Food for Thought

(As I near my return from sabbatical, it's time for a blog. Warning: This blog will not be nearly as satisfying as waffle fries.)

The employees of Chick fil-A are running around like chickens with their heads cut off today as Christians all over the country gobble up chicken sandwiches and drink lemonade in support of the company's stand against gay marriage. It's all over Facebook. Many of my students and friends are posting pictures of ketchup packets and empty fry boxes. I'm a little jealous. I like Chick Fil-A. I don't like pickles on my chicken sandwich, but I might be there, too, if it didn't cost me eight bucks for a #1 meal.

I can understand the outcry. I believe marriage is designed by God to be for a man and a woman. It is getting difficult to publicly hold any convictions in our society without being labeled a hater or a bigot. In a country based on religious freedom, it's outrageous that any politician would threaten a company because its owners, operating in full compliance with the law, hold a personal religious conviction. The Mayor of Chicago said, "Chick fil-A's values are not our values." Given that it's a city of 2.7 million people, I can't imagine what Chicago's unified "values" might be, but my guess is that many of its residents don't really value the mayor's opinions much. I doubt he's as popular as a good chicken sandwich.

Nevertheless, politicians in Illinois, New York and Vermont have pledged to oppose the opening of new Chick fil-A stores in their regions. This is a ridiculous intervention by self-proclaimed "thought police." Chick Fil-A didn't invent the traditional view of marriage -- they invented the chicken sandwich. As one of my friends posted on Facebook, "Let's ask the Christian conservative owner of a business that isn't open on Sundays his opinion on gay marriage, and then get offended when we don't like his answer." I liken these modern-day attempts at intimidation to opposing black-owned businesses in the south, or worse, closing Jewish-owned businesses in Nazi Germany. Can you imagine the outcry if New York decided to oppose the opening of a Jewish business because of the owner's religious convictions?

To add salt to the wounded waffle fries, Jim Henson's company pulled their toys from Chick fil-A kids' meals. I didn't know Muppets even had a sexual orientation, other than Miss Piggy shamefully lusting for Kermit. She's really quite immodest, and I admire Kermit's commitment to purity. I'm sure not giving out plastic Elmos will cut into the Chick fil-A profits by 0.00%.

However, while I'm in support of Chick fil-A, I have a few thoughts of my own to share, a few feathers to ruffle, or pluck, so to speak.

First, to my friends who are gay: You are still my friends. I hope you don't hate me for having convictions. There's a big difference between trying to honor what I believe God says, and being a hateful bigot. Really, the only people I have trouble loving are the super self-righteous. We can probably agree on that.

Second, to my conservative friends: Instead of making a big show of eating at Chick fil-A today, wouldn't it be a bigger testimony to your faith to support Chick fil-A's convictions about the Sabbath? What if, for the next year, instead of saying, "I wish Chick fil-A were open!" as you head to Subway, Olive Garden, Chipotle--or, heaven forbid--McDonalds, on your way home from church, you invited somebody (new, or different) to your home for peanut butter sandwiches and milk. Now THAT would honor the spirit of Chick fil-A! (I could never keep this pledge, but it's an amazing idea!)

Lastly, I wonder where Jesus would be eating lunch today? Would he be at Chick fil-A, supporting the traditional view of marriage with chicken nuggets and a hand-spun vanilla shake? Maybe. I'd love it if he could multiply a couple of those to feed me 5000 times. But I doubt it. From what we know about his tastes, it seems more likely he would be at Long John Silvers or Panera Bread (He couldn't afford Bonefish Grill). From what we know about his character, he'd probably be eating jello at the hospice house with a dying AIDS patient.

In a nutshell, I'm challenging myself -- and anyone who reads this -- to hold convictions with passion and humility, to honor God with actions that speak louder than words, to love people, no matter what they believe, and to emulate Jesus as best we can in a world that just doesn't understand him.

I'm going to go make myself a sandwich now, without the pickles.

How to know you are relevant

This past weekend, the Philadelphia Phillies, a perennial power in the National League, came to Washington for a three game series with the Nationals. In the past, fans from Philadelphia have followed their team to the nation's capital in droves, buying thousands of tickets and turning the Nationals' ballpark into "Philadelphia South." This was because the successful Phillies often sell out their games, while the yet-to-be-successful Nationals rarely do. Enthusiastic Phillies fans found it easy to annex DC as another venue to watch their team's quest for the pennant.

This year, things are a bit different. The Phillies are struggling at .500 as several of their aging stars have been relegated to the disabled list. Meanwhile, the Nationals are in first place, and are becoming the talk of baseball. They boast the game's two most-hyped young superstars (Stephen Strasburg and Bryce Harper) and an improving lineup that appears poised to be a perennial title contender.

In an effort to defend their team and create some pride, Nationals management and several DC community leaders launched the "Take Back the Ballpark" campaign. The campaign encouraged Washington fans to come to the park themselves and not allow the illegal aliens from Philadelphia to become DC squatters. The Nationals even went so far as to film a short commercial in which their mascot (Screech) "tricked" two Phillies fans to get onto the Nationals team bus so they could be unceremoniously dumped in parking lot of Citizens' Bank Park in Philly. (On a side note: Screech has a long way to go before he can rival the Philly Phanatic. And who named him "Screech?" What in the world does that have to do with Washington, DC? They should have named him "Philly-buster." )

More important, however, is what took place on the field. After the Nationals took the first two games of the series, the Phillies were feeling somewhat offended. So on Sunday night, in the bottom of the first inning, with two outs and none on, Phillies star pitcher Cole Hamels decided to throw at 19-year-old phenom Bryce Harper. He hit him squarely in the back. Harper shook it off, then proceeded to aggressively run his way around the bases, eventually stealing home on a pickoff attempt. Hamels later admitted he hit Harper on purpose, calling it "old school baseball" and claiming he was teaching the young buck a lesson. Harper was not allowed to comment, but Nationals General Manager Mike Rizzo responded by calling Hamels a "chickens_ _t" and demanding he be suspended. I find it all quite entertaining.

The Phillies won the game, and saved some face in the process. However, this exchange is a harbinger of a new era of baseball for DC. A rivalry has been born--one not possible before because the Nationals weren't any good. Now the Phillies feel threatened by Harper and his teammates and genuine dislike is building between two clubs separated only by 100 miles and a basket of cheese steaks. As Bryce Harper's back can now attest, the Nationals are a threat.

This is proof of a universal truth: Until you get plunked, you aren't a threat to anyone. Until you have an enemy throwing at you, you are irrelevant.

It's true in baseball, and it's true in the Christian life. If we are doing nothing for the Lord, sitting on the bench, wasting our time, with no ambition of contending for anything, we are no threat to the devil and need not fear his wrath. However, if we are making progress for his kingdom -- sharing the gospel, spreading the glory of God, loving people into the kingdom, fighting evil -- then, indeed, we tick off our enemy. The devil does not bother much with irrelevant people. He goes for the ones who are making a difference. Personally, I have often felt the greatest degree of spiritual attack when I am doing the most good for God. As unpleasant as it may be, being attacked by discouragement, conflict, and temptation is one of the surest signs that I am doing something that matters. The devil is a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour (1 Peter 5:8). In other words, when I am relevant, I have to watch my back.

Did you get plunked today? That's a good sign. It might hurt, but shake it off and keep running until you reach home. Only those who present a threat are worthy of being called a rival.

Welcome to relevance.

The Sign

Last year I posted my Good Friday message here on my blog. Here is the message I am giving tonight (one of three being given). It is based on John 19:19-24

Pilate had a notice prepared and fastened to the cross. It read: Jesus of Nazareth: the King of the Jews. (John 19:19)

Sometimes a sign is just a sign. It is what is says--straight forward with no complications.
• Open or closed
• Eggs 1.99 a dozen
• Please use side entrance
• Frederick 4 miles
• No loitering, no smoking, no shirt, no shoes, no service

Sometimes a sign is more than a sign. Sometimes it holds potential meaning, proposes a series of potential events, not only informs, but strongly suggests, or even demands action.
• Caution: bridge becomes icy before road
• Slow down: falling rocks
• Warning: high voltage
• If you are caught shoplifting, you will be prosecuted

What kind of sign was this one, placed upon the cross above Jesus’ head? This sign was commissioned by Pilate, the Roman governor. He was the power broker in the story with Christ, at least from a human perspective. He is one weighing the options as the crowd and the religious leaders demand the blood of Jesus. Clearly, he is uncomfortable with this whole situation. He does not want to make a ruling in this case; he just wants it to go away. He sees no reason for Jesus to be crucified. His wife has frightened him with talk of dreams. He does not comprehend this claim that Jesus is a king, and seems surprised that this simple, humble man does not deny it in order to be set free.

So now, stuck between a rock and a hard place, he washes his hands of the matter and reluctantly sends Jesus to be crucified. Yet before he does so, he feels it is necessary to commission a sign.

Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.

The words themselves are filled with irony. Jesus of Nazareth? This is the Roman Empire we are talking about. It is the greatest civilization in history. The Roman Emperor is not only the most powerful man in the world, he is god-like. How could a man from the remotest portion of that empire in any way rival the rule of Caesar? King of nothing, Pilate should have written.

Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews

King of the Jews? Isn’t Jesus himself a Jew? Isn’t it the Jewish leaders who are begging to have him killed? Aren’t they the ones shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”? Something about this man has them so angry that these people who hate the Romans and their Emperor, shout at the top of their lungs, “We have no king but Caesar!”

Why are they so mad? Pilate must be wondering. What has them so outraged that they scream blasphemy against their own God by claiming allegiance to the Caesar they abhor? Pilate is confused. He is troubled. He is frustrated. He is disgusted. For all these reasons – and probably to take one last jab at the crowd – Pilate orders this sign to be written and placed above the head of this man on the cross. It is there in three languages for all to see; Aramaic, for the commoners from Palestine, Latin, for the occupying army, Greek, for the visitors and foreigners.
Jesus of Nazareth – the King of the Jews.

He knew what they’d say.

“No, no, no! You can’t write that! He’s not our king. He claimed to be king. Change the sign. Change the sign!”

“What I have written, I have written.”

Pilate may not have understood much of what was happening, but he knew there was more to this story then a simple trial. He knew this man Jesus had aroused something deep inside of the religious establishment – fear, hatred, or both. He had heard the stories of miracles and healings. He knew that many loved this man and thought he had come from God himself. He knew that somehow, this man represented something bigger than just another day at the office of the governor– a sign that something else, or someone else, was controlling the events coming down in Jerusalem that day. Yes, even Pilate knew that Jesus was a sign of something else.

This will be a sign to you; you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. (Luke 2:12)

This child is destined to cause the rising and falling of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. (Luke 2:34)

You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. (Matthew 16:3)

Tell us, when will these things happen? And what will be a sign that they are about to be fulfilled? (Mark 13:4)

Pilate knew something was happening over which he had little say, and so he let the sign stand, despite the pleas of the angry mob. “What I have written, I have written.”

So it was no accident that what happened next served to confirm the sign.

“When the soldiers crucified Jesus, they took his clothes, dividing them into four shares, one for each of them, with the undergarment remaining. 'Let’s not tear it,' they said to one another. Let’s decide by lot who will get it. This happened that the Scripture might be fulfilled among them:

'They divided my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing.' ”

The Scripture being fulfilled is Psalm 22, the great poem predicting the means of the death of Israel’s Messiah. It is the same poem that spoke of crucifixion before crucifixion had been invented, that spoke of abandonment by God, of thirst like torture on the tongue, of the piercing of hands and feet, of a side pierced by a spear, of blood and water poured out, of mocking and insults, and yes, of clothing being bartered over like a pathetic flea market on the backstreets of a middle-eastern ghetto.

As the soldiers affirm the prophecy with their actions, the sign hangs over them, speaking louder and louder.

Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews.

Sometimes a sign is just a sign. And sometimes a sign is more than a sign. Sometimes it holds potential meaning, proposes a series of events, not only informs, but strongly suggests, or even demands action.

What I have written, I have written, says Pilate.

And says God.

Hoping She Goes M.I.A.

So apparently this past Sunday night, M.I.A. flipped me off. Dressed like a castoff from an old Bangles video, and performing a classy routine during Madonna's halftime show at the Super Bowl, M.I.A. thought it necessary to give me the finger.

I missed it. I was at a big Super Bowl party at church, and had gathered all the kids in another room for halftime so I could show off my mad skills at Just Dance. You might say I was putting on my own halftime show. I have moves like Jagger. I was having so much fun dancing with my wife and the gang at the party that I got a little sweaty and had to take off my shirt. But I had a t-shirt on underneath, just in case you were concerned about a wardrobe malfunction.

So I wasn't aware of M.I.A.'s anger towards me until Monday morning.

Honestly, I had never even heard of M.I.A. before. All I knew of her was the picture I saw online, dressed like King Tut, flipping me the finger. Something stuck in my memory banks though. I swear I saw the headpiece she was wearing in a photo shoot in National Geographic, and that finger looked vaguely familiar too. A rear view mirror on Route 270, perhaps? I'm not sure. Anyway, I couldn't place her face, so I did an internet search. It turns out she's not a P.O.W. or even M.I.A. Instead, she's a British rap "artist" known for her "performance." She's also in a relationship with the lead singer from D.O.A., with whom she was seen exhibiting P.D.A. while trying to get through T.S.A. at D.I.A. None of that explains why she was mad at S.H.A. (that's me).

I guess I'll just be left wondering, though not for long. I mean, with talent like hers, who needs shock value? Since I didn't even know she existed, I won't miss her. She'll disappear back into her tomb until Brendan Fraser finds her, embalmed with her middle finger extended. By then she'll be ready to do the Super Bowl show again with the equally-embalmed Madonna. Maybe I can dance with them? Don't worry--I'll keep my shirt on.

The Value of Sticking Around

The University of Pittsburgh's football coach, Todd Graham, resigned yesterday after 11 1/2 months. I have been the youth pastor at Mountain View for 11 1/2 years.

Graham left for what he called his "dream job" at Arizona State University. He says he is a "family man" and he is taking the job to be closer to his wife's family. However, ASU is Graham's fourth job in four years. He resigned without speaking to anyone at Pitt just before boarding a plane to his ASU introductory press conference. He informed his players via a text message, forwarded through an assistant coach, in which he stated that he "loved his players at Pitt and was proud of them." I'm not sure the feeling is mutual. As one of the players tweeted, "Todd Graham's coaching commitments last as long as Kim Kardashian's marriage."

I always likened coaching to youth ministry. Like youth pastors, coaches talk of shaping young men and women, of setting a good example, of creating a legacy of memories and victories. Graham wasn't around long enough to bake a pie, let alone create a legacy. I doubt he knew half the player's names.

His decision causes me to reflect on my life.

When I came to Mountain View in July, 2000, I was 35 years old--a young pup in a sense but fairly old to be a youth pastor for the first time. The stereotypical youth pastor is 25, has a goatee and a pied-piper personality, plays guitar, is a master gamer, wears cool clothes, and uses the word "dude" a lot. Since only the last one is true of me, people probably wondered how long I'd last.

I remember Pastor Guy asking me then, "How long do you think you want to do this?" There exists a common belief that youth pastors are just using youth ministry as a stepping stone to "becoming a real pastor." That was never the case for me. Having already spent ten years as a youth volunteer, including three while in seminary getting a Master's degree in youth ministry, I knew this was my calling. I had no intentions of doing anything else. As I've often said, "Why would I want a demotion?"

I told Guy, "Dude, at least five years."

My promise has expired, but my commitment hasn't.

Not that I haven't wanted to quit on occasion. There have been more than a few nights--lying awake in a bunk bed somewhere, trying to catch some sleep while a cabin full of boys hyped on Monster make my life a dreamless hell--that I've considered stealing the church van and driving to Montana. Who would blame me? The FBI would probably offer me identity protection. I've wondered at my sanity and severely tested my longevity by planning events like all-nighters (never again), back-to-back retreat weekends (kind of like running back-to-back marathons), and parent luncheons ("Tell us, what are you going to do about those kids chatting in the front row?").

But I'm not even talking about those "quitting times." I'm talking about the times I've been so discouraged that quitting seemed like the only option. Many times, actually, I have told Karen, "That's it. I'm done. I'm not doing any good, so why bother?" Too many times I've had to beg students to come to events, even though I knew God was going to be there and change their life. Too many times students walked away from their faith, abandoning the promises they'd made to me, each other, and God for the glitz of the party life and the pursuit of pleasure. Too many times I've wondered why parents think soccer or lacrosse is more important than the moral and spiritual development of their children. Too many times I've gone home from teaching a meaningful lesson, only to find discouraging and raunchy posts from youth group kids on Facebook. Too many times I've felt that nothing I've said or done has made any difference at all.

I've quit more times than Todd Graham. I just never left.

And I'm glad I didn't. I might have, if my dream job had opened up. But even though the Pirates badly need a shortstop, they've never called me. So instead, I've stayed long enough to be able to perform weddings for former students. I've stayed long enough to have students return as volunteers. I've stayed long enough to see our building come into existence, and watch our youth center fill with kids every Sunday and Wednesday. I've stayed long enough to form a deep friendship with other longstanding youth pastors in the area and to feel a little bit like a youth pastor to the whole county. I've stayed long enough to teach my own kids the value of sticking around even when times are hard. I've stayed around long enough so that the people I've influenced over the years--even when I thought I was having no effect--know where to find me.

Two days ago, I received a note from a former student. I had poured myself into him for six years, but he wandered away from the youth ministry and from the faith his senior year, and hardly said goodbye. He was one of those who caused me to question if I was making any difference at all. He was one of the reasons I wanted to quit. This is what he said:


I don't think I ever told you exactly how much of an impact you have had on me as a person. As you know my father wasn't and still isn't a man of faith, a good man but nevertheless not an example of how a honorable Christian man is supposed to live his life. That was left up to you. Whether you knew it at the time or not. I know God is the only one that can eternally save, but he used your love and our relationship to save me. And for that I'm a truly grateful to both you and our Savior!


This summer, I will be quitting--in a sense. I will be taking a 10-week sabbatical. The elders told me I had to, and I'm pretty excited about it. For 10 weeks, I won't have to be anywhere, teach anything, or lead anything related to the youth ministry. But Lord willing, I will be back. I have nowhere else I want to be. I landed my dream job 11 1/2 years ago.

Open for Christmas?

News Flash: Christmas is on December 25th! More specifically, however, Christmas is on a Sunday this year, which raised an interesting question for those of us in leadership at our church. Since we are having two services on Saturday night, Christmas Eve, should we have church on Christmas Day?

Now, before you shout your opinion, let me lay out a few thoughts from the perspective of someone who's life revolves around church activities and services.

Last year on Christmas Eve, the walls of our church nearly exploded. After 13 years of meeting in a high school, it was our first Christmas season in our new building. We naively planned for one Christmas Eve service at 7:00pm. Our auditorium seats 450 people--nearly 800 showed up.

We decided to host two services this year, and put a great emphasis on these services. We are advertising them well and doing everything we can to make them memorable for our congregation and our community. Two full services requires a great deal of work and an angelic host of volunteers. Between the musicians, nursery workers, ushers, sound crew, coffee bar staff, greeters, parking lot attendants, custodians, and yes, pastors, it's going to take over 100 people to run these two services.

Knowing the amount of work it would be, and knowing that many of our wonderful volunteers would be traveling, or hosting their families for celebrations Christmas morning, we wondered if it was wise, kind or necessary to hold another service only a few hours later. After all, we will have just celebrated the birth of Jesus and worshiped together. Many people give great amounts of time and energy to the church; wouldn't it be nice to simplify life a little and allow everyone to stay home Christmas morning? The staff and elders thought the answer was yes, so they decided to have no service on Christmas Day. Instead, we would encourage people to come on Christmas Eve, then worship at home with their families Christmas morning.

As the news broke, the response from the congregation was mixed. Some were relieved to know they didn't have to work in the nursery after being up all night wrapping gifts and assembling boxes of unmarked, miscellaneous parts into a deluxe foosball table that doubles as a blender. And it's hard to enjoy a church service while suppressing the fear that your Christmas ham is burning down the house. But others in our midst raised a principled concern. Isn't worshiping God the whole point of Christmas? How can we cancel church because it's Christmas?

It was an interesting leadership dilemma. Here's a brief list of the pros and cons we considered or heard.

Pro No Service:
*Gives volunteers a break
*Provides opportunities to worship at home without guilt
*Is a nice gift to a busy and hardworking staff
*Are we going to ask someone to clean the church late Christmas Eve, after 800--1000 people have been here?
*The Sabbath starts at sundown anyway...

Pro Service:
*What if somebody shows up to find the doors locked?
*We should always have Sunday services, barring an emergency
*What if we become known as the "the church that wasn't open on Christmas Day?"
*It just doesn't sound right to cancel church because it's Christmas Day.

Paramount to our discussion was the conviction of our senior pastor, who, upon further consideration, began to feel that we should open our doors, even if it's for one shorter and lower-key worship service. So, after some discussion and prayer, we decided to host "Christmas Unplugged," one service at 11:00am in which we simply gather for some Christmas carols, a reading of the Christmas story, and a short message. There will be no nursery care, parking lot attendants, full band or any of those things. The morning will require very few volunteers, and the rest of the staff is not required to attend. Simple and beautiful, just like the first Christmas.

So what do YOU think? I'd love to hear your opinion.

Speaking of Christmas, perhaps this is a good time to ask: What Would Jesus Do? Would Jesus go to church on his birthday? In this case, it's not his choice. He's not even a day old. Having been up all night giving birth and hosting shepherds, it seems likely his mother will want to stay home.

Family Charged in Bunny Bump-Off

The town of Walkersville was rocked this morning by the news that one of their own families may be cold-blooded killers.

Four members of the Anderson family were arraigned in Frederick County Court on charges related to the murder of a soft furry bunny in their backyard. Detective Jason Keckler said the crime was discovered by students walking home from school on the railroad tracks behind the family's Hampton Place residence.

"The deceased was discovered yesterday afternoon near the Walkersville Railroad tracks and Walkersville Park," Keckler said. "The body was still fairly soft. K-9 units determined that the victim was killed in the Andersons' backyard and moved, perhaps even flung, into the wooded area behind their home to avoid discovery."

While motive is yet unclear, police believe sons Timothy (17) and Thomas (13) lured the rabbit onto the family's property with spinach dip. Neighbors had seen the boys building various animal traps over the years but thought nothing of it. "We just figured they were boys being boys," said Ellie Gilbert, a family friend. Police found evidence within the house that the family has a long-standing animosity towards rabbits. Mother Karen Anderson had left an Amish cookbook on the counter, opened to a recipe for rabbit stew. Witnesses said they remember the Andersons complaining about a previous family pet rabbit who chewed some furniture. A well-worn copy of Watership Down was found with the cover ripped off. Traces of rabbit blood were found on the doorstep of the carport. Steven Anderson, the father, was also charged with disposing of the body and tampering with evidence.

"The details add up," Keckler said. "It is certainly hare-raising to discover killers in your midst, but this was a well-conceived plan carried out by a family with a vendetta against rabbits for some reason."

Neighbor Sally Walton, who has lived next door to the Andersons for 11 years and has often cared for their cat Oliver when the family went on vacation, said, "It's just so hard to comprehend. It bugs me, this bunny business. I can't imagine any member of this family perpetrating a violent crime against a small furry creature."

Meanwhile, the fate of the family pets was uncertain. Both the cat and dog were visibly shaken by the news their owners would no longer be serving dinner. Oliver the cat seemed sad about the needless loss of life. "It's a shame, really--a waste of a perfectly good rabbit." Treble the dog denied comment, but simply licked her lips and stared out the window at the spot where the rabbit was believed to have died. She has been seen visiting the site often, apparently to help her deal with her grief.