Articles & Posts
Quite a Beginning
So, we take to the road tomorrow for the Fathered by God tour. Really excited to be heading out. Except, a blizzard is descending on Colorado, so we are scrambling to get to Denver tonight, in hopes of still catching our (re-scheduled) flight to Atlanta in the morning. Provided they don’t shut the airport down. I thought driving up tonight would be safer. Except, the storm has hit and it is hailing really hard right now. Then the washer broke down with the two pairs of pants I was going to wear in it. Tried rinsing them off in the shower. While working on my talks this afternoon my computer froze. Went to my laptop. It froze. You know, when you get this much opposition, you know you are doing something really important for the Kingdom. SO, I hope you can join us at one of the Tour stops!! Check out www.fatheredbygod.com for tickets and info. Oh, and a few prayers our way would be mighty appreciated. I mean, we’re two days away from the event and the battle is heating up. Must be something mighty good coming.
John Eldredge
Saturday Before Easter
Errands done, garage straightened up, work project finished, yard work done, emails checked. It’s snowing, cold… breezy. I’m leaning back in my desk chair… Tomorrow is Easter Sunday… inhale, exhale. Lord, shift my heart to Easter. My mind goes to the resurrection. No sooner do I say “resurrection” under my breath and I’m in tears. There is no order or sequence to these vignettes, combined they are but a glimpse of that instant moment in time when there is no more time… in the twinkling of an eye… when I will be raised/changed. I will be on my face in tears or adoration… no, I think I’ll be on my feet with arms victoriously thrust up with my heart bursting in praise … or maybe just still… finally still and silent… I could see myself thrown into His arms, silent, in tears, finding the words that have been groanings deep within all my life. There is so much to say here… I will see my father, Al McConnell for the very first time… there is nothing more I can say in this moment here. I will see my mom… free from grief/pain. Lori and I will gaze into one another’s eyes like never before… our daughters, their husbands, their children and their children will be on some dance floor that’s like a jeweled sea dancing, dancing, dancing some kind of previously-unknown-heavenly folk dance that has us all holding shoulders, kicking up our feet, singing in Hebrew, with colorful hats, shimmering garments…in some ever growing family circle laughing as we wobble all over. Lori and I will wander through some crowded banquet hall of heaven with a never empty glass filled with the finest wine. Like a massive wedding reception (only with good food and a great DJ), the hall is jammed… we don’t walk, we bounce off countless groups of re-united families and friends; bumping into Nanny & Pop, Jim Schulz, Grandma & Grandpa McConnell, my dad…old friends, old knuckleheads and “nobodies” from every era, age and continent… There a campfire in a moonscape alpine valley with the men I’ve served with over the years… A whole lot of stories you wouldn’t expect to hear are being told… but finally a lull in the conversation comes, and someone summarizes it all, “We made it… We did well”. Okay… it’s at this point that my writing cannot keep up with my heart and mind’s kaleidoscopic impressions. I’m flooded with emotions, pictures, images, passages, quotes, faces, stories … 20 minutes pass. I cannot describe all my heart yearns for at the mention of “resurrection”. I cannot fully express all my heart wants to say to Christ. That day will come. He IS risen! Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory." "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. -1 Corinthians 15 -Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
Air Travel and Sanctification
Stasi and I were flying back from New York’s La Guardia airport last Friday, scheduled for a 10:30am departure. Foul weather grounds our plane, due in from Washington Dulles. First an hour goes by, then two. Okay, we can handle a delay. But at four hours we begin to grow weary. It’s such a roller coaster when hopes are raised every time they announce the plane will be here at such-and-such a time, but then that times goes by and they push it out another hour. At five hours a rainstorm hits New York, and it’s coming down so hard the roof of the old terminal begins to leak. “You folks will want to move; this ceiling tile here sometimes caves in.” A rank odor fills the crowded terminal, now crammed with passengers from many delayed flights. It smells like cat piss. Six hours go by, then seven. After eight hours of waiting the plane finally gets through and we board. Part of the tension is that we are trying to beat a winter storm into Denver, get home to re-pack and pick up our boys for a 9am departure Saturday morning for the west coast, to see our son Sam. We take our seats aboard the plane. Then they hold us at gate for another hour. Nine hours now we’ve been sitting, waiting, praying. Did I mention we slept poorly all week, and we are utterly exhausted to begin with? Then the captain comes on to announce, “I have some good news and some bad news.” The good news is we get to depart. The bad news is that we will have to make an unscheduled fueling stop in Omaha because we can’t take off with a full fuel load. That means another hour and twenty minute delay. Will it never end? We finally reach Denver. As a sort of last cruelty there is no gate agent there to open the gate, so we simply sit on the plane for another half an hour, freedom so tantalizingly close. Then we can’t make it home because of weather, and have to stay in a hotel in Denver. After 17 hours of travel we fall into bed so tired we are almost delirious. Sleep sounds like the best thing all day. Certainly the easiest, given our condition. But warfare keeps us up most of the night. Now, everybody has bad days. The question is, what do we do with stuff like this? Well, for one thing, you pray like mad. When a pattern like this begins to develop (and I spared you several other stories just like it from the past two weeks) we must look for the enemy’s hand in it. This is not coincidence. Pray. Ask others to pray for you. But we did pray, and still had the day from hell. The enemy would like nothing more than to not only make life miserable but to also tie us in knots, to discourage and dishearten. So, we also have to let it go. Just give it all over to God. Find joy in the things he is giving. Perplexed, as Paul said, but not despairing. Struck down, but not destroyed. If we can keep heart, and receive the mercy God is giving, the enemy loses whatever our circumstances might be. So deliver us, Lord, from every trial that can be shut down. Teach us to pray and not lose heart. And give us the grace and mercy in those we cannot change.
John Eldredge
God in the Booth (part 2)
I’m sitting in the sound booth during the first session of our Men’s Advanced Conference listening to John Eldredge. At some point my mind shifts from John and whether or not the canvas bottom “Directors” chair I’m sitting in will collapse to my speaking the next evening. I’m unsettled… antsy about the direction/content/illustrations/relevance of my topic. Actually it’s deeper than “antsy”; I was feeling the pressure to make a difference in these good men’s lives. The squeeze gripping me was for God to show up in some weighty way sweeping us up and into some degree of a stunned paralysis of awe. In my saggy seat I’m thinking I won’t deliver. I’m pretty certain I won’t come through… change that to can’t come through. For most of us shame/self-contempt is our backdoor friend. Shame is that one we wouldn’t admit to knowing yet flirt with throughout the day. It’s really an affair of the soul we refuse to break off. Shame serves a twisted purpose… comfortably immobilizing us, explaining our unpredictable world, numbing the mythic longings of our heart and justifying our script of small-story-victim-hood. Yet sheathed by contempt’s husk/coat is something beautifully pure, good and godly… a longing, an identity authored by God. There is a kernel. The longing for God to come is shrouded with the shame of “Who are you kidding. You! You? You’re a schmuck… You’ve got squat to say… nothing. Zip, zero, nada, nichts!" Now… that’s a slanderous perversion of the truth. Yet, I choose to believe this shadowy mistress of mine time and time again despite her ruinous affect upon my life. She leaves me passive, disengaged, hiding behind props and techniques, tickling ears, pleasing men, internally enraged at God, others, and myself… cursing the success of others while wishing my life of impotence would quickly end. I’m speaking tomorrow… and surely aware of both kernel and husk. And then God, the forever and always present God, who has been sitting next to me all this time, leans over, clears His throat and points out a defining agreement that I’ve made and lived by: Something more than who I am and what I have is required of me. I’m simply not enough. Now… that’s a slanderous perversion of the truth. Believing that, accepting that ancient script of diminishment explains why I’m so antsy about tomorrow night… so unsettled… my failure is inevitable. Internally I’m scrambling to minimize my certain losses. This isn’t a man pawing the earth anxious to enter the arena and fight to the death for a noble cause. Nor is it a man standing tall among a group of weary sojourners in a season of fear offering words of hope, life, strength and direction. This is Little Craig playing third base in the All Star game with a one run lead in the ninth inning, two outs and the bases loaded hoping the batter doesn’t hit it to him. My godless agreement/affair with shame comes to the light… my hussy doesn’t look so good in broad daylight. I understand the attraction but now it feels so very wrong... the magic is gone, the price too high, the damage too broad… this isn’t the life I want to live! Will you break that agreement, Craig? (Note: God has a way of overlaying messages to us. Simultaneously I’m convicted of my sin of adulterous unbelief while, in the same breath hearing an invitation to another way of living. It’s like a father who is firmly disciplining his child with an authoritative, “No, you can’t get your way on this issue” while at the same moment, everything in his eyes is saying “I love you so incredibly much”.) I do, I do, I do (the last time I said that many “I do’s” was on my wedding day). I break all agreements I have made, I take back all ground given to this lie. Christ, I ask you to… I give you permission and access to purge this hell born script from my being. May the kernel… the life, calling and the fullness of my identity come to life! Oh may my life bring Your life to others! Again, may I offer... God is close. He is next to you wherever you may be. There is no place you are He isn’t. He’s at work… do you see Him? (to be continued) - Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
Time Out
It’s been Spring Break for my boys this week, and our family has been trying to catch our breath and just take it easy. Get some r & r. Watch some basketball, eat out, sleep in, goof around. It hasn’t gone so well. The city decided this was the week to do major digging outside our house. Starting at 7am each day. The weather has been lousy. While there has been some rest this week, there’s also been a lot of disappointment. And a ton of warfare. Our plans haven’t gone the way we wanted. And I’ve noticed something crucial about the way I see the world. I’ve been more than a little peeved about the way life turns out. As if I could say when and where the battle will come and go, and more importantly, as if I could simply take a time out from life. What I’ve realized is that I believe there are three kingdoms in this world instead of just two. In addition to the Kingdom of God and the kingdom of darkness, I think there is a third place that is sort of neutral ground, “normal life,” that place we can go to when we just want to get out of the fray. There’s God stuff, there’s the darkness, and then there’s going out to eat or taking a day off and all that stuff we call normal life that doesn’t really impinge on God or the enemy. I’m embarrassed by the naiveté of my thinking. And by how deeply ingrained it is. Really, I think I can jump into Kingdom stuff like ministry or writing or Bible study, fight the necessary battles involved there, and then jump out into this third place where I just get to watch the NCAA games or go get some tacos in a sort of benign reality that is neither really about or with God, nor evil. A kind of time out place. Then I get miffed when life doesn’t work out like that. I know I have this mindset all the time, but it is especially noticeable during those times when I think I ought to be able to check out. Like during Spring Break. Really, for some odd reason I think that because I want to check out the collision of the kingdoms ought to pass me by. But instead I have to pray because the enemy is coming on strong and we can’t sleep, let alone sleep in, and I’m ticked about it. I don’t think I’m alone in believing (or wanting to believe, holding fast to the belief) that there are sort of three places in the world: the Kingdom of God, the kingdom of darkness, and this third place we call “normal life” or just living or especially time out. But you can’t find that third place in the Bible. The view of reality presented there allows for only two kingdoms. Any life or joy or rest comes only as we abide in God, and walk with him. Not through this mythical time out I want to cling to.
John Eldredge
God in The Booth (part 1)
One accented theme woven into my life and world view is the forever and always presence of God. God is close. He is next to you wherever you may be. There is no place you are He isn’t. “Can anyone hide in secret places so that I cannot see him?" declares the LORD. "Do not I fill heaven and earth?" - Jeremiah 23 You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. …Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. - Psalm 139 No place. Right now, where you sit reading this… perched on the corner of the very desk/table your computer sits is the God of Whom it is said that neither earth nor even the highest of heavens can contain. Whoa! What does that stir up in you? (to be continued) – Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
Blog Shame
So, I try and call my parents every Sunday. We live states apart. (Actually, we live worlds apart, making even a phone call kind of weird.) So over the years we’ve kind of fallen to Sunday evenings as the best time to catch up. I think a lot of people do this. Call your parents Sunday. But then you know what happens. Life gets busy. I travel all weekend and get home late and just don’t have the energy to call. Or, some friends invite us to dinner and the evening slips away and suddenly it’s too late to call. The same thing happens the following week. Then I feel guilty. I’ve missed two weeks. Which makes me hesitant to call because I’m ashamed I haven’t called my parents. Suddenly three weeks go by and it becomes really hard to pick up the phone because you’ve got to start with the apologies and the explanations. It’s hard to get back on track. Now I have blog shame. I know I’m not the faithful blogger. Life sweeps in, sweeps me away, and I forget. Then, I have SO many flippin stories to tell of so many ways God is working I don’t know which one to share. My brain overloads. Two (or three) weeks go by and blog shame begins to set in, making it even harder to blog. “Hi, it’s me. I know, we haven’t talked in awhile. The kids have been sick and I’ve been on the road but I’ve been meaning to call and well…how are you?” So, this is my act to overcome blog shame. There. I blogged. I’m even feeling better. I won’t wait so long next time.
John Eldredge
A Moment in Time
It was evening. I was eight, my younger brothers and sisters had just been put to bed, mom and dad wanted to talk with me alone in the family room of our home. Time stopped, winter began, and the earth’s rotation was altered, never again were there “blue moons”, innocent summer days lying on the grass imagining shapes, characters and creatures in the billowy clouds above. The neighbor’s dog became mean, my younger “brothers” and “sisters” weren’t really brothers and sisters… my family became opaque, a faded hue, less real. My bedroom became smaller and darker; now there were nightly burglars/murderers and malovent strangers perusing my windows terrorizing me waiting for the opportunity to do me harm. Learning of a father who died I died as my mom had. My father was drafted and killed in the Korean Conflict. My mom was 21, I was three months, 14 days old. The concussion, the trauma of God allowing her lover, a fine and godly man die left her lifeless… about 6 rows from the front, on the left, in a pew alone, crying most every Sunday. She remarried. A retired naval officer became my dad; he adopted me and changed my name from Craig McConnell to Craig Barnard. I was too young to remember any of this and the secret was neatly kept until the evening I was called into the family room and heard “Craig…your dad isn’t your father. Your father was killed in a war when you were born. I married your dad when you were little…and he loves you very much”. And for this little guy all the adventures of boyhood in our Southern California baby boomer neighborhood were indelibly changed. It’s inevitable; we’re all wounded in some way. And the scar remains and with it some message that becomes the script by which we live. As a young boy the first draft of my script(the message) was, “I’m different. Everyone else has a father… their real father...what’s wrong with me.” What was the first draft of your script? As life unfolds the message goes through numerous edits while staying true to the theme. For me the second significant edit came in adolescence. Living disoriented with the pain and loneliness of not having my “real” father coupled with a variety of in-securities centered on the abiding question, “What’s wrong with me”, and a culturally affirmed rebelliousness it was pretty easy to provoke my dad (the 20 plus year naval veteran who didn't take any crap). And so, in the intersection of the hall and his bedroom, he grabbed me, shook me and for the first of several times told me, “You are nothing but a seagull. All you’re good for is sitting, squawking and shitting”. I believed him. No significant re-edits were needed following this. I have absolutely nothing to offer… I sit, squawk and shit. Period. That script has held up well… Jump ahead several decades… which feels like a couple of lifetimes… we (Lori, my daughters and me) live at the beach. On our part of the Southern California coast there is a section of bluffs rising up overlooking the beach and ocean. Regularly I would park near by, walk over near the edge of the bluff and yap with God. I don’t fully understand it, but it was easy to be still, reflective and expectant there… my favorite time was early in the morning and especially when it was socked in with fog. The pounding surf, the salty moist air… the cool sand… ahh a cup of Joe, my journal and/or bible… it most always was a transcendent time. One morning I am there. In the presence of the Lord… enjoying a meandering conversation. It’s overcast; cool… nobody is around, nice size surf… I can hear the harbor fog horn in the distance, the beach is empty, I’m leaning back into an old rail fence, and I’m sporting what I dearly hope we will wear in heaven: flips, old jeans, sweat shirt… a cool hat…. Heck I’ am in heaven! Disrupting my communion is black lab puppy that comes bounding up to me. He nuzzles me in twisting gyrations, tail wagging with big dark eyes inviting me…“Hey, wanna play?” He cold-noses me and is full of life… begging, insisting, demanding that I enter in and romp with him. He’s a lab pup…”come on… live a little!” I’m annoyed…what’s he doing here? Where’s his master? (There is nobody around). Actually I get a little snarly with this intrusion into my transcendent oneness with the Creator of the Heavens and Sea. I mean, every single access to the beach in LA County has a sign posted that reads, “NO DOGS ALLOWED ON BEACH!!!” I try and scare him by arching my back like a big… really big old alley cat hissing, “Get outta here dog, SCRAM!!!. After a gentle nudge with my foot ... he gets the message. He’s gone, freeing me to return to intimacy with the God of grace and creation. Little did I know I nudged the God of grace and creation gently with my foot… because it seemed like a mere moment later I’m looking down on the sandy beach at the lab. He is on the hard sand at waters edge dashing through the surf jumping frolicking, prancing… doing what labs do. I find myself smiling and enjoying him from my bluff above. Whatever God intended a lab to be and do he was being and doing. Having a ball. He’s in and out of the water, digging a hole, running wild and chasing birds. God was so present in that moment… and I found myself…. Praying, “I wish I was a lab.” (One of the great things about Labs is that they cannot read the signs… the signs that say, “No Dogs on The Beach"... You can’t do that… you’re a seagull”. This lab had no script. He was simply being and doing what God created labs to do. Free, alive, simply living as God intended me to. Yearning, longing, hope and desire from the deepest regions of my soul… aged for decades they surfaced in a groan, a smile and my prayer. It was God… inviting me again into life, into freedom. In that moment, and ever since, I’ve got a clear picture of the life I want to live. Ignore the script handed me and live the script God has written on my heart. To simply be Craig McConnell… running on the beach… alive, free. And your new script is…? - Craig McConnell Notes: * There was something about my brothers and sisters being “half” brothers and sisters that sinisterly took root in my soul at that young age and it all too often expressed itself in a unloving distance/coolness… a “Big Brother” meanness in my relationship with them most of my life. Oh how I wish, knowing what I now know, I could relive… re-relate with those in earlier years I missed. I became a Christian at 21 and reconciled with my dad. As the years have gone by I have so much compassion for him and his best attempts to father me while profoundly wounded himself. He was a good man... and I miss him.
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Craig McConnell
Little Much
So this guy interrupts Christ perturbed that his brother is unlawfully withholding his portion of the family inheritance… I’d be pissed too. Someone in the crowd said to Him, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." But He [Jesus] said to him, "Man, who appointed Me a judge or arbitrator over you?" Then He said to them, "Beware, and be on your guard against every form of greed; for not even when one has an abundance does his life consist of his possessions." - Luke 12:13-15 Do you see it? This guy comes with a legitimate complaint about his brother expecting the Peace Maker to do his thing. But Jesus refuses to go after the offensive law-breaking-inheritance-withholding brother. Instead of confronting the obvious sinner, Jesus goes after the heart of the apparent “Victim”, the perturbed brother, warning him of the issues in his life… greed, the idolatry of material security… One of the justifications I make in failing/refusing to offer my strength, love… or gifting is because of the offenses of others. You don’t love me, I don’t love you… neener neener neener! The often legitimate faults/failures/sins/defects/abrasive-relational-style of another is my justification to not be the man, the lover God intended me to be. The man I truly am. And so… while railing against others He often allows me to rant and then with sympathetic warmth interrupts me saying something along the lines of, “You know what really disturbs me about the whole situation?” Still miffed* and expecting His affirmation of the injustice done, i ask, “What?”. Without hesitation He responds, “You”. “Your hiding/sin… your little boy approach to life.” And then the invitation to learn and know in a much deeper way, His great love, forgiveness, delight in me and call to live a holy, loving life. (How many times i have learned this lesson… over and over, each time on a little deeper level? AGHHHHHH………) “…he who has been forgiven little loves little." [And he who has been forgiven much loves much… ] Read Luke 7:36-50. And why don’t you love? – Craig McConnell Notes: * “Miffed” = A self protective editing choice… personal synonyms would be: enraged, vengence seeking, calling-down-lightening angry…
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Craig McConnell
March 1st
Its morning. In my favorite rotund leather chair with a wonderful cup of Sumatra I’m browsing through last year’s journal. February 21, 2008I’m less concerned, maybe more accurately less “demanding” that I find the community I long to be a part of. My concern now is offering life… authenticity… God… creating community where I am. A little later in my journal this Annie Dillard Quote: “I would like to learn, or remember, how to live.” Other than refilling my cup, not much has happened since. I’m wandering in and out of prayer and longing. Father, I would like to learn, or remember, how to live. What’s your prayer today?
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Craig McConnell
Agitated
On Tuesday I’m agitated. I step into a colleague’s office to vent. He spins around in his desk chair and welcomes my orneriness, listening, risking a couple of bold questions (one wrong question and I could make life miserable for him… How easy, even “wise” it can be to avoid honest, caring engagement with one another! Is it because we fear the consequences?). He’s now confronting me… and something happens… church breaks out! You know, all those exhortations on how we’re to love, relate, build up one another, fight for one another and offer the life and grace of the Gospel to each other… church! Well it was happening Tuesday in office #9 between 10:30 – 11 AM with a guy I work with. God fills the room. It’s heavy, it’s thick… I’m convicted of my demanding-ness, an arrogance that expects others to see/interpret/understand a set of circumstances as I do. My goodness… don’t they get it? I’m offering the wisdom of ages. Tested and true, my perspective is informed by things they don’t know… can’t know… Where’s the respect of total submission to their elder? In fact… they’re fighting me!@??? And the lights go… I see something ugly, unloving, mean in my response/attitude to them. My co-worker says a few things but doesn’t have to say much, God is there: convicting, forgiving and inviting me into a life lived differently. It was the community I yearn for. Last Thursday I’m in the cab of a truck driving across town with an acquaintance. He shares a battle he’s fighting… it’s ruining his marriage and family. I make a few observations about his life, particularly his relational style and how others experience him… we’re getting into some “stuff”. I suggest we pray and invite Christ into our time as he drives… and church breaks out! You know… the reason we meet on Sundays and midweek… to worship, grow, be encouraged and encourage one another. So, at 40 MPH a huge childhood wound surfaces and the agreements he’s made as a result. A whole lot of dysfunctional/sinful life passes by him. God speaks… we’re both in tears, amazed and stunned by the power and beauty of our time. I get out of the truck with my 40 lb. bag of dog food and he drives off with a strength, resolve and grace he didn’t 15 miles ago. It wasn’t Sunday. Heck we’re just driving down Austin Bluffs and church breaks out! It was the community I yearn for, the community I was designed for. What’s ironic is how much of it I truly do experience! Really! The church I long for jumps out from uncommon places in unplanned moments with random sojourners… it’s so God! Yesterday it breaks out in a phone conversation, last week through a friend’s poem, another’s comment on my blog… God is providing so much of what we yearn for. Do you see it? Sometimes it even breaks out in church . I’m sitting through a service led by a stunningly self absorbed Pastor using every gimmick in the book to rev us up and into some small story… I’m a little agitated… and church breaks out… God comes and speaks to a question I’ve been pondering over for months. I’m smiling, engaged, worshipping and graciously wondering about the “preacher’s” story/journey and compassionately remembering when I was him… hoping and praying that church would break out. May it! Enjoy it! - Craig
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Craig McConnell
Gather
Lori and I are currently in a 12 week group hosted by a local church leader… Is there anyone who wouldn’t want to regularly meet with a few others who are curious about you and your story; are pursuing God passionately; who listen well, love courageously, and are willing to get messy offering their beauty and strength in humility/grace? I think that’s a bit of what God intended for “small groups”. Yet what has your experience of small groups been over the years? For most of the 36 years I’ve been a follower of Christ I’ve been in some form of a “small group”.* Some were mythic in effect, texture, and draw. God came… we saw Him in each other, called Him out…we were different. Many, too many other groups were “stinkers”. Some end by design, others end with a bang, some with a whimper… some never end… they just go on and on and on and on. We ache for a community that’s elusive… we ache because we were designed for it, and to go without it is, in the spiritual realm, like going without water. It’s hard to find. It’s real easy to give up. It’s easy to sit through a small group passively… it’s really not what we’re looking for but we don’t want to rock the boat, rain on someone else’s parade… be critical… and as the weeks drag on our hearts, while circled by “friends”, are parched thirsting for a life Christ directs us to community to find. And after the adrenaline wears off, hope retreats, and the enormous energy to make this group work fades you find yourself in that familiar place… comfortably numb. “It is a tragedy to live in un-spiritual community. It is an even greater tragedy to live in un-spiritual community and be satisfied and to think that it is spiritual. There are many Christians relating in ways that only marginally require the Spirit, and who aspire to nothing more.” – Larry Crabb We can’t live in this Story alone. Nor can we pretend to be satisfied by that which doesn’t. Don’t “settle” nor be arrogant. Don’t rage against the program, pastor… nor be passive. Give no place to cynicism. Stay alive! Keep desire alive! (Do you get the sense of my current personal battle?) Cry out to God. Pray; find a few to meet with…gather… just be yourself; worship; offer; listen, love, love, love… fight for the life you yearn. And Christ will come! For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them."- Matthew 18 - Craig McConnell *Some groups were limited to select members, others random groups of people, we’ve been in loosey-goosey-sloppy-agape groups, new member/believer/married…, parenting, parenting teens, marriage, stewardship, The Serious Study of the Word of God Group (one of my favorites… you know what Paul meant in Romans 8:1 but you can’t name 4 people in the group), sit in circles and share (you know this group right? You can see the broken marriages, abuse, wounds, addictions, shame and you spend the evening going around the circle answering the question, “My favorite dessert is_______”), support groups, evangelistic groups, seeker friendly groups, therapy groups… all sizes, shapes… experiences. And even in the “stinkers” God comes for me; exposing, speaking, loving, directing!
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Craig McConnell
"Lost"
Lost What open armed freedom to be lost in you A holy communion shared between two Yet reaching out, further up and farther in Open lines of glory, the kingdom within I am lost in you Secretly bound to you Breathtakingly found in you I am lost in you Lost in you Moments of mystery, rolling me ahead Through forests of fear, mornings of dread Into wide open spaces, face breaking grins My soul is unfolded, you live within my skin – Jill Dyer Jill, a lyricist/poet ally responded with this original piece to a previous blog i wrote… and referred to being “lost in God”.
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Craig McConnell
A Hero of Mine
One of the heroes of faith for me is my friend Janie. I will always remember the day she shared her grief with me. Her losses were great and would overwhelm/crush/smother/demoralize anyone. Everyone. I sat across from her in my office. I’m the pastor, the one charged/ordained/called to remind people of God… to point them to Him. In those moments of raw heartache and anguish all my rote answers seemed hollow, impotent, canned, cliché. I knew Janie. I knew the details. I wanted to offer her something substantive, real, O God I wanted Him to show up in some way that I couldn’t. By the way… so many of the “rote”/cliché answers I couldn’t offer as a 42 year old pastor I can offer now, though altered a bit, because of the journey I’ve lived… a younger man cannot talk of God the way an older man may. Read my blogs in another 15 years if you really want some sagely insight! So there she sat… wronged, despairing, despondent, lamenting with alligator tears and in broken voice said, “… and in all of this I have never known God’s loving heart as I now do.” I sat there paralyzed by her story… a story I knew nothing of. The story of a God who is there, really there, always there. I’ve found Him since, but I’ve never forgotten how Janie reminded me of Him and pointed me to Him. – Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
Finding Church
One of the most common questions we are asked here at Wild at Heart is, “What do you do for church?” Sometimes the question is posed as a sort of test – somewhere, somebody got the idea we are opposed to church. Not at all – we love the Church with a capital C, the people of God; we fight hard for the bride of Christ. We also believe in church with a small c; we attend church and we encourage others to do so. But where, when, how – I think that is behind the question when most people ask it. The question reveals a dilemma for the asker; a dilemma I think many people share. It is something we have wrestled with ourselves. What is church supposed to look like? Where do we find the kind of fellowship church was meant to provide? The question usually comes following a re-alignment. When we turn to God from the heart, seeking to recover our first Love, we awaken to the Gospel as a romance. Not a set of principles to be mastered, not a roster of programs to get involved in. First and foremost, the Gospel is a love affair with God. What a wonderful revelation; it opens up a whole new world before us. We soon discover that the heart is absolutely vital to the Christian life – the heart of God, and our heart, too. We begin to taste a bit of what Jesus meant when he said he came to give us life. A second revelation usually follows hard on the heels of the first – that we live in a spiritual war. Anyone seeking to know God deeply and truly suddenly finds that the romance is opposed; we have an enemy. Which leads us to wonder, “Where will I find allies? Who can I take this journey with?” The dilemma is that what you get when you walk into a church depends on what they believe the Gospel is. There are many “gospels” being preached out there (as there was in Paul’s day) and they are not all the same. Many churches do not make the heart central, do not believe in warfare, do not see the Gospel as a romance. They do not actually teach people how to be intimate with God, or hear his voice. Intimacy with God is not promoted; most folks don’t know how to find it. We’ve spoken to a number of good people, mature believers who sincerely love God and dearly want to join him in his battle for this world, but who have found church to be an exercise in frustration. The number of these folks continues to grow; it is a very significant trend. These are not simply malcontents, who really just want to sleep in on Sundays. These are sincere followers of Jesus and they want a genuine place of church; they just don’t know where to find it. So they ask us, “What do you do?” Let me first say what we have done – we have been a part of many different church expressions, from liturgical to conservative Bible to charismatic. And we have benefited richly from all of them. God can be found in many different expressions of “church.” Most recently we have found the house church model to be particularly focused on what we believe are a few of the absolute essentials. Read the various urgings toward “church” in the epistles, and ask yourself, “How could this take place in an hour on Sunday morning in a group of 500 or 5,000? How can we pray for one another, really? How can we encourage one another, really? Bear one another’s burdens?” It can be a rich experience to worship with a large group of people, and hear the word of God taught by a gifted teacher. But there is simply no way that the fellowship urged in the Scriptures can be expressed without involvement in a small group. Look at Jesus – he had an intimate fellowship in the twelve (and even more intimate in the three). If Christ lived this way, maybe we need it too! The Battle is heating up, dear friends; whatever you do, you do not want to walk alone.
John Eldredge
Like a Saint
Hey, it’s not uncommon to fight off a little cold right? For a week I was snorting, sneezing, sniffling… tossing and turning through the night; downing vitamin C, guzzling water, doing the Zicam… and praying like a saint. Like a saint! For a week. As a deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for You, O God. I want to live well; a holy, devout, abiding, intimate, conversational relationship with Christ in any and all circumstances; a life walking with God, passionately worshiping Him and courageously loving others. It’s when people or life is onerous that I’m most drawn to bury that desire and settle for a well scripted small story… Craig always healthy; full head of hair; bronze skin and a pair of Von Zipper’s on, is with his stunningly beautiful wife on a warm beach sitting in a pair of Adirondack chairs (One a rich brilliant yellow, the other a deep fire engine red). Flanked by the best of friends and family), a menagerie of animals: giraffes, bear cats, a lion laying next to a lamb, wallabies and Labs… and maybe birds; bushels of grain, fruit and a good-hearted dinosaur… (picture Sgt. Pepper's Loney Hearts Band album cover). Next to Lori and I are our delightful daughters, I have a granddaughter on each knee enjoying ice cream cones as they repeat over and over, “You're awesome Aboo”. My two ruddy strong son-in-laws stand and ask, “Oh, grand Father-in-Law we ask for your spiritual direction that with equal perseverance, sacrifice and soul work we might, one day, live the life we see you living… what advice do you offer us?” And then, just as I’m about to answer, a herald beckons me to a phone where a circle of international financiers, politicians, beach volleyball players, pastors and Monarchs are wanting my help in interpreting the times. You get the picture? Oh my gosh… it’s really a puny story in which I’m the main character and life is about me, me, me. (Oh… add a car that works and a new beefy stereo). But… that was a couple of months ago, this is the new Craig and I’m living large in this grisly cold-sinusitis. I’m proud of myself. Typically when I'm sick I forget God and get bitchy... but not now, not here, not me! I'm in the zone I wish I lived in… I'm so deeply aware of His presence as my Sustainer, Father, Wonderful Counselor, Provider, Life, Comforter and Strength. The truth is that most of the words you would use to describe God seemed real-time true… except for “Healer” (but even in that I sensed His sovereignty... something I didn't yet know was going on). And so I' pray… morning, noon and night a medley of worship, warfare, truth, delight, desire… I like how I’m living. For a week. BAM...THWACK ZAPOLA…WHAP… I get an upgrade, super-sized… my cold has morphed into some dastardly flu with a gnarly fever... incessant cough, sleeplessness, aches. I'm either on the couch, in bed or putzing about in a ripe fleece, my red plaid pajama bottoms topped off with my homeless-Mohawk and 7 day beard. You are kidding me! What's next... boils? Now, I’m praying the full work and triumph of the work of Christ over my life, body, home, domain, family... I’m bearing down and loving God...I'm yapping up a storm with Him. I had been "suffering" well expecting that my viral/bacterial plague would naturally run its course but now that I was 12 days "into it" something began to wane. Note: I kept thinking of the hell several friends have gone through for months/years in chemo or fighting some horrendous disease/illness... wondering how they did it. I know, I know I'm a whimp. "Suffering" over time exposes how deep our roots have bored into God, My roots appear to be on the surface as discouragement begins to set in and my prayers in some very subtle but essential way shift…. The words and tone didn’t change noticeably… but something is changing… Sitting is uncomfortable, so is standing, lying, kneeling. One moment I’m convinced Lori opened every freaking window in the house and turned on the AC…I’m freezing and there are not enough quilts in this overpriced, quickly depreciating low light boring house. 20 minutes later I’m living proof of global warming… “Man it’s a hot one, like 7 inches from the midday sun…” * I’m in a parched land with a parched people in this miserable presumptuous neighborhood full of wackos who for some reason call this 2 bit cow town “home". Do you see the slow advance of the "bitchy" thingie? I don’t want anything to eat!!! And there’s nothing to eat here anyway! There never is, and why is Whole Foods so expensive, and Safeway's produce is second hand produce picked over by shoppers in California and sent to Colorado for those of us stuck in this overgrown New Jerusalem where absolutely no one practices the religious values they profess. I can’t read and TV stinks... Real Housewives of Orange County, Biggest Loser, Hannity, MSNBC, The View... they're all carnival barkers with a stale shtick. Even music doesn’t play well, not even Ashley Cleveland’s rendition of Gimme Shelter… it all sounds like bumper music to a low ratings mid-afternoon Icelandic Soap Opera… the only thing that does sound good is one loud listening to Hendrix's dark Hey Joe Live… Speaking of marriage… “Where is she?” Can you sense a shift... I'm barking at Lori now! Apocalyptic endings are becoming attractive... I'm rooting for the end of the world, for a random steel girder to fall through my bedroom ceiling and take me out... I'm ready to give the dog away, sell my silver, drink that good bottle of wine I've been saving and live in a Costa Rican jungle (small story again!).I’m lying in bed seeing animals in the shadowy shapes of the pine trees outside our windows, (bear, raccoons, a lizard with a captured fly in its mouth, buffalo… then people, crusaders, firemen, Joseph Stalin.. (I’m reliving the summer of 1969). I'm taking water;losing heart and steam... yet still praying... a little, kinda, sorta, barely... not really! So, last night i down my antibiotic, a 12 hour expectorant gel capsule, a one finger shot of cough suppressant, and a sleep aid and hit the sack. With about 14 minutes before I fall asleep or overdose I thought I'd read a bit. I spot my Bible, pick it up and the thought crosses my mind to fling it open and read whateverer page opened (for the record this is not my practice, I think the last time I did this Jimmy Carter was president and I was about to become a rigid dispensationalist). My Bible falls open to Luke 18... I staring at verse 1. Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. I close my Bible without reading any further... and begin to pray like I don't recall every praying before in my life! Now I know the rest of the story about the Widow, because of her persistence, gets what she's after... but that's not the point God's after with me! Immediately I know the point is for me to pray and "not give up". It's sooooooeasy to give up! Heck I'd given up! And in one of those nano second downloads from God so very much becomes clear. Yes, He's been in this... and so has the Adversary. In a smiling fatherly voice, that's music to my soul, I hear God's affirming words that I have lived, fought and prayed well in all of this... "Well done" echoes through my being. He's pleased... and invites me into an intimacy that perseveres... The life I long for has nothing to do with pleasant circumstances, loving friends, health, stereos or cars that work. Life is found in Him... in those intimate, passionate and sometimes desperate times on the bed, in the hospital, wondering how I'll ever get out of debt, or if my prodigal child will return. Life, communion with God, abiding, intimately bound to God... So much of that is what I was enjoying and was now waning. Until those words... Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. Ambien be damned I launch into my extended versionn of our Daily Prayer with interspersed worship, extended repentance and warfare and listening ….. I was locked and loaded, praying like a mad man... no, take that back... like a saint! Focused and free from distraction God was showing me a life-shaping wound that's haunted me since I was 21. Agreements I've made are surfacing... I'm actually lost in God. Wonderfully lost in His presence muttering and groaning core passions, sorrows and hopes... crying, laughing and still. For hours. This morning I woke up… still woofing, weezing... feeling horrible but living like the man I want to be…. and praying like a saint. Like a saint! - Craig * Rob Thomas & Santana, Smooth... great summer song
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Craig McConnell