i've got a FEVER...

...99.7 to be exact. I presume it was closer to 102 last evening before I began a regular diet of O.J. and ibuprofen. Convulsing in my bed for hours, I would begin resting soundly, only to be shaken every three hours by aching bones and a sweating forehead.

I make a joke of how rarely I get sick. Everything belonged in my mouth as a preschooler: from quarters to toes to a spilled drink on the table. Enduring a laundry list of infections through elementary school, I suddenly grew healthy. I theorize that our fixation with anti-bacterial products is sentencing today's youth to a lifetime of weak immune systems.

Fevers have become such a rare occurrence that I can remember my last two. In eighth grade, I returned from a bowling outing with my friend's church when I began shaking uncontrollably. In college, a weekend visit to my parents' house was ruined by shivers while watching The Matrix. The circumstances were far from mysterious, but God used both occurrences to speak.

In between chatters, I asked God what He wanted. I've hidden from His presence the past couple months, and replaced Him with an idol. It began innocently enough, but I have recently made intentional efforts to place Him second in my life, and this has given Satan a foothold.

God offered one instruction in response: "Worship me."

My jaw strengthened as I managed the first song that came to mind...

Oh God, you are my God
And I will ever praise you
Oh God, you are my God
And I will ever praise you
I will seek you in the morning
And I will learn to walk in your ways
And step by step you'll lead me
And I will follow you all of my days

I have a confession: I haven't felt much like worshiping for a couple years. I haven't purchased a single volume of inspirational literature, nor have I browsed the worship racks at a Christian bookstore. As God began placing my faith practices on the scales, worship was the last to be evaluated, and now has been the last to be redeemed.

When I first began this journey, I would drive 25 minutes from my apartment in Kansas City to the nearest Family Christian to keep up with the latest tracks. Separated from a functional Body, I visited an alternative church on Sunday evenings for the opportunity to sing, take communion, and shake hands with the person next to me.

I am certain that God deserves our worship, thus if He desired to strip it of its usefulness, He intends to redeem it with something pure. Shortly before leaving KC, I placed my familiar sacrifice before Him, only for Him to inquire if I thought He was hungry (Psalm 50).

God began to redeem my other practices (service, discipleship, prayer, Sabbath, communion...love), but He never gave me worship. I confessed to my church that the words seemed hollow. What was once the lifespring of my faith suffered abandonment. I trusted my brothers and sisters when they were led to worship, but I never initiated it and never requested it. I couldn't figure out how to flip the switch.

This from the guy that revolved his social life around collegiate choir, led worship in multiple ministries and camps, and acted awkwardly humble when others complimented his voice -- even while fighting his flesh not to intentionally impress. The voice of my praise became strangely silent.

It feels as if God will no longer allow my words of praise to be in contradiction with my love for other idols. Perhaps on this occasion, God is less concerned with redeeming a facet of the church, and more interested in calling me to His Lordship. I can scrutinize the corporate experience that Americans hold dear, but this does not rid me of what should be a natural desire to praise. If He would have the format redeemed, that's fully on His shoulders. But aside from this redemption, He would still have me praise with an honest and willing heart.

the final act of consecration

Few believers would purposely resist their identity in Christ. On the contrary, we cling to the hope afforded through our identity and inheritance while enduring the process of consecration. We believe that by ridding our lives of the profane, we will be empowered to walk in this identity to its fullest measure.

This theology is sound, but often we are mistaken in our definition of "profane." Whereas we desire God to remove the portions of our lives that are bad -- according to our own connotation -- God longs to remove everything that is common.

I assumed that by cleansing myself of fear, coarse joking, lustful attitudes, and earthly pursuits that the work would be complete. Granted, this was a necessary start, but we do not become holy vessels through the mere disposal of blatant sin:

Now in a large house there are not only gold and silver vessels, but also vessels of wood and of earthenware, and some to honor and some to dishonor. Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from these things, he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work. (2 Tim. 2:20-21, NASB)

This isn't an awful translation, but the Greek word translated "dishonor" is ATIMOS, which used in a comparative context implies a subjective indignity. In other words, the "dishonorable" items are not bad in and of themselves, but they are undignified when held against the honorable articles.

The distinction is clear in Paul's metaphor. All of us can see the common usefulness in wood or clay: they serve a multitude of physical purposes, from building to dining to storing. Many of these articles even hold an aesthetic value beyond their practicality, and they fill our homes for this very reason.

Now compare these articles to those made of refined metal. Our best china looks fabulous until graded against a sterling silver plate. A wooden dresser may give the bedroom character, but will not demand our attention if placed next to a solid gold trunk. Paul isn't requesting that we purge our lives of evil; he's suggesting that we cleanse ourselves of anything that lacks a noble purpose for His honorable kingdom.

What does this have to do with identity? I believe that many of us have found freedom over deadly sin, but still lack a certain "usefulness" to our Lord. We want to carry our identity in Christ, but only within the context of our worldly identity. If our greatest use to the world becomes our ability to entertain, our capacity to reason, or our connectivity to modern culture, then our homes will be cluttered with junk compared to the things of Christ!

I struggle with this because I want to relate. I want the lost to know that I listen to cool music, will share an espresso or beer with them, and can produce a witty comeback for their respect. I want women to know that I'm considerate and a good listener. I want men to know that I can explain the appropriate use of a double switch. I want my parents to know that I can take care of myself, and my boss to know that I'm reliable. I want...

It's all clutter. I fear that cleansing myself of my accepted identities will leave me empty and boring. But living according to my identity in Christ requires the death of common things. What eternal reward is there for my earthly reputation? How does my Godly usefulness suffer when I waste time nursing my conflicting identities? What do I truly hold most valuable?

Moreover, they shall teach My people the difference between the holy and the profane, and cause them to discern between the unclean and the clean...and it shall be with regard to an inheritance for them, that I am their inheritance; and you shall give them no possession in Israel -- I am their possession. (Ezekiel 44:23,28)

the dangling conversation

Flattery doesn't travel very far in my life. A 60-year-old woman -- one that has lived an incredibly difficult life -- thinks that I'm the ultimate catch. My sarcastic, auto-piloted response: "Clearly."

Enduring a stormy childhood of sexual abuse and a lifetime of emotionally abusive lovers, she has come to the conclusion that young women have no idea what they need until they've suffered a multitude of wounds. For all the talk of men being the physically-minded gender, she admits that women speak well of their desires verbally, but ultimately pursue the hunky guy that tells them everything they want to hear.

I don't want to paint a sweeping generality: this is her opinion and not mine. But if her analysis proves to be the norm rather than the exception -- unfortunately, my experience as a man and a youth minister support this claim -- then I am due for grave disappointment in my longing for restoration.

Over the past year, God has done a work in my heart concerning my "purity pride," and this passage has rattled incessantly in my brain:

...Do not call anything impure that God has made clean. (Acts 10:13)

But what happens when the restored vessel continues to live according to her perceived impurity? If a woman finds herself of little worth, she will continue to offer herself to the pawn shop owner, regardless of the invaluable stamp the Father has placed on her. Male dumpster divers are more than eager to take advantage of the dire circumstance.

I can tackle lies by the truckload with His truth, but if shattered women perceive a broken man like myself to be beyond their worth, how much more will they run from the grace of God?

No answers today -- only questions.

dude...what's that smell?

Of my five physical senses, one works overtime: my eyes are nearsighted, my hearing is selective, my taste is dulling, and my touch leaves something to be desired. (Ha!)

From the time I was a toddler, my nose picked up everything. My mom first took my brother and I for swim lessons at the age of four. My body has always been suspicious of the physics behind human buoyancy, so while I enjoyed the water, this was not my finest hour. Approaching the end of one particularly grueling session, my nose began to pick up the scent of the nearby molasses factory. Having already drained my emotional reservoir on the lesson, I began to blubber on account of the scent’s intensity. What began as a solid cry quickly transitioned to an unsightly weep when the adults didn’t believe me. They thought I had made it up to be removed from the pool. Where’s mom when you need her?

Ten years ago, I had innocently attended a dinner party, when a fresh face sat next to me on the couch. She fell asleep while we watched a DVD, and unknowingly rested her head upon my shoulder. The newly released scent that transferred to my clothing outlasted the season of dating, falling in love, and heartbreak that followed. A decade later, I curse the day I first encountered Love Spell.

[Ladies and gentlemen, if you purchase a product that markets itself as a means to charm, do not feign surprise when it serves as such. CBS CARES.]

Just this evening I was lounging at my parents’ house when my nose picked out a fruity sensation. I began rummaging around the living room and inhaling near the open screen door for the source. My pup-like nostrils led me to kitchen, where my mom was finishing the dishes. I asked if she smelled something, and she offered, “The dishwater?” I leaned toward the dirty pool, which disclosed a sensory array of apples and cherry blossoms. That’s right…I’m just that good.

While I may demonstrate more obsession than others, mankind has been created with the mental capacity to attach scent to circumstance. These particular neural firings tell us when something is burning, when it is about to rain, or when your good friend Liz has entered the room. Since our synapses transfer this information quicker than we reason how we should feel about the information, instinct takes over. We respond according to our association with the scent.

Paul uses this wonderful analogy to describe our interactions with the world. Many of us would like to portray an image of Christianity to our own liking, which usually means to others’ own liking. Paul does not assume this liberty:

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task? Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God. (2 Cor. 2:14-17, emphasis added)

I’ve heard a lot of discussion about what “we” should call ourselves. Many believe that the term “Christian” has lost its luster, and that an association with this term is a detriment to our ministry. I try not to concern myself with such matters. If someone covers an onion with a solid orange peel, they will not fool me for long. It would not require the peeling of the skin for me to identify the bitter sting of the onion.

We give humanity's “sense of scent” too little credit. Yes, there are plenty masquerading a false message or lifestyle in the name of Christ, and they provide due injustice to our name. But I have to presume that people -- whether Christian or not -- own a brain.

Those who carry the aroma of Christ cannot be concerned with the acceptance of their scent. To those living in His grace, we are like my mom’s pool of dishwater -- perhaps something short of physical perfection, but nonetheless wafting a message of hope to those being lured by Jesus. I have met many unbelievers that have cringed at the name of Christianity, but are drawn to the authentic aroma of His truth because it cannot be fabricated by the hypocrites.

Likewise, those bent on living in darkness -- whether Christian or not -- will loathe the fragrance, but we cannot concern ourselves with this. Our aim is to represent the aroma’s source, “like men sent from God,” so that the perishing might know the presence of Life.

vacation

Steps to a successful vacation

1) Read a new book
2) Get outdoors for some yardwork
3) Schedule an eye appointment and reframe my face
4) Take a daily stroll downtown
5) Sleep normal hours
6) Enjoy happy hour and a Sox game
7) Discover a new coffee joint and drink a double short
8) Call an old friend
9) Find furniture for the living room
10) Thrift shop for used CDs and DVDs
11) Work on my writing (dispose poor habits)
12) Read and interact with a bajillion blogs

Any other ideas? I'm open to persuasion.

Activities to avoid

1) Staying up all night
2) Setting unrealistic expectations
3) Wearing socks
4) Posting new blog entries

The Ledger will feature new material on the 18th. See you then!

different than me, yet always the same

It's funny where I find the greatest conversation...

I shared third shift with a young black woman: a single mother, a product of a single mother, surviving as a refugee in suburbia so that her elementary school daughter has a chance to succeed. I asked her how the school system treats her daughter. She says that her daughter quietly keeps to herself, but she's received the treatment: from peers calling her the n-word to her bus driver throwing her off the bus for a disciplinary matter (an event caught on camera).

We talked about black and white, men and women. Black women are expected to dress presentably for their man -- serve as a trophy. I once experienced this first hand. A resident asked me how she looked. I told her she looked fine for a volleyball game. We entered the gym and her campus boyfriend said, "Damn girl! Why don't you do something with yourself?" She looked at me like I should have known.

In contrast, I find it comical that white women dress up for themselves (and for other white women). Rarely are white men concerned with the public status of their significant other; a white man is more likely to become jealous if their girlfriend attracts too much attention from other men or at the expense of their own pride. It reminded me of the Cedar Point phenomenon: girls dressed in their summer nothings, and the dude can't keep his hands off, as if he's worried about losing his possession.

White men play dibs with women; black men keep it real. Same sin, different manifestation.

I tentatively approached spirituality last evening, but I gave it one shot. I shared a true story told by another co-worker, a Wiccan by confession. Apparently, her 6-year-old daughter returned from first grade and told her the real meaning of Christmas. Blast those public school educators! My junior high teacher only tried to convert us to communism. A first grader sharing Jesus with her Wiccan mom? Rebellion takes on redeemable forms.

BOOM -- I was in! The strong woman before me was appalled at the unclean spirits that our co-worker would bring into her household. We agreed that this is the kind of stuff one doesn't invite. Another point of emphasis: I told her that white people are generally skeptical of things they haven't seen for themselves. They might accept Wicca or Masonry almost on a lark. This was mind-blowing to her. You won't find too many black men and women (or Hispanic for that matter) that deny the existence of spirits. Remember that we often build our God around our beliefs.

I'll spare the details, but here's the conclusion: white people deny the existence of Satan's minions, Latinos are deathly afraid or superstitious concerning them, and African-Americans acknowledge their spiritual authority, but often market it for personal gain. Same source of deception, different manifestation.

Despite the cultural differences, we realize that we are two children of the same God, battling the same enemy, through the same authority of the Holy Spirit. I relish this unity and discovery of truth, even at 4:36 in the morning.

spiritual amnesia

Hi. My name is Anthony, and I'm struggling with faith.

This may not seem tragic. I know many who have distrusted God and lived to tell about the redemption. I know I've had many doubts before, but they've always been accompanied by a vicious pursuit towards obedience. Even when following with resistance, I have always done so, because He has always shown Himself to be worthy of my trust. My life has been a running history of "God came through" kind of moments. So faith has traditionally been the least of my struggles.

It's my apathy that concerns me. I've never been one to coast. But now, a part of me is ready to give up.

Byron and I met for Bible study today, and the common theme was thanksgiving. We sorted through some Psalms, and Byron was taken by the number of times the writer recounts the history of God's redemption. He was there in Egypt. He was there before entering Canaan. He fought off the Philistines. The Israelites had a way of forgetting where they had come from, and who brought them to their current place. Giving thanks in recounting God's previous redemption gave them courage in active despair.

This has been missing in my life. I've forgotten where I've come from, and who brought me here. I haven't thanked Him for my salvation, for years of ministry that has produced righteous men and women, or for the way He provided a body when I was laboring solo...twice.

Thanks to God for His wondrous work in my life! Thanks to Him for rescuing me from my shame! Thanks for abundant life! Thanks for a family tree of spiritual descendants!

Thank you Jesus, for your love and healing arms of comfort :)

where do i begin?

I'm too stubborn...

*To admit that living alone is detrimental to my spiritual life

*To pray for my enemies, even though Jesus said I should

*To initiate compassion or affection with my family, while remaining the youngest

*To allow myself to miss St. Louis

*To talk about feeling hurt over past relationships

*To wrestle for the floor when others want to hear themselves speak

*To give up the floor when I feel others have said enough

*To invest in those who have already rejected me

*To introduce myself to neighbors, when I'm the new guy in town

*To follow the cool kids to wordpress, even though it's platform is superior

*To continue being a romantic in a culture that disregards purity

*To thank God for the millions of blessings, upon His denial of one

*To share the Gospel with rich folk

*To play games that I expect to lose

*To be offended in public

*To tell Jesus what I want

Is it any wonder my faith is dry?

like a storm over the sea

Because you
You're as tameless as an ocean
I want to love you but commotion
Oh it ravages me whole
And me
I'm as dramatic as the thunder
My lightning scares her, she rolls over
Oh yeah she needs to get some sleep

From "Aretha's Gold" by Wild Sweet Orange

"No greater love" bears dangerously close. I've tried to know a patient kind -- hardly modeled by a Lion's roar. He ravages and mauls, tears into beating heart with vicious desperation! I am to know you with less ferocity? I should turn from your fragile insecurity and acknowledge you as waste? No! I would deny Him if I could not love you for redemption. So run away, my beloved, from eyes that only filter truth, from lips that utter unbearable intensity. Run away to calm waters and hollow ambitions. Run away to sweet lips and sweeter oblivion! I will wait; this will serve the fruit of patience, but upon your return I will know you still. Not with hands, lips, or flesh: I will know the lovely exposure of your heart. We will still be inadequate; we will not be anchors. No promise of stable water or functional sail. We will splash as one among the deep in wild romance -- He will be our rock. I will not tame nor move my gaze from telling eyes. Only plunging into blue, through wet or dry cheek, on call for smile or frown. Come quickly my love -- do not despair our time apart. The fullness of His love will heal our wounds.

an accepted division in the church

Back when I was writing five notes a week on my Facebook site, God had placed on my heart the discussion of typical “gender study” topics for the sake of restoring the generally poor relationship between male and female. While anything healthy I had to offer was through His grace to use me as an instrument of truth, these discussions gathered quite the following as single men and women shared their wisdom, trials, and misinterpretations for everyone to see.

As a result, I had been asked to come speak at a multi-church spring break youth camp and help organize breakouts with the teens. While I was initially drawn to what looked like a promising opportunity, I became disappointed when the youth leaders decided during planning sessions to implement the conventional church tactic of divide and conquer: girls in one room, boys in the other. After explaining to my go-between that the effectiveness of my ministry is inherently through its inclusive nature, I later declined the engagement. It was explained that the leaders would all feel more “comfortable” if the breakouts were separate.

This may be a cynical view on the well-established institution of men’s and women’s ministries: more often than not, I feel that their exclusivity perpetuate the marriage covenant’s lack of communication, a deficiency established prior to the wedding. I remember cringing at the number of middle-aged women that shared their husband’s deficiencies with one another while gathering before a church service; I can only imagine what happens behind closed doors. I certainly support the idea of sisters in Christ meeting together to share in the encouragement of their femininity, but when women begin disparaging their husbands as dim-witted drones incapable of understanding, women’s ministry serves only as a pre-planned vent session. Liberating or not, this is sin. These conversations should be had first between husband and wife, second with the help of trusted parties with husband and wife present.

If men and women spent as much time communicating with one another as they did reading books and discussing the differences of gender among their own, we would probably have this junk aired out by now. Teenagers and college students are remarkably open to such discussions, but we inevitably separate them enough for the “security” of the private discussion, and they quickly learn to view gender relations as an uphill battle.

I would like to raise one question: if men understand men, and women understand women, what is to be gained through exclusive discussions at the hand of the most respected “expert” of our own gender? It does little for me to read a book about a woman’s true desires from a male psychologist or pastor, and a female author has no greater understanding of what makes a man tick. Sure, there’s a market for it. But we are relegated to gross assumptions about one another, even in our best attempts -- always a fantastic tool of the enemy, whether regarding race, age, or gender.

I had originally hoped that the blogging community would offer a greater opportunity for this discussion, but I find that men and women writing the most enlightened things about masculinity and femininity still target their own gender in the discussion. I can’t help but read these awesome discoveries and consider it a great loss that they are not being shared.

We cannot find shelter in the more comfortable format of preaching to the choir and continue to harbor complaints about the opposite sex. I believe that we lose the right to expect change in gender relationships if we are unwilling to express our hopes to the opposite sex. I recognize that I am a fallen human being, full of misconceptions about every individual different than myself. I acknowledge that these misconceptions can cause me to say ignorant or hurtful things, even when I intend otherwise. In my opinion, light is always better than darkness -- even when it blinds us. I don’t believe that gender should be an exception.

fatherless and ashamed

Two residents at work "graduated" from our therapy program today. Until the kids are shuffled around campus, our unit will be down to five girls. Our unit caters to teenage females that struggle with self-harm and substance abuse. For many, we are the final stop for those being transitioned back to the care of their families.

Of the five that remain, each of them has experienced sexual and/or physical abuse at the hand of a male. None of them have two parents still together; only two have a dad in the picture at all, one of which is mentally ill. Three of them exhibit poor sexual boundaries with other females, and one has been actively living a homosexual lifestyle since age 14. The two identifying themselves as heterosexual have highly volatile relationships with their single mothers.

These are girls that most will never get a chance to know. The majority of their "mainstream" classmates know them as the class-clown, the expelled fighter, or the one who's locker was raided. They offer parents the luxury of distinguishing between the "good girl" and the "bad girl." To most, these girls have become their negative behavior.

I have to remind myself what a privilege it is to know the fragile girl behind the label, to be able to serve them. Yes, my primary job description is supervision and discipline, but this is not rewarding in itself. My day is better each time my words or concern make them smile. My work is a success each time the girls walk away from a conversation with a better understanding of what makes them do the things they do. As a personal reward, I am filled with joy when they recognize who I am to them.

One of my residents has an uncanny ability to say whatever comes to her mind. While this often gets her in trouble, I value the way she wears her heart in her sleeve. She enjoys poking at my seeming lack of fashion. She has made it her personal responsibility to correct my visual faux pas and educate me about girly stuff.

I exclaim, "Tell me what I'm looking at!" as she checks out her contraband, a large assortment of applicators for eyes, lashes, lips, etc. She always responds, "Even straight guys need to know this stuff, Mr. Marks! It'll help you impress some girl!" I express that she should be thankful I am so uneducated.

Yesterday morning we took a two mile walk along the riverfront, along with girls from two other units. My "fashionista" was walking with two girls that didn't know me; I stood directly behind them as we brought up the rear of the group. Their conversation turned to a less than savory topic, and one of the girls quickly nudged my resident, trying to quiet her down. She boasted confidently, "Mr. W doesn't care!" The other girl gazed at her intently and whispered, "That's not Mr. W." My resident turned around with a mortified expression and yelled, "Mr. Marks!!!" She says that my eyes make her feel guilty.

One of my former residents didn't like to act up in front of me. She would throw huge tantrums when I was off the unit, and when I returned from an errand she would yell, "Get Mr. Marks out of here! I don't want him here!" It wasn't that she couldn't physically act shameful in front of me; she didn't want me to see her like that.

I have learned that no woman, young or old, wants to be shamed in front of a man that they respect. This may explain the plight of the fatherless world: with few respectable men comes a variety of shameful actions. I don't mean to imply that a teenager with a loving father is incapable of making bad choices. But they are more likely to make these choices in the darkness, where they do not have to gaze into their father's eyes to see his disappointment.

But a true father offers more than just disappointment over their daughters shame. They also demonstrate the compassion that can only be known in a father's love. They will do anything to protect their little girl, and it may come across a little neurotic at times. They will assume the strain of the relationship if it means that their daughter is safe.

It's probably no surprise that my residents (like many teenagers today) place a lot of emotional effort in hiding their shame. If they believe that nobody is concerned enough to be disappointed with their negative behavior, nothing is off limits. They bury themselves with a laundry list of destructive behaviors that they can't take back, and all they really want is a man that will accept them in their shame.

This is why the Gospel is so redemptive for fatherless girls. Our Heavenly Father does not express his disappointment for the sake of compounding guilt, but because He wants to protect them in His loving arms. His grace and compassion are the only remedy for the shame of sin, and there is no sin beyond its reach. For fatherless girls to find redemption in their Heavenly Father, they must know that He has all authority (and intent) to remove their shame. I challenge all of us to remember this the next time we label the "girl gone wrong."

learning stewardship

Working third shift has some ill effects. I struggle to maintain a consistent sleep pattern and have a social life. My writing has visibly suffered from my fatigue; I find myself making simple grammatical errors, only to catch them three days later (and wonder how many have judged me). Just last evening, I punched in at 10PM, was forced to stay until 10AM, and I haven't experienced a dark sky in over 24 hours. It does something to your psyche.

I must however remember how God provides for my needs. If I had it my way, I would work twelve hour days behind the bar of my own coffeehouse, working for meager profits and tips. I'm not a man that enjoys the responsibility of greater wealth, which may sound weird to some. But in preparation of the stewardship that God would have me exercise (for His work, for priorities, for a wife), I am being asked to make due with more.

It again makes me think of the man with only one talent. He feared the loss of what little he had, so he buried it and received no greater reward. In fact, what he was given was taken away. He was not expected to reap the same reward as the man with five talents, he was expected to be wise with whatever was entrusted to him.

Something about our financial position lends itself to pride, regardless of which end we rest. For years, I learned to make a living with little, and I found it easy to snub those that "needed" the security of wealth. I became proud in my check-to-check living, wondering why anyone should need more than the basic necessities that I required.

The first delusion was that I could not afford to give up more. Having less than the average American still makes me awfully rich in the third world, and since I wasn't doing much to support their cause, my one talent could have easily been stripped. Secondly, we can never assume what another man intends with his wealth. Are the majority of wealthy individuals bad stewards? Yes -- and so are the majority of people in poverty. Stewardship is a discipline for a reason.

My heart was revealed a few years ago, after reading these excerpts from Dallas Willard's "The Spirit of the Disciplines":

While certain individuals may be given a specific call to poverty, in general, being poor is one of the poorest of ways to help the poor. Further, I have yet to find anyone who was the better person simply for being poor. In some instances, people might do fewer bad things than they would if they had more means. Poverty may in some cases be said to have secured the lack of opportunity to do evil, but that will not recommend it to those who are not looking for such an opportunity in the first place...

...Sometimes poverty is idealized within various cultural traditions, but that poverty is not destitution; it is nonpossession coupled with security of provision for basic needs. This type of poverty may be useful as a discipline for the spiritual life, if undertaken in a right faith. It is not, however, a condition especially virtuous in itself, because possession is not an evil in itself. Nor does it automatically guarantee freedom from inner servitude to wealth. It is also not a superior spiritual condition in general. There is nothing especially holy about not possessing material goods, even though that lifestyle may be appropriate for given individuals. (pp. 198-199, 218; bold type added)

Ouch. Because this was true of my life.

Since I have returned to a traditional 40-hour workplace, God has granted me a house, some financial stability, a great credit rating, and ultimately a greater opportunity to give. Whether I seize that opportunity is entirely up to me.

are we mere men?

I'm generally leery when mankind wants to argue hard and fast rules about faith. If we're talking about an issue that God has already settled (through written or revealed word), there's really not much room for discussion, if in fact you ascribe to His word as truth. But Christians often develop a greater sense of "the way things are" without His input.

This may paint me as a rebellious creature -- if so, this isn't the first time I've worn that suit, and it probably won't be the last: I want to vomit when I hear about modern Christian leaders.

My disgust is less about the leaders than the followers [something I've officially dubbed "The Coldplay Principle"]: we can't stop talking about some dude. It's always Francis Chan this and John Piper that, or Rob Bell wrote this and Rick Warren promoted that. I'm sure that they're fine individuals, and each have something valuable to say. My beef is not with any particular individual.

Rather, how often are they placed in the center of our conversation, and how often do these conversations lead to a greater understanding of Christ? Sure, it's inevitable that a leader will gain a certain notoriety for their actions, and this can be advantageous in spreading the Gospel. After all, Paul must have been the early church equivalent of a rock star.

But this is a stale phenomenon: since God has called "His people," they have desired a tangible, human representative that they could honor. We all want to be the kid that tweets, "I know him personally!" as if Pastor X just changed the entire landscape of Christianity. And while none of these leaders' works will ever match the first foreign missionary of the Gospel, Paul had this to say:

Brothers, I could not address you as spiritual, but as worldly -- mere infants in Christ. I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are not ready. You are still worldly? For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly? Are you not acting like mere men? For when one says, "I follow Paul," and another, "I follow Apollos," are you not mere men?

What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe -- as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field, God's building...

...Do not deceive yourselves. If any one of you thinks he is wise by the standards of this age, he should become a "fool" so that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God's sight. As it is written: "He catches the wise in their craftiness"; and again, "The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise are futile." So then, no more boasting about men! All things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future -- all are yours, and you are of Christ, and Christ is of God. (1 Cor. 3:1-9, 3:18-23)

Perhaps I am asking too much of modern leaders, but I would welcome a similar retraction. It is true that we cannot prevent mankind from placing leadership on a pedestal; this sin predates Christ. But it would be awesome if we were reminded that they are not the Story, and I'd love to hear the rebuke from them.

Paul suggests that such petty arguments and leader-worship are a sign of spiritual immaturity. When our faith must be given a human face, we absorb these words and implications as a substitute for the simplicity of the Gospel. We relish the wisdom of mankind. It's totally vogue in the 21st century to say something fresh, but we must remember that Christ still redeems lives. That's a topic I could discuss for a good while without boredom or regurgitation.