Lent is such a fascinating time of the year. Designated as a time to prepare ourselves for the up coming Easter Sunday, it is a tradition usually adorned with fasting or the act of taking up something. All in an effort to prepare ourselves for Easter. 

However, as we progress into the second week of this Lenten season, I can’t help but to wonder, are we missing the point?

If Lent was designed as a season of fasting to prepare ourselves for Easter, than I suppose the assumption can be made that Easter is a pretty big deal. I mean, we are taking 40 days to “get ourselves ready” for this event. So then my question changes: What is Easter?

Can you answer that? Theologically? Experientially? Traditionally? Biblically?

Sure, some of us can, but I would stipulate that a good majority of us would fall pitifully short of doing any justice to what Easter truly is by settling on rabbits, eggs and hide and seek.

I’ll give it my best shot: as basic and simply put as possible, Easter is, for those who claim to believe in Jesus Christ, representative of the single most important day in the history of humanity. It is the day that God, creator of everything, who stepped into creation and died at the hands of the created (a horrific, humiliating, shameful, tortuous death) rose again to reclaim the glory of humanity. Easter is the celebrated day when Christ rose. It is the day that gave us life. The day that gave us hope. The day that proved that no matter what this crazy and twisted existence can throw at us, God will still prove victorious for God’s people. 

And so in light of this, the most miraculous day in our history, our ancestors thought it would be important to take the model of Christ in the desert and begin preparing our hearts, bodies, souls and minds for 40 days prior to the celebration of Christ’s resurrection. They did it in the form of fasting: the active act of weakening one’s body in an effort to better identify with, in our tradition, God.

But what is Lent to us today? No longer does it look like a fast to prepare ourselves for the glory of the Resurrection. Instead, it has taken the form of a second chance at living out our New Year’s resolutions. It has become a time to stop drinking beer, hit the gym, focus our attention on the betterment of ourselves. We give up Facebook, soda, junk food, television, video games… all of these things that “take up our time and distract us from who God is”. Which ok, that is very valid. I am certain that if we were to turn from our televisions to Scripture or prayer our lives would be vastly different than they were before the “fast.” 

But ultimately, fasting is not something that is done for the betterment of our bodies. Quite contrary, to fast from food is to intentionally withhold nourishment from your body. Which then, directly weaken your body. It is then thought that through this weakness we are able to see just how much we need Christ. Because of our brokenness, we can’t live without His glory. But because we don’t like that idea, the idea of weakening ourselves, we have very creatively found ways to fast from other things. Which, again, is a very valid thing — some people for medical reasons for instance could never abstain from food. But the concept was lost. 

How does giving up Facebook emphasize our need of a savior? How does going to the gym regularly, giving up booze, or watching less television remind us that we are inadequate without the power of the resurrected Christ? Ok, maybe they are hard to do. I’ll give you that. But I think that, and maybe this is just a hunch, but suffocating under the weight of the fluids collecting in your chest because you were unable to stand on the nails driven through your feet any longer, hanging from the nails in your hands was a hell of a lot harder than not drinking a carbonated beverage for 40 days. Moreover, it was certainly more meaningful. And know that I am very much talking to myself here. 

Fasting is not supposed to be easy. It is not supposed to bring immediate health or prosperity to your body. It will in time, as it draws you nearer to God. But it is designed to make us hurt. It is designed to cause us pain. It is designed to remind us that we are not God, and that we cannot live without God. 

Lent is a season of fasting. Therefore, how could Lent be a time where we strive to better ourselves in such manners that are physically propagating our independence from God? I know that when I am fit, able and on top of life, I have a much less need of a savior. Yet is that not what Easter is? The celebration of the ultimate Savior? 

All of this to say, we really should spend more time and consideration into the things we fast. If your dependence on Facebook is so strong that by giving it up you truly need to dwell on the necessity of Jesus as your savior, than by all means, that is awesome that you are giving up something so addictive to you. And if going to the gym somehow makes you less adequate so as to be in a place come Easter that you are more aware of the true power of the Resurrection, than that is awesome. 

But if it is not, than what’s the point? To have another holiday to symbolize the start of something so that we can make goals? If that’s the case, we should just designate the start of each month as the first day of a new month and then plan on how to better our lives that month.

This is my heart’s desire… To the ends of the earth

He takes his seat across the table. Two glasses tower over their coasters as if to assert their dominance, forcing the thin pieces of cardboard to collect their sweat. A fan is toiling in the distance, each blade perpetually fighting a never ending supply of air. The sun demands it way through the slit of the shudders. A waitress comes by to check on them, but a simple head nod lets her know that they need time. Time that they haven’t had in what seems to be ages. 

Picking up his glass, he takes a long gulp, letting the cool stream of water cascade over his tongue and down into the depths of his stomach. He himself is in need of time. Where to start? What to say? Why has it been so long? 

None of these questions seem to satisfy what needs to be expressed. The second hand on the clock hanging over the mantel screams at him over the hum of the lively pub as it glides into the next minute. So instead he fishes out a cube of ice and stores it under his lips, allowing it to numb whatever it is that might come out of his mouth. 

It is in that precise moment that it hits him… How can he expect to feel joy, when the lips that speak of joy are debilitated by the numbness of the ice? “Sure,” he thinks, “I can numb the pain, but not without also numbing everything else.” But the knowledge of the ice still doesn’t change anything. It can’t stop the war from being waged. It couldn’t save the coasters from their sweat laden deathbeds. It couldn’t forge peace between the blades of the fan and the molecules of the air. It couldn’t even, on its best day, dream of fighting off the radiance of the sun. 

Ultimately, it is this knowledge that drives him the most to despair. He knows what should be said — what should be done for that matter — but can’t find the way to do it. He is left with this surplus of knowledge, but no understanding of what to do about it. It is this knowledge that continually reminds him just how far he has fallen… slowly, but surely, fallen.

Intimidated by the ideas soaring through his head, he chews the cube in his mouth, stands up, and excuses himself from the table, only to return again tomorrow. Hopefully this time he will find the words…

Just when fear blinded me, you taught me to dream. I’ve learned that the world is bigger than me. You’re my daily dose of reality.  

Here we go! South Africa!!! Follow my beautiful team and me at http://teamsawest2011.blogspot.com/

I also have a personal blog at http://piercedforhislegacy.blogspot.com/

love you all!

It is a beautiful day today here in sunny Southern California. Despite the fact that it is finals week, and I have papers and homework out the ying yang, it is one of those days that you can’t help but to bask in the beauty of the day and seemingly forget about all the stresses in the world. My desk today has been the hammock I set up outside this morning.

But as I sit here, writing this paper for my silly class, basking in the radiance of the sun, I can’t shake this image that keeps running through my head.

Last summer I had a bunch of friends who went to South Africa on a missions trip through my church. One day, they were handing out food to the orphaned children living on the streets. Nearly an entire generation has been orphaned due to the rampant destruction of HIV/AIDS in South Africa. These children know death. They are as familiar with death as we are with our television sets or facebooks. There isn’t a day that goes by that these little boys and girls don’t stare death in the face.

It was these children that my friends were serving. Food that we would consider scraps, but was going to be the only meal that these poor children got for the day. The line was long and after what seemed like only a few minutes most of the lunch benches were filled with children sharing their scraps. The line was moving, smiles were being exchanged, needs were being met. But then my friend looks down and realizes that she had just served the last morsel of food she had to give. She looks up into the eyes of a skinny, beaten down child. The sorrow filled her heart instantly to the point of consuming her. She had to break the eye contact because she didn’t know what to do or say. So she looks up and away, only to be met by the gaze of dozens of others, in much the same situation as this little boy in front of her: hungry, tired, beaten down and standing under a white flag, blood pouring from the gashes in their souls.

As I sit here in my hammock, my bowl of ice cream next to me, my ipod playing in my ears, the cool breeze blowing across my face, I can’t shake this image. But the thing that I keep coming back to is the idea that these children are not defeated. They are standing under a white flag, not because they are defeated, not because they are crushed, not because they can’t press on, but because they are standing for everything that they have. They are standing for the only thing they have, the only thing that this world, that Satan could never take from them.

And
This is why they do it,
This is worth the pain.
This is why they bow down
And get back up again.
This is where the heart lies.
This is from above.

Love is this, this is love.
Love is why they do it.
Love is worth the pain.
Love is why they fall down
And get back up again.
Love is where the heart lies.
Love is from above.
Love is this, this is love.

This is love this is love this is love.

What the hell are we living for? Ice cream and a good grade? How about today we go learn what it means and see if we have what it takes to stand under a white flag.

I haven’t blogged in a long time. I gave it up for lent. Before I gave it up I was using it to dump all of the shit that was overflowing me in my wave of depression. It was my venting. For that, I am sorry to all who follow me. 

However, tonight I need to spend some time figuring out this feeling.

I am an RA in Smith next year. Now for many schools that honestly doesn’t mean anything more than the guy who breaks up the beer pong games, busts the guys smoking weed in the bathroom, and spends hours putting together posters and pinning them up just so that they can be torn down by the time the RA walks off the hall. Or at least, that is what I have observed an RA to be at ASU. And that is not in any way to say that this position is not very important, because it is! But at the end of the day, this position at other schools is just a job. A resume builder to prove your “leadership”. So when I tell my friends and family that I am an RA, that is what most of them think of: the guy doing the dirty work, trying to live his own life while “leading” some residents.

So let me take a second to describe what being an RA at Azusa Pacific looks like. Granted, we are a smaller, private, Christian university so it is bound to look differently. But at APU, RA is not a job. It is not a position. It is not a resume builder. Being an RA, as cliche as it sounds, is a way of life. It is literally a living, breathing, functioning ministry. You don’t just walk the halls trying to get to know the names of your residents. You actually do life with them. You get to know their names — not just their fist, but their middle, their last, what their closest friends call them, what their mom calls them. You have the privilege to come alongside of them and be a shepherd in their lives. You have the most basic and genuine opportunity to love the shit out people. To meet them where they are at and hold them in whatever they find themselves in. You get the chance, for just one precious moment in your life, to hold onto someone who maybe has never once been held with the love of Christ. 

Being an RA isn’t a job. It isn’t an opportunity for self gain. And it sure the hell isn’t anything that is used to get free room and board. No, being an RA is one of the most sacred gifts from God to be able to have an attempt at bringing the Kingdom into an otherwise empty hallway. And I don’t say that to boast about having this privilege. Nor do I say it to put down anyone else who is an RA anywhere else. I say it because, well honestly, because it scares the shit out of me. 

I barely have a grasp on my life. How on earth am I supposed to be a role model for 30 other freshman guys?! I am so selfish. I am the reason Jesus went to the cross and had to die. So why should I have this chance to shepherd? I am broken beyond belief, totally messed up. So why has God so relentlessly anointed me into ministry?

I am utterly blown away. All the time people tell me, “Ryan, you’re going to make an awesome RA!” But tonight I herd the best piece of advice from the guy who passed me down his hall. Garrett told me tonight that when he felt that he was being the best RA he could be, the best possible pastor he could be, the best shepherd he could be was when he was intentionally living in a servants mindset. So, if I am an “amazing” RA next year, let it be simply because I was humble enough servant to bow to the plan of Jesus. Let it be nothing that I have said, nothing that I have done, nothing that I have even thought, other than power of Jesus in me. For I am no hero. I am no leader. I am nothing other than a broken jar of clay, trying my hardest to hold the light of Jesus in my core. 

But here’s the catch. In order to do that, I must first learn to let go of my expectations. You see, I am thinker, I am a planner, I am a strategizer. It just comes naturally to me. But if I am to open my life completely to Jesus, I don’t get to strategize my future. I don’t get to try to expect the type of relationships and people God is going to piece together on my hall. I don’t get to plan how I can make everyone like me on my hall. Hell, if I’m being honest, I don’t even get to call it my hall. I have to name it for what it is worth, Jesus’ hall. Anointed, called, and moved to action by him and for him. I am merely the tool that is used to strike the nail.

And that my friend, despite its difficulty in actually doing, is fucking glorious! ‘Fucking’ because Christianity is messy, harsh, abrasive, distinctive, bold, risky, dangerous and irrevocable — much like the word fuck. And glorious because there is nothing more immaculate than learning how to die to self in an attempt to be made alive in Christ and his plan for you. 

Jesus, holy crap! I have a 10 page paper due tomorrow morning which I have of course yet to start, and it is now 2 in the morning, but you are moving something crazy in me and I couldn’t do anything but write! Jesus help me to be able to let go of any expectations I have for this coming year. Don’t let my hopes, dreams, and desires get in the way of what you have ordained for your hall, Second Central next year. Jesus help me to be the shepherd, led by you as my staff. Jesus I pray for the guys you are going to be bringing together for next year. Jesus I know you know who they are, and I pray that you begin something in them this summer that will set the tone for their relationship with you in a glorious way for the next four years of their life here at APU. And Abba, help me to not get in the way of their process, help me to never be someone who adds to their hurt. I know I am human and that it is bound to happen, but Jesus I love these guys — I don’t even know them and I love them! And I would never want to hurt them, so Jesus, help me to be able to selflessly love them as you would! I love you so much Jesus!! I pray this in your name Jesus, Amen!!

Oh ya, and if you could help me have the energy to write this paper I would be very much obliged! I love you!

I am beyond overjoyed today! It truly is amazing how when the wave of loss and chaos washes over me, God never fails to provide the breath of hope and endurance in its recession. I am at a loss for how sustained I am. I am at a loss for how protected I have been.I am at a loss for how loved I am! 

To the cross I look.
To the cross I cling.
Of its suffering I do drink.
Of its work I do sing.
On it my Savior,
both bruised and crushed,
showed that God is love,
and God is just.

At the cross You,
beckon me,
draw me gently,
to my knees and I am,
lost for words so,
lost in love I'm,
sweetly broken, wholly surrendered!

In awe of the cross I must confess,
how wondrous Your redeeming love and how great
is Your faithfulness!

At the cross You,
You beckon me,
draw me gently,
to my knees and I am,
lost for words so,
lost in love,
I am sweetly broken, wholly surrendered!

Broken for You...I'm broken for You, my Lord.

Jesus...All that's left, ooooo I am sweetly broken.

AMEN!

Isn’t it funny how we can find dozens of distractions from what we claim we want the most? 

I want to take a minute to be honest about a few things. I have been pissed off at God for a while now. I have been in this process since I got to Azusa of relearning how to do a lot of things, only this time I am trying to teach myself how to do them the correct way. It’s a lot like trying, at age 20, to teach yourself how to write with your left hand, after being right handed for so long. It is a slow process. It is a frustrating process. And honestly, it is a process that lately I have been utterly sick of. 

I have been mad at God because I am so fed up with this process. Because I am so damn sick of writing “the dog is brown” 900 times with my left hand, when I know I could do it in a matter of three seconds if I were to use my right hand. I am pissed at God because He keeps taking away all of these things that I run to for an escape from this process. I have lost a lot of things lately. Things from the ability to communicate with people I really care about, even to the ability to get up and walk, run, climb, slackline play… everything that I find comfort in. 

As a dear friend pointed out to me, God deals with me the same way I deal with life. Which in and of itself is beautiful — the fact that Jesus comes and meets me where I am and deals with me in a way that I will understand. But what sucks about that is that I don’t treat life like some fragile piece of art. Life is more like a soccer ball, perpetually being thrust into action, jolted back and forth, abruptly stopped only to be flung in another direction. So when God wants me to do something, it doesn’t necessarily come across as a gently whisper. A lot of the times it is a rough slap in the face followed with a “Hey asshole, pull your head out! I love you. Now follow me!” 

And that is where I have been at. ignoring the call because I am pissed at my coach. Because I don’t understand why the hell I have to run all these fucking suicides. 

But the thing is, most of the time coaches make you run until you puke — or at least all of my coaches did — so that I could be in the best possible shape for the game. So that I could get my head around the concept that sometimes I don’t understand why I have to practice this thing, but my coach does, so I better just shut up and do the drill. 

I’ve been rebelling a lot lately. I’ve tried to run to all my comforts. And one by one, each one of them have been taken away. 

I can hear God saying “dude, just lean on me. I know you love climbing, I know you care about those people, I know you can’t stand being stuck on that couch, I know you are fed up, I know you are exhausted. So just stop. And let me be all of those things and so much more.”

Jesus, I see you. I get it now. I am sorry it took so long. I am sorry I kept running from what you wanted. I’m sorry I was so mad at you for so long. It is funny how, for as much as I hate this, I know you are right. And as much as I know you are right, I hate giving this up. But Jesus, I’m done fighting against you. I’m done because I know that I am wrong. Fix my eyes on you Jesus. Help me to be obedient. Help me to be faithful. I love you Abba.

Amen

Lately I have been in a place, overwhelmed with consequences. Some spring from a series of good, but difficult decisions on how to approach life. Some flow out of the choices made by those that went before me. And a few ooze from the pain of mistakes I have made.

The thing with consequences though, is that for good or bad, they must take their course. They cannot be shortchanged, rushed, or diverted. Which sucks. Especially for me. I’m the type of kid that, after accidentally breaking my mother’s vase, would frantically scramble to super glue it back together before anyone else noticed I messed up. But as I have grown up, I have realized that that glued together vase will never be as beautiful as a whole vase. 

So this time, instead of trying to fix it myself, I had to wait for mom to get home. The anxiety of what would happen nearly made me explode. The shame and discouragement that came from breaking the vase was overwhelming. The fact that I knew I was playing ball in the house and shouldn’t have been, especially because my foot was injured and I couldn’t even juggle the ball properly, haunted me. As any child who knows he has messed up, I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. Just poof into thin air. 

But finally, mom got home. And I reluctantly showed her what to I had done. She was disappointed, hurt, and frustrated. And I found that that hurt even more than the immediate consequences of breaking the vase. The thing about being a little kid is, for the most part, children would go to the ends of the earth to please their parents — especially as a young child. And with this desire, I ended up disappointing and hurting the one I wanted protect and be accepted by. 

Although this analogy isn’t a perfect match, because I am no longer a child, and this time it was not my mom, the consequences are much the same.

For now I am stuck. I am sitting in the place of essentially being grounded. But it is worse than being grounded. I am in that place where I know I made a mistake. I am stuck in that place where I owned up to my mistake. And now, I have to be that little boy who sits in the corner, feeling the weight of his mother’s disappointment on his heart, waiting for the consequences to finish taking their course. 

All I can do is wait. Which in theory shouldn’t be difficult for I can add it to the long list of other consequences I have been waiting to finish their course. But in reality it is horribly difficult. I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of waiting for my process. I’m sick of waiting for healing. I’m sick of waiting for the day that I can take a breath without that familiar twang of pain in my chest. I’m sick of waiting to become the person I have been busting my ass to become. And I’m sick of waiting for all of these consequences to come to an end. 

But in this waiting I am finding strength. In this waiting, I am beginning to find an incredible God peace that calms me in this crazy storm. 

So ya, it freaking sucks. But, I have hope. Jesus, continue to be that hope. Continue to guide me, mold me, heal me and use me. Jesus be with all those people that my process has effected. Heal them as you continue to show me, as much as I get frustrated with it, that it is not always my job to bring about healing. That is your job. I love you so much Abba. Thank you!

Today is one of those days that you wake up wishing you could crawl into a hole and not exist for a while. And it has only gotten progressively worse. Such is life sometimes.