The Ark
We signed papers on The Ark, so it’s time to share the story. This might take several installations! It’s the next leg of our journey with Jesus. Thank you for indulging me!
Some of you may remember our Downsize Journey from 2010. (There are links to all 5 installments there) Basically, God destroyed our neat-and-tidy lives by opening up our eyes to the world He loves. We read The Hole in Our Gospel, and were completely wrecked. We’d just purchased our “dream home,” and felt like we’d “arrived” at the life we’d always wanted. But sadly, it was just a churchy version of the empty American Dream. (Note: As most of you know, that journey wasn’t about big houses being bad, it was a heart-thing. An idol-thing. More on this to come in the book!)
So: We “lost” $50,000 by selling our dream-home, and were then led by the Wisdom of Buzz Lightyear (remember that?) to move into a dumpy rental where we experienced more JOY than we ever imagined. After taking the leap-of-faith with our church plant in 2012, He allowed us to fall backwards into an old 110-year-old house in the city, with room in the basement for housemates, which just “happened” to be right by where Renew Church would end up being, and where Providence would have us meet “Julie” who would forever change our lives.
“The 1601” has been nothing but blessing. It was such a gift from God.
Then, in March 2015, while Jeff was in Africa, I was praying each day and had a strong impression that perhaps God was going to move us out into the country. On the one hand, we were completely content where we were. We loved the 1601, loved how inexpensive it was, and loved being right downtown, at the hub of everything. On the other hand, we LOVE nature and love being out in the country. We’ve always wished we could raise our kids out in the country but never dreamed it would be financially feasible.
But this impression was distinct, and it wasn’t just about us. Sure, I love rural settings, but I kept having the impression that God was calling us to create a refuge for people. A haven. The word that kept coming to mind, over and over in prayer, was an ARK.
Like, Noah’s ark. I know: So weird. I wrote “ark?” at the top of my journal, and kept praying each day. The impression stayed. When Jeff got home from Africa I shared the strange impression:
“So, I think maybe we’re supposed to build (buy?) an … ark.”
He was appropriately perplexed, but we continued praying about it together.
Over the next 5-6 months, the Ark came up over and over and over. I found an old journal from 2012 where I’d written down a seemingly-random impression when I thought I heard God ask,
“If I told you to build an ark, would you do it?”
Then I started having dreams. No, not “dream-house” kind of dreams, like actual dreams, which I never have. I had two vivid dreams that were alarming and specific, and after waking I remembered every detail. Both had to do with the Ark.
So, we started looking, sort of.
The strange part was, I didn’t really know what to look for. You can’t just email your realtor and say, “Hey, we’re looking for an ark; you seen any lately?” There is no search-criteria called “Ark-ish” on Redfin. This clearly wasn’t about my taste or personal preferences so I couldn’t just use that as a guide. Plus, I no longer had any house-dreams. We’d been there, done that. It’s not that I don’t care about how things look, it’s just that I don’t have a “dream house” bug left in me. I literally had no idea what to look for because I was no longer driven by these things.
All I knew was that we had a teeny tiny income, so I looked for a teeny tiny (read: run-down, barely-inhabitable) house.
We found a few, even made an offer on two, but didn’t get them. Plus, I kept being faced with the rather obvious observation that the Ark was … well, BIG.
So, I figured that since this was God’s idea, He would need to tell us what to pray for and what to look for. So we asked Him and He showed us seven things …
More to come! Thanks for reading!
Beware of taking your kids to church 🙂
Easter is one of my favorite times of the year. Easter gives us an opportunity to invite people to church more easily than at other times. As you probably know, many people visit church on Easter even if they don’t usually attend.
That’s great. Sort of.
Several years ago I heard a fabulous sermon on godly parenting and it’s haunted me ever since. The pastor gave an interesting illustration: He made the rather bold point that if we, as parents, are just giving our children a little tiny dose of Jesus we may be doing them more harm than good. We may, in fact, be preventing them from wholeheartedly trusting and following Christ as adults.
Consider immunizations. When we give someone a flu shot, we’re actually giving them what? A little tiny dose of the flu. Give them just enough and it will keep them from getting the full-blown flu. The natural reaction of the body is able to ward off and render harmless the flu virus.
Is it possible to immunize our children from Jesus?
Studies have often shown that those who are soured most on Christianity are not those people who have had no exposure to church and the Bible, but rather are those who, as children, either have bad experiences in the church or parents who sat in pews on Sunday but showed zero evidence of living out that faith the other six days of the week.
They had a tiny dose and therefore were apparently immune to the full-blown effect of the risen Lord.
Why is this? Because a parent who models a half-hearted or Sunday-morning faith is essentially saying, “I know all about this Jesus guy and He’s not significant enough for me to actually change my life. It’s just not that big of a deal.”
That, friends, is a scary message to give our children.
It’s not just that we haven’t given our children enough religious experience, it’s that we’ve proven by our lives that there are no real-life implications of believing in God. Kids aren’t stupid. They have great noses and can smell BS a mile away.
Why would they want to believe in something that doesn’t matter? So they abandon ship. Of course, they hold this stance only until they have their own children. Then they decide they want their children to “have religion”, so they wind up doing the exact same routine as their parents. No real faith, just going through the motions. And in these motions, another generation is immunized from faith in Christ. Frightening.
Along this same vein, a paragraph from Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood has always haunted me in a similar way. Dillard reminisces her fond memories of summer Presbyterian church camp:
“The adult members of society adverted to the Bible unreasonably often. What arcana! Why did they spread this scandalous document before our eyes? If they had read it, I thought, they would have hid it. They didn’t recognize the vivid danger that we would, through repeated exposure, catch a case of its wild opposition to their world. Instead they bade us study great chunks of it, and think about those chunks, and commit them to memory, and ignore them. By dipping us children in the Bible so often, they hoped, I think, to give our lives a serious tint, and to provide us with quaintly magnificent snatches of prayer to produce as charms while, say, being mugged for our cash or jewels.” (p. 134)
Did you READ that? It’s startling. The women is a literary genius, of course, but she’s also hitting the nail on the head, and the conviction is well-earned. If our lives have not been transformed, utterly and completely transformed by the power of the gospel, then what are we doing teaching it to our children?
The gospel is scandalous; its claims are spectacular, it is “wild opposition to the world”. How tragic it would be if we taught our children to study Christ’s claims, “commit them to memory, and ignore them.” Wow. Is that not what we are doing when we ourselves ignore them? Are we not then merely giving our children’s lives a “serious tint” and giving them “quaintly magnificent snatches of prayer to produce as charms”?
Please, please hear my heart in this: I do hope we all take our children to church this weekend. And every weekend. But more than that I hope and pray that we are convinced of this scandalous, life-changing gospel found within the pages of Scripture: It is the power of salvation to all who believe (Rom. 1:16).
The life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ changes everything.
May it do just that in us … and our kids.
{Thanks so much for reading.}
FOCUS: Finished
Friday’s Reading: Matthew 26:47 – 27:51, Mark 14:43 – 15:38, Luke 22:47 – 23:49, John 18:3 – 19:37
“It is finished.”
-Jesus
~
For the past few years, I’ve finished something significant on Good Friday. I didn’t set out to make this a tradition, but it is interesting how it’s happened. Whether a fast, a project, or a study, I’ve enjoyed this way of physically identifying with the words that changed the world: It is finished.
This year is a double-blessing, as I finished two massive projects today. First, I finished the long process of packing up our house. It’s been a year we’ve been praying about this property thing, this odd ministry-dream that’s clearly Him but unusual to say the least. It’s been a roundabout adventure and I can barely believe this thing is really happening. Sure, my back aches, my feet hurt, and I’d really love a nap … but it is finished. Tomorrow we move.
Secondly, I just finished my book edits and sent off the manuscript to the publisher today. It is finished. Five years ago today I finished and sent out the proposal for this book.
This morning, with both kids snuggled next to me, we put out our three pointer-fingers and all clicked SEND together.
In my little world, these two things feel huge. HUGE.
But still so tiny compared to what Jesus accomplished on the cross.
~
At noon on Friday, after suffering through an excruciating night of betrayal, arrest, beating, flogging, and suffering, Jesus gave up His Spirit on the cross and mouthed His final words:
It is finished.
I’ve wondered before, Why did Jesus say “It is finished” when it wasn’t yet? The real work was finished when He rose from the grave. So why did He say it now?
Because His work was finished.
The power of the FATHER raised Jesus from the dead. Jesus’ work was simply to accomplish what the Father sent Him to do, and surrender Himself to death on the cross.
The Father took it from there.
So too, there are plenty of things here that aren’t finished. This isn’t the end.
But my work is finished.
The Father will take it from here.
And so we are simply called to obey whatever God calls us to do. To finish the work He gives us to accomplish. Then rest in knowing we’ll hear His words, “Well done, good and faithful servant …”
The Father will take it from there.
Oh Jesus, we worship you today.
Thank you for finishing Your work on the cross.
Thank you for surrendering to the point of death.
Thank you for bearing my sin, my foolishness, my selfishness.
Thank you for your unconditional love that bears me up and carries me.
All I can say today is,
“I love you so much. Thank you.”
{Happy Good Friday. Thank you for reading.}
FOCUS: Stay the course
Thursday’s Reading: Matthew 26:17-46, Mark 14:12-42, Luke 22:7-46, John 13-17
“Then all the disciples left Him and fled.” (Matt 26:56)
~
“It’s like I had my head down, running hard, thinking I was surrounded by all these other people running with me. But then I opened my eyes and they were all gone.”
A dear friend was recently sharing an alone feeling. I know that feeling. Thankfully, I don’t have it now, I am surrounded by an amazing group of God-seeking women who challenge and inspire me every single day. I have to work hard just to keep up! And that’s just it, that’s how it should be. It’s way easier to keep running when you’ve got your friends by your side pushing you by their presence.
I’ve often thought about how much togetherness can give you courage for whatever’s ahead. Surrounded by my nearest and dearest I can scale a wall and move mountains (or that’s how I feel!). But it’s also remarkable how someone walking away, quitting the race, leaving your side, for whatever reason, can leave you feeling alone, abandoned, weary …
and completely overwhelmed for whatever’s ahead.
In just a few short hours my family gets to gather with a few others for the Passover meal, remembering that long-ago Passover meal Jesus shared with His disciples, the Last Supper, right before He is betrayed and goes to the cross. It’s a super fun meal. Heidi and I just mixed up the Haroset and Dutch made the Tzibzle potatoes. I can smell the onions carmelizing as I type this.
But when I think back to Jesus’ last supper, I can’t help but think how lonely He must have felt. Here he is, enjoying a supposed celebratory meal, surrounded by his closest friends, fully knowing that in just a few hours they would ALL leave Him.
Wouldn’t His heart be breaking even as He broke the bread?
Just hours before Jesus will take on the sins of the world, hang on a cross, and receive the full weight of His Father’s wrath, just hours before this, as he gears up for the most unthinkably torturous event in the history of mankind, he experiences this:
First, Peter, James & John can’t even stay awake. They’re snoozing while Jesus is praying (Matt 26:40).
Then, one of his friends, one of the 12, Judas Iscariot, betrays Jesus with a kiss (Matt 26:49).
But then, as if this weren’t enough. With a matter of minutes, we read a short verse that nearly knocks the wind out of me:
“Then all the disciples left him and fled.” (v.56)
All His disciples.
All His friends.
All His faithful followers.
Every last one.
Gone.
After spending years pouring into them and loving them and giving His life for them. In a matter of moments, every last one of them is gone.
And He is alone. In every sense.
I can only imagine in Jesus’ humanity, in a point of weariness, utter fatigue and exhaustion (he’d been up all night praying) the abandonment would have made it even more overwhelming to face what was ahead.
I still remember, years ago, in a moment of pain and feeling utterly alone, I bowed down on the floor and poured my heart out for God, I heard this:
“You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up.”
(Not saying my life is a big deal, but I believe that in my little tiny corner of the world, the work He’s doing is revolutionary.)
Perhaps Jesus heard something similar when He cried out to the Father.
“You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up.”
I don’t mean to draw too close of a parallel here. Little lonelinesses we experience are nothing compared to what Jesus endured, being forsaken by God and man as He hung on the cross and bore the sins of the world.
But if you have ever felt alone, forgotten, abandoned, left …
you can identify with Jesus.
You can enter into His story today and experience a droplet of the ocean of grief He bore.
You can let that experience lead you to worship, gratitude, overwhelming thanks to Jesus that He didn’t give up.
He stayed the course.
You can too.
{You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up. Stay the course. Thanks for reading.}