 Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.
—Philippians 1:27 Whatever. As a child of the 90s, this was the preferred word of teenage coolness. Whatever was the appropriately snarky response to disappointment, to being told what to do, or really just a deflection of anything that might make a 15-year-old feel actual emotions. But as an adult, there are times when whatever is exhaled under my breath as well. Like those moments years ago when my 10-year-old would refuse to wear a jacket in the winter. You know what? This battle isn’t worth it. I tried. Go ahead and freeze your tiny little butt off, you punk. Whatever. Despite that incredible display of parenting, I’ve actually been thinking about the positives of a whatever attitude. At its core, whatever is an embracing of the truth that we don’t have ultimate control over life or people. I’m thinking about it because of a concept that was brought up at our Sunday gathering. My friend (and one of our other pastors), Duane, was teaching, encouraging us to embrace the transforming gift of silence and solitude with Jesus. As we talked about the challenge of expecting BIG outcomes all the time, he encouraged us to embrace a concept that came originally from Ignatius of Loyola (founder of the Jesuits in the 1500s). It’s called "holy indifference." Holy indifference is about releasing the need for results. It’s about trusting the Spirit. This idea is really helpful to free us from the constant expectation of dramatic outcomes. Instead, we can simply be open to whatever God brings in those moments. This old Christian concept goes well beyond silence and solitude. At its core, Ignatius taught that holy indifference was how we could practice healthy detachment so that we could follow God’s will in each moment. When we are able to take life as it comes without the need to control, then we can be more focused on moment-to-moment Christlikeness, and less stuck on each unique circumstance. Ignatius believed that when a heart was captured by God’s love, and an identity was deeply rooted in relationship with God and the way of life in God’s kingdom—then a person could finally experience freedom. Freedom from needing life to go in a certain way. Freedom from requiring certain spiritual outcomes all the time. Freedom from needing people or situations to go exactly like we want. Freedom from external ways of defining success that look nothing like Jesus. It’s about how we view good things and bad things, and how we let our lives be controlled by successes or failures. It’s about releasing all attachments—to outcomes, to success, to riches, to achievements, and to our constant need for measurable results. There are many ways that holy indifference might be valuable to us right now. This is not the same as basic indifference. It’s not about apathy or laziness. It’s about trust and openness to whatever God (and life!) brings our way. It’s where we learn to respond to unexpected situations with grace and a continued focus on God’s will beyond our thin definitions of the good life. I think this was the sort of whatever that Paul was encouraging the Philippian church to embrace. Whatever twists and turns life takes, your calling remains the same. It’s not about forcing outcomes… it’s about living in the grace and love of Jesus during each of life’s unpredictable seasons. Holy indifference doesn’t stop me from caring about people or becoming complacent to harm and injustice around me. On the contrary, holy indifference gives me the energy to keep living the compassion of Jesus when it feels like things aren’t changing. It makes me trust and look for what God’s heart is in each unique moment. Do I see attitudes of fear and hatred all over national headlines that make me want to crawl in a hole? Whatever. Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the good news. Did I lose my job and my future feels completely up in the air, and I'm wondering where God is? Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the good news. When we are rooted in Christ, no circumstance is significant enough to derail our hope and trust in God’s good character and God’s good work. We can act faithfully without the need to see results or have everything figured out, because we have encountered a love that transcends all of it. Friends, our job was never to define how God will work. Jesus gave us a love to receive, and a way of life to embrace. And whatever happens, we are told to continue living in that grace-filled relationship, and to continue loving others in humility. May your holy indifference this week lead you to greater peace and trust in Jesus. Jesus, lead me beyond my need for control or results this week. Peace, Keith
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  I will deal with all who oppress you… I will bring you home… and restore your fortunes before your eyes.”
-Zephaniah 3:19-20 Turkey is covered in Christian history. Literally. Bethany and I spent two weeks in May exploring biblical Asia Minor, and one of the most remarkable things we found was the cave artwork that the early church used to decorate their worship spaces. Dating back as early as the third century, these paintings (called frescoes) were artistic depictions of biblical stories and characters, as well as contemporary church leaders and saints from the region. Because they were painted inside carved caves in a dry desert climate, many withstood the test of time and offer a mysterious glimpse into some of the earliest Christian communities in Cappadocia, Ephesus, and Galatia. But wait—there’s a dark side. Most of the frescoes haven’t actually survived intact. Despite being protected from weather and light, the ancient painted characters faced a force far more destructive than their artists could have imagined 1,700 years later: teenagers. Since many of these cave churches were unprotected until recent years, a local hobby among some Turkish young people was to sneak into the caves, hang out inside, make fires, goof around—and unsurprisingly, deface the paintings. Today, most of the cave paintings are protected tourist destinations with proper security. But the damage has already been done. We saw many defaced paintings while exploring the caves. But what struck me over and over again was how literal the “defacing” actually was. Each time we encountered a painted figure, the story was the same. On each ancient body, the eyes had been scratched out. And on many, the rest of the face as well. It was strange, even disturbing, to look at these faceless figures—or at faces with hollowed-out eyes. If that sounds creepy, it totally is. I’ll admit: the artwork had less meaning when I couldn’t see the faces. And that was the moment for me. It was noting the connection between destroying and “defacing.” And in that moment, I sensed God whisper something: This is how so many made in my image are being destroyed right now. They are being defaced.When we look someone in the eyes, we are given the ability to see them as equals. This is how compassion grows. When we avoid someone’s face, we can far more easily ignore their suffering. And when someone wants to dehumanize others, they don’t let people see their faces. They don’t let their stories be told. They paint pictures of faceless people so they can be seen as second-class humans, no longer important or worthy of attention. Nothing to see here. They stop talking about people as individuals, and start referring to them in broad strokes: Criminals. Illegals. Not like us. Friends, defacing is happening right now. We live in a time when many of our government leaders are actively defacing people. It's always been this way, but we're at another tipping point. Their destructive lies, labels, and attitudes are chipping away at vulnerable lives of immeasurable value. I am seeing it happen in my own community. We must restore their faces. We must learn the names of the citizens and non-citizens who are being treated as less than human. We must tell their stories and re-affirm their dignity. We must refuse to see fellow humans as undeserving of mercy or compassion—no matter what we are told by those in power, especially when their faces have been intentionally removed from our sight. And we must be wary of those who are defacing themselves—hiding their own faces as they do this work: Becoming less human in order to act less humane toward others. I pray for them too. We are no longer in the realm of policy. We are in the realm of cruelty. I wish I knew the most effective way to respond. I know it can’t be despair. And it certainly cannot be violence. The way of Jesus compels the church to hold onto its posture of advocating for those on the edges of society, and proclaiming the worth and dignity of every person.... just like Jesus did. It must involve choosing to see the faces of those who are suffering. We have to help each other not look away—and not allow dehumanizing labels or our own comfort lead us into silence. May we, as Jesus people, re-face others. May we look people in the eyes, see their whole story, and not turn our own faces away. May we understand that God’s grace and dignity do not follow along walls, borders, races, records—and neither should ours. And may we have eyes to see Jesus leading each of us to show up for those whose faces are being erased, terrified of what tomorrow holds. Lord, keep all of our eyes intact so that we may truly see the faces of our neighbors. Peace, Keith  The Lord isn’t slow to do what he promised, as some people think. Rather, he is patient for your sake...
-2 Peter 3:9 It’s summertime, and millions of people will find their way to a coastline this month. Have you ever walked along the beach or a riverbank and found an old piece of glass that has been submerged for months or years, tossed about in the currents? “Sea glass” is formed over time from fragments of old bottles, glass litter, and even shipwrecks. And people really go crazy collecting this stuff. It’s an interesting phenomenon: collecting pieces of trash and turning them into jewelry or decorations for their beach-themed bathrooms. It’s weird, but I think I’m a fan. When I saw a picture from a friend with a piece of sea glass recently, it struck me as a holy image. Sea glass is a metaphor for the faith experience of so many people. Each piece of sea glass goes on a distinct journey. At one point, it was shiny and crystal clear—but it was also dangerously sharp. Then, because it was broken, and because it tumbled down and reached the bottom of the surf or riverbed, it began to be transformed. Yes, the perfect clarity may have faded away. But so did the razor-sharp edges. And a slightly new shape emerged. The transformed glass is the same core substance it’s always been, but now there’s an inviting smoothness to it. It may not be as clear on the outside anymore, but it’s become far more valuable to people, and more beautiful. And it certainly is not able to cause the same type of harm that it once could. Over time, brokenness leads to beauty. Every pieces tells a story. The journey toward Jesus is often like sea glass. Things can feel crystal clear early on. When we grow up within Christian faith, or even come to Jesus as adults, things often seem clear and easy. Interpreting the Bible seems straightforward and simple. The way God works is predictable. And our personal views and experiences are what every faithful person should hold! This sort of certainty can also come with really sharp edges. We can become closed off to hearing others’ perspectives (or the whisper of God). We can harm others by insisting they are wrong rather than asking good questions. And in our perfect clarity, we can easily become arrogant and judgmental of those who think differently or do not share the same convictions. But eventually, things start to break down. Our crystal-clear faith gets beaten up a bit. Some things we once had clarity on become less obvious (“Prayer doesn’t work exactly like it was promised to me!?!”). Where we once saw only black and white, we now realize there are many shades (“Multiple people I trust disagree on what this passage means! Is one of them evil??”). And life’s circumstances cause us to release control (“I thought that God would reward me for my good behavior, but then tragedy hit my family.”) It’s a painful process, this tumbling. This is also known as being human. But it's also where we finally encounter the grace of Jesus. And if we don't give up, there is immense beauty on the other side. Rigid certainty will give way to humble love. Perfect understanding of God will become less important than relational connection with God, in Jesus. Shiny exteriors are no longer necessary to keep up. And we realize that trusting God is not ultimately about transaction, but about relationship. And those razor-sharp edges? Jesus has a way of sanding down our arrogance and superiority complexes over time. Instead of being dangerous to those around us, our humble faith can become an invitation for others to experience God's goodness. I recently heard a Christian leader suggest that maybe we need to stop writing books titled "Four Easy Steps to Spiritual Growth" and instead make them a bit more honest, like "How to Become More Like Jesus in 75 Challenging Years." Preeeeeeeach. So don’t fear if you’re in the middle of that journey right now—tumbling and chipped. Do your best to trust that Jesus is in the midst of that process with you as you seek truth, and you may find that what you’re becoming will be much more beautiful than before. Jesus, help me embrace the honest journey of transformation with you. Soften my sharp edges and bring renewed beauty from my life into the world. Peace, Keith  God sets the lonely in families...
-Psalm 68:6 I had the privilege of spending a few days with my friend Cherish this week when she was in Delaware to lead a conference we hosted at our church. She's a pastor from Texas. We have a lot of fun joking around about the differences between Texas and Delaware culture, as well as the odd similarities (Americans gonna American in every state, amirite?). But she told me about something this week that I had absolutely never heard of: Gluten-Free Camp. I don't know if it's a regional thing or just something I've never encountered. Did you know that there are camps whose entire thematic focus is making sure that gluten never gets past their gates? I admit, my first ignorant thought was, "That's the strangest summer camp I've ever heard of. Is this a serious thing?" In my curiosity I quickly found out that yeah, it totally is. Cherish's daughter has celiac disease. That means that she can't eat gluten or she'll get very sick. And a reality like that for a kid means that you are often on the outside of social moments. No normal cake at a friend's birthday. No ability to join in the pizza party and grab a slice. It's an invisible, constant barrier, that would be hard for anyone. But especially for a teenager. If that's your story, it's really hard to find places where belonging is easy and effortless. If that was your reality (and I know for some of you it is!) can you imagine how freeing it would be to join in a week with friends that is all about keeping that gluten far away? A week where you don't have to think and analyze what's on the table all the time? Can you imagine a community where no one has to quietly guard themselves, just waiting for the moment where they are going to feel like the odd person out because their reality is complicated? It would be a week with no weird side eyes or subtle annoyances because you have unique needs. A week where no one feels like the oddball. A week where nobody is othered, because everyone understands. That's why gluten-free camp is like the Kingdom of God. I have no interest in figuring out if there will be gluten-free pizza at the great banquet that Jesus spoke about. What I am interested in is a community that is so deeply formed by Jesus, that anyone can enter without fear that they will feel like an outsider because their life realities aren't the same as others. I'm interested in a kingdom of God that receives all our insecurities and unique stories, all our fears and hurts and hopes, and says: we are fully prepared to welcome you into relationship. You are safe here, and you are normal here. You don't have to work to belong. You don't have to be careful around everyone or suspicious of anyone else. You can rest. You can be renewed. You can find joy. You can walk forward inspired to join in all of it. I'm interested in a kingdom where people are at rest with God and others. And because the risk is gone, only relationships of wholeness, forgiveness and justice will emerge. This is what I believe Jesus shows us of his kingdom. It's a reality where somehow, all of our unique experiences and limits and joys and quirks find a place. It's a collection where the oddballs of the world (most of us) meet the oddball-ness of God's subversive values, and everyone thrives. It's a place where because you don't have to change yourself in order to be received, you cannot help but walk away changed forever by Jesus. That's the power of love and belonging. Jesus offers these things to us freely, and in them we are made new in Christ, over and over again. I don't know what your gluten is. But it's whatever the thing is that makes it hard to be at ease. It's the thing that makes you feel like you're sometimes the outsider. Maybe it's your complicated family situation. Maybe you're going through the deconstruction of your faith. Maybe you don't know anything about the Bible and everyone else around you assumes things and it makes you feel stupid. Maybe you're single and your church is full of married people. Maybe it's a hidden struggle. Or maybe as you follow Jesus, your faith keeps changing and the spaces that you used to fit into don't really fit anymore. It's ok. Jesus shows us that his kingdom is always a soft place to land, where you don't have to bear such a heavy burden. God has already gone before you, preparing for all your unique needs and sensitivities. Enter fully into God's love. Enter fully into God's family. You can rest here, and you will be changed forever. Jesus, thank you for the grace-filled invitation to come. Peace, Keith |
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