tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25743974787803388202024-03-05T09:55:24.487-08:00Jesse DempsenSometimes I think of Abraham *
How one star he saw had been lit for me *
He was a stranger in this land *
And I am that, no less than he *
And on this road to righteousness *
Sometimes the climb can be so steep *
I may falter in my steps *
But never beyond Your reachJessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-86378686810939692822016-06-01T08:00:00.001-07:002016-06-01T08:00:45.681-07:00The Fourth Watch of the Night<i>"And in the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea."</i><br />
<br />
It's almost tempting to leave this without comment. The simple beauty of this verse strikes me deeply, and I think would move me even without knowing the context. But knowing that Jesus went out to meet his disciples, who had been struggling against the wind to get across the lake, who were weary and probably feeling like they'd never make it across, by simply walking out upon the sea to meet them, leaves me utterly speechless.<br />
<br />
Isn't it just like him, to show up when hope is on the verge of being lost?<br />
<br />
Isn't it like him, to wait until we're spent, we've expended all our efforts against the wind and waves, our arms like rubber from pulling the oars and we feel like we've made it no farther to the shore? Isn't it just like him to show up then, and to show up effortlessly, sauntering toward us on top of the water, making light of the thing we're striving against?<br />
<br />
For him it is nothing. For us, it's an insurmountable task. So he waits, till the fourth watch of the night, till we've spent ourselves on the task that's too much for us to begin with, till we're ready to see him coming towards us on the waves.<br />
<br />
And from there, well, he calls us to leave the boat, and walk with him.Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-56486366794040565632016-05-31T07:43:00.002-07:002016-05-31T07:46:55.774-07:00Light<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
<img alt="imgres.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://73F56C3B-73D4-43EC-9F86-CC43B75D9B89/imgres.jpg" /></div>
<br />
Light doesn't imprison, and yet<br />
<div>
That moment</div>
<div>
When the animal freezes, it believes itself</div>
<div>
Bound</div>
<div>
By the photons, the waves, the rays</div>
<div>
As surely as if it were</div>
<div>
Chained</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so</div>
<div>
It cannot flee</div>
<div>
Its impending</div>
<div>
Doom.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But the light does not bind;</div>
<div>
It frees - </div>
<div>
It illuminates the danger, which, </div>
<div>
Were the light not present,</div>
<div>
Would strike unannounced,</div>
<div>
Destroying without warning.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The light calls.</div>
<div>
The light declares the danger, clarions the calamity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is up to the animal</div>
<div>
To decide what to do:</div>
<div>
Will it freeze, unbelieving</div>
<div>
That such catastrophe</div>
<div>
Should befall it?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or will it heed the clarion call</div>
<div>
And flee</div>
<div>
The coming darkness?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-34549303744876959342016-05-23T05:59:00.001-07:002016-05-23T05:59:15.992-07:00SeeingIt takes a practiced eye to see the small moments, to read into them the eternal significance they contain.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not the heady, life-transforming speeches, or even the tragedies, the short series of words you never want to hear: "He passed away this morning." "She isn't coming home." "I can't do this anymore." "I've found someone else." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While those do alter one's course forever, the mundane moments do, too, sometimes even as much as the others. It's just that, without the ability to see, sometimes we don't realize that these small moments have altered us. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Something changed in me a few weeks ago, and it was a line from a story that did it. A single line, and a wall that had been built up for years began to topple. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am an extremely protective and private person, reluctant to open up to others or to pursue relationships with others. I would, left to my own devices, be content as a hermit, surrounded by solitude and only letting those in with whom I felt most safe. And while there's a myriad of reasons for me to be this way, I have not been happy being this way. I know I've been called by God to leave this kind of safety and seek out others, but I've been paraalyzed by my own fear and by no framework for how to do this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then I read this parable, of a boy who, because of a disfiguring scar on his face, never entered completely into any task he undertook, because he always had to keep one hand on his face. He could only ever do anything with the free hand that didn't cover the scar. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I saw myself. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The boy was sent on a quest: to face his worst enemy in mortal combat. And he discovered that his worst enemy was himself. He was crippling himself by refusing to use both hands.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> "Uh, lad, said the Woodcutter "you'll need two hands to do this work; two strong hands. The rhythm goes like this: You pull and ease your grip. I pull and ease my grip. You pull and ease your grip. Got it?"<br /> Hero nodded his head yes. He put both hands on his handle of the long saw. He felt naked, exposed now that his scar was uncovered.<br /> But the Woodcutter just smiled. He didn't seem surprised or dismayed. "That's a lad. Gotta use two strong hands."</i></blockquote>
</div>
<div>
I heard the message clearly: I am going through life only using one hand. I am hiding what I believe to be blemishes I don't want others to see, but in doing so I can only work with one hand. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And it was as if chains fell off. I felt myself mentally peeling off the hand that had nearly grown into my face, and now I'm stretching muscles I've forgotten how to use, strengthening and conditioning my ability to use both hands again (if I ever knew how in the first place). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I find myself now, when faced with a choice of whether to enter into an interaction with someone or to avoid, to say the mantra, "Two hands," and the choice becomes easier, clearer. The muscles grow. The habits form. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We never know when eternity will break through. For Zaccheus, it was that moment when, himself in a tree, Jesus stopped underneath him and invited himself over for dinner. Nothing was the same for him after that. For Peter, James, and John, it was when a stranger told them to throw their net over the other side of their boat. They obeyed, and life changed forever.<br />
<br />
The moments He chooses to use can be simple. We don't all have Road-to-Damascus experiences; we don't all get the opportunity to "turn aside and see this great sight." We often need only the eyes to see and ears to hear the wonders of God all around us. We need His vision to hear the messages He sends, and to let those things change us.<br />
<br />
So I encourage you to ask for eyes open to seeing what He sees, and ears open to hearing from Him. His Spirit is breaking through - look and listen for what He is saying to you today. </div>
Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-80388254795216674522015-06-27T14:49:00.001-07:002015-06-27T14:49:46.210-07:00Shadows Shot Through with LightSometimes I can see it: great and ugly, the squatting creature that dirties the world, that spreads its stink on all and covers everything in its dark slime. There's nothing it doesn't touch, nothing that remains unsullied by its presence. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I hate it. I hate the way it chuckles as it releases its filth, spreading it so seemingly indiscriminately on the world. I want to kill it, murder it and begin to wash the world. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But the most I can do is try to clean up after it. It's not my job to kill it - as a matter of fact, I have it on good authority it's already dead, and its activities now are simply the death throes, like a chicken thrashing about when its head's been removed. So I clean: I go through the motions of what often seems like futile labor. I scrub a spot clean here, only to look and see that the spot I scrubbed moments before has been rubbed with the creature's excrement again. I go to work. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I can see the progress. Occasionally I'll be able to look up from my cleaning and see the behind me the sparkling trail I'm leaving. But most of the time my head is down; I'm focused in on my work; scrubbing until my hands bleed. It's amazing, actually, how effective blood is as a cleanser. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not my blood, though. His. He poured it out, in the battle with the beast where His death sealed the beast's own. He poured out His blood on His people, making them clean. And while the stains remain, I soak in His blood to get them out a little bit more every day, and I keep going back to that blood to scrub out the stains that beast leaves on everything. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-51235865874303823572014-12-24T09:51:00.001-08:002014-12-24T09:53:58.385-08:00Advent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.ldolphin.org/Yeshuaadvent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.ldolphin.org/Yeshuaadvent.jpg" height="312" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I get a little wistful this time of year, a little bit more each year.<br />
<br />
As I live and serve here, on this reservation, on this earth, I long for the hope of Christmas more and more. I long for the realization of what Jesus started when He came the first time; for the completion of His work in the Second Advent. I long for His return, when all will be made new, and the wrongs and the hurts and the pains will be done away with.<br />
<br />
This year has seen a lot of hurts. A boy I love and care about deeply is losing his grandmother, who's cared for him best she can since his parents passed. A little girl I came to love as my own has been moving from home to home since she left ours, and I don't know if she's safe, and can't keep her safe. A boy told me the other day at youth group he'd been thinking about hanging himself. And that's only some of the sorrows I've seen in our community. There are other sorrows, too: young black men getting shot by police, a school shooting on another reservation in the state, the deaths and beheadings of Christians and Westerners by ISIS. Our world is sick with sorrow, groaning with the pains of childbirth. Can we look at all of it and endure?<br />
<br />
There have been moments where it's been too much. It has seemed like evil is winning, and all of it is futile. The little we can do is surely not enough to stem the tide, not enough to redirect the current. Why persist? The war is lost.<br />
<br />
And yet.<br />
<br />
And yet, there is Christmas.<br />
<br />
There's a baby. Powerless, helpless. A very little thing, infinitesimal, born to lower classes in the backwaters of the Roman Empire, not even registering on the radar of anyone who mattered. It surely couldn't be enough to stem the tide of evil, could it?<br />
<br />
Yet that baby was. That small thing was the one thing that could do it. It was the lynchpin, the cornerstone. It when that baby came into the world that evil lost, albeit it has taken a couple thousand years of the devil thrashing around with his head cut off.<br />
<br />
I'm ready for the devil to stop his death throes. I'm ready for the job to be finished. I grow so weary of seeing the devastation sin and evil still is able to thrust upon this world, even after the head's been cut off. I'm ready for the triumphant return - so ready.<br />
<br />
My favorite Christmas song remains still "White Horse" by Over the Rhine. Their lyrics of the triumphant return of Jesus on a white horse, come to set all things right, recall the language of the Old Testament prophets who made no distinctions between the First and Second Advents. May we remember always that He didn't just come and die and rise again. While that is certainly the root of our hope, the full realization of our hope and the consummation of our hope is in the Second Advent, the White Horse, the Flaming Sword. He is coming again to finish what He started! While we can remember now what He began as a baby, in humble beginnings, and allow that to give us hope that the small efforts in which we partake now will indeed work His will against evil, we can look forward to the grandiose way in which He shall return - riding in the clouds, sword in hand, to do battle with the devil for the last time.<br />
<br />
It'll end. He will win. Come, Lord Jesus.Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-90671143793558322262014-07-23T15:17:00.001-07:002014-07-23T15:17:56.385-07:00Reflection on a SundayThere's a church in White Swan, a haven of rest and safety for the many who have neither. A playground unequaled on the Rez, where the kids run and play and get fed and wounds are treated and shoes are given and Bible stories are told.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Three are here who have been gone for some time. I ask the middle one where they've been staying. "With our mom," he tells me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"In Totus?" I ask. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No," he tells me, and clarifies where they've been. "But we've been moving every day." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I murmur that this must be hard, and he nods. "We used to live in Totus for a long time." There's a bit of sorrow, a bit of a shrug in his tone, like at 10 years old he's seen enough of life to know it's just hard. And I know enough of his story to know he's seen some things in his time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But here, he tosses another ball through the net and smiles. Here the sorrow and burden can be lifted for awhile, and he and his brothers can hear about Jesus' love and shoot some hoops after. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The last three Sundays I've been averaging 1.2 shoeless kids per week. It's not the same children every time, and usually it's in a frantic effort to get ready and they can't find their shoes. It's a symptom of the larger problem: neglect. The kids are on their own, parents and family caught up in their own addictions, too wrapped up in their pain and avoidance to care for their kids. Everyone is giving up. Holding on to hope has become too difficult.<br />
<br />
But these kids still have it, to my wonder. The God of hope has granted it to them. They have been told - and have begun to believe - that there is hope for them, and that God cares about them, and that they matter not just to Him, but to us. To me. They matter to me.<br />
<br />
And who knows how it starts: do they matter me because I care about what God thinks, or do they matter to me because they matter, inherently, and I can see it? I don't know. It doesn't make a difference where the source is. The crux is that my eye is now trained to detect the evidence of God's plan and purpose in creating each person here; in hunting out the beauty and the stamp of His image even in those who seem the furthest gone. We have hope. We have a God who is the God of hope. His Spirit is the source of hope. We know what He can do, because we've seen Him do it. We can trust that He will continue to work out His plan, and that He'll bring to an end all that He wishes.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-86390383199458769432014-03-02T15:40:00.000-08:002014-03-02T15:40:05.900-08:00Questions for HeavenFather, when you used to<br />
Meet Adam in the garden<br />
For an evening walk, how much<br />
Did you miss him when he left?<br />
<br />
Father, when you looked down<br />
And saw<br />
Only one family left<br />
Who remembered you,<br />
Was it your tears that covered the earth?<br />
<br />
I can see you now: rushing the remnant<br />
Onto the ark, holding back<br />
Just long enough<br />
To get the door<br />
Closed.<br />
<br />
And then you wail.<br />
And everything<br />
Dies.<br />
<br />
Father, did a sob<br />
Catch in your throat<br />
As you stayed the hand<br />
Of Abraham, knowing<br />
That someday<br />
What he was just spared<br />
You would not be?<br />
<br />
Father, sometime I wonder<br />
Sometimes I just wonder<br />
Sometimes I just cry and I just wonder<br />
<br />Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-15728754708582215352014-01-29T21:20:00.000-08:002014-01-29T21:20:54.353-08:00I Was Both Amazed and Left Stunned and Speechless By What Happened Next. "You won't believe what happened next."<br />
<br />
I just about hate those words now. Scanning through my Facebook feed, I almost lost count of how many times they popped up.<br />
<br />
At what point did the internet decide collectively to begin to use this formula centering around the three words "what happened next"? The formula consist of a) a situation introduced ("This mom surprised her high schooler at lunch"), b) a "power adjective" (stunned, speechless, amazed, etc) and c) "what happened next." I'm sure you've seen it.<br />
<br />
It evokes a visceral reaction in me, and since I've noted its arrival, it has guaranteed that, no matter how intriguing the subject material is, I WILL NOT CLICK ANY LINK WHICH INCLUDES THIS VERBIAGE. I just won't.<br />
<br />
It's probably my issue. I have a deep-seated fear of being manipulated, and I think I may react strongly to anything I see as a possible attempt to coerce me into a certain action, no matter how innocuous it might be. But really, my objection is that it's simply a cheap way out. If one can't think of a creative way to hook people in to watch a video or peruse a link, one can fall back on a formula which (assuming from its over-usage) has success.<br />
<br />
I admit, I feel a pull on my curiosity when I see the words. Who doesn't want to know what happened next? Isn't that why TV season finales always end on cliffhangers? The power of curiosity and the desire for closure and resolution is so strong. But it's that very pull on my curiosity that makes me despise the words. I despise my own reaction to them, wishing that my natural desire to know "what happened next" could be curbed. I hate being manipulated. Don't trick me into watching your cat video by tempting me to find resolution. I was happy without knowing "what happened next" five minutes ago; I will be happy not knowing "what happened next" five minutes from now.<br />
<br />
There's my curmudgeony moment of the day.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-79405670131871244982014-01-08T21:36:00.001-08:002014-01-08T21:37:06.411-08:00Fight<br />
<br />
Madness sets in like<br />
Doubt<br />
Like, you can't<br />
Know<br />
Anything<br />
is true because, who are you just you're just a little<br />
so-and-so and who do you think you are to think<br />
you can tell you what's what<br />
<br />
And the funny thing<br />
Is<br />
you start to believe it firmly.<br />
<br />
But madness gotta be<br />
Fought,<br />
Gotta fight it, gotta tell it where to go and where to get off, I got Truth on my side, you old so-and-so so you<br />
Better, that's right, you better run<br />
<br />
Gotta go to Jesus, man - go to Jesus, He got, yeah He got the Truth:<br />
Tell the madness what's what<br />
And that<br />
You can KNOW<br />
(Are you LISTENING? Can you HEAR ME?)<br />
You can KNOW!<br />
<br />
freedom. love. family. forgiveness. honor. respect. love. grace. love. grace. love.<br />
<br />
and the end<br />
of<br />
madness.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>I'm not sure where this came from. I started writing and this is what came out. I haven't changed a single word to it, so you can take that for whatever it's worth. I can give no real commentary on it other than it came from thinking about the problem of wallowing in guilt and isolation, a place I would find myself in frequently if I did not embrace the denouement of the piece. I'm not sure why I feel prompted to offer commentary on the piece, either, since I wrote it with no real intent in mind other than to see what came out. Still, here the commentary is, and I suppose it shall remain. </i>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-5757555843002809722014-01-08T21:05:00.000-08:002014-01-08T21:05:37.385-08:00Let's try this again. It's a new year, right? A new year, a time for trying to form new habits (or re-form old ones that you let die).<br />
<br />
I'm a writer - at least, I've always called myself one. But it's hard to keep believing it when I cease to write. When I let my pens and pencils die in obscurity. When my notebooks languish from want of use. When I have to blow layer after layer of dust off my blog before I can see the screen to write this post.<br />
<br />
Most of the writing I do these days is out of duty rather than delight, when I'm writing to supporters to communicate about work and life here on the Rez. There are times - quite often, even -when these two hemispheres of the Venn diagram overlap, and duty and delight squeal with glee when they meet. I love those moments when I feel like I'm clearly communicating the passion and joy I find in the work I do here in a creative way. I get a lot of satisfaction out of that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://agymlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/poor-obese-kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://agymlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/poor-obese-kid.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
But there's the part of my writer-soul that's weak with hunger from neglect, rocking in the corner of my mind, having ceased about a year ago asking to be fed. It's that part that likes to write poetry and make up stories and imagine that magic is real, and just write about whatever it wants. I'm gonna start feeding it again this year. Maybe it'll be fat in 2015.<br />
<br />
<br />Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-61463550102035421232013-05-29T11:06:00.001-07:002013-05-29T11:06:04.836-07:00Because I Don't Know What Else to Do: Thoughts on the SGM Lawsuit<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
While this is out of character for me to write about, and to publicly come out on one side of this issue, I can't be silent on this. Too many people already have.<br />
<br />
You may have heard about the lawsuit (recently tossed out due to
statue of limitations) against Sovereign Grace Ministries, alleging a
conspiracy to cover up multiple incidences of child sexual abuse by pressuring
families not to report abuse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I can't stop thinking about it, for many reasons. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
One reason: The details of the kinds of abuse that occurred are
horrific. At least eleven people came forward with stories that I wish I could
forget. If you know anything about child sexual abuse, it’s that allegations of
abuse are rarely false. In so many of these instances, church leaders were made
aware of the abuse that was happening by either other church members or people
in ministry roles, and their response was to defend the victim and push for
reconciliation over and against alerting authorities. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
This was not one church within the Sovereign Grace network. This
happened in at least two locations, and the charges in the civil suit were
aiming to prove that there had been an orchestrated effort on the part of the
leadership to keep the abuse under wraps and out of the hands authorities. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
A second reason: C.J. Mahaney is a well-respected and influential
leader in Reformed circles, one of the founders of Sovereign Grace Ministries
and its long-time president, one of the “4” in T4G (Together for the Gospel,
the quartet of Mark Dever, Al Mohler, Ligon Duncan, and Mahaney), and a council
member on The Gospel Coalition, an organization composed of almost all
influential Reformed folks (John Piper, Tim Keller, the T4G boys, Justin
Taylor, Kevin DeYoung, D.A. Carson, Matt Chandler, and many more). The lawsuit
included many instances of abuse that happened at the church of which he was
senior pastor, some of them under his watch. He was named as one of the men
allegedly covering up abuse. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Now, in 2011, CJ<a href="http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/justintaylor/2011/07/07/c-j-mahaney-why-im-taking-a-leave-of-absence/"> took a leave of absence</a> from his position at
Sovereign Grace Ministries, in order to examine his heart over several charges
leveled at him by others in leadership. These charges were perhaps not directly
related to the abuse cover-up, but it wasn’t long after that the lawsuit was
filed, and it isn’t hard to link the two eventsIn a post on The Gospel
Coalition website titled “Why I’m Taking a Leave of Absence,” CJ explains that,
while the charges aren’t immoral in nature, they are serious, and he was
leaving to go under the care of his friend Mark Dever while examining his
heart, etc. <a href="http://t4g.org/statement/"> A statement put out last week</a> by Dever, Mohler, and Duncan seems to echo the language of this 2011
article: <span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">A </span></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Christian leader, charged with any credible,
serious, and direct wrongdoing, would usually be well advised to step down from
public ministry. No such accusation of direct wrongdoing was ever made against
C. J. Mahaney. Instead, he was charged with founding a ministry and for
teaching doctrines and principles that are held to be true by vast millions of
American evangelicals. For this reason, we, along with many others, refused to
step away from C. J. in any way. We do not regret that decision.<o:p></o:p></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I read that and felt my blood boil. Were I a victim of abuse, or a
family member of a victim, I would feel betrayed not just by one church
organization, but by the church at large, whose leaders have chosen to minimize
the seriousness of the charges and spin the truth to protect a single leader. Add
to that the fact that it’s simply not true. Mahaney was charged with aiding in
the cover-up of abuse happening in his church and the network of which he was
the head, not with simply being the leader of the network where the abuse
happened.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Later, The Gospel Coalition website posted another response
composed by Justin Taylor, Don Carson, and Kevin DeYoung, <a href="http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tgc/2013/05/24/why-we-have-been-silent-about-the-sgm-lawsuit/">“Why We Have BeenSilent About the SGM Lawsuit.”</a> This one was equally troubling; though the
language was somewhat more sensitive to victims and those with reasonable
questions, the aim of it seemed to be to discredit the victims and those who
brought the suit and to defend the actions of those around Mahaney and SGM who
have not spoken up about this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
This is an example:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #40464b; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">So the entire
legal strategy was dependent on a theory of conspiracy that was more hearsay
than anything like reasonable demonstration of culpability. As to the specific
matter of C. J. participating in some massive cover-up, the legal evidence was
so paltry (more like non-existent) that the judge did not think a trial was
even warranted.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Simply not true. The reason the judge
decided to throw out the suit was because the statute of limitations had passed
for civil complaint for many of the plaintiffs named in the suit. The plaintiff’s
attorney was hoping that the judge would consider a charge of a conspiracy to
cover up the abuse would be enough for the judge to consider bringing the case
to trial anyway, but the judge decided against that. Not because of lack of
evidence being “so paltry,” but because of the statute of limitations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And that’s a huge deal. Because it means
that, since this won’t go to trial, the pattern of behavior in these churches
may continue. It also means that the leadership of the reformed community in
America can feel justified in standing by Mahaney and SGM, claiming their
innocence because the judge threw out the case against them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A third reason this weighs on me: I am
Reformed. I’m a member in a Presbyterian church, and I’m part of a Presbyterian
church-planting ministry. These people are my people. I’ve watched and listened
some of the sessions of the Together for the Gospel conference and gained a lot
from them; I’ve respected these men for their solid biblical teaching and for
their reputation for integrity in leadership. So it grieves me to my soul that
they are so far off in how they are handling this. It grieves me that C.J.
Mahaney has not simply come out and said, “ I did wrong; this happened on my
watch. I can’t fix what happened, but I can make sure I do whatever I can so
that it never happens again.” Instead he’s done the opposite, running and
hiding from it and having his powerful friends run interference for him. He
stepped down several months ago from leadership at SGM to become senior pastor
at a church in Louisville. He’s gotten around coming clean about his
culpability by retreating, rather than owning up and asking the church
community how he can begin to work toward restoration. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And Dever, Mohler, Duncan, Carson,
Taylor, and DeYoung have publicly sided with him, each one of them going on
record as saying that Mahaney is above reproach in the whole thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I know there’s the possibility for Mahaney’s
innocence. It’s a possibility, but it’s fairly unlikely. I have (regrettably)
read many of the details of the case, and the close ties many of these
instances of abuse have to Mahaney (close associates and men in ministry roles
accused of abuse, cases of abuse being handled inappropriately by the
leadership of the church while he was senior pastor, etc.) would make it next
to impossible for me to believe that a) he had no knowledge of abuse happening
in his church (and network of churches) on his watch, and b) he had no
influence on how the leadership structure handled their approach to abuse
victims and victimizers. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The reformed leadership – these celebrity-like
figures within the landscape of Christianity in America – has a lot to answer
for in these circumstances. I almost wish they had remained silent, because
when they spoke up, they made things a whole lot worse. What they did was the
collective equivalent of telling the abuse victims what happened is their
problem.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And a fourth reason this bothers me: the
Church is called to look out for the widows and the orphans. We are to look out
for and speak out for the oppressed and the powerless, to defend and give voice
to those who have none. We are told that the Kingdom is made up of children and
the child-like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">These men have done the opposite. They
have acted to silence those who have been oppressed; they have prioritized
defending the powerful against the powerless children who were abused on his
watch. They have publicly spoken out in such a way as to dismiss their plight.
They have failed to do what they are called to do as Christians. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">So where does that leave us? It leaves
us all in the hands of a sovereign God whose grace covers over all sins. I pray
that these men repent of what they are doing; they are hurting the church at
large by shielding Mahaney. I pray that Mahaney repents, that God pursues him
as only He can until he can’t resist any more. I pray that, even if nothing
changes with the men who lead reformed America, the victims experience the
healing that only Jesus offers. And I pray that other believers speak out against this cover-up, that pressure is put on these leaders to repent of their actions. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">May God have mercy on
us all.</span>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-18536784774056505172012-12-11T06:51:00.000-08:002012-12-11T07:00:34.142-08:00A Tree on a Foggy Winter Day<img src="http://blogs.sun-sentinel.com/weather-hurricane-storm/files/2011/01/tree-in-fog.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Its many limbs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Finger the cold sky, rising</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Out of the mist on my approach</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Till, sharp,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They stand like dancers frozen in a pose,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Arms lifted</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In praise of the sun's</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fog-filtered orb - a cold</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ball of silent fury.</span><br />
<br />Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-39966181316012240052012-12-07T07:58:00.000-08:002012-12-07T07:58:34.753-08:00ResurrectionIt's time to bring it back.<br />
<br />
I've been absent from this blog for over a year, and while I've maintained a ministry-focused blog, there's something about the freedom I've had in publishing here that I've missed. I miss the discipline of writing essays and poetry about whatever strikes my fancy, and putting it up for the few who stumble upon it to enjoy or vilify. I've missed being a writer, in other words.<br />
<br />
And rather than simply post an announcement that I'm resurrecting a dead blog, some thoughts on resurrection:<br />
<br />
The movie <b>Batman Begins</b> centers around the quote recited by multiple characters: "Why do we fall?" "So we can learn to get back up."<br />
<br />
Most of the time we think of failures as moments to reject, to throw out onto a scrap heap somewhere and hope the trash collector comes early. We try not to dwell on them, we try our best not to let them weigh on us, and we move on. We'd rather not examine too deeply whether the failure was a result of deficiency within ourselves, or a result of circumstances we can't control. We'd just like to pretend it didn't happen. So we'll file it away, and avoid circumstances as much as we can that might put us in a position to experience the same kind of failure. We don't expose ourselves naturally to situations in which we might fail.<br />
<br />
What I'm saying in all this is, resurrection's a miracle any way you cut it.<br />
<br />
Let's look at the big example: the dead coming to life. Dead things stay dead - that's the rule by which nature operates, and any of us are hard-pressed to find exceptions to that rule. Death, as much as we resist believing and saying so, and as unsettled by it as we are, is the normal experience. Everything dies, and new life replaces the former. What dies does not revive. Every once in awhile we'll witness resuscitation, where that which was almost dead is restored to health, but this is not resurrection. A man whose lungs are filled with water may be in danger of dying - seconds away, perhaps - but as long as the water is expelled, the man will be fine. He can be resuscitated. The dead cannot. The dead are dead.<br />
<br />
But resurrection restores life to what is dead, no matter what died. Resurrection belongs to the divine. Resuscitation is what the mortals do.<br />
<br />
We can resuscitate dreams: ones that are wheezing on the scrap heap, clawing for air. We can breathe new life into their lungs and rescue them from death. But when a thing is dead, it takes an act of God to resurrect it.<br />
<br />
"Why do we fall?" And what happens if we fall so hard we die? What happens when the Fall kills all of us?<br />
<br />
Resurrection.<br />
<br />
There's a God who walks among the body-riddled scrap heap of this world, who picks up the broken, lifeless souls and gives them His life, binds their wounds, clothes them with festal garments, and sets them on a path they wouldn't have dared to dream about. Whether we know it or not, we're all dead inside without Him. We need resurrection power from the fall we've suffered - we are broken unto death.<br />
<br />
We can't learn to get back up. We are down for the count, because before the count stopped, we stopped breathing. And until we can recognize that, we can't go anywhere. A dead man can't resurrect himself. And a dead dream - for peace, for love, for fulfillment - can't be restored either.<br />
<br />
But this universe is ruled by a God who love to restore. He is making All Things New. He is resurrecting men and their dreams alike. He has defeated Death, and will soon vanquish it forever so that it will be nothing but a distant memory.Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-20524773865947718492011-09-07T15:20:00.000-07:002011-09-07T15:20:18.924-07:00"Extraordinary Means"<blockquote>
"If we cannot get sinners to Jesus by ordinary means, we must use extraordinary ones. It seems ... that roof tiles had to be removed. That would create dust and cause a measure of danger to those below, but where the case is very urgent, we must be prepared to run some risks and shock some people."
<i>--Spurgeon's Morning and Evening, on the paralyzed man lowered from the roof to Jesus</i></blockquote>
Why is it we do not go to the "extraordinary means" to reach others with the gospel of grace? These friends of the paralyzed man cared so much about giving their friend the opportunity to be healed that they risked displeasing the owner of this house to be able to get the man to Jesus. They counted the cost of paying for a new roof, of upsetting the crowd inside, and decided that it was worth it if their friend could be healed.<br />
<br />
What do we do? When we meet or interact with someone who may be lost, do we do whatever it takes to make sure they have heard the gospel? Or seen the love of Christ through our interactions with them? What ridiculously difficult thing are we willing to do to make sure our neighbor or coworker knows that we love them as Christ did. The man who was paralyzed knew the love of Christ before even seeing Him, through the love of his friends who took matters into their hands. What can we do to make that kind of whatever-it-takes love known to the people we interact with? Are we willing to go to the disagreeable neighbor for the fifth time to ask them to turn their music down, and oh, would you like a cookie we just pulled out of the oven? And would you like to come over for dinner? Or do we call the cops and walk by with our head down so we don't have to look them in the eye? (Guess which route I took.)<br />
<br />
We are called to a radical, roof-demolishing love of our neighbors. God wishes us to chase down souls, to knock down walls with His love. I pray He fills me continually with the love I need to be able to do this.Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-61556198597377240322011-06-08T07:02:00.000-07:002011-06-08T07:06:00.358-07:00QuakeA sudden quake may strike:<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Your innards quiver</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Turmoil stirs</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Your heart may beat </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>A little</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Quicker</div><div><br /></div><div>And breath may be </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Short, shallow</div><div><br /></div><div>And you - you are weak, </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>An unanchored mass</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Of tectonic uncertainty</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Who shifts with the slightest</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Change in pressure</div><div><br /></div><div>Hold: firm. There is One</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Whose presence is like</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Concrete. He knits</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Together</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That which shifts, and binds</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That which shakes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let quaking cease. The One</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Holds all. </div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-42804651931936848392011-06-08T07:00:00.000-07:002011-06-08T07:02:14.250-07:00ReflectionDo not let the gentle<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Waves break unheeded</div><div>On your heart's shore</div><div><br /></div><div>Take the time to note</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The wake they leave,</div><div>The swirling foam's impression</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>On the sand</div><div><br /></div><div>And bits of broken</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Shells, the detritus</div><div>Of eons of the sea's cycle</div><div><br /></div><div>Washing warm, over your</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Tender soul</div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-70581372923101053202011-05-06T08:03:00.000-07:002011-05-06T08:24:50.386-07:00Fit For Human ConsumptionThese days I've been extra careful what I write on here. <div><br /></div><div>I'm a judgmental person inwardly, even though that rarely (I hope) comes out outwardly. Next time you interact with me, just know that I'm secretly judging you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I get angry that we're not all better people. I get angry at myself for not being better than I am, and I get angry at other people for not being better than they are. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which is stupid. I'll readily admit that. </div><div><br /></div><div>And my temptation, often, is to write scathing opinion pieces which slam judgment down on the world and the people in it for not being better than they, or to write some self-righteous BS piece that makes me feel good about being better than a lot of other people. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't tell you how many half-finished BS pieces of writing are sitting unfinished in my blog, because I wrote it, then read it, and realized that it came off as judgmental and self-righteous and know-it-all, and didn't publish it. It's rather shaming to admit that I contain such poison sometimes. </div><div><br /></div><div>But until a few days ago, I didn't get what the problem was. I didn't understand that the reason everything I've been writing was coming off sounding like that was because <b>my heart has been judgmental, self-righteous, and know-it-all.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Duh.</div><div><br /></div><div>What's that verse? "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks"? Yeah, makes sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to be different. (Don't we all?) I want to be able to speak with grace, not to shame people into agreeing with me, or push them away in resentment. And while I'd love to make my opinions known, I don't want to do it in a way that makes it seem that anyone who disagrees with me will be thought less of by me. Who among us wants that? I don't want to be thought less of by others for my beliefs or opinions; why, then, would I do that to others? "Whatever you wish others would do to you, do also to them."(ESV translation: I love the way they word this.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I thank God I haven't posted some of the pieces I've written; that He gave me the discernment to keep from hitting that "publish" button. And may I be given fresh inspiration to encourage, uplift, and exhort in my future writings, rather than judge. </div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-38390231423811829902011-03-23T08:49:00.000-07:002011-03-23T10:53:28.112-07:00We're Dirty<div>"There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” </div><div>(Mark 7:15 ESV)</div><div><br /></div><div>With this one sentence Jesus dismisses the entirety of the ceremonial law. No longer, he says, is it necessary to refrain from eating certain meats or wearing certain clothes; bathing or refraining from bathing makes no difference; you cannot be defiled - made impure - by eating, drinking, washing, not washing. These are simply actions; actions have no bearing. It's the motivation behind the actions which defiles. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think we, as non-Palestinian Jews, fully appreciate the revolutionary power of the statement Jesus makes here. For the Jew, ceremonial law is what kept them apart from the other nations. They defined themselves by it: circumcision and dietary restrictions were part and parcel of what it meant to be the chosen people. For Jesus to tell them that it made no difference what they ate was a slap to the face of their heritage and values. </div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, what he said made it far more difficult for them: "The things that come out of a person are what defile him." In essence he says, "Do what you want - you are free; but know that if your actions are motivated by self-interest, by hate, by pride or envy or jealousy, then you are defiled, not from the outside, but from the content of your own heart." </div><div><br /></div><div>He makes it harder, in essence, to keep the law. Rather than just "minding your p's and q's," making sure you stay away from bacon, shrimp, and clams and watch out for poly-blend shirts, you have to examine your heart. And, for those who have ever done such a thing, examining the heart is about as pleasant as cleaning out a sewer drain. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the principle is true, and the freedom it grants is true. Do what you want - but you are accountable to your heart's attitude in doing it. But in this disposal of the ceremonial law, now suddenly the lines aren't clearly drawn. The most innocuous thing can become sin to you if it stirs your heart to pride or envy, and what before seemed off-limits can suddenly be a source of pure joy to you. For example, if I enjoy playing a computer game, but that game becomes an escape or an addiction, a way to avoid responsibilities or a distraction from spending time with my family, then it has crossed the line from permissible to impermissible. By the same token, I used to think alcohol was off limits, but have experienced some moments of deep fellowship and joy over a bottle of wine with friends.</div><div><br /></div><div>What Jesus does here, besides obscuring the lines between the permissible and impermissible, is make a relationship with him a necessity. How do we, the easily deceived and swayed, know where our own heart stands? By being close to the Maker of our hearts. If we can't count on following a list of written rules, we have to continually look to him and ask him for wisdom and illumination along the way. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let me add to this all, though, that the motivation for a relationship with Jesus goes beyond making sure we're following the moral law. Jesus frees us from all restraints, not just from the ceremonial law, but from the consequences of breaking the moral law, too. So even though, in his dismissal of the ceremonial law, he makes it harder for us to keep the moral law, he also frees us from having to keep it by keeping it for us. Whether or not we are able to "do right" is irrelevant. It really, truly, doesn't matter. One bit. If we believe Jesus wiped the slate, we believe He wiped the slate. Whatever failings we do or have, whether before or after we enter into relationship with him, won't affect our standing with him. He sees us and loves as pure, unsullied, lovely creations, without a stain on us. </div><div><br /></div><div>While in some sense, we still suffer the consequences for our failings and "defilements," the consequences are temporal, limited to this earth. I can get drunk every night and it wouldn't change Jesus' love for me - but it might cause me to lose my job, my wife, and my friends. I can judge and insult others I come in contact with and be generally mean, and while Jesus would still love me, probably not too many people would want to be my friend. I can spend like a mad fool and fill my life with lots of toys, or hoard all my money and never give it to others, and while Jesus would still love me, I wouldn't have much of lasting value or real worth. I can treat my kids like dirt and lord it over my wife, and Jesus would love me, but my kids and wife would resent me and I'd be lonely. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could go on, but I think I've made my point. Jesus' love doesn't change with our weaknesses and failings. He's paid for them, and he's not going to punish us. We'll reap the natural consequences of what we sow, but he has paid for it before God. His law is there to show us a happy life, and he's freed us to enjoy that life. But his love doesn't change. We are truly free - of both the ceremonial law and the moral law. May we revel in this freedom, and praise the One who gave his life that we could have it. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-10462193734493164612011-02-24T15:30:00.000-08:002011-02-24T15:57:46.486-08:00Northwest Snow DriversIn light of recent events, I give you the three types of Northwest snow drivers:<div><br /></div><div><ol><li><b>The speedster:</b> This can be most easily defined as anyone who drives faster than you. The speedster immediately conjures rage in each driver they pass, the spray of ice and snow following in their wake the only rival to the spray of saliva from the mouths of their fellow travelers as they shout words we dare not repeat here. Of course, we all wish the speedsters ended up in the ditch, thus teaching them to no longer be speedsters, but rarely do we receive the satisfaction of seeing them spin out or crash and burn. Speedsters themselves can probably be broken into two subcategories: those who drive fast because they have a 4x4 and can get away with it, and those who are driving something sporty and don't know how to drive slow. Either one is equally annoying, though the reasons they're annoying are, perhaps, slightly different. </li><li><b>The creeper:</b> This is the person who seems like the only reason they're driving instead of walking is so they can stay warm and dry, because they're not going any faster than they would if they were pedestrating (pedestrizing? Not sure if there's a verb form of pedestrian, but there should be. Leave a comment with any other suggestions of how to "verb" it). They're almost as maddening as the speedster, and heaven help you if you get behind them going up the hill, because they're bound to lose traction and start sliding backwards into you. These people are usually driving an older model car, often a 90s Pontiac Grand Am or Mercury Tempo, with bad tires. The best way to deal with these people is park your car, walk up to their window (which you can do without much effort, since they'll be driving slower than you on foot), and hand them money for bus fare. They'll get to their destination faster, and you'll have done all the other drivers on the road a huge favor by getting them off of it. </li><li><b>You:</b> You are, of course, the quintessential perfect driver. You drive at the perfect rate of speed that the conditions require, neither too fast nor too slow, and leave just enough stopping distance between you and the car in front of you. You are flawless in every way, and while some may judge you as a creeper, you can obviously dismiss them as reckless speedsters, and others may count you as a speedster, their creeper ways of course color their viewpoint. Congratulations on achieving what all other snow drivers strive for: perfection. </li></ol></div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-27672437686453543432010-12-10T16:11:00.000-08:002010-12-10T16:19:19.336-08:00Miracle on 34th Street<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not generally a big fan of most Christmas movies. I could never get into the old claymation Rudolph; I don’t think I’ve even seen <i>Frosty the Snowman</i> or <i>A Christmas Story</i>; I’ve always despised <i>White Christmas</i>; and most of the less classic tales (<i>Home Alone, Jingle All the Way</i>, the Tim Allen <i>Santa Claus</i> movies, etc.) hold little appeal for me. It’s a Wonderful Life, is of course, an exception to the rule. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s why I’m a little surprised at my deep love for the 1994 version of <i>Miracle on 34<sup>th</sup> Street</i>. Going in it already has two strikes against it: one, it’s a remake of an older movie I didn’t really like very much (though to be fair, I haven't seen the old one for a very long time), and two, it’s a newer Christmas movie, which almost unfailingly means that it’s going to be either cynical or shallow, its message focused on being nice and feeling connected to family and friends. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But it’s not either cynical or shallow. The characters are surprisingly deep, fleshed out, complex. Dory, Brian, Susan, and Kris Kringle are characters in their own rights, with their own actions and motivations for those actions. Dory Walker cynical, aloof, scarred from a failed marriage, now passing on that cynicism to her daughter in hopes of defending her from life’s disappointments. Brian Bedford is the faithful, caring neighbor who has taken an interest in Dory, and cares about her deeply despite her hesitation to commit to a relationship. He loves Susan and Dory faithfully, and is endlessly patient and optimistic about winning Dory over. Susan is the bright, intelligent young girl who, despite her mother’s attempts to make her an “atheist,” senses that there may be more to the world than what her mother has said. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then there’s Kris. He’s essentially a theophany – an incarnation of Christ Himself into the story. He makes no pretense of hiding his identity as Santa; from the outset, when he’s seen by the judge and his grandson as he crosses the street before the parade, he tells the boy he is who the boy suspects – Santa Claus. And that claim doesn’t change as the story goes on. While Dory hires him to play “Santa” for the parade and for Cole’s Department Store, Kris agrees, because he’s basically being himself, to a greater degree than they realize. He follows the higher goal of Santa to serve people and share the joy of Christmas by sending customers elsewhere for cheaper gifts, even though his employment by Cole’s would dictate this as bad policy. He plays by a higher law, and influences the company to follow that higher law as well. And in as much as Cole’s puts their faith in Kris as Santa, they are blessed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But then he is betrayed – by a counterfeit Santa. He willingly goes to trial, purposefully failing a mental competency exam, and is taken to trial for the claims he’s made to be someone that he can’t be – Santa Claus. And then, in a moment of triumph, he’s released through the affirmation of the law that claims he is who he is – the one and only Santa Claus, the genuine article. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The movie isn’t without flaws; there are two that come to mind immediately. One is the competitor storyline, Victor Landbergh and his attempts to ruin Cole’s Christmas. It’s overly hokey, and compared with the genuine feel of the rest of the movie, seems to cheapen the story. It could have been far better executed with a little more effort. The other is the one that nearly ruins the movie for me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">During the trial, Brian Bedford says in his closing argument to the judge something to the effect of, “You have to ask yourself which is better: a truth that draws a tear, or a lie that brings a smile?” This seems to erase the entire impact of the movie. Rather than make it a movie about having faith in the unseen, it seems to suggest that we all know it’s not true, but it makes us feel good, so why not believe it? It contradicts the message the rest of the movie seems to convey, and makes me cringe every time I come to that scene. I have to assess, then, what the rest of the movie means in light of this statement. It’s inconsistent, and saddens me that the writer felt like that was the message they were conveying. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I can ignore the comment. It’s the one slip-up which seems to reveal more about the person who penned the screenplay than it does about the message of the movie. And there’s nothing like Judge Henry Harper’s impassioned speech at the end of the trial confirming that Kris is indeed Santa to bring a tear to one’s eye. And the rest of the movie is just pure bliss, as Santa, now come into his kingdom, grants the deepest longings of those who have put their trust in him. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The parallels should be glaringly obvious to anyone who watches this movie. It’s the story of Jesus – the one who came down and lived among us, making ridiculous claims of being God Himself until He eventually died for those claims, giving Himself up willingly. Yet He rose again, declaring once and for all that His claims were true. Then He proceeded to restore all that was broken in the fall.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And it’s the beauty in which the story parallels this that moves me every time I watch it. I see the people around Kris slowly wake up to who he is, and I think about Jesus touching our lives and causing us to realize who He is. I see Kris fulfilling Susan’s deepest wishes – a home, a father, a brother – and think about how Jesus fulfills those for us, becoming our brother as God the Father adopts us into His family. I see Dory losing her cynicism in light of the genuine love that Kris shows to her and Susan, and think about how that unconditional love is what we all long for, what breaks down all our wall and draws us closer to Him.</p><span class="Apple-style-span" >So take the time to watch Miracle on 34<sup>th</sup> Street this Advent season, and reflect on the ways that, like Kris Kringle in this movie, Jesus came and walked among us undisguised as well. If Santa can bring a family together, how much more can the Creator of the universe do?</span>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-25828649262034288602010-10-04T13:31:00.000-07:002010-10-04T13:32:06.392-07:00Conversations EP<div><i>Conversations EP</i> is a recording just completed by Andrew Dempsen, my brother. (Although with 9 tracks averaging a length of 4 and a half minutes it seems like it might fit the LP definition.) The recording's not professional or polished, and the last song, while full of personal meaning, is the roughest recording of the bunch. But the songs themselves are brutal in their honesty, raw in their depiction of struggling with making sense of a friend's suicide and the day-to-day experiences of transitioning into adulthood and figuring out life. Andrew's vocals are slightly remiscent of Ben Kweller and Coner Oberst, though definitely not mimicking them in any way, and his musical style is understated, mostly unaccompanied acoustic guitar or a piano and guitar blend. </div><div><br /></div><div>The piano-driven "Freeways" expresses a longing for satisfaction that can't be realized here on earth, that elusive search for something you won't probably get and certainly won't find a freeway to. "Is this the way to the freeway home?" the chorus asks, begging the question if there is a freeway home, or if home by its nature can only be reached through struggle. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Missing Exits" is a simple unaccompanied acoustic-guitar melody dealing with the unavoidable repetitive nature of being human and making the same mistakes. "My reaction time's slow/ I keep missing my exits..." he says, echoing the thoughts of anyone who feels like they'll never get over the besetting sin they wish would just leave. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Latte Rush" is my personal favorite on the album, more upbeat than any others on the CD and perhaps more hopeful than any others as well. It's a dose of nostalgia mixed with an effort to keep a pace of life that allows for enjoying it. The chorus begins with this:</div><div><br /></div><div>"I got addicted to the wrong things </div><div>trying to be someone I thought I should be </div><div>but I lost sight of who was really me </div><div>I'll let you know when I find him again"</div><div><br /></div><div>It strikes true each time I hear it. It's easy to forget who we're meant to be and let the details of life and outside pressures overwhelm us. Pursuing a call can be choked out easily by the cares of the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Grasping" follows much the same theme as "Missing Exits," speaking of the difficulties of getting past issues that seem to plague us as humans. The guitar melody is haunting and doleful, picked slowly at the beginning then building to strumming at the chorus accompanied by piano. "What's it been, five years now?/ Am I still grasping at these straws?/ ... At the end of the day/ You're all that I have." Paul's thorn in the flesh comes to mind. It also features the word creation "conversative." If it wasn't a word before, it should be now. </div><div><br /></div><div>On its surface "Hey Rockaway" is a tribute to the town of Rockaway Beach, Oregon, but beneath the surface is about the longing for a place to belong. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You stood on the shore as the sun went down </div><div>nothing's felt more like home</div><div>your feet are like lead as you head for the door</div><div>'cause you're fifteen hours from being alone</div><div>... you weep for the day that has already come</div><div>and is forcing you now to leave..." </div><div><br /></div><div>For Andrew, Rockaway Beach is in a real sense a place that feels like home. For me, I've had that sense every time I'm on the Rez. It's where I feel I belong; something about the place and the people there resonate with my soul in a way that makes me never want to leave. There's again, though, a cast of hopelessness to the song, of a dream that won't be realized, which leaves the song a bitter aftertaste. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Say You Know" features perhaps my favorite lines on the CD, and I think is overall one of the two lyrically strongest songs on the CD as well. "I've got more friends than I know what to do with sometimes / and I've got more skeletons than I've got closet space to hide." The title refers to, I believe, being known and accepted by God, despite His knowledge of who we truly are in the secret places. The song features a folksy melody and the beautiful harmony of some uncredited female singer whom I suspect is Amanda from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/the-perennials/273567224143">The Perennials</a>, but I might be wrong. (The Perennials, incidentally, are pretty darn good. Pete's vocals are reminiscent of Johnny Cash and Amanda's of Feist - very interesting blend.) </div><div><br /></div><div>"Storm Clouds and Sirens" is about the struggle to repent. "I've sold out completely and I know that I don't deserve you / and now I come crawling back, now that I know that I hurt you / but Ii'm not so good at this, at times I'm worse than the faithless / I've severed my nerve endings and all that is good is now tasteless / ... if ever I needed you Jesus it's now I don't want you..." Nothing more, really, to add to that. If you're a believer, you've been there yourself more than once, I'm sure. </div><div><br /></div><div>"All the King's Horses" is a gut-punch of a song. Completely raw, honest dealings with something that we all knee-jerkedly want to wrap up neatly so we don't have to deal with it. A friend of Andrew's committed suicide two or three months ago, and he wrote this song in the weeks after. The melody and lyrics are paired perfectly, and the tone set by the melody both highlights the theme and slightly softens the blow, and emotions below the surface of the vocals can clearly be perceived. It's a one-sided conversation with his friend of all the things he wished he could say and didn't get a chance to. The chorus line, "If I had the faith of Abraham I don't think I could understand it better /And if I had God's healing hand I don't think I could piece this back together," hits the nail on the head of my own reactions when I hear about suicide, and takes my breath away every time I hear it. </div><div><br /></div><div>The last song, "Dying For," was written for the friend's memorial service. While it's good, it feels forced in some ways, and while pain-filled and reflective, the honesty of "All the King's Horses" makes it pale by comparison. The recording also feels rushed, the piano melody often out of sync with the guitar, and with a little more polish it could be a stronger way to finish out the CD. </div><div><br /></div><div>Overall, the CD's a strong effort with a lot of promise of good things to come. I am blessed to be able to claim this artist as my brother. Now, he needs to find a way for all you good folks to get your hands on his music! </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-32633702389863276612010-09-05T18:28:00.000-07:002010-09-07T20:56:35.826-07:00Sunday ReflectionsI'm still as much of an unrealistic and hotheaded idealist as ever, but I've come to see that as less of a positive thing than I've previously been convinced it was. <div><br /></div><div>Grace is both a life-giving force and source of utter devastation all at once. </div><div><br /></div><div>Waiting is about the hardest work a person can do. It requires you to know that you're not in charge. </div><div><br /></div><div>Being aware of God's covenant faithfulness to His children takes the fear out of parenting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Listening to Andrew Peterson's <i>Counting Stars</i> with my wife on a Sunday morning and skipping church is sometimes far more refreshing than attending church. (But only sometimes.)</div><div><br /></div><div>It's easy to lose grace when we start pointing out all the people we don't think God's forgiven.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why do we in the church like to make laws out of peripheral issues? It takes all the fun out being part of the "holy catholic church" when we're constantly tearing down our brothers and sisters. </div><div><br /></div><div>The longer I'm alive, the more I realize life wouldn't be worth living if I wasn't convinced of the gospel. The meaning it gives to everything I do and everything that happens to me would, if lost, reduce this life to nothing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I need Jesus more than ever. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-3344594331426165762010-08-05T07:36:00.000-07:002010-08-05T07:38:13.550-07:00Repentance AvoidanceSometimes it's like<div>An open wound - you can hear</div><div>It spraying blood, feel the pain - but</div><div>If you can find the right size</div><div>Bullet to bite</div><div>Maybe you can</div><div>Wait it out; it will heal</div><div>Before you bleed to death. </div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-12477606100267147702010-07-20T20:31:00.000-07:002010-08-05T07:34:14.711-07:00What the heck: "Living a Better Story"This is just a whim. <div><br /></div><div>I preface it this way because I fear that my story is "worth" nothing to most people. I mask this fear in derision at contests, and an attitude that says I don't really care about winning, nor do I think winning will mean anything to me anyway. Really, can <a href="http://www.donmilleris.com/conference">a conference</a> with Don Miller add anything to my life that I don't already have? These are the things my cynical, scoffing heart says. </div><div><br /></div><div>But here I am, despite it all, entering his stupid contest. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hear that, Don? I think your contest is stupid. </div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>It began nearly three years ago, in church.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, beginnings are relative, especially to Calvinists. I could just as easily say like Jeremiah that it began at my conception, or that it began before the dawn of creation. But it's just as easy to say it began three years ago. That's when I became aware of the call. </div><div><br /></div><div>My story up until that point was mostly defined by a sense of aimlessness. I had just finished college (a process that should have taken four to five years, but due to that aimlessness from beginning to end was about seven, a la Tommy Boy), just finished student teaching, and was substitute teaching as I sought a full-time position as an English teacher. I was newly married, just a little over a year, and felt lost.</div><div><br /></div><div> My chosen profession was not appealing to me. I'd had a murderous experience in student teaching, and came out of feeling completely disillusioned and drained of any desire to enter the field. It wasn't the kids that I'd had a problem with - it was the system. Trying to manage classes of 35 eighth-graders discovering their individuality and get them to to retain information at any sort of decent level's a challenge for even the most skilled of teachers, let alone a rookie. And all due respect to my master teacher, I would spend long hours at school lesson-planning and grading, often until seven in the evening, then felt like my best-laid plans were poked full of holes when I brought them to her, which shattered my confidence day after day. I eventually felt like I couldn't hack it, like I lacked what it took, and by the end just felt like I was a prisoner looking forward to my release date. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now there were other contributing factors involved in the experience, but the point's not to analyze that right now. This is all just set-up for the main storyline. </div><div><br /></div><div>When it began, I was in a long-term substitute position at an alternative high school. I was teaching a couple English classes and monitoring an in-school suspension program for a school in its first year of existence. But I had applied and interviewed for a full-time position there, and they gave it to a teacher already working at another high school in the district. Another blow to my confidence. Even so, I continued in the long-term position there, hoping it might at least lead to some good references. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then it happened. A fateful November night in 2007. We attended a missions conference at our church, and heard Chris Granberry speak about his ministry, Sacred Road, working with the Yakama Indians in Central Washington. He talked about the need, statistics I can now easily quote from memory: a 65% dropout rate from sixth to twelfth grade, a 70% homelessness rate among teenagers, 100% of families affected by substance abuse, a life expectancy of 39 years, and only 2% of Native Americans nationwide espousing faith in Jesus. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it wasn't just the statistics. It was the pictures. Kids at the kids' clubs with dirty faces and big grins as the "church people" blow bubbles and jump rope with them, adults moved to tears as their houses are roofed and repaired, and the Christians working among the people overwhelmed with the need to share the love of Christ with a group largely forgotten. </div><div><br /></div><div>One image sticks with me even now. I don't even know if I remember it correctly, but I know the association I have with it. It was a tree-lined hillside, the sun shining behind the branches, silhouetting them against the sky. You wouldn't think that, among all the images of children and adults responding to the love of Christ, it would be the shot of a tree-lined hill that would be the one that sticks with me. But the reason this one was so powerful to me was because I immediately connected it with an image I'd woken up with every morning of my childhood: a tree-covered hill, right out my bedroom window on Mt. Spokane, Washington. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was moved to tears. How could such need exist, right outside my bedroom window? Why had I not known before? Why wasn't the church doing more? </div><div><br /></div><div>Chris talked about the vision Sacred Road had for a school, beginning as an after-school program, and eventually, as time and resources allowed, to build that into a residential school that would give kids not only exposure and immersion in the gospel, but a loving, stable place to live and grow up - a rarity on the Rez. I caught that vision immediately, and my wife next to me, too. "Maybe you should teach there," she said. I don't know if she knew then how powerfully I wanted to. </div><div><br /></div><div>So we talked to Chris after the conference. "We want to find out more about your ministry," we said. "We think God might want us to join you."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Come on out for a weekend," he said. "We'll show you around and you can consider it more fully then."</div><div><br /></div><div>So we did, after the holidays the following January. We'd never felt more comfortable about anything than we did about the way they approached ministry and the gospel. The Granberrys felt like kindred spirits; they clearly loved the people and the community, and understood the need to walk gently as Christians, given the history between Native America and the church. We left only further convinced that we were being called to join them. </div><div><br /></div><div>So we went through the process laid out to apply, going through a cross-cultural missions training and evaluation, and in February 2009 were accepted to start raising support to join Sacred Road. And now, after serious support-raising for over a year, we're at 50% of our monthly goal. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's the story so far. Where we hope to be in the next few years is "on the field," as they say - living on the Yakama Reservation, having a home there that we can use to host guests who want to, like us, come and see the work God's doing to bring hope and light to the Rez. I want to see a place where kids can come have a quiet, safe place to study, with adults who love them, accept them, and help them learn how to grow up. I want to work teaching youth skills like woodworking and gardening, things I enjoy and give me a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that I hope would give them the same. I want my story to be defined by God's will and work through me, and by the way that He uses me to give others stories to live. </div><div><br /></div><div>I said at the beginning that my cynical self thinks a conference won't help me in this. In truth, though, I could see it helping immensely. The story's already begun, but in order for it to reach beyond the exposition at the beginning, we need to raise the rest of our support. And support comes from relationships with people who are committed to giving and praying for you. A conference, even if it's populated with poor idealists who don't have money and have their own dreams they need to fund (my cynical side speaking again), could be vastly useful in helping to build a stronger network of people who care about and share a passion for the Yakama people being given the hope of the gospel. </div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>So there you go, Don. There's the story I hope to live. </div><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=12011394&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=1&color=&fullscreen=1&autoplay=0&loop=0"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=12011394&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=1&color=&fullscreen=1&autoplay=0&loop=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/12011394">Living a Better Story Seminar</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/atcpodcast">All Things Converge Podcast</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2574397478780338820.post-13938960046137657562010-07-07T10:52:00.000-07:002010-07-07T11:12:15.137-07:00The Happy SovereignI like to think of thunder<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>as the laughter</div><div>of God Almighty -- a hearty,</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>exultant peal from His belly</div><div>escaping His throat with a shout</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and rolling through the valley -- </div><div>as if He can't hold in </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Joy</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>over His creation</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>When we look at creation, too often we see the brokenness, especially as Christians who are so acquainted with the way things are supposed to be. And it's true - things are very broken, evil, and sorrowful. But that is not all there is! We are surrounded by beauty and grace and wonder. While we cannot ignore the darkness, we can allow it to enhance our enjoyment of the light, for how much sweeter does light appear when you're in the pitch black?</div><div><br /></div><div>God does not let the darkness dampen His joy. God - while deeply sorrowed over sin - is a happy God. Throughout Scripture we find this to be true. Passages like Zephaniah 3:17, describing God as singing over His people with great rejoicing. Reading through the Psalms we see the fullness of God's emotions, both the depths of His rage against evil and the exultant joy over righteousness and goodness, and His delight in doing good to those He loves. Our God is a happy God. May this truth comfort us. </div>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504145937846318485noreply@blogger.com0