Lori Stanley Roeleveld's Blog, page 63

One Microscopic Zygote of Thanksgiving

I see you over there. Yes, you! You’re struggling to muster even a semblance of gratitude this Thanksgiving.

Hey, it happens. Get off your own case. Sometimes we don’t feel thankful on schedule. Even if we’re practiced in cultivating an attitude of gratitude, there are circumstances that test our resolve. If you’re having one of those seasons this Thanksgiving, here are some ways to be grateful still:

If there’s an empty chair at your table this holiday because a loved one has died, thank God that Jesus knew grief and sorrow in His time on earth. Your God understands your sadness.

If your child is in rebellion or lost in sin or addiction this Thanksgiving, thank God that He is a shepherd who leaves the 99 to seek and save the one wandering sheep. Your God knows your heart.

If you’re reeling from a betrayal from one you thought of as a lover or a friend, thank God that Jesus was betrayed by one He loved. Jesus had a Judas, too.

If you’re homeless, thank God that Jesus had no home, no place to call His, nowhere to lay His head. Jesus shares your heartache.

If you’re broke, dependent on others for the basics of life, thank God that Jesus was born into a family who had to offer a poor man’s sacrifice for their new child, a family dependent on the gifts of strangers. Jesus left the riches of heaven for the rags of this world.

If you’re far from home, a stranger in a strange land, thank God He sent His only Son to this far outpost. Jesus knew what it was like to miss home.

If you’re surrounded by conflict, unhappiness, loved ones who should appreciate each other but are fighting instead, thank God that Jesus knew the disciples argued among themselves about who was the greatest. Jesus gets you. He feels your pain.

If you’re feeling unnoticed, unappreciated, underutilized, or unseen, thank God that Jesus came to those who were His own, to His very creation, and they didn’t know Him or receive Him. Jesus has sat where you sit now.

If you’re facing terrible, hard choices and know what is the right thing to do but are not sure you have the courage to do it, thank God when you remember Jesus in Gethsemane, sweating likes great drops of blood, over the choice of following through with His Father’s will for Him. Your God has walked in your painful shoes.

If you’re fine but you’re hurting for others, for those you love who are suffering and wish you could take their pain onto your own shoulders, thank God that Jesus loved the world enough to take all our sin on His shoulders and lay down His life. Jesus’ heart has been broken just like yours.

If you’re saddened by a world that suffers from ingratitude and spends the holiday focused on consuming food and material goods while others starve for food and love, be grateful that Jesus had His eye on the widow and her mite as He fashioned a whip to stir things up in the temple. Jesus sees what you see, loved one.

Gratitude is like gold. All we need is the smallest nugget to be rich in spirit. Gratitude is like a candle in a cold, dark cave. One tiny spark breaks the power of darkness. Gratitude is like plutonium radiating an entire soul with only a granule or flake.

If you can only muster a single grain of gratitude this year, know that is a victory against the enemy. With that single grain, you have held your ground, loved one. There is a cornucopia of hope in that microscopic zygote of thanksgiving. That granule of gratitude can elevate your entire soul.

I am grateful for you and for the God who binds us together as one. Receive His blessing for you, loved ones. Happy Thanksgiving.

One Microscopic Zygote of Thanksgiving http://t.co/W1jcV7qJve #Thanksgiving #holidaystress

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 26, 2014

Thank God for the Jerk at Your Table

What?

Think my title’s harsh?

You kind of get it, though, don’t you? If you’ve turned to this post, I’ll bet  you have one – you know – a jerk who will be at your Thanksgiving table.

Maybe an uncle who drones on about your lifestyle or your politics. A brother who can’t get over himself. A sister-in-law with special issues. A mother with a martyr complex. A father with the sensitivity of a charging rhino. A sister with a critical spirit, An adolescent who has taken to dressing in black and sulking whenever unplugged from social media. A child whose parents aren’t into discipline. A husband in mid-life crisis. A wife who’ll become a nervous wreck trying to please everyone.

Ah, Thanksgiving. Even now, you’re plotting your escape. You never thought you’d be one to go to the mall on a holiday but now you’re convincing yourself it’s good stewardship to shop the sales and wise self-care to escape the family stress.

I get it. I’ve been at that family table. I’ve dreaded a holiday gathering or two. I’ve dined with a jerk. And sometimes I’ve been one.

Funny how while sometimes the same jerk shows up every year, at other times we rotate the role. Share a table with the same people long enough and everyone gets a turn. Because we inherited an original jerky nature from our ancestors and the gene for jerkiness is potent – passing on to the seventh generation!

I’m not a fan of romanticizing the first Thanksgiving. I avoid all articles lamenting the loss of the good old days. Ecclesiastes 7:10 warns us against such thinking: “Don’t always be asking, “Where are the good old days?” Wise folks don’t ask questions like that.” (The Message) Mostly I just don’t see the point. What we have is now, not last year or a hundred years ago. Plus, I imagine that just like then, today there is some good and some bad, but God placed me in these times.

So here I am at this table with this jerk.

I do, however, resist the modern thinking that Thanksgiving is an event to be tolerated and then escaped as soon as possible with a quick trip to Stuff-mart. It seems incongruous to offer thanks to Jesus while demonstrating ingratitude for the people who share my table.

I think that sometimes we act like jerks for a period of time, but then we get stuck there because in the funky world of group dynamics, somehow that becomes our role around the table. Sometimes we don’t even really see one another because we’re so busy looking at our memory of years past.  I get why people who don’t know Jesus get stuck in this endless loop, but Christians have no excuse. We can slide through the wormhole of grace and gain a new perspective with every new day.

I’ve also been thinking about another table.

On the night Jesus was betrayed He shared bread with Judas, the prince of jerks. Judas was a poser, a thief, a greedy, lying betrayer, but after a night sharing a table with the other disciples, they couldn’t tell by the way Jesus treated him that he was any different from the rest. When Jesus indicated that one of them would betray him, they didn’t know which one it would be.

Jesus must have been able to enjoy His meal and the company! Even knowing what was ahead. Even knowing what was on Judas’ heart. Even knowing this was the last meal they would all share.

Sometimes it’s important to do that – just sit and share a meal and let everything else go just for a time.

Jesus lives in us,so we can share tables, too, with jerks or martyrs or critics or pouters or rebels or troublemakers and not just say grace – but also extend it.  So that if we were to say, “One of us sharing the cheesy bread basket at this table is a jerk,” our table-mates would look around and say, “Is it I? Am I the jerk?” because they wouldn’t be able to tell from the way we’d treated anyone at dinner.

Sure, sin needs to be confronted. Relationships ironed out. Jerks need to be told the truth about how they affect others.  But sometimes we all just need take a break, share a meal, tell a story, eat some pie, and thank God that we aren’t alone.

I wonder how many nights, after Jesus had ascended and the disciples had been scattered or killed, did John sit to eat alone on the Island of Patmos and think back to that meal where they were all together, drawing strength from that memory.

We can draw strength, too, from the vision of a table awaiting us on the other side where there will be laughter, warm bread, full glasses, and all the forgiven jerks will sit together and be thankful for one another without reservation.

May His kingdom come to our tables even now. Set an empty place for Jesus and remind yourself – If He can share a table with these jerks with joy than so can I. This Thanksgiving, don’t just say grace – extend it – as it has been extended, also, to you.

Jerk

1 jərk/ noun

a quick, sharp, sudden movement.

informal

a contemptibly obnoxious person.

Thank God for the Jerk at Your Table http://t.co/SGpMo42CAb #Thanksgiving #Thanksgivingwithfamily #dysfunctionalThanksgiving #sayinggrace

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 24, 2014

God is Our Father – Not Our Trans-Parent

If it is now acceptable for people to decide what gender they are, then why don’t we allow God that same freedom?

Greetings, loved ones, welcome to this week’s quiz (don’t worry, there’s only one question and it’s multiple choice ):

Gender-neutral language about God is:

An evil scheme from hell
Essential practice if the church is to draw new followers in modern times OR
A modern concept with good intentions but potentially disastrous results

There is only one answer.

Neutralizing the gender language of the Bible, hymns, and praise songs has become a popular practice instituted with the loving intention of making sure that women feel included. For the sake of simplicity, writers generally choose one pronoun when writing to large groups and, in the past, they’ve chosen the masculine. Women hearing or reading this material had to translate into the feminine to feel included.

Not a particularly challenging process since women’s brains are adept at multitasking, but still, some have felt it a barrier and so they’ve set out to remove it. The solution for them has been gender-neutralizing.

One sticky problem that arises when doing this is what to do with the pronouns related to God. God is a spirit. We agree on this. We were created in God’s image – male and female, we were created. There is an aspect of my gender that reflects God. There is also expression, in Scriptural word pictures, of God’s maternal facets such as in Luke 13:34 or Psalm 91:4a.

So, why can’t we gender-neutralize God?

We could, if He was a God of our own invention. If humans want to design the God they think they need and make her look warm like Maya Angelou, sound witty like Shirley Maclaine, and act generously like Oprah Winfrey, we’re free to do that. An imaginary god can be therapeutic, healing, and even uniting but at the end of the day, an imaginary god needs us to prop her up so we can lean on her.

The true God revealed Himself using masculine language. He knew what He was doing. He invented language – all of them. When He visited us in human form, He chose for Jesus to be born a boy – through a woman, yes – but wholly male. The word-pictures of scripture are rife with male/female imagery regarding God and Israel, Christ and the church. God divorced Israel for her adulteries. Jesus waits to claim His bride, the church.

God introduced Himself as our Father.

Why would He do that knowing how damaged all our fathers would be? Didn’t He know what a barrier it would create, knowing our fallen fathers, to relate to Him as Father God? And, why would He care if we make Him gender-neutral or refer to Him as Mother as long as we come to Him?

It matters because He wants us to worship in spirit and in truth. The truth He’s revealed is that He is our Father. Honestly, the corruption of our earthly fathers testifies to the importance of that truth!

The evil one works overtime to twist our understanding of fatherhood precisely because it’s such a vital truth about God.

He targets priests and clergy for spectacular temptation and perversions. He destroys homes and tries to convince us that fathers aren’t essential to raising healthy children. He even goes after our fictional fathers! Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable is possibly a serial rapist, Rev. Eric Camden has confessed to pedophilia, Mike Brady preferred men to Mrs. Brady.

We feel so hopeless about finding fathers who rise to our ideal; we’ve started creating fictional fathers that are monsters, like Rowan Pope on Scandal, in an effort to make peace with fathers who exemplify evil. Watch Olivia Pope as she tries to resolve herself to loving a Father who epitomizes everything she hates. Satan wants us to believe this is our only choice.

Slowly, but most assuredly, the evil one is destroying our idea of fathers with the sole intention of keeping us from our Heavenly Father.

We must fight back.

Don’t let the evil one rob us of what we need. Don’t fall prey to his scheme. Hold on to the essential truth that we were created to need a loving, just father and we have One.

Rather than cooperate with the enemy by agreeing that fathers aren’t necessary or that they’re so likely to be evil that we will emasculate our Lord to make Him approachable, we need to look to God to understand what His nature reveals about fatherhood.

Men, were you raised or abandoned by a fallen man or destroyed by a father figure? Don’t let the evil one use that to also keep you from the strength and redemption available in God the Father.

Women, were you abused or shattered by your broken father or a man in power over you? Don’t allow Satan to forge that abuse into a cage that keeps you from the arms of the perfect, gentle Father who wants to hold and heal you from your pain.

Freedom isn’t found by emasculating our concept of God. Since Satan is working overtime to destroy the idea of fatherhood, the church needs to rise to restore and proclaim it. Creative Christians everywhere should be using their gifts to communicate the truth of fatherhood as revealed in God’s nature.

We are going to fall – that’s the truth. No one is righteous – not one. Earthly fathers will continue to disappoint and devastate us until Christ returns to take us home.

But when we fall, let it be on the narrow road that leads to the great heart of our one true Father, God. So that when we stumble at last across the finish line, it is into the loving arms of our Father who has longed to gather us to Him and welcome us home.

Putting God in a dress isn’t progressive or empowering, it’s a lie. Let us always and only worship in spirit and in truth. His truth.

God is our Father – NOT our Trans-parent http://t.co/H8MRuOhFk8 #emasculatingGod #FatherGod #BillCosby #genderneutralGod

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 22, 2014

Thou Shalt Disturb the Peace

A woman walks into a Christian cathedral full of Muslims . . .

It sounds like the set-up for a joke. It isn’t.

And you know, right away, it isn’t a joke because instead of going along with the set-up, your brain is snagged on the question, “why is a Christian house of worship full of Muslims?” Your mind rapidly scans the possibilities of this story but even the most benign scenario doesn’t lead to you think the punchline will invoke laughter.

Turns out, they were peaceful Muslims and the woman, after crying out what she came to say, is simply escorted to the door, ejected from the sanctuary of her God for disturbing the peace by mentioning His name in His own house.

She doesn’t appear mentally balanced. Even other Christians distance themselves from her story, perhaps because they believe her act was futile. She entered a room full of smart, powerful, civilized people, pointed to the cross, and shouted, “Jesus Christ died on that cross. He is the reason we are to worship only Him. Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior.”

When a man reaches for her arm, she pulls away and continues, “We have built enough of your mosques in this country. Why don’t you worship in your mosques and leave our churches alone? …America was founded on Christian principles…Leave our church alone!”

It was over in a moment. A headline, nothing more. Blog fodder. News reports discrediting her. She lives in her car. Her husband divorced her for her extremist views. She drove from Michigan on a mission from God. She disrupted a public event aimed at unity. This was a room full of peaceful Muslims, not that other kind. What was the point? She’s a blip in one news cycle and the whole stunt seems pointless, right?

Or maybe, God loves the Muslims gathered in His house. Maybe He believes in disturbing the peace of gentle, kind Muslims with the truth that there is only one God. Maybe He loves them enough to give them an opportunity to know the truth.

That’s right. Say it with me. I want you to practice. There is only one God. “And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” Acts 4:12 (ESV)

From the most brutal terrorists to the kindest Muslim, there is only one way to salvation. Jesus Christ.

That’s a weird sentence to write. I’ll bet it was weird to read. But it’s the truth. You and I both know it. I will happily live in peace beside anyone – Buddhist, Jew, Hindu, atheist, Muslim, or Wiccan – and I believe in and support their freedom to worship in any way they desire. I’m not driven to be in their faces with my beliefs. I’m not that kind of girl. And if it was a simple matter of “live and let live,” I suppose God would bless my inaction. But live and let die without opportunity to hear and respond to the truth isn’t a loving option, is it?

There is only one God. Jesus Christ.

If we believe that, and I do, that leaves us with the undeniable knowledge that to worship any other thing or name or being is to worship a lie that leads to destruction. People are free to do that and God doesn’t endorse coercion or force in gathering followers but He does command me to love my neighbor. I’m not a loving neighbor if I fail to mention, at least once, that there is salvation in no one else but Jesus Christ, the ONLY living God.

It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it, to gather people from all religions into one house of worship and experience faith together? Something in us wants to get behind that, go along with the program, turn off a part of ourselves and just keep the peace.

Jesus didn’t come to keep the peace. He came to disturb it. Lies aren’t lovely and the most eloquent prayers offered in any other name but Jesus are only idol chatter. Do we believe this or do we only say it in safe havens, in safe company, in places where it won’t make waves?

One woman walked into a Christian cathedral full of Muslims and dared to announce the truth that salvation is found in only one name, Jesus. Maybe she’s nuts but she’s not the point.

The point is are you and I ready to repeat this truth in rooms full of people coming together under false pretenses? Are you and I willing to disturb a false peace? Or is our plan to sneak into the life boats under cover of dark and keep the truth to ourselves so no one thinks we’re crazy? There’s nothing really beautiful about that plan, is there?

Maybe God wasn’t only delivering a message to a room full of Muslims through this woman. Maybe He also had a message for you and me.

Thou Shalt Disturb the Peace http://t.co/7ijfrkwnM5 #Muslimprayerservice #NationalCathedral #Christiansunderattack

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 18, 2014

What Do We Do When Funny Men Make Us Cry

Are you ever tempted to give up trusting people?

Bill Cosby has always made me laugh. The headlines about him this week aren’t funny. I don’t know him and I don’t know his accusers so, there’s a lot I don’t know. Someone is lying. The women or him. Either way, it stinks. What the headlines inspire in me, though, is that too familiar tension of trying to figure out how I’ll react, going forward, to someone who may be harboring secrets. Someone with a dark side. Someone who only let me see what he wanted me to see.

This man isn’t my friend and God hasn’t put him in my life, so he’s not my real problem. If I never laugh at his comedy again, I’ll live. I’ve long known not to make strangers into heroes. But living in a world where people close to you can turn out to be someone different than the person you thought you knew, is scary, wearing, disheartening.

It could make a person cynical. That’s the fluoride in the water of this age – cynicism. It’s intended as a protective agent, something to strengthen the enamel of our souls, but really, it’s toxic, because the hardening won’t be limited to our protective armor. Ingest too much and it will petrify us entirely, rendering us incapable of trust, of intimacy, of love.

What’s the antidote, though? People do break faith. People do betray. The face we see is often only one shining facet of a sharp-edged soul and not just celebrities. Your neighbors have secrets, your coworkers, the church leadership team, your children, your spouse, me, you. Most of us aren’t hiding felonies or conspiracies but surely, we all hide wrongs, regrets, choices, ugly thoughts that we would rather keep obscured from public view. Then, how do we function with one another without fear or constant unease?

Jesus knew how.

Whenever I think I can’t admire Jesus more, I find a new reason to respect Him. He knew everything about us, right? If there was anyone ever who walked the earth and knew exactly what was going on inside every human He encountered, it was Jesus.

Yet, He enjoyed life. He ate with sinners. They invited him to banquets. People followed Him and He loved them – deeply, truthfully, enough to die for them. Even knowing the sickness, the perversion, the twisted nature of our souls. Even knowing we would disappoint Him, abandon Him, betray Him, even demand His crucifixion. He was free to love.

He’s my hero for that. And not only that, He saw these sins from the perspective of understanding true holiness. He saw each of these terrible sins, knowing He would take them on as His, suffer under the weight of them, and die beneath the burden, yet still He loved with abandon.

In thinking about it this week, it occurred to me that Jesus did not use people the way we do. I don’t mean “use” in the mean, manipulative, exploitative way that’s easy to condemn. I mean, His relationships didn’t define Him. The people He loved weren’t props for His life, a supporting cast for His self-esteem, or little gods from which He drew comfort, security, value, or meaning. Those things He found in His relationship with His Father and that set Him free to love us – knowing exactly who we are – and enabled Him not to come unglued when our secrets bubbled to the surface like infectious boils.

The thing is – He set us free to love this way, too. If we secure ourselves to the rock face of His strong tower, drive our pitons into His unyielding protection, then we don’t need to harden ourselves against one another. Cynicism will provide protection at a cost. Jesus paid the price for protecting us.

We can love and when a loved one drops his or her belay, sending us plummeting off a cliff, our ties to Jesus remain secure. He will snatch us from the air and help us find a new handhold because we’ve attached our carabiner to His guideline. We are free to know one another completely and love without fear.

The idea of rock climbing or repelling off cliff faces terrifies me. That’s exactly why it’s my image in this. Loving others in a world where the same person can make us laugh one minute and weep the next is a breath-taking climb that requires all our strength and the strongest partner. Jesus knows how to make the ascent. More, he showed us we can rise again after the worst fall.

Self-protection by cynicism or any other means is tempting but the price we pay is emotional and spiritual paralysis, isolation, and ultimately, disobedience to God’s command to love. Trusting the protection of the One who loved at the expense of His own life sets us free and leads to the ultimate communion –the eternal community of the redeemed.

 

What Do We Do When Funny Men Make Us Cry http://t.co/tPEbRst6OE #BillCosby #freetolove #Jesusliving

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 16, 2014

Guerilla Church

Have you ever felt small?

A veteran writer challenged a bunch of us to dig deep to answer the question of why we write.

I have many answers. One is that when I was a little girl, my father, now a changed man, never seemed to hear me – ever. Growing up ignored by the most important man in my life left me feeling invisible, non-existent. I suppose, then, that I write to prove I exist.

Like Walt Whitman, “I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world” by writing words I earnestly hope others will hear. Like the mayor of Whoville, it’s my way of proving to the great and awesome Horton that he should protect me on my speck of dust. Like carving my initials on the tree of life, I write to make my mark on this planet. Like a desperate child, I write to get my father to notice me.

While a sense of our smallness in the universe can be overwhelming, it’s an important scale to grasp. As valuable as each one of us is, we are still just one. One brief life lived out against an eternal tableau without a sense of place in God’s story can appear insignificant. It’s only natural, then, for humans to band with others to build a Tower of Unified Babel thinking we’ll find meaning and significance in great numbers.

Christians aren’t immune to the temptation of this strategy. Lately I’ve wondered if some of our own structures, our faith-based “-isms,” aren’t just sanctified Towers of Babel as we join, using human means, to build the kingdom of God. Which is why I think we should rejoice when God tears apart our towers.

We like to think big. We worship big ideas, big plans, big dreams. We seek great accomplishments, great power, great-ness. God laughed at our grandiose schemes by sending the biggest and the greatest in the tiny package of a baby to a small place, to unimportant people, in a time before mass media, global connection, and satellite.

Jesus is the Word and the Word from God is that He will build His Kingdom His way, by His methods, through His people – not through our institutions, our machinations, or our –isms.

As small as each of us is, we are of infinite value and, empowered by God, we will participate in building His kingdom if we listen to Him, if we learn to work well where we are. When we’re working small, we focus on the people and God’s work in them. When we grow huge, we start to focus on maintaining the numbers, appealing to the majority, and keeping up the face of the institution.

In smallness, there is freedom. In traveling light, there is effective work. In operating locally, there is authenticity, humility, and impact. Vast armies are impressive but then, someone just gathers a greater army. If you play on the field of numbers, you lose by the numbers game. Guerrilla warfare is effective because it’s small, mobile, and smart. Hard to detect and harder to defeat. Take down one unit, another appears.

I believe God is moving us in the direction from whence we came – guerrilla church.

One mega-church is dismantling itself. Evangelicalism is on the decline. The giants of Christian publishing stumble and fall. Some decry this as the demise of God’s work in the world. I see a retelling of an old, old story.

We came together in these places. We agreed on a common language. We set ourselves a plan to build a tower so high we would reach God on our own. It started well but then, He noticed we had lost our way. Maybe it’s the thinness of the air at those heights. Either way, with a single breath, He toppled our tower, sending shards of stained glass flying in every direction.

In. Every. Direction.

It was a good thing when it happened at Babel. It was a good thing when it happened in Jerusalem. It’s a good thing now:

“And there arose on that day a great persecution against the church in Jerusalem, and they were all scattered throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles. Devout men buried Stephen and made great lamentation over him. But Saul was ravaging the church, and entering house after house, he dragged off men and women and committed them to prison. Now those who were scattered went about preaching the word.” Acts 8:1b-4

Do you dream big dreams of doing something great for God? Do you long to build His kingdom on earth? Start small. Stay small. When you grow- divide. Fine, tell the story of Christ on billboards if that’s your calling but if you are really honored, you’ll be assigned to tap it out in code on a prison wall so that the captive in the next cell will have a chance to enter into glory with you.

Okay, maybe God works big sometimes – some ministries are like meteor showers, comets, and super moons. But, those are events with limited long-term influence – God’s shooting stars.

His amazing work, the sun, we see so often, we take for granted our reliance on it, it’s constant influence, it’s power to affect change and produce life.

The sun rises every Sunday in a million boring pulpits across the land. If you’re standing in one, reignite the fire that once burned in your words. Don’t be boring one minute longer.

The sun rises every morning in Christian homes where by stoking the boring home fires of marriage and doing the boring everyday things that raise children, we testify to the truth of Christ and His love for the church. Do it with passion and zeal.

The sun rises every time a small-time blogger writes the truth and if thirty people read that truth, the sun rises in them. The sun rises over coffee between women offering counsel through affliction, in pickup basketball games between men fumbling their way through discipleship, in small groups, small churches, and small missions. The sun rises in every act of forgiveness, mercy, service, and grace wherever it occurs no matter how small, how limited, how unnoticed.

See, God’s idea isn’t that we come together and build something great to get to Him. His idea is that we come to Him and He acts through us so we can see His greatness.

Are the big things we’ve created and on which we’ve come to rely falling down? We should celebrate every time God topples our towers. It’s proof He loves us and still wants us to participate – each small soul – in His plan.

Guerrilla church, baby. Trust me. It’s the wave we ride all the way to the end. 

Ten Reasons You Kill Christians

This is a message for those who persecute, torture, imprison, and kill Christians. We know why you’re killing us – do you?

Killing Christians is a practice as old as Christianity. Those who practice it do nothing more than imitate their predecessors. Predecessors who attempted but failed to snuff out the life of our faith in its infancy. The practice of persecution is hard for some to fathom but it’s actually an understandable act. In fact, I can think of at least ten reasons to kill a Christian:

Because you can.That’s right. We serve a living God, the God of miracles, the resurrection God, the force of all life but we, His followers, are vulnerable. We die. Easily. When we die beneath your boot or with your hands around our throats, you feel powerful, strong, justified.You’re misinformed. Deluded, even. The only power you have is confined to this life. When we vanish from your sight, we enter the presence of the Living God. We trust Him with vengeance. Read  Revelation 7 . Our voices reach His throne every moment of every day.


Our refusal to renounce our faith makes you doubt your own.We scare you. We know that. It’s frightening to be unable to force someone to join in your delusion. What scares you more is that others might join us, leaving you – weakening your position. You can’t let that happen. But, I’ll let you in on a secret: your plan to end our faith by killing us off  backfires .
One of us offended you.One of us behaved badly or explained plainly the fact that you, too, are a sinner in need of a Savior or that the god you worship is no God. It offended you, challenged your sense of self-righteousness. Since forgiveness isn’t in your wheelhouse, your only recourse is to lash out. But killing us won’t stop the  offense of the cross . It will come back at you. This, I know.
To win favor with your god, your government, or your local dictator.Someone told you to kill a Christian and promised if you did, you’d be with the in-crowd, you’d belong, you’d fit in with those in power. They lie. The only One you need to be in with is the One we serve –  Jesus Christ . Resist those who hand out orders to kill and destroy. You’re likely next on their list.
To make the voices stop.We know about the voices. They’re persistent and demanding. Nothing makes them stop. You think your only choice is to obey them. I promise you the name of Jesus is more powerful than the voices. Rather than kill a believer,  become one . It’s the only way to end your slavery to the voices. Call on the name of Jesus Christ and His will be the only voice you hear.
Because our allegiance to Jesus comes before all others.That messes with your plans for world domination. That messes with your plans for household domination. That messes with your plans to rule your world. If we recognize a higher power,  you can be overruled   and we can’t be controlled. Destroying us is your only chance at security on the throne. Listen to me – your reign is a sham and your throne rests on shifting sand. Killing us is only a temporary stop gap to your imminent overthrow.
Because we’ll forgive you.That’s right. Oppress us, arrest us, beat us, lock us away, kill us dead and we’ll still forgive you. Why? Because  Jesus forgave his executioners   – us. Our forgiveness will outlive you and your weapons. Our forgiveness will ring through heaven’s halls eternally and free us from you forever.
To silence the truth.We are truth tellers, all of us. This is what we do. We tell the truth. You are a disciple of deception and when we speak, we are the yes to your no, the love to your hate, the alive to your dead. You think killing us will silence us – it won’t. It will  multiply   the delivery of our message as if your bullets burst our voices like milkweed pods sending seeds of His truth flying in the Wind.
You love darkness and we bring the light, exposing your deeds.You cling to the shadows. You scurry from light like a cockroach. Every plot you hatch relies on total darkness to develop but Christians bring the light, foiling your schemes. Destroying us is your only hope of success. But ask yourself this, if your success relies on our destruction, what is the source of your power? The power to destroy pales beside the power to build, to construct, to create, to grow. That is the  power of light . Life trumps death. Light triumphs over darkness .  Haven’t you read the playbook? Light wins in the end.

And the primary reason you kill Christians?   10. The power behind you uses you like a marionette in his futile attempt to steal us from God’s hand before he is destroyed forever, hoping to take you down with him. That’s right. You’re a puppet, a pawn. This, however, will be no protection when you are called to account by the final judge. The only hope you have is the hope the Christians are trying to get you to see – Jesus. Only He can save you on that day.

Pray for believers persecuted and marked for martyrdom. Pray more for those who participate in their persecution, who orchestrate their deaths, these are truly the walking dead but they, too, can find eternal life through Jesus  Christ.

You may find one hundred reasons to kill Christians but here is truth: you don’t take our lives, we lay them down, in the name of Jesus Christ. He gives us life eternal, life unending, life to the full.

What’s waiting for you on the other side?

For more information on praying for persecuted Christians go to www.persecution.org or Voice of the Martyrs. Persecution of the followers of Jesus is on the rise and this is why I have repeated this post. Those of us who are free need to use our freedom to intercede for our suffering brothers and sisters.

Making Eye Contact with God

I started praying the other day and it sounded just like this: blah, blah, blah, blah.

Okay, if you had been with me, you would have heard this: Father God, You are holy. You are awesome. You have all power and might. You’re worthy of praise. Thank you for all you’ve given me in life. Thank you for Jesus.

But, if you had been sitting with God, you’d have heard what He heard: blah, blah, blah, blah.

It’s not because I was harboring any more sin than usual. It wasn’t because I was using the wrong words or starting at the wrong place in my prayer. It’s because while my mouth was uttering words, my heart was just, well, empty.

It didn’t take long for me to hear the drone of my own soul and I stopped. I made eye contact with God for the first time in the prayer (don’t ask how this is accomplished, just trust that’s what happened). All at once, I heard what He was hearing and I finally spoke words that matched my soul – “You’re right, Lord. You got me. Right now, I got nuthin.”

Why was I speaking then? I searched my mind for real words to express what was happening inside at that moment. Nope. Nothing.

“You know, I want to be near you, Jesus. I want to connect with You, but I’m running on empty.”

That’s when I heard Him. “Then bring me that. Bring me your emptiness.”

What? That’s crazy. What does that even look like? I thought. But, what choice did I have? I needed Him right then. Wanted Him. Craved His presence; but when a word person is weary, words leave the building – like Elvis, like “that’s all she wrote,” like gone, baby, gone. Empty is all I had.

I was reminded of the poor widow in the Bible. Creditors were coming to take her children as slaves so she went to the prophet Elisha and asked for help. All she had left was a jar of oil. Elisha told her to go to her neighbors and get all of their empty jars. Lots of them. Then, he said to go into her home, close her door, and begin pouring her oil. She poured until every jar was full. She had enough oil to sell to pay her debts.

No human would invent our God. Who could imagine a God who says, “Get a whole bunch of empty and bring it to me”?

It’s not easy to face my own emptiness. Empty is never something good. Empty gas tank. Empty bank account. Empty nest. Empty promises. Empty cupboards. Nope. Not good.

Imagine being invited to a party and offering to bring an empty bowl or an empty platter. The only table you’d be a welcome guest with that kind of contribution is the table of the Lord. But what other table matters?

So I sat with the Lord – empty. I didn’t keep talking because that was ridiculous. I just prayed this, “Fine. Here I am. I have nothing to bring you. Not even words. But I long for you so I’m not going to budge from You, even though I have nothing. I’m just going to sit here with my nothing and You.” I sat for a long time. It felt like – sitting. Being quiet. Still. But it also felt freeing. This was honest. Real. Home. A place I can show up empty and be welcome. God’s heart.

When I got up, I had no grand insight. I didn’t feel especially holy. But I knew I had been with Jesus – empty – and it had been okay.

So, here’s the cool part. A couple of days later, a friend posted a note on Facebook about the struggle of striving to work toward a God-given dream and feeling frustrated, weary, and confused. In the midst of the conversation that ensued, I talked about bringing God our emptiness. What I shared was meaningful to the other people in the discussion.

Yup. I hadn’t seen it when I rose from that time of sitting with Him but I’d arrived empty and I left so full, I had enough to share with my neighbors.

What had I done? Seriously – nothing.  I love watching God work. That’s what happens when I sit still and shut up– I get to see Him work and it’s beautiful.

My Prayers are Pathetic

I think about them -

the school girls kidnapped by Boko Haram.

Months have passed since they were taken.

In those months, I’ve had good days and bad

but on my worst days, I’m still free,

on my worst days, I’m not suffering physical assault, separation from loved ones, or forced marriage,

on my worst days, my body is still mine, my daughter is here, with me, healthy, whole, free.

There have been times in the months since they were stolen,

that I’ve felt distant from God,

but I have access at any moment to my Bible, worship music, hymns, devotional supports, other believers, quiet space, nature, and all manner of vehicles to regain my spiritual connection.

What would I do if it was all stripped away? How would I survive if I was separated from every doorway by which I access my relationship with God except Jesus? These girls know the answer. They know that even if it is all taken from us, He is there. Because, nothing can separate us from Jesus. Nothing.

I believe that any of these young women who love Jesus have open access to Him, still. Where ever they are, in whatever condition – cut off from the world, sold into marriages, locked into hidden rooms, buried beneath burkas, forced into a faith they don’t own – He is there.

He promises He will never leave nor forsake us. He is with each of them. He knows where they are. He knows who they are. They have all they need – in Him.

And He won’t let me forget them.

He whispers to me during my prayer times, in the midst of worship, throughout my day – pray for my captive daughters, pray for your sisters in bondage, remember those who suffer for my name.

And I do.

I intercede – a word that sounds like more of an action than it feels like. It feels weak, pathetic, useless – the act of speaking or thinking words to God and expecting them to have some effect. When others scoff or mock my prayers – I understand.

Because in a world of men with guns, men who can steal young women and sell them into slavery, men who play politics with human flesh and who place no value in innocence or sweetness or girls with dreams – in this world, a middle-aged woman on her knees whispering to God feels like a ridiculous thing

and yet

and yet, He tells me it is not. And I believe Him over any other voice. And I hear Him whisper – pray for my captive daughters, pray for your sisters in bondage, remember those who suffer for my name.

So, I do.

For why am I free if not to exercise this freedom in service to others? Is my freedom to serve my own desires? No. When one part of the body hurts, we all suffer. When I face Him with my freedom, He’ll ask me – did you use your freedom to serve your sisters who endured slavery? And I want to be able to say – yes. I heard your voice. I trusted your Word.

Through my love for Him, I am able to love them that I never met. Through my love for Him, I am able to ignore the scoffers and speak the words, words that feel like air, words that feel like puffs of breath, words that rise

rise

rise on the updrafts of faith created at His ascension where He receives these pale, fragile, puffs of wordy faith – my prayers – and He infuses them with power transforming them into bolts of light against the darkness of this world.

In His hands, my prayers are assault rifles against the real enemy.

In His hands, my prayers are smart bombs directing deliverance, relief, comfort, restoration, healing, and hope where He knows they are needed.

In His hands, my prayers form a light shield against the power of darkness.

My words are nothing. Gasps. Pathetic utterances. Useless on their own. But they do not remain with me – they go to Him and He is their transformation.

So let them mock.

Let them scoff.

Let them laugh.

I don’t care about them.

I care about the schoolgirls – the ones we know about and those who didn’t make the headlines. Jesus knows every name. He knows their locations. He hears the beating of their hearts against the cage of their lives. He is with them.

But He knows even more because He knows the names of the men who captured them. He knew them as boys before the darkness claimed them. He hears their hearts beat,too.

And He is greater than I am because His love extends beyond those schoolgirls to those soldiers, too. And when I pray for the lost, He takes those prayers, wraps them in His power, and hurls them at those soldiers to break them free from their captor, the one they are too blind to see.

My pathetic prayers in His hands can cut through chains and bars unseen by human eyes.

I think about them, the school girls kidnapped by Boko Haram, and the thought of them frees me from my small life, making me bold to enter the greater story. As I pray for their release, He uses them to release me from myself.

Do you think about them, too?

Perhaps you hear His voice whisper as well – does it sound like this? Pray for my captive daughters, pray for your sisters in bondage, remember those who suffer for my name, intercede for the lost, the captives enslaved to darkness, pray for them all.

When Your Loved One is Missing in Action

I wait for you, loved one. I will wait as long as I’m able.

Each Sunday morn from my place at worship, I eye the door and hold out hope until the very last strain of the prelude, until the amen of the invocation, through the announcements, and even into the first song.

I watch the door willing you to appear.

Like the children in the theater clap their hands and believe to revive Tinkerbell,

I raise my hands and ask God to renew my faith that you will return to Him,

to us.

We wait together, He and I.

It’s hard for me, sometimes, to believe He loves you as much as I love you.

How is that possible?

For, I love you with the fire of a thousand suns,

with the force of a waterfall channeled through a metal straw and released on the other side,

with the endurance of an aboriginal runner on perpetual walkabout,

with the determination of a toddler resisting bedtime,

with the fierce power of a hound protecting the master who feeds him.

I love you with the steady rain of tears shed in sorrow over your wandering,

with sleepless nights pleading heaven on your behalf,

with fists beating against God’s chest making demands I have no right in my own name to make

but trusting the name by which I pray, mustering every boldness to bid Him bring you home.

My words are tinder on His altar as I call down fire to light your way,

the breath of my prayers encouraging the flames higher and higher as I rend my skin from my flesh as a visible sign to the heavenly host that I mean to have you with us for eternity.

Why do you tarry?

Where do you wander, my loved one?

The enemy has your ears and eyes but God infiltrates the backroom of your heart and I know you hear the whisper of truth even though your lesser spirit dances to the backbeat of the music of the age.

Come home. He speaks to you. Come home, where I am waiting, where you are welcome, where loved ones wait, watching the door, saving your place, making their very lives a light in the window to guide you home.

I inhale sorrow upon waking,

Ingest my longing for breakfast,

labor with wanting your safe return throughout my day,

sup with the taunts of the enemy that you are lost, that all my longing will go unanswered, all my prayers unheard,

but I raise the shield of faith against these arrows as evening falls and I allow the setting sun to retire my doubts as well.

As the moon and stars testify to the greatness of the One who called them into being, I let them speak to me of His faithfulness and ask Him to make me like them, reflecting His glory.

As I lay me down to sleep, your face is there, my loved one. Can you hear my heartbeat like a tribal drum summoning your return?

Clutching the hope of your deliverance, slicing my hands along the barbed wire fence that separates me from the false peace of giving up on you;

I refuse to release these shards of hope because the One who bled for me held out hope for us all with bleeding nail-pierced hands. My blood mingles with His at the crossroads where we parted ways, you and I, making fresh marks so you can find the narrow way if only you will open your eyes to see.

Follow it home, loved one, follow it home.

I wait for you, my loved one. I wait for your return.

Know that whatever you endure, there is someone with eyes on the door of the sanctuary, saving your place, aching to welcome you back to the fold – and I wait beside Him watching the door for a glimpse of your face as you enter His sanctuary and find yourself finally home.

I will wait for you as long as I am able but even if I fall, know that He waits for you, still.

Loved One Missing in Action http://t.co/qCojsuAGyi

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 2, 2014