One of the precepts of the Christian life is growth. This shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. One of the foundations of all of life is growth. If a baby doesn’t grow, we call it “failure to thrive” and it is a serious condition. It’s not normal or good when a baby doesn’t grow. We rightfully worry.

And yet, we’ve created a “christian culture” in which someone can be a “baby Christian” for 5, 10, 15. 20, . . . years and no one bats an eye. We may think, “well, they’re not growing as fast as others but who am I to judge?” So we have church buildings full of people who don’t pray; don’t read their bible; don’t live in sacrificial community; don’t love their neighbors, and in all reality, aren’t growing. True, who am I to judge anyone else’s soul, but if there is no growth, is there life?

We are not yet what we will be. But neither are we once were. In 2 Corinthians 3:18, Paul says that we are “being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” In 1 Corinthians 13:11, Paul says that there is a time when we outgrow childish ways. In Ephesians 4, Paul says that as we grow in maturity (which is a community goal), we become more stable. Hebrews 5:14 tells us that as we grow, we gain more discernment. We are able, more and more, to tell what is good from what is evil.

And yet, at least in America, we marinate in consumerism. We are taught from an early age to expect to be served. So much so that I’m sure there are people who no longer know how to make coffee because you can buy it everywhere. We have imported consumerism into Christianity so much so that we can drop the phrase “church shopping” without thinking twice. We expect to be served (or at least “fed”). In consumerism, we learn to trust the retailers. We develop our own set of brand allegiances and we look to certain retailers as arbiters of our trusted brands. Why is there always a Lowes right across the street from Home Depot? Because some of us trust one while others trust the other.

But what happens when Christians, marinating in consumerism, hand discernment over to retailers? For many, “discernment,” the ability to determine good from evil, has simply become a point-of-purchase decision. I bought it at the “Christian” bookstore, it must be OK, right?! No. In any Christian bookstore, you can buy books by people who are not Christians. People who deny the resurrection. People who openly downplay sin. People who do not believe in the Trinity. I’m not being narrow and legalistic here. There are boundaries to Orthodoxy or everyone is a Christian. I’m just saying that you can walk into any Christian bookstore and buy works by authors who are clearly outside any traditionally accepted version of Orthodoxy. Books by people who are not Christians. And no one thinks twice.

So much of our Christianity separates the “professionals” the people who are paid to do ministry, from the rest of us. The Pastoral Staff are the ones who get paid to study and pass it one in bytes for the rest of us, right? I go to them when I have a problem because they’re equipped for that, not me. And it’s a Christian bookstore, so I can trust what’s inside.

Instead of teaching people to rely on “professional ministers,” making people dependent on pastors, local leaders should focus on equipping God’s people for everyday ministry (Ephesians 4:11-13). Discernment is not something we can hand over to the professionals (who don’t always have our best interest at heart), much less the retailers (who care even less about your soul, whether they are designated Christian or not). It is something we must hone ourselves in community.

Our system is perfectly designed to produce the results we’re getting. So we should not be surprised that American Christianity resembles the local shopping mall more often than the Kingdom of the Living Christ.

At the urging of my friend Rhett, I watched the Mat Hoffman documentary film The Birth Of The Big Air with my boys. I love to show my boys stories of people who did what others thought was impossible. I love to encourage them to dream differently and bigger than other people. I want them to be OK if everyone else thinks you’re a bit “extreme” or “radical.”

As I’ve shared before, I grew up identifying with skateboard culture more than anything else. To be honest, we didn’t have a lot of BMX riders where I grew up. But I knew who Mat Hoffman was.

You can certainly accuse me of “Jesus Juking” here if you want to, but I’m being honest when I say that the whole time I was watching this documentary about Hoffman, listening to how crazy everyone thought he was but also how everyone around him and come to just accept that that’s who Mat is, I kept thinking of a quote from Francis Chan’s debut-sational (Do you like how I just made up a word there?) book Crazy Love. In a section describing how much of the “American Church” has become “lukewarm,” Chan insists that:

Lukewarm people are moved by stories about people who do radical things for Christ, yet they do not act. They assume such action is for “extreme” Christians, not average ones. Lukewarm people call “radical” what Jesus expected of all His followers.

Watch the trailer for the movie:

As I’ve shared, I was never great at skateboarding. But I also wasn’t horrible, which meant that I at least was willing to get hurt in order to learn new tricks. It took patience and determination and a certain bit of determination to endure suffering for the goal on the other side. Now, years later, I see how much of that same attitude is at the heart of Christianity. I’m not saying that we all have to be blasting big airs 54 feet off the ground. In fact, most of us should never attempt any such thing.

But think about some of the things that Paul says when describing his own journey of faith. He says that we should rejoice in our sufferings (Romans 5:3). He tells his Philippian readers that suffering has been “granted” to them (Philippians 2:29). In fact, the writer to the Hebrews insists that Jesus went to the Cross “for the joy set before Him” (Hebrews 12:2).

I’m not saying that Christians should pursue suffering or persecution. I am saying that, I am humbled by the intense ferocity of Mat Hoffman’s pursuit of his vision. He was willing to pursue his dream through financial hardships, through injury, through scorn, through disbelief and slander. Yet, how is it that someone can have more passion to go high on a bike than I often have for following Jesus?

If Chan is write and “Lukewarm people call “radical” what Jesus expected of all His followers” (and keeping with the metaphor undergirding this whole piece), then Mat Hoffman is “all followers” of Jesus and we are the “lukewarm.” I look at what Hofman did on a bike and, while I realize it’s possible, I’m pretty sure I won’t be even attempting many of the things he accomplished with ease. But why? It’s not just that I grew up in different circumstances. It’s not just that I grew up skateboarding instead of BMX riding. So did Danny Way, after all. No, I simply don’t have the determination that Hoffman has. I don’t have the resolve. I don’t have the joy and, frankly, I don’t have the guts.

Which means that while part of me “knows” that my supreme pleasure lies in God alone, I let my circumstances on this side of eternity sway, steer and encourage me. In the documentary, there are photos of Hoffman with Evel Knievel. Though I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for those conversations, I can’t imagine hearing Hoffman compare stories with the Apostle Paul (“oh yeah, well I was shipwrecked! I was stoned and left for dead! I was bitten by a deadly snake! . . . ). There’s something about those people. Their passion is contagious. Their willingness to endure suffering for what they love is inspiring. And yet I’m left wondering: why don’t I love Jesus the way Mat Hoffman loves the next big thing on his bike?

Some people are family simply because you’ve been around them so long that it’s just become comfortable; part of life. They may have some habits that drive you crazy, but hey, sticking with it even when people drive us crazy is what family is all about, right? That’s how I sometimes feel about evangelicalism in general and “reformed folk” more specifically.

Though I would loosely consider myself “reformed” (at least from soteriological and cultural perspectives), like with most family, I have some misgivings about reformed, evangelical culture (I am, of course, speaking of my own experiences. It is possible that you had a different experience with reformed evangelicalism than me). I have written about some of these misgivings. For example, I am frustrated with the insistence that “the gospel = justification by faith alone through grace alone/substitutionary atonement/imputation.” Though “the gospel” is certainly not less than that, it is also certainly more.

Another family misgiving has to do, very broadly speaking, with reformed evangelicalism’s relationship with children. No, I’m not “wading” (pun intended) into the paedo/credo-baptism debate, though it is an interesting one. Instead, I’ve been thinking a lot about the “assumed maturity” of “children in church.” I just invented that phrase, so let me try to explain. Many well-intentioned folk have no inclination of letting kids be kids, especially when it comes to “church life.” If our primary purpose in getting together with other Christians is to study the bible, then children will be viewed as a distraction. Therefore, when kids go to their default and act like kids instead of little adults, we view them as a distraction and distractions are not much better than annoyances. I could extend this and say that it’s not only when we get together primarily for bible study but when we view “church” as an event, that we will view children as a distraction.

The result of this mindset has been to assume that there is a baseline of “maturity” for all children (no matter what their age). They must learn to sit, still, quietly, focused and attentively for 35-55 minutes while a man monologues about a passage of the Bible. Let’s be honest: most adults have trouble doing this! When our children struggle with this (because we view them as a distraction), we get upset at their lack of maturity.

So now there are books and seminars about “training” our children to be little adults; to “sit in the pew” without being a distraction. I know of local churches that do not allow children in the service during the sermon. But what are we really teaching our children with this mindset? Is Christianity primarily about the transfer of information? How can anyone be a distraction from discipleship? After all, isn’t discipleship the real core of the Christian life? Mustn’t it involve other people? How can anyone be a distraction from people-oriented ministry?

God has blessed our Church of the Cross family with lots of children and more on the way. That, coupled with the fact that gospel communities on mission (“missional communities”) are our primary organizing structure, means that I get asked all the time about how we “train” our children to not be a distraction and/or to be involved with what’s going on. I realize that this is a legitimate question in its own right, but I usually tell people it’s the wrong question. Grip the parents withe the beauty of the Gospel, the magnificent truth of who Jesus is and what He’s done, that we who were once far off have now been brought near, that we who were once God’s enemies have been made His children, that He has cast our sin as far as the East is from the West and that there is now no condemnation for us; grip the parents with this Truth and they will want to see their children wrapped up in this glorious truth. Marinate families with the precious truth of God and the issue really isn’t about ever just making sure someone can sit still for a pre-determined period of time.

When discipleship rather than sitting in a pew becomes the target, children are no longer viewed as a distraction but as a vital part of the church family. After all, it doesn’t make sense to sit around my living room and talk with my christian friends about who I’m going to disciple and then tell my children not to interrupt because we’re talking about discipleship!

Yes, it’s loud. Yes, it’s often chaotic. But it’s everyday life with gospel intentionality to include kids in our community discipleship. When the process of becoming more like Jesus rather than the stockpiling of information becomes our primary goal, children are no longer a distraction but an equally valued part of the church family. It might be more cut and dried to train my children to sit still for 45 minutes every Sunday in uncomfortable clothes. But since my aim is not pew-sitting, I’ll step over the toys and strain my neck to hear you over the laughter in the next room as we all strive to become more like Jesus.

I can’t post a lot of details because of CPS, but Baby G, our foster baby spent the weekend in the hospital. He’s doing much better now and we’re glad to have him home. Kristi stayed at the hospital with him and at one point, she was on the phone about the situation with a CPS worker who made a comment in passing that really stuck with me. The CPS worker said: “Thank you so much for hanging out there with him.”

In other words, the CPS worker fully expected us, as foster parents to simply leave Baby G at the hospital. She made it seem like that would have not been out of the ordinary and that broke my heart. Now, please understand, I don’t say what I’m about to in order to show how great we are, but the thought of just leaving Baby G all alone didn’t even occur to us. In fact, I was shocked that the CPS worker was surprised that we stayed with him.

All of this has led me to think a lot lately about why so many Christians struggle with the things we do. I’ve been a follower of Jesus for a long time now and along the way, I’ve met many people who seem to struggle under the weight of the Christian life. Following Jesus is difficult, but at the same time, Jesus said in Matthew 11:28-29:

Thank you everyone, for all your prayers and words of encouragement. It’s been a rough couple of days but we’re all home safe and sound, just with about a quarter of a toe less than we had in the family on Friday afternoon. If you’re unaware, my second son, Owen, lost part of his toe Friday evening (you can read about it here).

We were told that the surgery would be Saturday morning at 10:00am. around 9:35 or so, the nurses came in to get him and started wheeling him out of the room when another nurse came in and said: “STOP! We just got a call from the Operating Room.” All of the nurses filed out of the room for a couple of minutes and came back in saying: “We’re so sorry but his surgery has been re-scheduled for 7:00pm. But, hey, look on the bright side, he can have something to eat now.”

As parents, we were slightly perturbed. My cynical side thought something like: Oh sure, the surgeon’s tee-time was moved and now we’ve got to pay a ton more money to stay here that much longer and Owen’s already nervous and this just prolongs it!

So we passed the day in nervous waiting, playing iPad games, watching the Olympics and trying to focus on a sermon on the entire book of Leviticus. 7:00pm finally came and he went in to surgery. He was in surgery for about 15 minutes when the power went out and anxiety drowned my heart. As the generators immediately kicked on, I thought of something the surgeon told us as we met with him for the Pre-Op consultation. He said: “I’m so sorry you got rescheduled but we had a catastrophe in which a child lost an arm.” Oh man. I am such a jerk. I am (still) so sinful. I was angry. I was irritable. I was resentful. I didn’t believe the best. I didn’t hope the best (1 Corinthians 13). I didn’t cast my anxieties on Him (1 Peter 5:7).

Thinking about his words and the look of sorrow in that doctor’s face, repentance hit me like a ton of bricks as I listened to the hum of florescent lights. It put things into perspective. What we were going through disrupted our family and will be something we deal with in various ways for a while. But this little child lost an arm.

Moments of crisis, both large and small, are pivotal. They are spotlights on the soul. Prior to Friday, I had thought my soul was in a fairly good place. I was reading, I was praying, I was focusing on joy, humility and gratitude. But then I was reminded that, though I had been focusing on faith, it had been a while since I had truly repented. I had forgotten that faith and repentance always go hand in hand. I had focused on faith issues without searching my heart and walking in continual repentance.

Owen has already talked about how we can’t wait to forget this whole incident. We jokingly told him that every time he looks at his left foot, he’ll be reminded. He sighed and rolled his eyes. I understand why Owen might not wear flip flops for a while. But I want him to understand why, from now on, whenever I look at his one shorter toe, why I might get a little misty eyed, thinking of how God used a chopped-off toe to remind me of His pursuing love and unending grace.

I don’t normally use my blog to promote my sermons, but you might be interested in hearing the sermon I preached on what I learned from Owen’s Infamous Toe Incident. Listen here.

Kristi and I would like to ask that you please pray with/for us. Last Friday morning we were officially licensed to be foster parents. By Friday afternoon we had our first placement, a beautiful baby girl who went back to be with her Mom on Tuesday. But we’ve also had to say no a couple of times, primarily to sibling groups. We are licensed to take up to two children at a time but our minivan means that we can only take one child at a time. We have room in our home for two more kids but we’d have to drive separately everywhere, which is not the end of the world by any means, just very inconvenient as a family.

So, we’ve started praying for a bigger van and we’d like to ask you to pray with and for us. Or, if you have a van that seats more than a minivan (but not necessarily as big as the 15 passenger vans) that you would like to give us, we’d gladly put it to good use. Let me be clear; we don’t ask that because we want something new or we just want a change. We don’t. This is not a want for ourselves but a desire to serve more in the very specific way of opening our home and family to children in need.

In the meantime, while you’re praying with and for us (or donating a van), I wanted to share a couple of things that we’ve learned so far in our foster-care journey:

True service requires sacrifice. As a Christian and as a pastor, this is something I think a lot about. We Christians like to talk a lot about sharing each other’s burdens, as we should (after all, it’s in Scripture!) until it actually becomes a burden. But Jesus said that His people should serve “the least of these” (Matthew 25:31-46) and that “pure and undefiled religion” means caring for widows and orphans (James 1:29).

This is more than dropping off supplies at a homeless shelter or packing boxes to ship overseas (though we still desperately need to do these things so let’s keep doing them). God actually entered our suffering to bring reconciliation and calls His people to be His hands and feet in the midst of this troubled world, to serve rather than be served just as He has shown us in Jesus (Mark 10:45), to consider others before (and more significantly) than ourselves just as He has shown us in Jesus (Philippians 2:1-11).

Let’s be honest: sometimes this sucks. It is hard. You will get emotionally involved and attached (in our case to a baby who left but in other circumstances, to someone who may leave or betray you). You will have to give up your own comforts and conveniences. Your stuff may get broken or even stolen. But what better opportunity to ask where our treasure lies (Matthew 6:19-24) and if we’re really willing to deny self to follow Jesus (Matthew 16:24).

When I think about how much Jesus sacrificed in order that we might be reconciled to God, I can’t imagine continuing to live for myself, my success or my comfort. 2 Corinthians 8:9 says: “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.”

Serving others empties us of self-reliance because, frankly, there are times when we realize we can’t (nor were we meant t0) do it on our own. Serving others reminds us of how much Jesus has lead the way by being the True and Better Servant, giving up His life; taking on death so that we might live.

Knowing what you signed up for doesn’t necessarily make things easier. Having said all of that about service and sacrifice (all of which I fully believe, by the way), doesn’t make it any easier. Our Church of the Cross family where I serve does not have official church “membership.” Instead, our Missional Communities write covenants together which they sign and hold one another accountable to. One of the items they covenant together about is how they will serve (one another and together). We try to instill this idea from the moment someone is interested in getting plugged in to a missional community. In our “basics” MC, our introduction to life together as Church of the Cross, we try to scare people away a bit. We try to discourage people from church hopping and we tell them that we are going to unapologetically ask them to serve and learn to radically reorient their lives around the Gospel.

But this doesn’t make things easier when that call to sacrifice actually comes; when CPS calls and says the baby has to go back. Sharing burdens means actually taking someone else’s burden upon yourself. It means discomfort and sacrifice. If we want to establish cultures of service, then we need to not only be honest about how hard it can be, but commit to sharing those burdens, because knowing what you signed up for doesn’t make it any easier.

Leaders should lead by doing. I sometimes find myself at “pastors” events. I try to avoid these things as much as possible, but there have been a couple lately where I’ve been struck by the same thought: leaders need to lead by doing. I won’t go in to specifics because I don’t want to diminish other churches programs which were birthed out of good hearts. But, I’ve heard leaders recently urge people to do things they themselves don’t do. Now, I understand this might happen. I have not been called to every ministry and there might be times when, to equip people in my church family, I have to learn about or encourage someone in something I’m not personally doing. That’s fine. I get it.

But I want our leaders to serve by example. I want our joys and sorrows to be in front of and with people. I don’t want there to ever be the question about me or any of our leaders: “Yeah, but what are they actually doing?” We must guard against doing things for the applause of men for then, we will have our reward (Matthew 6). And yet, at the same time, Christian leaders should be able to urge people to follow our examples as we follow the example of Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1).

Thank you for praying with us on this journey.

As a Christian, I live with one foot in eternity and one foot in the present (Ephesians 2:6, etc.). My position is secure(d). Not only that, I have an eye on the horizon because that day is coming when the trumpet will sound (Revelation 22). Though my feet tread through thorns and thistles, I know the day is coming when roses will no longer have thorns (maybe, maybe not, just bear with me here).

But let me be clear here. When I say that I have one foot in eternity and one foot in the present, that doesn’t mean that I’ve somehow checked out of this life or that this life doesn’t matter or that it’s somehow unimportant. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

I find this life flashing with glimpses of eternity. I’m constantly reminded that this world has worth. God said that it was very good (Genesis 1:31) and God tells me that I should be content (Philippians 4:11, Hebrews 13:5, etc.) in all things. Not just content, but thankful (Colossians 3:15). Every good gift comes from God (James 1:17) and I am continually and repeatedly reminded of not only how un-thank/grate-ful I am. I float through life as if I deserve. I deserve “more.” I deserve “better.” But in reality, every breath is a gift.

As a Christian, I believe that life is full of blessings that I either am unaware of or ignore. But life should be marked by gratitude. This should mark every moment with passion. Life should be marked by joy. Things will often not go the way I want. I will not always have a “win.” Life will often hurt. I will sometimes feel “afflicted in every way, (but not crushed) perplexed (but not driven to despair) (2 Corinthians 4:8).

Another way I’ve come to think about I almost hesitate in sharing because I myself find it kind of cheesy. Not like cheesy tasty puffs but chick-flick cheesy. What if we learned to live every moment like it were our last? Now, before you roll your eyes and say that I’ve gone all fluffy, think about it. What if not only eternity (as if that’s not enough) but death loomed at our doors (which it does)? What if you couldn’t count on another day? What if tomorrow didn’t come? What if you didn’t know when death would finally knock? Would you/I/we live any differently?

Would you enjoy that summer peach any more? Would you stop and soak in the sunset any longer? Would you sing along with the stereo in the car a bit louder? Would you try to resolve that argument or dig in a little deeper? Would you pray a little longer? Would you save a little more money? Would you hug someone a bit longer? Would you do the dishes any differently? Would you pull a little more joy out of that moment?

What if this moment was your last? Would you live any differently? What if eternity invaded the present with value worth celebrating?