greatest in the kingdom

"Sire," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these, "if I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?"

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh, Susan!" said Jill. "She's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

From The Last Battle -- C.S. Lewis

Following Kindergarten, I was forced to attend summer school for the only time in my life. While other kids enjoyed their summer days, I endured a couple hours of special education each morning. My summer school peers were behind academically and stayed a couple hours longer. As for me, my brain and my physical coordination were in disagreement with one another. I went to summer school because I couldn't skip.

For an entire month, I braved balance beams, side-galloped across open carpet, and learned various animal walks designed to teach better balance. But skipping was my physical demon. The rhythm of the hops never seemed to work in stride, and I ended up looking like someone trying to walk with their arms swinging to the wrong stride. Despite my embarrassment as one of the academically gifted, that class did teach me how to skip.

A happy-go-lucky child, I sang and shouted about the first grade playground, fully equipped with a new physical arsenal. Returning from recess, I made a point of skipping everywhere in the classroom. I skipped to the teacher's desk. I skipped to the water fountain. I skipped through the library. I particularly liked skipping across the tile floor in the back of the classroom, where the terrain was harder and my sneakers went clickety-clack.

My parents met my elderly teacher for parent conferences that November, and having received good marks on my first report card, I felt little concern for their meeting (consequently, the last time this event did not bring me heavy anxiety). She timidly contrasted my knack for creativity and my disinterest with her lessons. It was suggested that if I listened more and talked less, I had the potential to be her best student. She closed with a final rebuke: "Anthony needs to stop skipping across the classroom."

My mom and dad wanted nothing more than to send me to college without a blemish. The talking had to stop...the skipping had to stop. A sensitive seven-year-old, I felt betrayed. I had wasted a good portion of my summer building my confidence, only to be told it angered my teacher.

My skipping was suppressed. My talking took another six years to break :) Most every adult for the remainder of my childhood would have me race to the silliest time of my life to make their lives less messy.

*************************

Kids have it in their nature to muck up the program. They have the power to delay the schedule, take unexpected pit stops, and create structural disasters. In church, I grieved the Wednesday night leaders by getting bubble gum stuck in my thick hair (my best friend smacked the biggest bubble ever against my face). In 3rd grade, I voluntarily stuck myself in a locker, only to find that the latch was stuck from the homework I haphazardly tossed in first. I couldn't sit still in the barber's chair and held up the line. When I won my elementary school spelling bee, I returned to my classroom with shouts, unaware that the classroom was exercising their afternoon quiet time.

As long as there have been institutions, children have been "in the way." Churches have all but separated them completely from adult activity, and schools are divided for the purpose of age-specific education. Many children will never experience the love and appropriate discipline of an involved extended family, physically or spiritually. God's internal plan for familial discipleship is crumbling to pieces in our present age.

Jesus had a couple things to say about children:

At this time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"

He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said, "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

"And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." (Matthew 18:1-6)

And since Christ's disciples were a little slow (not unlike myself), Jesus reiterates his position one chapter later:

Then little children were brought to Jesus for Him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there. (Matthew 19:13-15)

What does it mean to "change and become" like children? I spent some time exploring the characteristics of children and their relationship with good fathers. I'll break it down three-point-sermon style :)

1. Fathers are the first source of authority. Does a child know to distrust his/her dad's word? Before children are influenced by peers, teachers, and church leaders, every understanding of the world is gained through their parental authority. A son does not rest upon his own wisdom, and a daughter does not debate her father's word against another. A child is given direction and responds with obedience. Approaching God as a child means trusting Him implicitly. A child loses his/her innocence when the wisdom of the world is accepted over the words of the Father.
2. Fathers are the first source of protection. As a child, were you ever lost in a supermarket or a clothing store? Being separated for any length of time is one of the most terrifying events in a child's life. As a lost child, we wander around aimlessly, screaming for our parents to apprehend us. Choking with tears, a child will run into his father's arms or cling to the comfort of his strong leg for safety. The child knows his father's voice, and immediately knows where to run when he calls. Approaching God as a child means seeking Him with the same desperation. A child left to his/her own survival is not capable of finding safety in any other person or thing.
3. Fathers are the first source of strength. I was a tiny kid, and bullies could have easily had their way with me if they wanted. I knew that there was nothing in my strength to defend myself, and I was incapable of doing many things apart from my dad. If approached with a threatening situation, I delegated my own right to defend myself to his authority. This is why boys tell other boys, "My dad can beat up your dad!" They are not concerned with what they can do, for their fathers are much greater. Approaching God as a child means resting and relying in His strength and not our own. It means boasting of His might, and sharing of His deeds to any who may listen. A child never tires of telling others about His strength. May it be so with us.

God's first account of love

The woman I was determined to marry trapped me with a question:

"Do you believe God has chosen one woman for every man?"

These days, I would ponder such a question too deeply; nine years ago, I considered no risk. I confidently replied, "No, God's divine will has never depended on the obedience of one person, so He wouldn't allow His child to miss 'the one' because one party opted to walk away." I spoke my peace with all the wisdom of an aspiring youth pastor.

A month later, she opted to walk away. I was devastated. I had never been more sure of anything. I had hoped to give my heart out once, and now I was relegated to live according to my own philosophy. Life spinned out of control. If a relationship can end without regard to my own investment, how could I be expected to endure it again?

Then [Abraham's servant] prayed, “O Lord, God of my master Abraham, give me success today, and show kindness to my master Abraham. See, I am standing beside this spring, and the daughters of the townspeople are coming out to draw water. May it be that when I say to a girl, ‘Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,’ and she says, ‘Drink, and I'll water your camels too’—let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac. By this I will know that you have shown kindness to my master.”

Before he had finished praying, Rebekah came out with her jar on her shoulder. She was the daughter of Bethuel son of Milcah, who was the wife of Abraham's brother Nahor. The girl was very beautiful, a virgin; no man had ever lain with her. She went down to the spring, filled her jar and came up again.

The servant hurried to meet her and said, “Please give me a little water from your jar.”

“Drink, my lord,” she said, and quickly lowered the jar to her hands and gave him a drink.

After she had given him a drink, she said, “I'll draw water for your camels too, until they have finished drinking.” So she quickly emptied her jar into the trough, ran back to the well to draw more water, and drew enough for all his camels. Without saying a word, the man watched her closely to learn whether or not the Lord had made his journey successful. (Genesis 24:12-21)

Over the next several years, I developed a reputation for sound relationship advice. I attempted to construct the wisest terms for marriage and became skeptical of relationships that advanced outside of my standardized blessing. I sincerely believed I was doing young people a favor by helping them avoid unhealthy relationships. In reality, I wanted to ensure that they would never experience my unresolved pain.

Restoring my heart has been painstaking, but God has been faithful. For all the discernment He has allowed me in knowing His will, He hasn't granted me an ounce of assurance that the next woman will remain faithful to her word. As much as I might purpose my own heart to serve her righteously, I can only place hope in His Spirit that my choice will be honorable to Him. So much weighs in the balance, and I am offered no guarantees.

Then [the servant] and the men who were with him ate and drank and spent the night there.

When they got up the next morning, he said, “Send me on my way to my master.”

But her brother and her mother replied, “Let the girl remain with us ten days or so; then you may go.”

But he said to them, “Do not detain me, now that the Lord has granted success to my journey. Send me on my way so I may go to my master.”

Then they said, “Let's call the girl and ask her about it.” So they called Rebekah and asked her, “Will you go with this man?”

“I will go,” she said. (v. 54-58)

Truth is, I can do everything in my power to present myself as worthy, but I am still subject to the purpose of another Godly heart. God's call upon my life is limiting: I have nothing to offer the woman seeking the stability or security of this age. I can only lend my love and protection, holding faith for a righteous woman's grace. Not a strategy in the world can pluck the control from His hands -- He alone can grant me success in my journey.

[Isaac] went out to the field one evening to meditate, and as he looked up, he saw camels approaching. Rebekah also looked up and saw Isaac. She got down from her camel and asked the servant, “Who is that man in the field coming to meet us?”

“He is my master,” the servant answered. So she took her veil and covered herself.

Then the servant told Isaac all he had done. Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he married Rebekah. So she became his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother's death. (v. 63-67)

learning to breathe

In March 2006, I attended the Midwest District Conference of the Missionary Church. Yes, it was as exciting as it sounds. As a potential church planter, the district wanted to lend a face to (i.e. show off) their plans for expansion in the urban cities of the United States, therefore I was given the privilege of awkwardly standing on stage without the opportunity to speak for myself.

However, a local elder approached me after the show to prophesy with a passage of scripture. Psalm 18 is not what you would call a "happy" song, but it is one of victory. As the Lord came through for David during Saul's pursuit, David wrote about what can best be described as the terror of the Lord. The Lord's attributes are compared to an earthquake, a hailstorm, lightning arrows, and the fiery breath of a dragon. In David's despair, God revealed Himself with authority and power.

Having grown under the care of the institutional church, this was frightening to me. My theology spoke of the Lord's authority, but this is not the making of a pleasant Sunday morning sermon. In contemplating this prophecy, I spent more time debating the reason for this battle than the power of the Lord. People liked me. Under what conditions could I possibly fall victim to enemies?

Five years later, on the other side of rejection, accusation, gossip, and outright lies from former colleagues, I revisit this psalm. I feel stuck: I'm restless, I'm jealous for righteousness, and unseen hopes lie at the edge of destruction. Lacking vision and direction, I turn to the Lord for help -- He has brought me to this place, and only He can lead me from it:

He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.

The Lord has dealt with me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands he has rewarded me. For I have kept the ways of the Lord; I have not done evil by turning from my God. All his laws are before me; I have not turned away from his decrees. I have been blameless before him and have kept myself from sin. The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in his sight.

To the faithful you show yourself faithful, to the blameless you show yourself blameless, to the pure you show yourself pure, but to the crooked you show yourself shrewd. You save the humble but bring low those whose eyes are haughty. You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light. With your help I can advance against a troop; with my God I can scale a wall. (Psalm 18:16-29, emphasis added)

False humility creeps in entirely too easy. What presents itself as a recurrent theme of lowering myself, is in reality a self-deprecating stronghold. If I believe that I stand condemned because of past sin, I disqualify myself from claiming the righteousness in which I live. The Holy Spirit has done such an incredible work that my appetite for sin is being removed day by day, and Satan's temptations are being seen as the hollow comfort that they are. David wasn't boasting when he approached the Lord in purity and righteousness -- he was being honest with his heart.

Growing up in the aftermath of the holiness tradition, I have been led to believe that I should pursue righteousness, but that no man may attain it. Certainly in my own flesh this is true -- it is by grace and the blood of Christ that I share these words today. But David stands firm in his keeping of the truth, and I think God would have me desire that. He longs for me to see the "cleanness of my hands in his sight." Despite my family and ministerial history, I can have faith in a grace-filled mystery: that the God of the Universe delights in me.

Without this relationship established, I have no vision or direction. I have no joy in a spiritual gift of leadership. I cannot stand in wonder of the dragonish, terrorizing power of God that avenges my enemies' attacks upon me.

This past weekend, some of my St. Louis family came to encourage me in my lonely place. They asked me to re-explore my passions and stand firm in the Spirit's stirrings upon my heart. As I reminisced, I found that my writings have carried three predominant themes:

• The pursuit of consecration in becoming a useful vessel: to teach others the difference between the holy and the profane.
• The re-establishment of relationships between young and old, men and women: to restore physical families and the spiritual mystery of His Bride.
• Calling the discontent out of fruitless works: to send the willing into Spirit-led and God-honoring ministries that advance His Kingdom.

I long to see God's children free from the pain that binds them. I want to see man sacrificing himself for the fullness of God. I ask for the protection of women and children, and for fathers that love selflessly and without condition. I plead for the restoration of His Church. I hope to experience the blessing of physical and spiritual birth. Wrapping this into one Anthony-encompassing statement...

God has called me to remove the veil between the broken and His Spirit, to restore His Church through the reformation of holy relationships.

This is the vision for which I live. Every act or deed must flow from this desire. He sees me fit for service, and He has equipped me with every spiritual weapon necessary to accomplish His work. His first task is already upon me, and I can trust in faith that His Spirit will guide and protect me.

spiritual farming part 2 -- rooted weeds

I knew I should have dealt with this weeks ago...

With the heat wave granting few comfortable daytime hours, the weed in the backyard flowerbed cemented itself like a weathered tree. It choked the daisies until the scorching sun could finish their slow death. The best I could do was chop the weed above the surface, leaving the deep rooted trunk to continue its destruction. If only I had removed it before it fortified its control.

Satan's strongholds establish themselves in the same manner. The unconfessed sin, unresolved pain, and the unforgiven act take root immediately. We do not want to admit we are broken -- that we are weak. We push the process of freedom aside, and move forward as if nothing has happened, but soon our fruitfulness is choked. We invest so much energy grooming the weed on the surface that we ignore what has taken root. Before we know it, we are bound, lifeless, and lost for a solution.

God isn't interested in the ugly demonstration above the ground. We can fight the symptoms as we'd like, but the only freedom will occur at the root. God would have us face our deepest wound.

This is not about a struggle to co-exist with our stronghold -- anyone can function while harboring a nasty weed, if they keep it trimmed enough. But He intends more. He intends to declare His beauty. Flowers cannot bloom where the weed has stretched its roots; neither can we bear witness to His grace and His Spirit where a stronghold resides.

I grieve for my heart, because it was so avoidable. Had I opened my heart to His truth ten years ago, Satan's ploy would have been exposed. Had I acknowledged my sin and my pain, His loving hands would have gone to work. He would have dug deep into the roots Satan had sown and delivered me from my residual wounds. I would have been boasting of the fruit He had produced through this vessel.

I took the long road to freedom, but thankfully, the Gardener is the same. It hurt worse and was prolonged beyond what I should have endured. But He was faithful to the task. He set me free. He spurred my growth. He made me bloom.

spiritual farming part 1 -- the pride of inadequacy

I woke up early today and was pleased to find that we didn't hit 90 degrees. I threw on some work clothes, and went outside. An unexpected breeze swept across the yard, so I decided to do something familiar: I pulled weeds.

My childhood wasn't as autonomous as I would have liked. While exhibiting my independent streak, my parents did a little too much fishing, and not enough teaching to fish. Their motivations were different: my mom just wanted us to enjoy our childhood, and my father (more apt to instill actual discipline) rarely had the patience show us. And since he was a perfectionist, trying often meant shame.

Pulling weeds was the exception. It is relatively mindless work, and requires little more than physical exertion and will. If it doesn't look like it belongs, pull it. I have less than fond memories of kneeling in the unshaded garden, pulling weeds in the thick Indiana humidity.

Now, I don't mind it. Of the hundreds of things that need to occur in maintaining my new abode, the ones I am most likely to finish are those I have done before. Installing that door window? I'll get to it someday. Decorating the walls? Maybe someone will lend advice. If household plumbing should ever be necessary? Dear God, help me.

As I cleared out a satisfactory section of mulch and shrubbery, God spoke to me:

"Why are you afraid?"

Its silly to think, I'd prefer others to think I'm lazy than afraid. The truth is, I'm not lazy -- I'm an excellent worker. When other camp staff would stand on the sidelines, I would sacrifice my body so the game could continue. When extra hands were needed to do the dishes, I took the grimy front line and established an efficient unit. I was the only one willing to clean the fridges at the coffeehouse. When I tackle our staff bathroom at FCC, I scour the desk area as well. I take the girls for a walk when the other staff complain it's too hot or too far. I'm still the 3rd fastest stockboy to ever grace Woodies Supermarket.

Neither do I fear risk or adventure. If given the voluntary opportunity to do something nobody has done before, I'm there with a smile :)

"What again am I afraid of, God?"

There are a giant list of things I would have loved to have learned as a child. I want to play an instrument, rollerblade, fix my car, grow corn-on-the-cob...decorate this freaking house! But given the option to try and fail or shrink in fear, I always choose fear. Gasp. "These are things my parents should have taught me. These are things that draw the tone of condescension from competent folk. These are the things that make me a real man." So when my girls ask me to jump in to Double Dutch, I politely pass and concede, "Maybe next time."

This is so STUPID. Of course I should have learned to jump rope as a kid, but my girls aren't asking me to be amazing -- they want me to play with them. They want the opportunity to laugh at my clumsiness, and all I've done is encourage the insecure kid to shrink as well. I hold inadequacy as a matter of humility, but it is a far greater issue of pride. If I only do the things I know I can do (or those nobody else is willing to do), I puff up my success and rob myself of learning wonderful things.

Baby steps, right? Audrey is now gazing wonderfully at the front door from my living room wall. While pulling weeds, I pruned some plants as well. I will not only jump into the next Double Dutch, I will flail my body mercilessly and give the girls a story to tell.

One weed at a time...but that's part 2 :)

syntax error

A wonderful ally, and the source of my rebellion: it prompts my heart to long, and harbors corruption. This is the battle for my mind.

Intelligent, expressive, and brilliantly creative, God has blessed me with an advanced processor. The same machine that loads this content can produce lies, envy, and deceitful games. It spins without ceasing, filtering the thief's deadly virus from the Programmer's perfect code. On days like these, I would prefer to shut down, but this does nothing to exhibit the Creator's intent for my design.

How I long for my heavenly body -- how I grieve for the home I've never seen! The world I reject is at my fingertips for the taking, and the kingdom I crave is never close enough. This is my healthy ache: never being satisfied until I am forever in His courts. I want to touch His hands and side to be captivated by the depths of His love. I want to praise with the heavenly hosts forever, and never stop honoring Him as Lord.

Why must I be distracted with temporal desires? Why must I endure vain movements of my heart? If everything physical will cease with the packing of this tent, why should I entertain a bond of flesh? In what manner might He be glorified in my longing that wouldn't better be displayed by undivided service? Why make this ground more livable?

I concede I know nothing apart from His revelation. He's wired me for untested functions, and I fear failure at the expense of being useful and operational. It is not through human reason that I comprehend why He won't just let me be.

Perhaps I am nothing but a symbol: a pure and holy model of created man. Ruined and rejected, yes, but I am readily available to call each ripe heart to its Lifeline. If each system boot hastens my wear and tear, I pray no flesh remains with the final current. I pray this box proves faithful to the end. I ask for my disposal to be a joyful sending, to my only home and Love.

roaming through the earth

A couple weeks ago, I was contemplating the exchange in Job 1 between God and Satan. I thought to myself, "How amazing and humbling it would be for my Father to speak so glowingly of me." Satan is subject to God's will like anything else, so this dialogue has nothing to do with God trying to win a war. The outcome has been determined. God is doing nothing more than showing off His wonderful creation.

Satan, who has been removed from the Lord's Glory, roams the earth to wage petty battles against those who display God's image. He seeks to discourage, disarm, and defeat. He understands that his only workable tactic is to remove God from the equation. But even through temptations and trials, God's creation is offered the spiritual strength to keep the scales drastically uneven...every single time.

At this moment in time, I am living as blamelessly as I ever have. I don't say that to boast, but to acknowledge the work that God has done and how far He's brought me to the likeness of Christ. Right now, the battle is upon me, whether I want it or not. Somewhere in the spiritual realm, my Father challenges my proud accuser and trusts me to remain in Him.

This is tough. I can count at least three crucial decisions on the horizon, and Satan is hammering me with every lie I've ever believed. In these few hours awake, I've been considered impure, unloved, unattractive, unworthy, fruitless, and a failure. God delivers His message of truth, and I am left to believe in faith that Satan's words do not describe me. I almost wish he would burn my possessions instead, but the enemy knows that words resonate greater in my life. When I brand myself with my inadequacy, I disqualify myself as a vessel of glory. When I accept God's inheritance as Son, Satan loses grip.

I would be grateful for your prayers. I'm not accustomed to this level of accusation. I stand on the witness chair before the persecutor, and he would have me live condemned. But the Judge is high on His throne, and deliverance has been my sentence. There is no second trial. I am free.