Charlie Wear’s Notes

I’ve really been enjoying the last couple of weeks. We leased a Honda Accord and I have felt like everything is coming up roses! There’s nothing like driving a new car to give you that feeling. Then yesterday afternoon on the way home from the office, Bam! I was rear-ended, and pretty hard! I avoided hitting the car in front of me, and drove the car into the parking lot of a service station on the corner. I was a little light-headed from the adrenaline and the bump on the head, and was amazed that the person who hit me, had driven off.

Rear-ended!

A couple of young people witnessed the accident and stopped in to see if I was okay and to wait for the police, in case their statement was needed. I called 911 and waited. A few minutes later another young man drove up in a truck and told me he had witnessed the whole thing and had followed the person who hit me. Unfortunately, he did not get the license plate. A Riverside Police officer drove up a little later and took my report and the witness statement and gave me information for the insurance company.

Driving home I felt a definite disturbance to my “mojo.” A little earlier that day I had been talking with a friend who mentioned that he had lost his “mojo.” When we were talking about it I thought I knew what he meant, but I asked him anyway. He said he just had not been feeling on top of things. I looked up the dictionary definition of:

mo·jo
/?mo?d?o?/ Show Spelled[moh-joh] Show IPA
–noun,plural-jos, -joes.
1.
the art or practice of casting magic spells; magic; voodoo.
2.
an object, as an amulet or charm, that is believed to carry a magic spell. [dictionary.com]

It’s true, the last several weeks have been feeling magical, but I don’t believe in magic, I believe in real life. But it is kind of human to enjoy seasons when it feels like we are going from mountaintop to mountaintop with no trips to the valley. But that is not the way life really works, is it? Even though I have been experiencing a season of profoundly experiencing the Holy Spirit’s presence in my daily life, literally going from what feels like one divine appointment to the next, that feeling couldn’t last forever, could it? I was listening to a sermon the other day and the preacher seemed convinced that watching “Sex and the City” could definitely block the presence of the Holy Spirit. That didn’t sound exactly right to me, but I am still thinking about it.

Purple Flowers with Thistles!

As a recovering legalist (Pharisee) I am learning that God’s presence does not depend on my activity, but on His activity. My salvation does not depend on my actions, but on his completed action. I can’t “conjure” up God any more than I can make bushes burn or Red Seas part! I am learning to enjoy my friendship and partnership with God. It seems that the more he floods into my life, the more I experience his overflowing. One example? My wife was thinking about the accident in the midnight hour last night (she told me about it this morning) and before she knew what had happened she found herself praying for the person who hit me. Praying that they would find and experience God! What a great example of the overflowing of God’s Spirit.

We live on a Ranch in Riverside County, California. And the ranch is in full bloom this spring with all kinds of wild plants (weeds) that have an abundance of flowers. I like these little purple flowers that grow on the thistle plants. When the plants dry out later this summer it won’t be safe to walk among them. Our dog’s coats will be filled with stickers. So, this is what life is like, huh? Flowers grow among the thistles, and then they dry out and the seeds fall to the ground. If the next year is particularly rainy, the plants will grow taller and the flowers will abound.

I am grateful to have walked away from my accident unharmed. I feel blessed. I know that Jesus loves me! Forget about “mojo.” I am just going to keep following in His footsteps.

I once heard my mentor, John Wimber, say on an audio tape, “The day I got saved I went into full-time ministry, and I’ve been in it ever since.” At the time I heard him say it I thought he was saying, “When I got saved I began the journey that lead me into the full-time ministry positions I now hold.” I think my mindset stopped me from understanding the full implication of what John was saying. It probably would have been helpful if he had explained a little more.

When I heard John say this, I was on my own trajectory toward “full-time” ministry. I was serving as the Executive Pastor (unpaid) of a church, helping to lead them to a new worship center location. In that role I was doing all of the things that the “full-time” ministers were doing: meeting in staff meetings, making plans, executing them, and dealing with the stuff that goes on behind the scenes of any normal church. Eventually I accidentally ended up the pastor of a Vineyard church. At last, I was truly in “full-time” ministry (although still unpaid!).

Over the years I have heard numbers of people say, “I wish I could be in full-time ministry.” What they are saying is, “I wish I could stop working as a ___________ (you fill in the blank) and work full-time as a pastor, or missionary, or nonprofit leader of some kind.” It is only in the last few months that I have figured out that Jesus wants me to be in full-time ministry and he has wanted that to be my condition from the day he called me to follow him.

In the last few months I have had a shift in my worldview, especially concerning my business as a lawyer. I have begun to see my law practice as my “flock,” the people God has sent to me for ministry. Since that shift I have begun to see my clients through Jesus’ eyes and my daily life as one divine appointment after another. The results have been mind-blowing! I have seen Jesus enter the courtroom with me and set a captive free. I have been given the opportunity to share the good news about Christ with others. I have prayed for physical healing and seen instantaneous results. I have comforted the bereaved and the hopeless. It has been an amazing time.

I have seen that one of John Wimber’s favorite sayings is true, “The meat is in the streets!”

I have shared my thrilling insight with others, and have been shocked and surprised when they have said, “You didn’t know that? I’ve know that for years!” Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’ve been thinking long and hard about that question. This seems like the biggest and well-kept secret in Christianity, Jesus has called all of his followers to be full-time ministers and to partner with the Holy Spirit in daily service to the world they inhabit.

Maybe professional pastors and chaplains don’t know this fundamental fact of discipleship. Maybe the implications are too frightening to the paid professionals. All I know for sure is, I have been bitten by the bug and will never go back to my former way of thinking and living.

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.