radical acceptance

My favorite distress skill that we teach our girls is radical acceptance, which is based on the principle that pain + avoidance of reality = suffering. Granted, our therapy is secular, and is far too incomplete outside a work of the Spirit, but I'm in favor of any word that encourages hurting people to accept truth and confront lies.

The truth is, the things in life through which we become most frustrated are often the areas that we cannot control. We cannot accept the fact that something hurtful is outside our control, so we try harder to either resolve the unresolvable or to bury our pain and pretend it never existed. Both of these lead to further suffering: the first directly, and the latter through the alternative life we must live to deny the circumstances of reality.

People get angry when I make direct links between unresolved pain and common worldly patterns of behavior, particularly among believers. Part of what makes the American gospel so attractive to suffering people is the thought that "the past is in the past," and it shouldn't need to be discussed further under grace. However, this is the difference between scripture's pursuit of redemption and the American value of tolerance.

Tolerance says we shouldn't draw conclusions (i.e. "judge") based on reality. Meanwhile, redemption desires to restore all things for the sake of His glory, pain included. Is it easy? Absolutely not -- hence the reason avoiding reality is the path of least resistance. But to truly comprehend God's amazing grace, we must do more than forget the past; we should be touched to such a degree that even our deepest wounds bear an amazing testimony of His restoring power and love.

I don't believe that we can know the truth without Him. Christ is the perfect model for One who knew the excruciating pain of rejection and betrayal that we often mask, yet never hid behind the right to be offended, disrespected, or embittered. Even while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He knew the full score and still chose redemption over His personal rights and comfort.

While most of us have not come close to experiencing this level of persecution, we are still tempted to disconnect our pain, shame, or regret from the sinful patterns existing in our lives. We can become frustrated in battling the symptoms of our condition while avoiding the painful reality that remains. This is truly a life of unnecessary suffering. But God longs to touch those tender areas of greatest resistance and transform us into beacons of light that proclaim His glory through a sometimes unsavory story.

That's some radical acceptance.

why would He want this?

For whatever reason, it has been painfully difficult to center my mind on Christ this week. It could be a number of things: engaging the spiritual battle with this consecration project, being annoyed with not finding a single piece of useful information written by a single male, "celebrating" another birthday with my parents at age 33, staying up too late / sleeping in too late, seeing indoor housework that I don't feel motivated to finish, etc.

He's certainly present, but I acknowledge that I've been resistant. My resistance has not been aggressive; I'm nonchalantly ignoring the Spirit as if He's deserving of my being aloof, same as I've related with every other friend lately. I feel as if my friends cannot empathize, so I'm tired of rehashing the same old discontented thoughts about His Kingdom here in the U.S. I feel as if my Father does understand but has decided to leave me on this earth anyway, so what's the use in ruining myself further for an audience of One?

Somewhere I've missed that the point for Him is to be with me. I'm not used to that. I've known God personally for fifteen years, and it's still hard for me to accept being wanted without offering a service. To my friends in elementary school I was popular and imaginative, to my friends in high school I was romantic and accepting, to my camp and small group kids I was cool and fun, to my youth group teens I was insightful and wise, and to the coffeehouse world I was a calming presence. I've rarely been chosen or sought for my heart -- when I have it's ended badly, whether for their misdeeds or my own.

To choose His Spirit is to respond to Something that has found me first. When I feel like my life is absent of fruit, I feel I have nothing to give Him of use. In reality, He never asked for that as a bargaining chip. He's pleased when I offer my life sacrificially, but my cleanliness was never a term of agreement for our relationship.

First, He is my Creator: I am a living manifestation of His glory and masculinity.

Second, He is my Redeemer: I am a saved and cleansed by His selfless act and the shedding of His blood.

Third, He is my Restorer: I am being molded and perfected according to His likeness and His original intent.

None of these roles say anything about what He gains from me. Am I comfortable engaging fully in a relationship where I am the sole benefactor? Or must I comprehend the treasure that I am to Him to accept the blessing of His continual presence? I don't know that I'll ever understand that on earth.

And I see where this same problem casts poison into my earthly relationships. One man has accepted the blessing of pouring into my life without return, and I find it difficult to even make a phone call for fear of being a burden. One hypothetical woman would serve as my grace in marriage, but instead I've pursued those that will feast on my spirit without reciprocation. When did I decide that I should not receive good gifts?

I don't think that I consciously decided this, but my faith is lacking. To place hope in receiving a love that considers my heart above my services is unprecedented and uncomfortable. I've come to assume that God and my loved ones don't want it. I know for a fact that this is a lie about God. He has endured some drastic measures to hold my heart. I cannot say for certain that a mortal would ever desire my heart. It is when I attribute this lack of faith to the assurance I have in my Father that our relationship becomes corrupt.

Maybe I should stop writing and begin praying...

soliciting your help

As many of you know, I am preparing a training on holiness, purity, and the process of consecration. I am currently lodged in the research stage, and my free time over the next four weeks will be heavily invested in this work.

While I am compiling, sorting, and writing this teaching, I'm open to any resources you may have at your disposal. If you have any well-written books, blogs, songs, short stories -- anything that pertains to the topic of holiness and purity -- I'd love to hear about them. I look forward to reading from a multitude of resources on various areas of purity: both classical and modern. And don't worry about stating the obvious; though I'm putting together a massive study on purity, I haven't read any Elisabeth Eliot. Shameful, I know...but that's where your suggestions are of help :)

When I finish my rough draft, I'm going to present the training to my folks in St. Louis for a trial run. I'll give y'all updates as it comes together. God has laid this heavy on my heart, and I'm super excited to jump into the topic with my full attention.

Thank you, my virtual friends!

ANTHONY

#1 - Today and beyond...

Praise the Lord -- we had a good day at work!

I left Wednesday night exhausted after my first marathon of days. Having endured three straight 12-hour shifts with a smile on my face, the girls saved their worst day for my last. Whatever level of success I might feel working with at-risk teens, the bad day can make me feel like a complete failure. Having to go back to work on my birthday, I was praying for a little comfort.

So I spent #33 working "girls night": an evening of primping, hair styling, and picture taking. Doesn't that beat all? The girls were beaming with confidence as they dressed up one another, while the lone male could do nothing but laugh and lend compliments for their fashion show.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is my life :)

I admit, there are days when it's hard not to evaluate myself according to the world's standard. When I do, it feels as if my life is traveling in reverse. Achieving ministerial "status" is what many believers work towards, and I've spent the past five years working away from it. Engaging Christ like a child means dismissing the idea that I am the one with something to offer.

This is the battle within me: one day reaching to the past for my sense of worth, the next progressing in faith behind closed doors as my legend dissipates. I've heard Christians say that they want to leave a legacy. Well, I did that by age 25; it's a chasing of the wind. We ought to desire leaving something that doesn't require us to look back -- we ought to bear fruit.

If my quieter life makes more reproducing disciples than the number of kids that answered my altar calls, isn't that a better story? If I had died years ago, the eulogy would have been substantial, but my ministry would have perished along with that pile of flesh. Today, my funeral would gather a handful of family and friends, but my spiritual descendants could be like the stars!

Why do I forget this? Why does my flesh covet the 300 "Happy Birthdays" that my former self would warrant? Why does social prostitution appear more gratifying than His will?

My struggle is tied to His Presence. The minute I see His wonderful face, the concerns of this world are ripped to shreds. They all seem so silly, so arbitrary. However, when I forget that my heavenly body has yet to be worn, I pledge allegiance to my past.

With my celebrations and feasting behind me, tomorrow is another day closer to eternity: a day without end. If by this fact alone, today is better than yesterday -- tomorrow is better yet. Its goodness is not conditioned by my work success or the relative importance of one calendar square. In the morning, October 10 will draw me closer to His Presence than my birthday has, and that will be glorious.

#2 - Sunday, October 7, 2007

Four years ago this weekend, I was anointed to lead this "Solomon Generation" into a fresh move of the Spirit and the work of reconciliation He has appointed to us. I wrote about the specifics of that anointing here, so I'll refrain from regurgitation. Suffice it to say, I commonly feel like a kid being given the keys to a vehicle infinitely too large to drive...and being asked to take it for a spin.

I believe this is how God would have us follow. Whereas our American predecessors learned the limitations of their flesh and efficiently worked within those boundaries, God is calling us to reach beyond our sight, into a move we are too tiny to direct. Without His Spirit, His authority, His sovereignty, His guidance, and His grace, the kingdom work of our generation will pass away with little noise. We've seen the visible demonstrations of the church's ambition to make God known, but God would have this generation submit to Him as vessels of the physically impossible.

Are you willing? Whether you are capable is irrelevant, because He will decide what shall be used for His Purpose. If God chooses to manifest His power and presence through you, the only question is whether you will lay your life before Him to serve a noble use. He alone makes us pure, and He alone will make His message irresistible to the ears of your people. For you and I, this is all about posture: will we dismiss the clutter of the world to be filled to the brim by His Presence?

I want it all. Heaven forbid this body should perish without the entirety of my heart serving His Kingdom. The common things that comfort my flesh shall be eradicated one by one, leaving only the skin and bones that carry His Word to accompany His Spirit within me. What other use am I? If I make you laugh, but my people should perish, my hope is empty. If I am remembered fondly for my passion and imagination, but our generation contributes nothing to advance Him, for what purpose have I motivated?

This blog was named Solomon's Ledger because I believe that God will orchestrate volumes for the generation that seeks His face. I believe that we have been granted the opportunity and privilege to be that generation. With that privilege, we can do what we'd like. We can defend our position and establishment to the death, attaining nothing but the worldly honor of our zeal, or we can aggressively advance His domain among creation through whatever unforeseen move He directs. One is a recognized entity; we know exactly what will be reaped by doing the same thing. The other is a lesson in humility, faith, trust, and intimacy: the breathtaking motion of hearts anxiously awaiting His next word.

#3 - Friday, October 5-11, 1989-96; 2011

Even if you hate football, persist through the early portion of this post. I promise there's a point.

For the sake of relevancy, I felt the need to abandon chronology and my own rules, to present a day that has been the greatest common denominator of every birthday lived in Bremen, IN.

When two small community schools equaling 1000 students were mentioned together as one of ten "Unrivaled Rivalries" by Sports Illustrated (November 14, 1994), I was a sophomore in high school. Ten days earlier, the Bremen Lions had stunned the previously undefeated and top-ranked Jimtown Jimmies 27-0 for the football sectional title, in route to their second state championship.

I've never been an athlete. God designed me to be short and slow, and He decided in the long run I'd be better served by a sharp mind. But I've always loved a good-natured and passionate competition, thus I spent the Friday of my birthday week watching football...for eight consecutive years.

When Bremen first entered the Northern State Conference in 1989, we were already well acquainted with Jimtown. They had defeated us at regional in 1987 (one of the first games I remember attending), finishing runner-up in the state; they were knocked off prematurely in 1988 when we finished runner-up in the state.

In 1989, we split our meetings, but Bremen claimed its first state championship two years ahead of our growing rival. The next six years were a see-saw back and forth -- the underdog winning more often than not. Each game had something important on the line, and the intensity was thicker than anything I experienced as an adolescent.

I find it fitting that as the Bremen team declined heavily in the years since I moved away, they have found success upon my return. This year's team stood 7-0 entering tonight's matchup, and there was hardly an unclaimed bleacher seat to be found. A healthy percentage of our town of 5000 made the trip north to see our community represented.

It wasn't the Bremen victory alone that made this evening memorable, and tonight was no more iconic than the other twenty times I have watched these teams battle. But this silly game is a strong link to a simpler childhood, one that didn't need a billion distractions to keep me from feeling alone on my birthday. I remember being part of something larger than myself, and it gave me greater joy than any gift.

As I've written this year about feeling disconnected from my St. Louis church family, I think I miss that level of belonging: recognizing the fruit of something experienced together and receiving a joy shared by the whole. In the end, a football program is meaningless, but Christ's Bride has been put on display to present His glory and fame to the world. It doesn't require a respected publication to proclaim the significance of the Church's mission, any more than a football team needs national press to validate the magnitude of its rivalry. It is our passion and zeal for the Kingdom that shouts of God's fervent move among mankind.

On either account, it's good to feel at home.

#4 - Friday, September 8, 2006

I spent the first few days in Kansas City mapping out the region. A missionary couple housed me in "the hood" until I could find an apartment; I drove into the commercial district each late afternoon and parked my car for the evening. KC provides free parking in its upscale district, and the weather was wonderful for exploring the rest on foot.

In the homegrown Westport district, I stop at Broadway Café** for a latte. It's my kind of place: no need for product logos, fashionable cups, or barista flare -- just quality espresso at a quality price. I sit outside the storefront, and choose the only empty steel chair. To my right, a man is smoking clove cigarettes and sketching. To my left, two men engage in heavy debate over the upcoming mayoral election. Just a week before, I was a youth pastor. At the ripe age of 27, I am receiving my first glance at everyday life.

[This is what the world does while I "operate" the church?]

Jarrod approaches me first and sees my Bible. He's wearing an interesting covering and begins sharing his salvation testimony. He speaks boldly about how the church has lifted up its leaders as in the days of the tower of Babel. A tower is a high and visible symbol with little foundation. Jarrod shares that just as Americans placed George Washington on this shaky pedestal, we do with leaders today. I mull over the street-side prophesy for some time.

Kevin calls to me next, a 20-something man asking to borrow my cell phone. I innocently oblige, and he shares his story: out of a job, short on money, phone disconnected, his own child estranged, getting off the bottle. His friend arrives from a long day at work and engages in comical (and colorful) repartee. A few more f-bombs than I'm used to hearing during worship service, but I'm enjoying myself in the new environment. He asks what I do for a living. I tell him I'm an unemployed minister hoping to get a job at this fine café. [F-bombs of disbelief.] We discuss Jesus and His Church for a while, and the man says that he wishes he could have one without the other. I tell him that seems to be the consensus around here.

By this point, there are four guys talking, and another man with a SWEET Richard Dean Anderson mullet parks his DMC-12 in front. [This one couldn't fly.] We walk around admiring his machinery, and he responds like he's used to it. The other guys ask if I'd like to head to their apartment to play dominoes, or "bones" as they dub them. I reply that I'd love to, but didn't know how. These guys had apparently learned in prison, and all of them were at some stage of sobriety, living out their probation together to hold one another accountable. This, in fact, is probably the wisest thing these men have ever done.

We play dominoes until the wee hours of the evening, and I inform them that I need to get going. They exchange hugs and treat me like I've known them for years. These are the scattered, lost, and broken. These are the men I have never known. This is my generation.
 
*************************

**Funny: I remember looking at this website five years ago and being intimidated by their latte art, having never done any at Sufficient.  I wasn't quite alternative enough for Broadway to hire me, but looking back today, my Picasso's training makes their pics look like my average work.  I'm just saying.