Charlie Wear’s Notes

9th and Figueroa

I was in LA yesterday for an appearance. I’ve made this trip enough times now, that I am used to it. I arrived early and decided to have lunch at The Original Pantry, former LA mayor Riordan’s restaurant at the corner of 9th and Figueroa. I had plenty of time to walk the two blocks to my meeting.

It was a beautiful day yesterday and there were plenty of people out around 12.30-1 p.m. Film crews and street vendors were there. And a big guy with a cup of money in his hand offering to sing to passersby. Over the last ten years I have hardened my heart to giving money in cases like these. I usually just say “No, Thank You!” and walk briskly by. I did the same yesterday, but felt a prick of conscience as I did. I promised the still small voice that if the “singer” was still there when I came back I would stop, notice and be open to giving.

About an hour and a half later as I crossed the street to my paid parking lot, the “singer” was on the corner, having given up on vocalizing and merely asking for money from pedestrians. I stopped and asked, “Are you still singing?” “Yes, I am,” he said. “What kind of songs do you sing?” “I sing Christian songs.” “Well, go ahead, sing one,” I said.

And there on the corner of 9th and Figueroa in LA, he started to sing, “Then sings my soul, my savior God to thee…” And to my amazement, I joined in, “How Great Thou Art, How Great Thou Art.” Then I took the tenor harmony! “How Great Thou Art, How Great Thou Art!” I opened my wallet and gave him a blessing. He told me he was a “saved man.” And that the Lord had told him that a blessings was coming his way on that street corner.

I thanked him for letting me sing with him and headed to my car. Nice!

My 7 yr. old son has asthma. Every once in a while this leads to prolonged periods of coughing. We don’t have a primary care doctor following his condition, so when it gets bad enough, we go to the urgent care. And that’s where we were about 8.30 last night. It actually was a pretty good experience, no waiting, efficient staff, nice young doctor, prescription for advair, and on our way to the 24 hour pharmacy for a $200.00 puffer full of medication.

So far, so good. An hour later we are at home and ready to give the med to our sleepy boy. Now if Ben was an experienced asthma person he would be experienced with puffing in nasty tasting stuff in order to feel better, but he isn’t. For whatever reason, the entire process went way south. Screaming ensued. Tears abounded. Meltdown after meltdown and no medicine reached Ben’s lungs.

Upset and very sad the entire family gave up and went to bed. I really wish that Ben had just accepted that nasty tasting stuff is the path to better breathing. He didn’t last night and I don’t expect much change this morning. Maybe when he is a little older he will be willing to puff some nasty stuff in order to calm the symptoms of his condition.

There is a lesson in here somewhere I think. From a father’s viewpoint, all I want is for Ben to be healthy and not in distress. The medicine for that is available, only a simple breath away. But one whiff of a nasty taste has put him off the path to health. “I’ll never take that medicine,” he shouted, and at that point I was at a complete loss. I did my best to calm him down. I tried to explain how the medicine worked and how important it was for him to experience just a moment of discomfort in order to be better. These rational explanations did not work. I held him and told him I loved him. I prayed with him. Still, no dose of medicine.

All I could do finally, was be there with him, and love him.

I think the most important thing a follower of Jesus can learn is to hear from God. Walking in the Spirit in our daily lives requires a cultivation of this ability. However, when you hear God about the big things, that is always overwhelming and very re-assuring.

The last time I got clear “orders from headquarters” was in 1999. I had closed my “normal” church the year before and was attending a pastor’s conference. Even though the church had closed I had started Next-Wave and a ministry to skateboarders in Moreno Valley. On the second night of the conference I got a clear message from God that he wanted me to continue in both of those ministries and that they would be very fruitful and so they were.

Now, more than ten years I have recently attended the Verge 2010 National Missional Community Conference, and I think I may have just gotten fresh “orders.” I didn’t come expecting it, but still some of my struggle to understand what has been happening over the last ten years clicked into place and I think I have some clear direction for at least the next ten years! You don’t know how great that is.

Having listened to the many challenging speakers on the topic of the DNA of Gospel Movements, I can sense that God is on the move here in the U.S. I am excited to be around to see it and look forward to what is going to happen in the years to come.

By the way, I got to interview Neil Cole, author of Church 3.0, and Tony and Felicity Dale, authors of The Rabbit and the Elephant. It seems that planting churches may be simpler than I ever thought!

This is part 1 of an excerpt from Ed Stetzer’s message on Disciple-making at Verge 2010 Missional Community Conference:

Francis Chan speaking during first main session at Verge.

 

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Hi, my name is Charlie, and I am a recovering pharisee. No, I was not a “member of a Jewish sect that flourished during the 1st century b.c. and 1st century a.d. and that differed from the Sadducees chiefly in its strict observance of religious ceremonies and practices, adherence to oral laws and traditions, and belief in an afterlife and the coming of a Messiah.” (Dictionary.com) I am using the other definition of pharisee: “a sanctimonious, self-righteous, or hypocritical person.”

At the ripe old age of 60 I have finally figured out what was and is wrong with me and understand why I have such a hard time with “normal” church. How did I become a pharisee? Was I born that way? Well, in a sense, yes. From the time I was a little baby I was an attender and then a member of a denominational church. Of the many denominations I have been exposed to in my adult life, I can tell you that the denomination of my youth was by far the most legalistic. Our list of do’s and don’t’s was extensive. Membership was exclusive and salvific, and this was just fine with me, what else did I know?

I am sure I heard about Jesus and grace and all of that stuff when I was growing up, but not in any relational sense. This all worked well for me. I was a member, and an active one. Yes, I struggled with managing my “holiness (sin).” That produced the requisite guilt cycle. All was well until my first marriage failed and the church kicked me out. Now, I will have to admit, this wasn’t as bad as being publicly whipped, humiliated, falsely accused, and executed. But it still felt pretty bad. I used to be in, part of the remnant faithful. Now I was out.

If my condition wasn’t so addictive I probably could have recovered pretty easily. But the need to be right and in, may as well have been burned into my DNA and my brain chemistry. I imagine that it is something like the way an alcoholic who is sober feels. He’s not drinking, but the urge burns in his bones.

I was raised that if you love God you will be part of “His” church. Eventually I wasn’t in a church anymore. I wasn’t happy with that condition so I was pleasantly lured back into church when a denominational pastor who preached a more “grace-full” theology started a local church. And this time I was not only in, I was in it up to my eyeballs! Worship leader, church council member and eventually full-time executive pastor were the roles I cycled through in a five year period. Boy, did I enjoy it! Imagine my surprise when a rapid turn of events found me once again on the outside and embarking on a stint as a pastor in another religious movement. This wasn’t quite as bad as the first time I was kicked out of church but it was a bit jarring!

And then I found a group of people, my congregation, with an entirely different set of do’s and don’t’s. I lasted three years at that endeavor and came out the other end this side of a psychiatric unit, but nonetheless scarred. You see, my condition loves being right. It loves being the one with the answers. It loves being the up-front decisive person. It loves being thought of as a righteous person. Of course, there is the downside. I know who I really am and what I am really like inside. Others don’t think I am always right. Frequently there are those that don’t like my answers or decisions. This is always quite disappointing.

It’s been over ten years since that experience. By the way, my second marriage failed and I have married again! during this last ten years I have not been able to “join” another “normal” church. I have been trying hard during this time to figure out what is wrong with me! The way I usually express it is in terms of what is wrong with the churches I don’t want to join. I just figured out this week what the problem is. Recovering alcoholics can’t hang out in bars! Recovering pharisees can’t join a church! It brings out the worst in them.

Don’t get me wrong. This does not mean I am opposed to joining a “normal” church. I think I am just not strong enough yet. In the meantime I remain committed to following Jesus and continue to try to discover what that means. I’ll keep looking for a “recovery” group for folks like me. If you hear of one, let me know.

It’s been over fifteen years since a fellow staff member of a denominational church called me an “iconoclast.” At the time I thought I knew what he meant, but I’ll admit I had to look it up in the dictionary. He was the creative arts pastor and he was irritated at changes I was promoting in the way we “did church.” All these years later, I am still trying to figure out whether I need to apologize for my iconoclastic tendencies.

My response to some of the silliness I see in ‘church life’ is natural. In fact, it may have been inherited. It probably started when one of the sunday school superintendents chewed out my twenty-something deacon father because he was sitting down outside the door to the sanctuary during the sermon. It was his job to open the door for anyone going in or coming out of the sanctuary during the service. Mrs. Overbearing admonished my dad that the job required him to be standing during the entire service. That was my dad’s last service as a regular church attender. When my mom and he divorced some years later and the elders came to tell him that they were disfellowshiping (kicking him out), he wasn’t very upset.

Years later when my first marriage ended, I got a letter from the church elders revoking my membership. It hurt bad. One result of this experience is that I am highly suspicious of “church membership.” I liked the Calvary Chapel approach of the 1980s. If you show up, you are a member. I have tried to decide whether I need to join a recovery group for my problem, however I am reluctant, I might get kicked out.

Two years ago at this time we set out on our fourth cross-country road trip in about a year and a half. We were on the road on the Thanksgiving holiday and had a turkey dinner at the Cracker Barrel restaurant near Pensacola, Florida. Lots of things were up in the air. We had just moved into a “new” house. I was starting a new law practice. We were recovering from the whirlwind of moving to Florida and then moving back to California.

My youngest son, Benjamin, was born on Thanksgiving day, 2002. He celebrated his birthday that year on the road. This year we will continue the tradition of a Chucky Cheese birthday for Ben.

From the perspective of two years, things have calmed down quite a bit. Our fixer-upper house is a little more livable than it was when we moved in. We still have two showers and 1 bathtub that don’t work. We have learned how to handle heating our non-centrally air conditioned and heated all-electric home. We haven’t seen any $1000 plus bills this year (when we moved in, our first utility bill was over $1200!). Benjamin is in first grade at the local Christian school and loving every minute of it. We will be spending Thanksgiving with Loretta’s daughter and our grandkids. My two-yr. old law practice is going pretty well. I spend a lot of time trying to help people with financial trouble get a fresh start or save their homes. We have a lot to be grateful for this year. Life is not perfect, but it is pretty good.

I have been learning to develop an attitude of Thanksgiving that I can carry with me every day. I don’t mean I want to eat left-over Turkey and cranberry sandwiches every day. I want to learn to be grateful for the daily blessings that come our way, the things that money can’t buy, love for my family and love for my God.

With feel-good gurus urging us to find the secret and live in the moment, I want to learn to get rid of anxiety through an attitude of prayerfulness and thanksgiving. Last year that was one of my New Year’s resolutions and I think it is beginning to seek in. I frequently remind my clients that they can survive their financial and other legal troubles.

Blessings to you and your families in this Thanksgiving season.

With the baseball playoffs in full swing and the World Series just around the corner (Go Dodgers!), it is hard to avoid a baseball metaphor. So, here goes. You can’t hit the ball if you don’t take a swing. You can’t take a swing, if you don’t get up to bat.  You can’t get up to bat if you don’t get in the game. So much of following Jesus is all about getting in the game.

I had a dream last night. A friend of mine and I were driving down a highway and we both saw an industrial park on the side of the road. Together we though, this would be a good location for a church. We got out, and surprise, surprise, one of the buildings was open and we walked through it, and sure enough it was a good location. It seemed like a short time later that I woke up and thought about what the dream meant. For years now, the idea of looking for good locations for a church to gather has seemed like a foreign, “old-paradigm” kind of thought.

You see, I am a refugee from the “normal” kind of church that meets once a week in a location. When I closed the church I was pastoring about 11 years ago now, I would have been surprised if you had told me that I would not become a regular attender at another “church.” Instead, I have had a good long time to ponder what it means to be a follower of Jesus without being a church member. I have also waited for fresh orders from the Lord concerning my involvement in “church.”

Now don’t get me wrong, just because I haven’t been a good church member, I have been participating with fellow followers in the ministry of Jesus. For seven years I was a part of a ministry to skateboarders that saw thousands of young people respond to evangelistic calls to make a decision for Christ. For most of the time I have been the publisher of Next-Wave, a monthly ezine aimed at discovering what God is doing on the cutting edge of ministry.

These days I am thinking about simple church, the kind that doesn’t have a building or a budget or a board, the kind that I experienced with my fellow disciples when we were ministering to the skateboarders. And yet, while I wait on the Lord to orchestrate those next steps I do the things that the Spirit invites me to do. I pray with my son every night as he goes to bed. I invite the presence of the Spirit into my daily work life as I go about working on my client’s legal problems. I make myself available, on call, to respond to the nudgings and impressions that can only come from the Holy Spirit. Every day I make the decision to “get in the game,” and follow Jesus.

This morning I am thinking about St. Francis’ prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

Here’s a tip for you, a prayer that always works, “Oh God, get me out of this mess.” Now don’t be surprised when you get some unexpected results from this prayer. You might find that you’ve lost your job, or that your wife has moved out, or that you’ve just checked yourself in for rehab. Just keep in mind that most folks praying those prayers don’t put any conditions on them. They’ve just hit rock bottom for the umpteenth time and need help. They need it so badly they will even turn to God.

I’ve been enjoying reading Craig Ferguson’s entertaining memoir, American on Purpose. Imagine my surprise when I came to page 166 and noticed an example of this kind of prayer. It comes on the heals of the breakup of a long-term relationship over his self-destructive alcoholic behavior:

“After she had gone, I went for a walk on the lonely Walberswick marshes outside the village. Out there I did something I hadn’t done since I was a farty wee schoolboy in the miserable damp town church. I prayed. I asked the God I still don’t really understand and have trouble believing in to help me—either to kill me or change me.

I had become something I despised, and I couldn’t break free of whatever spell had been cast. I was an inmate in a prison of my own construction. I told Him I was willing to go to any length to get out.

I don’t know if my prayers were answered, I’m not an Evangelical, or even a very religious person.

But things sure started moving quickly after that.”

As I was reading this passage this morning, my eyes welled up with tears. I was reminded that God loves us even before we have loved or believed in Him. I was reminded that He waits, like the Prodigal’s father, for us to turn toward him and then he happily goes into action to redeem us.

My heart-felt moment of desperate prayer came as I rode the Metrolink to Orange County about ten years ago. Amazing the rapidity of God’s intervention to get me off that train and back on the right track in my own life. Looking back, I can say that I see how He worked then, and when I stop long enough to think about it, I can see where He is working in my life now.

Take a few minutes and watch as John Wimber shares about one of those moments in his spiritual journey. It starts about 5 1/2 minutes into this youtube video:

My encouragement to you? Don’t wait until you are overwhelmed or bouncing off the rock bottom, just take a moment right now and pray that powerful prayer, “Oh God, help me.”