. I have two beautiful boys. I would gladly take a bullet for each of them. There is nothing in me that wants to see them experience heartbreak or true, deep suffering. When I think about my Christian roots—first in the Reformed/Calivinist church, and then in the Baptist church, then in and out of non-denominational churches, capped off with a Pentecostal church—I think of all the times I felt guilty, not good enough, unable to measure up to some standard, and on top of that, seeing what was obvious hypocrisy in those teaching me how to be “a follower of Christ”. Was I hungry for grace, hope, and love after that? Oh yeah. But at the same time, I think there is a measure of deep heart-and-mind-suffering that I went through—and I don’t think I needed to.

Our hearts long for peace, hope, and love. We long for this beautiful gift of Grace. It’s what our hearts are MADE for. Why not just let that longing take charge? I really think that if we raised our children in grace, hope, and love—the true Way of Jesus—from the start, and didn’t instill this sense of religion, this owning up, this guilty, shameful existence, that longing would grab hold and exponentially grow. Imagine if you were raised from the get-go knowing who you ARE, who you ARE made to be, who you ARE made in the image of, rather than who you should be, or what you aren’t. We would have a lot more joy, I think. And a lot less sinning. And a much better public image as a faith movement.

I know there are still religious Christians. I would venture to say more than there aren’t. I know my sons will have to deal with it at some point. But it is my prayer and hope that they be raised with a true sense of what grace is. What love is. What hope is. What peace is. So that they can be a witness of the true Gospel to Christians and non-Christians alike. A witness to the abundant life that can only be found in the Way of walking in love.

And I’m sure going to  try.

Resurrection day.

I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve been to many churches, been a part of many denominations. One thing all these churches agree on is the Resurrected Christ. That’s a good thing. But the view of the Resurrected Christ that I’ve taken part in my whole life goes something like this:

The tomb opens. It’s empty. The angels say “don’t be scared.” Then the disciples see Jesus wearing a blue sash with holes in his hands, and a smile on his face that says, somewhat sarcastically, “What were you worried about? Everything’s alright, baby!” And then we all say “Aww yay! Jesus is risen!” And go on with our lives Monday morning, eating leftover candy the Easter Bunny left in his eggs (seriously, am I the only one who doesn’t get that? Bunnies laying eggs?).

I may be exaggerating a little. I am. But you get it. We all know what our American culture has painted the Easter story to be. And believe me, I do think that some of that story is good. I kind of like it in a way. But the Resurrection is so much deeper than this.

This year, I am trying to really look deeper into Jesus’ eyes when I run into Him post-empty tomb. I am really trying to understand the depth and beauty of what taking part in His Resurrection means. And the deeper I go, the more unsettled I get.

Not a bad unsettled, necessarily. It’s more just realizing how big of a deal it is. And how much of the idea I still don’t really get.

It’s the miracle-of-all-miracles. It changed the world forever. It subverted the empirical system at the time, and continues to subvert any system we could ever think of. It didn’t cheat death, it defeated it. Most importantly, the Resurrection ushered in God’s mercy and grace to ALL OF US. Jesus leveled the playing field.

Before being nailed to the cross, Jesus knew more suffering than most of humanity knows. In that suffering, beyond atonement, God showed how much He loves us and identifies with our pain and suffering. And on the cross, Jesus was even worried. He felt forsaken. He seemed sure, yet unsure, that all of this was going to work. Jesus’ fully human side came out in full force during his last few moments on the cross. Jesus was fully with us, in a way that we could understand.

And yet, three days later, the tomb is empty. Jesus was victorious over death. We get to see the one place where we truly find life—in the Resurrected Christ.

In becoming human, giving himself to death, and then in defeating that death, God has shown us not the good news, but the best news: that EVERYONE has hope for victory because of the fact that HE IS RISEN.

Here is a short piece that I did for an event at our church that further illustrates this idea:

Don’t get me wrong, I love reason. I love logic. I love science. I absolutely love reading and learning. As a kid, I used to read encyclopedias for fun. And now, I still find myself getting sucked into 45-minute Wikipedia binges.

But the adverse of that, my faith is strong. My faith is real. I have had some real, unexplainable-by-reason-or-logic experiences with the Most High. I have seen the Father work in ways in my life that just can’t be explained by conventional ideas or coincidence. And to me, that’s alright.

The balance has been off lately. I’ve been deconstructing my faith for no other reason than deconstructing it. I’ve been pursuing knowledge far above the equally as (if not more) important experience.

Through prayer and listening, I feel like God has shown me tons of grace for this deconstruction, but He has given me a better blueprint for it.

I’m calling it “constructive deconstruction.”

My brother Evan is a bike mechanic. A damn good one, at that. I was thinking the other day about how he learned so much about bikes and how they work. He learned about them the same way other boys learn about mechanics and electronics and things: taking them apart. Deconstruction, not for the sake of breaking something, but for the sake of learning more about it, and possibly even improving on it. What are the core parts? How do they function? What is their purpose? What can I remove without losing that function or purpose?

I’m sure you can see where I’m going here. We can strip our faith down to it’s very core, learn more about what we really believe, and maybe improve on it by adding a little logic and reason to it all.

What does every bike have? A frame, a chain, pedals, handlebars, a seat, and wheels. Other things such as multiple gears, brakes, reflectors, water bottle holders, and splash guards definitely are good things. They serve their purpose. But they aren’t necessary to the function of the bike, right?

As a Christian, I have my orthodoxy. I have my Apostles’ and Nicene creeds. I have the very core, functional things of my faith: a triune creator-God, authority of Scriptures, salvation by grace through the resurrection of Jesus, a promise of hope and peace for the future, a community of brothers and sisters to stand with—you get the point. I can add other theologies and doctrines and lifestyle choices and other things on top of this that are all good and purposeful, but not essential. Just like a bike, we always benefit from learning more about it’s function and removing the unneeded things, to make our ride as light and efficient as possible. Not saying it’s easy—you will know what I mean if you’ve ever taken a fixed-gear bike for a ride.

I’ll take the analogy one step farther, which is God, through his grace, meeting us where we are at. My brother has a room full of bike parts: frames, wheels, gears, handlebars, shocks, and the like. He can custom-build a multitude of bikes for any occasion, any terrain. If he is going to be riding in the mountains or in the woods, he’ll throw some extra gears on, use a stronger frame, and use fat, knobby tires. If he’s going to be tooling around the city, chances are he’ll have nothing but thin road tires and a single, fixed gear. The bike is different, but it still has the same core parts, and still serves the same purpose: riding. Some people need certain types of theology, certain types of doctrine, certain takes on the Gospel in order to really “get” it. Some people need nothing more than the basics. Some people need some bells and whistles to help them move forward. But at it’s core, there’s still only one unchanging Gospel. One Gospel that serves one purpose.

For me, adding knowledge helps me find the beauty in the Gospel. I am constantly learning. Learning new stuff about the history of the Bible, the historical Jesus, the different cultures that the scriptures were written in—sometimes taking it to the point of questioning some core elements of my faith. But when I step back and look at it, I think to myself: “I know that I still need that wheel. I know I still need those handlebars.” That’s what keeps me pressing on towards Jesus. I know that He is real, and I still believe in the core doctrines and purpose of this faith I hold so dearly.

Lately, the scale has been tipped too far in the knowledge direction. I don’t want to become a gnostic. I don’t want to make knowledge my god, I want knowledge to compliment my God.  Sometimes I just need to remember what’s important.

Sometimes I need to replace the inner-tube on the tire to keep it inflated.

Sometimes I need to grease the chain up to keep the ride smooth.

And I thank God everyday for keeping me on the bike.

“Well, is it rooted in the Word?”

“Well, I’m not sure he is using the proper hermeneutic.”

“I don’t think her interpretation is a biblical one.”

I hear and read these phrases a lot. Maybe it’s just the people, blogs, and other reading/discussions I surround myself with. Maybe I’m just looking for it (probably this one). Regardless, it’s definitely a hot-button issue this day and age in Christendom. Usually along the left-right divide. Or the traditional-emerging divide. Or the Collin-and-his-other-Christian-friends divide. My question is why is it an issue?

This idea that I’ve got it pinned, I know what God REALLY meant. The fact that it starts to become “dangerous stuff” or “heretical” when we start to question the cultural norm of scriptural interpretation. This doesn’t sit well with me.

Why is it dangerous? Honestly, all the arguing and debating seems to be more dangerous to me. That seems to be the “unbiblical” part. Galatians 5:15 says “If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.” We aren’t going to move the Kingdom forward if we are sitting here bickering over who knows it best.

Generally, no matter what “team” you are on, what side you take, 99% of Christians agree that Jesus is the Son of God, and was crucified in our place, and that we take part in the graceful story of God through His resurrection. That we are “saved by grace, through faith.” And that there is no separation anymore between us and the Father. And that the Jesus way of abundant life is THE way of life. That’s the Gospel. And that’s some good news!

So my question is, if that story, that story of resurrection life is central to our view of the scriptures, are we really misinterpreting anything? Yeah we can argue about our views on whatever doctrine, but what does that REALLY matter at all when it comes down to it?

Yeah, I know, that’s the dangerous part. That’s where excusing sin comes in. That’s where we tell ourselves what our “itching ears” want to hear. And that’s where I start to struggle with this whole idea. But one thing I do believe is that the closer we are to Jesus, the closer we dig into His story, the more we follow in His ways, the easier it is for us to hear the conviction of the Holy Spirit. So, say my interpretation of some subject is wrong in God’s eyes. Well, even if that’s where I started, the closer I get to Jesus, the more open I will be to listening to the Holy Spirit’s correction.

But hey, I could be wrong, and I’m OK with that. We are just humans reading a book. Everything else is just Grace.

Today, we are done.

I have been reflecting on the last six weeks, and the absolute outpouring of blessing on our family. It’s been really easy to take it for granted, until looking back and seeing all of it. From friends and family coming and doing tile in the bathroom, doing the floors in the kitchen and bathroom, painting with us, cleaning, looking at our furnace, to financial blessings here and there (and without this, Christmas probably wouldn’t have happened this year), and even as simple as just being with us, spending time with us, and praying for us. It’s crazy and beautiful to see what a community of people will do for one another. Especially a community deeply rooted in a love for Christ.

As I was reflecting on this yesterday, a piece of scripture popped into my mind:

“For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.” – Matthew 18:20

Everything in me starts screaming “out of context!” Which is true. Using that scripture in this specific context does go against pretty much every part of my personal hermeneutic. But I also do believe that the the Word is a Living Word, and in this case, I really do think that there is something to this scripture as it relates to this situation.

In context, the verse is one of many talking about interpersonal relationships. We often use this verse to talk about God’s presence in our worship and fellowship gatherings, which personally I think is kind of a weak interpretation, but it kind of works in a feel-good way. The context is all talking about how relate to one another, especially in confronting one another and dealing with sin amongst our community.  But in that context of interpersonal relationships, I think it kind of works here.

I think it speaks a lot to a community of believers. We are made to be in community with one another. We are created in the image of a triune God, a God that eternally lives in community. Here we are, friends and family firmly rooted in Christ, and one family is in need, and literally EVERYONE steps up in their own ways and using their own gifts. In this type of community relationship, I find it impossible to NOT see God’s hand or feel His presence in it. I can’t take a step without bumping into Him somehow. It’s a beautiful thing, and I hope to keep experiencing it more and more, and give back in the same way that I’ve been given such blessing.

So, if you are reading this and you have directly been a part of our process over the last six weeks, thanks. We truly are “two or three” (which I think is just a way of saying people together) gathered in His name. And He is undeniably in our midst.

We’ve mostly been sitting in Hebrews 3:13: “encourage each other daily.” We’ve been talking a lot about gossip, a lot about idle talk, and a lot about just building each other up rather than the opposite. This has all been meaningful and awesome, and I know that many of us in our community have continued to talk about it and keep each other accountable in playing it out in our own lives, but I think there are a couple more applications of this encouragement idea outside of our typical viewpoint.

One of them is rebuke. Ugh, rebuke. REBUKE. What a scary old word. Truthfully, I hate the word. A lot. Hearing it generally makes me cringe. I don’t hate it because of its meaning. I hate it because of its stigma. I think to myself “why do we continue to use this word that really only makes a ton of sense to us Christians? Especially one that is so scary-sounding? Isn’t there a better word we can use instead?”

Oh yeah, encouragement.

Isn’t that really all it is? Or at least all it should be? In my opinion, a rebuke should never come out of any emotion other than joy. Joy that you know you are showing someone that there is a better way. A better way with abundant life. A rebuke should be an encouragement to the person, an encouragement to turn around and look at the life they are missing because of whatever sin or attitude they are steeped in. A rebuke should never discourage someone. It should never leave the person feeling guilty. It should be an encouragement full of GRACE. Isn’t that how our Father does it?

This kind of leads to the other application I was talking about: evangelism.

How differently do you think this world would look at us Christians if our evangelism was nothing more than graceful encouragement? The same as I was talking before—an encouragement to open their eyes and see the abundant life they are missing.

What if the street preacher, instead of pointing out someone and telling them they are doomed, decided to gracefully let them know that there is a better way to live? A way of life that is full of abundance? I think we would start to see more and more true repentance, and less and less hate for the Gospel. It’s not forsaking the truth, it’s just taking the focus off of death, and moving it onto life.

So, I say lets keep—or start—encouraging. Lets start showing people that there’s more to LIFE than this.