Tonight I fell on my ass

I decided I needed to take a walk. So I walked around the church grounds where I live, and sat on the bleachers at the sports field. With Bon Iver's beautiful music in my ears, I sat and watched the sky. 

I saw one of the longest shooting stars I've ever seen. It struck me that I hadn't taken the time to look at the sky in a long time. I've never sat still enough, to just gaze at the beauty of the night sky. I had the urge to lie down on the grass and just watch, but I was wearing a white shirt and didn't want to get it dirty. 

I found a football in the middle of the field, and I began shooting at the goals. After a couple of sublime finishes, I lined myself up for a shot, and as I connected with the ball, my feet gave way beneath me in the soft ground, and I landed on my ass. 

It was 10:30pm, it was dark, and there was no-one else around, though I still had a quick look to make sure. Feeling a little embarrassed for myself, I quickly began to get up when I realised that since I was on the ground already, I should just lie there. And so I did. 

I lay and gazed at the night sky for 15 minutes. 

How seldom we allow ourselves the freedom to be still, and rest. We feel the constant need to be busy, to entertain ourselves, to be productive. We find tasks to keep ourselves from having nothing to do. We aimless wonder on Facebook looking for something to provide interest. 

Anything to avoid being alone.

I'm 23 and single, and honestly, despite many great friends, at times I feel immensely lonely. Sometimes I'll do anything to avoid facing that loneliness.

Tonight, as I lay in the middle of the field, I experienced a deep peace. A place to rest, and be alone, loneliness and brokenness embraced, rather than hidden or avoided. 

Sometimes it takes me to fall on my ass to take the space and silence, to just be at peace, to rest, and to be present, taking in the goodness of life, good music, the stars, the gentle breeze. And perhaps in the stillness, hear the whispers of my own heart, and the voice of another. 

"I want to leave a memory"

It was our Wednesday night Bible Study with a small group our Middleschool students, and we were looking at Jesus' final prayer before his crucifixion in John 17. We were sharing what our final pray would be like. Among some fairly standard answers, one of our girls said something so profound. "I want to have had an impact on people".

This 13 year old girl recognises something that many adults still don't get. Most adults "just want their kids to be happy". Now of course it's not wrong to want your kids to be happy, but it portrays the mindset of our world: the goal is happiness. 

I want to be happy. I want to have joy, to laugh, to experience life in all its fullness. But life in all its fullness also recognises the darkness that exists. It recognises that we can't and won't always be happy. It recognises that while we may be experiencing joy, others experience hurt, sometimes even as a result of our joy.

I'm not ok with living a life centred on myself, and my own happiness. And nor is this Middleschooler. We want to leave an impact on our world, that others will have been blessed because of us. Living that kind of life requires us to scrap that fluffy, self-centred mindset of personal mindset, to see our life as having more meaning than satisfying our own happiness. 

It reminds me of a beautiful song by JJ Heller, "When I Leave" from her album "Only Love Remains". Click here to listen.

Am I too busy chasing a temporary fortune
That my priorities get lost along the road
The seasons bring their moments
They linger for an instant
They never wait for you to pay the debts you owe

When I leave I want to leave a memory filled with love
The kind you don’t forget
When I go I want to be known
As one who lived with no regrets

If life is like a flower
Am I doing all that’s in my power
To leave a fragrance behind
It’s time to count my blessings
Forget about my savings account for a while

I want them to say
What a glorious day
She had so much to gain
But she gave it away
And I want them to see something different in me
And that I’m going to be free

Some glad morning when this life is over
I’ll fly away
To a home on God’s celestial shore
I’ll fly away
When I leave I want to leave a memory...

Worthy is the Lamb?

Ever had that moment when you really think about the words of the song you are singing?

We were standing in the final night of the camp, in the closing worship after the prayer and response time. The band were playing a song called "All We Have is Christ" (to which the words of the bridge are: "worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb who was slain".

Everything within me wants to raise my arms outstretched and belt out the words, because He IS worthy. He is the Saviour who came to save God's people not with the sword but with sacrifice. In humility and love he laid down his life for us, and in power he overcame death that could not hold him. He IS worthy.      

                      

Yet this was one of these moments. It's really easy for me to stand there during worship and cry out praise to Jesus. But what about the day before when I was updating my Twitter and unsure of whether or not I should tweet about what our camp was about. I was embarrassed about how I might be perceived I tweeted honestly. It's a silly, but really example. Is Jesus worthy? Is he worthy of me being unashamed of the life I live?      

                      

Is Jesus worthy of my time and attention daily? Is he worthy of me taking time to read the Bible and pray? Is Jesus worthy of me paying a cost, putting things on the line, to follow him and to hold out the hope of new life to others?     

                      

Jesus IS worthy. Fact. But there is also a decision that I have to make every day. IS he worthy? Worship in a retreat, during a session is safe. Singing those words there and then, is safe. Real worship occurs when I declare those words with my life and choices. 

Luke 9:23

New International Version (NIV)

 ²³ Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.

The Wolfpack

"Go and sit with them" one of our students dared me. Why on earth would I want to go and sit beside a small group of Middle School girls, in the middle of the school lunch room, at the risk of being arrested by the Sheriff, to sit with "The Wolfpack"?

Lunch rooms in the American schools that I've visited, are not a far cry from what I've seen in the movies. Cliques. And this was one clique that even if there were not teachers and a Sheriff standing by, that I would still be afraid of.      

                      

But he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept pestering me, as did the friends around him. "Go and make them Christian", to which I cringed, and replied "I'm not going to do that". 'Make them Christian' isn't really a desire of mine. In fact, it makes me want to vomit.     

                      

But what was in my heart was the desire to model to this student and his friends, that living out the love of Jesus means crossing boundaries, not to 'make them Christian', but because we are called to love others, as He first loved us.      

                      

So I plucked up the courage and sat with them for final few minutes of lunch. One literally ran to another table. The others were warm and talkative. I asked them about "the wolfpack". Their response? "Others just started calling us that".     

                      

As I drove away I reflected on how this little group of warm (and apparently terrified girls) sat at a table on their own with this label, not because they chose it, but because they were labelled.      

                      

Sometimes people choose labels, but often they are assigned. It breaks my heart when I think of the people who have been labelled, often by people who claim faith in Jesus, and of course, by myself also.     

                      

Goth. Geek. Gay. Freak. Loner. Skank.     

                      

Even within church and youth ministry, we easily box people up.      

                      

Sitting with "wolfpack" reminded me of how my love and friendship, and that of Jesus, is kept from many people because we put them in a box and built up barriers which stopped us from seeing them as they really are.  

Creating Spaces

My time with God this morning was altogether unremarkable. 

I woke up tired, not really all that excited about the day ahead. I ate my breakfast (Lucky Charms of course) on the sofa, and turned round to look at the prayer corner that my housemate had set up in our living room. I had been away for the weekend and had little space to spend in solitude, and in recent weeks my discipline of praying has been pretty irregular. 

So I dropped myself down at the prayer corner, and sat in silence for a while, read the final part of the book I had been reading, 1 Peter. There was no magic spark that suddenly gave me excitement and fuel for the day ahead. I barely managed to string together a thought or sentence to God. Altogether it was 15 or 20 minutes of very little. Seemingly altogether unremarkable.

Or at least that's how prayer can seem sometimes. You ask yourself the question, "what am I even doing here?", you wonder if God is listening or if you're just talking to yourself. Sometimes my prayer times are passionate, and I'm excited or moved deeply. Others like this morning, they are hard, and seem pointless.

I've been learning from a writer called Henri Nouwen. He talks about the discipline of creating space, solitude and silence in your day. This space is not necessarily about talking, or doing anything, but simply creating space to be before God. Whether or not we feel anything is not the point. Prayer is a discipline to create space where we open ourselves to God. We may not feel anything, or feel changed. Sometimes we will.

But God is not a "feel-good" tap to fill us with happiness. Sometimes, it will feel altogether unremarkable. We're creating spaces.

We Found Love

Rihanna's new single and the accompanying video have caught my attention recently. Not just because Belfast was chosen as the "hopeless place". Thanks for that luv. 

"We found love in a hopeless place". From the first time I heard the song it fascinated me. The video is bizarre, graphic and some have understandably found it a little disturbing, particularly in that it seems to glorify in particular drug use and an altogether pretty reckless lifestyle. Some would argue that the video is promoting and encouraging young people to engage in this lifestyle, others would say that she's simply reflecting the current culture amongst our young people.       

   

We cannot be naive as to place all responsibility on individuals like Rihanna, but it is also obvious that such figures have a huge influence on what young people view as acceptable or even beneficial.    

   

But I've been inspired by a fellow youth minister to look beyond the initial shock and opposition to the values of the video. Instead of choosing to reject the video outright, what is this telling me about our current culture? Is there a way to engage with what it?    

   

The video opens with a female voice, quiet, soft and broken...

"...you almost feel ashamed, that someone could be that important, that without them you feel like nothing.... you feel hopeless like nothing can save you. And when it's over and it's gone, you almost wish that you could have all that bad stuff back, so that you have the good." 

The video shows a messy, volatile relationship based on intense experiences, often involving risky or illegal activity. 2 young adults looking for a good time, and for love. It ends with Rihanna walking out on the relationship with her boyfriend lying on the floor either wasted or stoned. It would seem that eventually she gets fed up and walks out, knowing how unhealthy the relationship is, but the final scene brings us back to the start... is the bad stuff worth it, so that we can experience the good?   

   

What I experience watching this video, is a deep cry to experience real love. A deep desire to be connected to something, to someone. Even if that means taking risks and enduring the bad.   

   

Someone once commented on the AIDS crisis, that even in the glaring possibility of a deadly disease, people were willing to take that risk on to find and experience love.   

   

Our postmodern world emphasises experience, reflected in a rejection of traditional values and life patterns (eg. later marriage and child-birth). Yet this world though very different, still leaves us yearning for the experience of love, of intimacy.    

   

When we think of Jesus, we often think of church - clean, nice buildings full of nice people, in nice clothes. Very different images from what we see in this video. When we see videos like Rihanna's we often conclude that these are "unholy", "ungodly"... Often they make our hearts hard. Yet what challenges me, is that Jesus was found in these hopeless places. That the love and intimacy we yearn for, can be found in hopeless places, because that's often where Jesus was found: eating with tax collectors and sinners, talking to prostitutes.    

   

It's all too easy to comment on the glorification of drug use and sex in Rihanna's video. I could easily point out how she is leading the young people of our world astray. And I wouldn't be wrong. In fact it's important to be engaged in these discussions. But if that's all we do, then we lack the compassion and the courage of Jesus, who wasn't only interested in pointing out sin, but He saw beyond their behaviour and saw their hearts, their brokenness and their longing for love.   

   

When the young people I work with reflect the culture around them, my job is not to point out their sin and tell them to stop. Naming sin is important, but so much more than that, I long to  help them explore and navigate their world, to understand their and identify brokenness in contrast to the life and hope that Jesus brings.    

   

The whore, the tax collector, my friend Melanie, and myself. We found love in a hopeless place. Because Jesus doesn't just hang out in churches. 

Who are you?

What is your identity? What is my identity? Who am I? I'm a son. I'm a brother. I'm Northern Irish. A citizen of the UK. I'm a male. I'm white. I'm a Christian. I'm a member of the Presbyterian Church. I'm a youth minister.  

These are all part of my identity. Yet they don't satisfy me. To me they all seem fragile, and all temporary. I am what they call "a people person". I consider that to be part of my identity. It comes closer to satisfying me, because it speaks of who I really am. It speaks of something more than just labels and categories. Yet even then I ask myself, why am I a people person? How did I get this way? Am I simply a product of my past, of situations and influences?  

In preparing to speak to a group of Christians at Brentwood High School this morning, I realised something that was at the heart of my decision to follow Jesus. In fact that phrase doesn't satisfy what truly happened when I was 12. I wasn't just deciding to follow Jesus, I was giving my life to Jesus. I feel uncomfortable using that phrase because it's seen as religious cliche, but to put it any other way would be to dumb down the significance of that encounter with Jesus. His love displayed in its fullness on the cross, the giving of His life as a display of love, compelled me to do the same in return. I remember praying those words, that I wanted to give my life to Him because He gave His for mine. I can't remember if I knew the verse at the time, but I was praying 1 Corinthians 6:19/20:

"you are not your own... you have been bought at a price"

I believe that this changed my life, because it shifted my identity from flags, characteristics, sports, talents and labels, to something much greater and much more satisfying. My identity is in Jesus.   

Why is that significant? Because my deepest desire is to know who I truly am. And the labels, the categories and even the characteristics, only portray a limited and restricted perspective. They are all bound within the limits of time. But in Jesus, I understand that I have a purpose, and an existence beyond the limits of time. In Jesus I understand that I was created by a God, and that He wants to interact with me. In Jesus I understand my brokenness, and that I live in a broken world. In Jesus I understand that I was meant to experience life in its fullness. In Jesus I understand that I am worth dying for.   

Of all the earthly labels that I have, I think 2 of the most dangerous are probably "Christian" and "youth minister". They are the 2 that most regularly lead me from what my true identity is. Sometimes I deceive myself thinking that these labels mean that I'm sorted. When I'm satisfied by these labels, I'm distracted from my daily need and desire to be satisfied by the living Jesus. Like John 15 describes, life flows from the vine, and if we disconnect ourselves from it, we wither and die.   

You are not your own, you were bought at a price.   

It's an identity that satisfies my deepest longing. It's in Jesus.