broken//stained//glass

Dogs, their owners and poop

Behind our house is a large and beautiful park called Ute Valley Park. It's fabulous for walking or hiking or jogging or mountain biking on a good day. The other day Megan and I went for a long walk through the park. One of the things you notice when you spend a significant amount of time in Colorado is the number of dogs and the immense amount affection of dogs. It seems that (almost) everyone in Colorado owns a dog. And owners love to walk their dogs in Ute Valley Park.

One thing we have become acustomed to is seeing owners holding the dog leash in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other. City ordinance states that you must pick up your dog's poop and carry it home with you (I tip my hat to City Council for such a rule). The other day it struck me for the first time in a long time just how weird this whole thing looks, an owner proudly yet subconsciously carrying their dog's poop in a bag on a pleasant stroll on a nice Colorado trail. Nice.

If aliens landed on Planet Earth and happened to walk through Ute Valley Park, I think they would have to wonder who ruled the place. If you had never seen a dog or a human being and you saw this whole thing traspire you might think the dog was the Master and the human the slave. The Master dog pulls the human servant around on a leash through the park. The Master dog poops and then the human slave picks up his poop and keeps walking without batting an eye. The juxtaposition is just thick with irony and yet saturated with familiarity than we miss the idiocy of it all.

Anyway, I digress...

I mentioned this out loud to Megan and we talked about the entire ordeal and its irony. But (without trying to be trivial or sacreligious) I thought of our interaction with our Creator. (What kind of connection is this?  you may wonder. Stay with me here...) In the midst of Christ's immense love for us as people, he's willing to carry our own poop for us. His love is so big he's willing to deal with our filthy sin, sin that is repulsive and desirable to no one. And he does this not because he has to (there is no City Ordinance stating he must do such a thing), but all because he loves us so much. He voluntarily chooses to do this for us.

So despite chuckling on the trail about the strange cultural owner/dog relationship we have here in America, I found myself overwhelmed with thankfulness that God is willing to love us enough to reach down, pick up and carry our filthy, disgusting poop so we don't have to.

I'm grateful for the grace that he shows to us by carrying our poop.

"Surely, he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows..." (Isaiah 53:4)

Shaped by tradition, not culture

I heard a lecture series given by Eugene Peterson presented at Regent College entitled: "Follow the Leader." The first session, called "The Leadership of King Herod" was fascinating.

During the Q and A session somebody asked a question (and I don't even remember the question) but Eugene's response was stunning and profound:

"Jesus wasn't shaped by his culture. He was shaped by his tradition."

I wonder how that plays into the 'living in the culture, but not of it' paradigm.

It makes me wonder:

-what is my tradition and how am I shaped by it?

-what if I don't have a tradition?

-how much does culture shape me in relation to tradition?

-how do I develop more of a tradition so that it shapes me more?

-what are postures that I can put myself in to be shaped more by tradition?

-how do I follow more closely in the tradition of the Master Jesus?

Giving Rick a hug

The night before Thanksgiving Megan and I went downtown for a nice dinner and a movie for "date night." When we finished dinner we had some time to kill before the movie started so we meandered the blocks of our little downtown Colorado Springs. Megan couldn't finish her meal at dinner so we asked for a box from the waitress and asked that God would afford us the opportunity to interact with someone who was homeless and hungry to whom we could give the rest of her meal as we walked around.

As we were walking around, we were stopped by a homeless man that we had interacted with before. His name was Rick and we had talked with him this past summer on our mission trip that we took to our own city. He didn't remember us, but we remembered him. Rick stopped and asked us if we could spare some change. We could smell the alcohol on his breath (and remembered that Rick struggled with the bottle when we interacted with him in June) and felt it would be unwise to supply him his own demise.

"I'm sorry. I'm an alcoholic and I think I may be a little drunk right now," he said.

Megan and I had recently talked about the importance of being Jesus in the flesh by valuing people. Since we were killing time anyway, we tried to value Rick. We gave him the rest of Megan's meal and put it in his backpack for him. We asked him questions, looked him in the eye - had a normal, decent conversation with him for about ten minutes.

I felt a weird, but clear prompting from the Holy Spirit. I have read the gospels a lot lately, noting the frequency and intentionality of the way Jesus touched people who were not often touched. And I knew the prompting was not just some fleeting thought.

The prompting was clear: Give Rick a hug.

Before we said goodbye, I asked Rick a question I have never asked a homeless person:

"Rick, I would like to give you a hug. Can I give you a hug?"

"Yeah. Sure, I'll take a hug. It's been a long time since I got one of those."

And there I was, feeling a bit awkward, standing on the corner of that downtown street hugging a man that probably hasn't received a hug in a long time, thinking to myself that this is what Jesus would probably be doing if he were here in the Springs. Hugging the homeless. Hugging guys like Rick.

And I thought of how much more intentional I can be with my touch. I wondered why I had never offered a hug to homeless men and women who probably haven't received much value or attention or dignity from many people.

I am not sure who got more out of the experience: me or Rick. But I think we both needed that hug...

So, what do you do?

Whenever I am around people I have never met before or when I travel people ask me the two most important American questions people can ask when they first meet: "What is your name?" and "What do you do?" (notice the question is never "who are you?" but that is for a later post, indeed).

Anyway, when people ask me that question I get quite interesting responses. People start out gregarious and upbeat.

'Hi there. I'm Joe. What's your name?"

"Hi Joe. I'm J.R."

"Great to meet you, J.R. What do you do?"

"Well, I'm a pastor."

[long pause] "Oh..." [another awkward pause] "I had a cousin that was married in a church in Iowa several years back by a...pastor. Do you know that pastor in Iowa?" [I'm not kidding. As if you were an attorney and you knew every attorney in the state of Iowa].

"No, I don't."

"Well, uh, nice talking..." [and they usually scurry away to find someone else to talk to who is more interesting. If they are sitting next to me on a plane, they would usually return to their USAToday].

These conversations frustrate me to no end. Why am I making people feel uncomfortable? What is it that I am doing? How can I make this more enjoyable than pulling wisdom teeth? Why is it that pastor is such a negative word these days? How did that happen? Briefly, I believe it is because we have experienced a separation of Jesus and the way his followers live that it confuses and frustrates a world that is watching us.

Anyway, all this to say, I have changed my answer.

I am no longer a pastor.

At least not in my response.

When people now as me the question, "What do you do?" I now respond with "I am a practical and educational theologist." I do this not to make myself sound better than I really am, but to sound intriguing and to drop the negative stigma that the word "pastor." in hopes of entering into worthwhile and significant conversation.

Usually when I say that is what I do I get an inquisitve response:

"Really. I don't think I have ever met a practical and educational theologist before. What exactly is it that you do?"

"Well, I help people be attentive to God." [a line I stole from Eugene Peterson].

9 times out of 10 in these situations I have a fascinating conversation about life and faith and people's struggles and wrestlings with trying to be attentive to God and what our role is in all of this. I have had some brilliant conversations with those who are far from God than from those who have grown up in the church their whole lives.

NOTE: I want to encourage you to do two things: (1) don't steal my line and (2) if you are a pastor, drop the "p" word and come up with your own unorthodox, intriguing description of yourself that might lead to more worthwhile conversation with others.

I have found it quite interesting that if I can re-explain what I do in terms that are not alarming or have no negative stigma attached to them I end up in some great conversations.

Why didn't I decide to change my professional job title a long time ago?

So, if you see me and ask me what I do, don't expect to hear me say I am a pastor. Expect me to say that I am a practical and educational theologist that helps others be more attentive to God.

Archaeology and its impact on Scripture

Growing up, I was bored by the idea of geography and archaeology. (Who would ever want to spend hot and tiring days digging up stuff that happened long ago? Who wants to extract bones of dead people that probably didn't tell us anything we didn't know before? )

But my semester in college living and studying in Jerusalem and being around the geography of the land and academic biblical archaeology opened my eyes to the incredible impact that these dusty, underground allies. Each new piece of pottery or ancient wall or sepulchre is a story that it is trying to tell us. Becuase of this eye-opening semester, I am passionate about Geographic locations mentioned in Scripture. I am passionate about Biblical Archaeology. (I want to return to Israel some day and participate in a dig, but they aren't cheap). That's why Biblical Archaeology Review (BAR) is my favorite magazine that I subscribe to. (Yes, I know, I am a nerd).

Archaeology is one of the greatest apologetic tools in presenting the accuracy of Scripture and of the Biblical stories that we tell and believe.

Every now and then, evidence emerges and it strengthens the credibility of the biblical account. This week is no different. I read in the paper this week that Philistine pottery was found in southern Israel that mentions the name of the warrior Goliath (when, before this, there had been no concrete evidence of the presence of Goliath in any extra-biblical evidence).

This is big.

Check out the article here.

If after reading this, you still think I am a nerd, that's okay...it doesn't bother me.

The gift of difficult people

In our community of faith there are "difficult people." I think you know who I am talking about: People who are emotionally high-maintenance, always seem to draw attention to themselves, create more problems than benefits and are socially inept without the ability to carry a normal, decent, human conversation. It's awkward. It's emotionally draining. It's out of control, at times. It's not enjoyable for anyone, including myself.

We also have a few with physical disabilities that need extra attention getting in and out of the building. There are a few with autism, who comment publicly on topics that are taboo or who comment on things completely off-topic or say things just make people feel uncomfortable. We, at Pierced, are no exception. Every community of faith (or I should say, every community) has "difficult" poeple. So much of my emotional energy seems to be directed (and drained) with these individuals.

I hate to admit this, but over the past several months I've complained to God about these people. God, why do they have to bother us? Why can't them go to some other faith community? Why do they have to go here? Ministry would be so much easier if they were elsewhere?

As you can note, I have been utterly embarrassed for such selfish thoughts and apathetic -- even hard-hearted -- prayers. It reeks of arrogance, I know. Over the past several months God has placed an orange "Under Construction" sign in front of my heart, veering traffic away with orange cones so that he can concentrate on fixing the problem.

God has showed me over the past several months the amount of difficult people that Jesus hung out with: lepers and death girls and Samaritans and tax collectors. As if they weren't difficult enough, he couldn't get the Pharisaical flees to stop circling his head, no matter how many times he tried to shew them away. Talk about difficult. They were hard-hearted and had enough religious knowledge to be extremely dangerous.

And I think I deal with difficult people? This is nothing compared to the limited 33 years of life that our Master spent on this earth trying to help and heal and bring hope to a lost world.

It's been a supernatural construction project that, I believe, has brought me out on the other side. It's interesting: when I get involved in conversations with difficult people -- times when it feels like I'm pulling teeth just to ask how somebody's week was or I have to sit down with a guy for the ninth time and tell him that his interaction with other women at Pierced is making them feel awkward and he needs to stop -- I find my heart is no longer complaining. While I wouldn't say I would enjoy these conversations nor do I desire to get into them, I do find my heart saying, God, what do you want me to learn from this situation? or God, help me to show love practically to this person that may not have felt love very much this week or What can I do to help this person see a bit more of you right now?

It's not been easy, but it is refeshingly amazing: when I have a teachable spirit and willingness to see these individuals as a gift and not a problem God seems to bless the situation. It's incredible the amount of spiritual lessons God teaches me through these difficult people interactions. And I don't find it surprising, but I do find the gospel ironic: I learn and grow and am stretched more through my interactions with the difficult than I am with those who are "easy" or like me or require no extra effort to love. Our community is growing in love as we reach out and be proactive with the difficult. We're growing more in our response to the awkwardness of a poorly placed comment by the difficult during our corporate sharing time after the teaching than we are when people clearly and succinctly make some profound comment on the text.

Maybe Pierced gets it much more than I do and are further along in the curriculum of this lesson than I am.

But what God has finally taught me through these circumstances is this: difficult people are a gift, not a curse.

Thank you, God, for the gift of difficult people in our midst.

Mike Shula and I are on the same page

I woke up on Friday morning listening to sports talk radio on ESPN radio. I was still groggy, but I was coherent enough to hear an interview of Mike Shula, head coach of the Alabama Crimson Tide football team -- ranked #4 in the country in the current college football polls. As the interviewer was introducing the segment of the show, he mentioned that the two most difficult -- and famous -- jobs in sports is being the coach of the Boston Red Sox baseball team and the coach of the University of Alabama football team. If you know anything about sports, you know that Boston worships their Red Sox and football in Alabama is considered the official state religion.

The interviewer asked Coach Shula a simple question, that, on the surface, seemed fairly lighthearted with the intention to get the conversation rolling. But it knocked the coach off his rocker.

ESPN: "Coach, welcome to the program."

Shula: "Thanks. Thanks for having me."

ESPN: "Coach, when was the last time that you went out in public and you weren't approached by a fan wanting to talk about football?" [interviewer chuckles]

Shula: "Boy...that's a great question. Wow. Let's see.... It's been quite a while, I'll tell you that. It sometimes aggravates my wife. You know, everywhere we go people see me as Mike Shula the football coach. But there are times where I want to be known as Mike Shula the person. We have a few friends that we can escape to their house every now and then and just be us. It's nice, but its not often enough. While I like football, I don't want to talk about it all the time, you know. There are other things in my life besides football. It's been quite an adjustment just running errands around town."

I was more coherent at this point. I sat up in bed and thought, Yeah, that's what I feel as a pastor. Now, granted, I am not saying that I go in public and everywhere I go people want to talk about God or religion or Pierced. Nor am I saying that I am some famous celebrity around town either. (This is where the illustration breaks down because Shula has almost been elevated to god-like status this fall after his team is still undefeated with only a few more games remaining).

However, it has been quite an adjustment to walk into a Starbucks on a lazy Thursday afternoon and have someone walk up to me and say, "Hi J.R." and I have no idea who they are, until they explain that they go to Pierced. It's just really odd to have people know me and I do not know them. (This is just a fraction of what Shula must feel every single day, a hundred times more than I do...but you get the point).

Also, after a long day of ministry ups and downs at work when we go over to friends house (with what we think is just hanging out and allowing us to be "us") we find that all they want to talk abouts is Pierced for another 3 hours. It can be draining.

Though we love Pierced, there have been times when we have walked into our friends' houses and said, "You know what? Can you do us a favor? Can we not talk about Pierced tonight. We just need to be us. Is that okay?"

If you aren't a pastor and are having a hard time understanding what I'm writing about, that's fine. It's hard to understand, I know. But if you are a pastor or work (or worked) in ministry, you may know what this is like (anyone else relate to this?) Just like Shula said, he is passionate about football (and I am passionate about God and ministry and seeing God move in people's lives). But, he (and I) don't want to talk about it all of the time.

If I could alter Shula's words and make them my own I would say this:

"...people see me as J.R. Briggs the Pastor. But there are times where I want to be known as J.R. Briggs the person..."