Excuses Suck.

I was an athlete for a long time before I stopped making excuses.  In fact, the entirety of my high school and college career was full of them – many were word-for-word replicas of those in the video above.  I was always the guy who would kill himself in training, but hesitated to assert himself when it counted.  It wasn’t until I finished my senior season in college that I finally believed I could really play – that I didn’t need teammates or coaches to convince me I was capable of performing at a high level.

Thank God it wasn’t too late.  I ended up in a summer pro-league after graduation, and found myself taking the court to play with and against NBA players like Nate Robinson, Jamal Crawford, and Martell Webster…

…and I held my own.  I have no glory-stories of dominating guys that now make 20 million a year, but I held my own.  I went from being a mediocre (at best) low-level college player, to getting an invite to the all-star game of the Seattle Summer Pro League in about 3 months – because I stopped making excuses.  I sucked it up, believed in myself, and operated in the gifts I had been given and the abilities I had honed through hard work.  I played better and had more fun in those few months before entering full-time ministry than at any other point in my life.

The tragic part of my basketball narrative is not the points I could have scored in college or the losses that could have become wins for my team had I been a more confident player.  The true tragedy is that my mediocrity had nothing to do with a lack of skill or effort.  I knew I was capable of more, but couldn’t quite will it out of myself – then I’d make excuses for myself so I could sleep at night.

It is easier to make excuses than to make a change.

This concept haunts me.

I am capable of so much more.  More commitment.  More generosity.  More devotion.  More compassion.  More sacrifice.  But all too often my college-athlete-self dictates my present-day, real-life decisions.  Not acceptable.

I am capable of more.

We are capable of more.

Hunger.  Slavery.  Poverty.  Injustice.  Unreached millions.

Daunting?  Yes.

Insurmountable?  Absolutely not…

…IF, (and its a big “if”) we are willing to check the excuses at the door and enter into the fullness of what God has called us to and equipped us for.

I don’t care if it sounds cliché…

Let’s make change together.  Not excuses.

The Silence of Sin

In Mark 7 Jesus’ travels bring him face-to-face with a man who is deaf and unable to speak properly.  Jesus pulls the man away from the crowd, speaks aloud, “Ephphatha” (Aramaic for “be opened”), and immediately the man can hear and starts speaking perfectly.

I preached on this seemingly straight-forward healing story at Shift tonight.  It was one of the many instances I have experienced in the last few years where I am certain the content of a sermon is for my own benefit more so than those who have come to hear.

Too often I choose spiritual deafness, and too often I am unable to speak properly as I’m meant to.

Many of us have the following tendency: when we hear God speaking correction or rebuke into our lives that would require sacrifice or change on our part, we disregard his words and carry on like all is well.  When God repeats his selfless act, we repeat our selfish response.  At some point we get to the painful end that ignoring God always leads to, and then we promptly lash out at God for not speaking to us.  We choose being deaf over becoming different.  We fear change that much.  We value our own desires that much.

I told my students tonight it is not unlike the garbage truck that comes by your house entirely too early one morning each week.  For a few weeks the truck wakens you, and you’re livid.  The few weeks after that the noise only partially disrupts your slumber.  At a certain point you’ve conditioned yourself to never have a clue the truck is even nearby.

I/We are capable of doing the same thing with the voice of God – and that is not a good thing.

Our disobedience brings us to a dangerous place where we can no longer hear the voice of God – not because He is no longer speaking, (he most certainly is), but because we have chosen silence – we’ve taught ourselves not to hear.

I noticed something about this passage; Jesus only commands the man’s ears to be opened (and obviously, his authority is honored).  But he never says anything in regard to the man’s tongue; it is just loosed and enabled all on its own.  I’d like to believe we are to conclude that if we are truly hearing from God, we will in turn speak on his behalf – I’d like to think speaking is the natural, rational response to hearing.

Unfortunately I’ve found it’s not that simple for me, even though it should be.

Too often I choke on the gospel I’ve been called to herald.  I let moments that were meant to be characterized by declaration be taken over by fearful hesitancy.  And the only thing more tragic than a deaf man who chooses not to speak is a man that can hear that chooses not to speak.

I have experienced what I now call “The Silence of Sin.”

When we should be hearing the voice of God encouraging us, empowering us, rebuking us, redirecting us, guiding us, and we choose our own desires instead – we hear silence.

When we should be hearing our own voice sharing the glory of what God has done for us, and we choose comfort instead of obedience – we hear silence.

And most heart-breaking of all, when those around us should be hearing of the hope and joy they think is nonexistent, and we let the good news stall out in our throats – they hear silence.

I don’t want to have anything to do with silence.

I want to hear the voice of God – not in ambiguous whispers, but through clear instruction and passionate encouragement.

And I want to be the voice of God – yes, when I have a microphone in my hand, but even more so when I don’t.

Lord, open my ears to hear, and loose my tongue to speak.

I will not be silent.

May You Never Forget How Loved You Are

This semester in Shift our series on Jesus as our healer has been such a blessing to me.  We’ve been going miracle-by-miracle through the book of Mark, seeing how Jesus is superior over the physical and spiritual effects of sin.  Preparing for these messages has been encouraging on levels I could not have anticipated.  The finished work of Jesus heals me in ways I will not be able to fully appreciate this side of eternity.

A few weeks ago things were even more intense than usual.  Students were excited to worship, God’s word was especially potent, and things just seemed to flow.  Long after our official dismissal time, then band was still on stage leading the few of us still in the room in worship.  I found myself sitting on the ground a few feet in front of the stage with my head down, praying out loud as the lyrics to “How He Loves” filled the almost-empty auditorium.  As the song drew to a close, I looked up where Zach was leading, and saw a beautiful glimpse of what the night (and the whole series) was about.  After the set was over I had Zach give me his iPhone, told him to go back where he had been singing, and took this picture.

When he came back down off the stage I just handed him his phone back with the picture still on the screen and said, “May you never forget how loved you are.”

May none of us forget.

Oh, how he loves us.

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