PatrickMead

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Pictures!




Yea, yea, I know I just wrote a blog yesterday, but I wanted to bring you up to date on contributions to Soul Space. As of today just over $4700 has been raised for them. An astounding $1315 has come from readers of this blog! By the way, readers, let people know if you liked the CD. If any arrived cracked or damaged, let me know and we will make it right asap. Bar 12 did a concert at our church building. A young boy brought his play guitar and played along in the back of the auditorium. As the night wore on, he got closer and closer to the stage, eventually getting up with them, mimicking their moves, and giving us all a smile.


Afterwards we gathered in the foyer and exchanged high 5's and laughter. The Sacred Ink tattoo shop should open in the next few weeks. We are waiting for a contractor to put an extraction fan in the bathroom and we'll be up to code! You can follow along as Pete, Rudi, Josh, and Lance bring this work to reality by clicking on the Sacred Ink link on the right.

I consider Josh Turner to be my son. His father passed away a couple of years ago and something in my soul called me to go to Josh and offer him a place in our lives. He has a wonderful mother (and that is an understatement) and terrific friends but I am his new dad. Here is a photo of me in the middle (the short, old guy) with Duncan on the left and Josh on the right. They tell people they are brothers and ask those who look suprised if they are able to tell them apart!

While I'm posting photos, here's one of my daughter, Kara, fixing Thanksgiving dinner, one of my son, wife, and son-in-law, and one of Duncan hanging Christmas lights at our house yesterday. God bless all of you who keep us in prayer and those who support our mission work, including Soul Space. It is a joy to be a part of your community of faith.


Monday, November 27, 2006

Who's Holding The Dynamite?

A story in the news a few years ago still comes to mind from time to time and makes me shake my head. It seems that a suicide bomber was dispatched to blow up a restaurant in downtown Tel Aviv. The bomb went off when the bomber was several blocks away from the target and only the bomber died. Subsequent investigation by the Israeli police revealed that the bomb was on a timer and it went off on schedule. So why wasn't the bomber in place? Witnesses came forward who saw the bomber dallying around this or that store, apparently in no hurry to get where they were going. As hard as this is to believe, the findings of the investigation were that the bomber forgot when they were supposed to be in place. It seems that they were distracted by other things and forgot the what, where and when of their mission.

Strange... but not without precedent. A lot of people forget that they are holding the dynamite. Hey, some grenades are duds and smoking doesn't kill everybody that tries it, but the fact is that most people who do stupid and dangerous things on a regular basis WILL pay a price for it.

They told us sex was free. [and, kids, don't think guys my age don't know anything about sex. My generation invented free sex. Madonna is about to celebrate her 50th birthday, remember?] The pill came along, allowing women to have sex without unwanted pregnancy. Abortion was made legal so that any mess-ups with the pill could be removed quietly in a doctor's clinic. Vietnam kicked over some dominoes that didn't stop falling until every establishment rule was questioned and most were abandoned. The Guess Who sang about living in a land where sex was free and natural and we could all live together.... and then the bomb went off. AIDS, Chlamydia, Genital Warts, Syphilis, Gonorrhea, Herpes, HIV, Human Papillomavirus, Trichomaniasis... and the list goes on and on.

They told us condoms would protect us... but the bombs still went off.

They didn't tell us about destroyed hearts, broken bodies, shattered homes, jealously, unwanted and unloved children, women being abandoned with their babies.... all when the bomb went off.

They told us that life is shopping and life is stuff. God told Adam and Eve to "be fruitful and multiply" but we are told to "shop till you drop!" Again, the generation that came of age in the 60s and 70s came up with the idea of first dropping all possessions and then launched into the Me Decade. A perfect storm of money, time and opportunity made materialism the main religion of the day. As early as "Father Knows Best" TV showed us that dads needed to go away to make money for cool new appliances and treats for the family left alone without him. This week, it is safe to say, Kohls, Goodys, Sears, Best Buy, Target... ALL of them will have sales. They have them every week. We see the "48 hours only!" sticker and we run to grab yet one more thing... and then the bomb goes off. By now we should have realized that we will never be satisfied with the stuff we are buying. The world will bleed you dry and leave you looking stupid in photos that are only four years old ["you wore THAT?"]. The world is left enriched. You are left poor and with a closet full of stuff you don't want to be seen in.

But the point is... you are left.

They told us to say whatever was on our mind, to let it all hang out, and to never repress ourselves: Express, don't repress! But then the bomb goes off when our words hurt others, when they end our career or marriage, or when they leave scars on our children. When the bomb goes off none of the self-help or self-actualization gurus are there to help pick up the pieces; none of them come to apologize.

They told us that we weren't created or designed. They told us that we were merely a cosmic accident; that our lives meant nothing and we were going nowhere. We were told that we had no special place in the universe; that we were no better than dogs or trees or spotted owls. Then the bomb went off when kids turned to drugs, shot up schools, and set homeless people on fire. Rather than contributing to the good of society, they demanded more from it and turned viciously on anyone who demanded something of them. We should have seen that coming. We should have spotted the dynamite.

In every crowd, in every situation, in every choice, ask yourself "who's holding the dynamite?" It's the world's job to hand out dynamite. It's our responsibility to make sure we aren't holding it... much less passing it on to others.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Thank God for These Men

In the spirit of the season, I want to address one object of my prayers. In a time where so many paint murals of moral equivalency between us and those who attack our people in Sadr City, Fallujah, and Bagdad, hear this story from the latest issue of Marine Times, a weekly magazine for Marines and their families.

"The insurgency in Iraq is arming children in Fallujah with fake plastic firearms... Intelligence has informed us that al Qaeda is handing out realistic toy weapons to the children of Fallujah in hopes that a US service member might mistakenly shoot an Iraqi child... [The] 1st Battalion, 24th Marines were visiting an all girls school in the city when a young boy ran down the street with what appeared to be a real handgun... The Marines stopped the boy, discovered his weapon was a toy, then traded him a soccer ball for it."

Can there be any clearer picture of the difference between our boys and our enemies? In the name of Allah, thuggish Islamists hand out plastic toys so that the US press can pillory any American service member who reacts to the presence of a "weapon" and fires upon the child. (and don't say "just don't shoot children." We learned in Vietnam and in several conflicts since that children are often combatants and that hesitating frquently means you and your team members die) Our side shows restraint, stops them and trades them for a soccer ball.

Outstanding, Marines. You make us proud.

I am also thankful for the life of Cpl. Jason Dunham. Jason was only 22 years old when he and his team were manning a checkpoint near Karabilah. Cpl. Dunham received word that a Marine convoy had been ambushed. He led his squad to the site of the attack where he stopped the killers as they tried to escape. One jumped out and grabbed him by the throat. During the hand to hand combat the insurgent dropped a grenade and Dunham quickly jumped on it to shield his fellow team members. The grenade pierced his Kevlar and helmet, a shard of shrapnel entering his skull. Still, he cared for his team members' wounds and continued to fight until he expired from his grievous wounds.

Lance Corporal Jason Sanders, one of Dunham's team who was wounded, said, "He knew what he was doing. He wanted to save Marines' lives from that grenade." Senator Charles Schumer (D-NY) wrote to the President asking that he award the Congressional Medal of Honor -- the first awarded to a Marine since 1970 -- to Dunham posthumously. He wrote that Dunham's actions "embodied the courage and fortitude that have made the armed forces of the United States the most respected in the world. I can imagine no clearer case of an individual soldier exhibiting the ideals that the Congressional Medal was established to honor."

It is the second CMH awarded for the Iraq war. The first one was awarded to Sgt. 1st Class Paul Ray Smith who gave his life by continuing to move and fire against an overwhelming force, taking the lives of 20-50 enemies while saving, according to the award, at least 100 American soliders.

My prayers of thankfulness this season will include thanks for the Cpl. Dunham and Sgt. 1st Class Smith, for the parents that raised such brave and honorable men, and for the families they left behind. Because of their faithfulness and sacrifice I can enjoy a day of feasting and football with my family. I can go to worship openly with my brethren on Sunday and enter the shopping mall without real fear of bombs or beheading because of these men and those like them.

There is no moral equivalence between our men and theirs. Ours do not behead or try to lure children into death traps. Ours do not beat women and shoot them in the back of the head for wearing makeup, listening to secular music, or being a member of a different denomination. When our men step over the line and commit crimes we aggressively prosecute and them and treat them with the shame and derision they deserve. But that doesn't happen often for, as Senator Schumer said, our military is the best behaved, most professional, and most respected in the world.

And that's why the US and Marine Corps flags will fly from my house this week and every week. God bless all who are far from home in harm's way this season. Let us never, never, never forget them.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

The Collar

I lean my hands on the bathroom counter and stare at my face reflected there. It bears the marks of nearly 50 years on this planet, most of which have been spent in ministry to the corners, the shadows, of this or that country. My face is that of an old soldier, one who has fought hundreds of battles with demons, one who fights his own battles with a less-than-perfect body, pain, cynicism and weariness.

I pack yet another bag for yet another trip. It might be to speak to a hyper-conservative church or a mushy liberal one. The church might be one of "our tribe" or it might lie outside the usual reach of our arms of fellowship. It might be to a school, college, or university. I might be speaking to the staff of a hospital, hospice, or group home. The people who wait for me might love me, or might be lying in ambush. Whatever, it means that I have to leave my home, kiss my wife -- the joy of my heart -- goodbye. I'll have to fight Detroit traffic for an hour and a half to get to the airport where I'll be treated like a suspect, made to take off my jacket, shoes, and belt, remove my laptop computer, be searched for gels and liquids, made to present my ID twice and my boarding pass four times so that I will be allowed the privilege of being crammed into an uncomfortable plane for a jolting ride that ends with me hoisting my gear on and around my body like a pack mule as I search for a rental car.

Each talk saps me, but not as much as the strain of being in such close contact with so many people. Ever the loner, I'd rather take a beating than "hang out" with people, but it is part of the kingdom work I've been called to do. Smile during the meal as your migraine sets off another IED behind your eyes. Keep up the conversation with your lungs scarred by sarcoidosis. Another hotel, another unfamiliar bed, another meal out of the snack machine down the hall. The people I meet are almost uniformly good, nice, open, and friendly but that only throws my own brokenness into starker relief.

After a whirlwind speaking tour that took me to six States and two countries in five weeks I arrived back to yet another stack of requests for speaking engagements. I packed again and rode the shuttle bus from the parking area to the airport and found myself stopping just outside the doors that led up to check-in. "Quit," I told myself, almost saying it aloud. "Stop. Just tell them you aren't doing this anymore. Tell them it costs too much wear and tear on your body. Tell them you want to be home with your son during his last few months in your house. Tell them you shake at night, that the weight of this obligation gnaws at you and turns your bones to water. Tell them you aren't able to speak for God, that you aren't qualified, that they need someone stronger, better, smarter... more righteous. Someone that doesn't mind this... this ordeal."

And then a poem came back to me as clear as the day I learned it as a teenager. George Herbert, an Anglican priest, seemed to me, even back then, as a kindred spirit. In 1633 he wrote this and named it "THE COLLAR." Read it all, especially the last verse.

I struck the board and cried NO MORE!
I will abroad.
What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure, there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it. There was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?

Not so, my heart, but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.

Away! Take heed, I will abroad.
Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.

But as I raved and grew more fierce and wilde,
At every word,
Methought I heard one calling "Child"
And I replied.... "My Lord."

So I proceeded, carrying my three bags and up the escalator, over to the counter, and began another day. I will say "yes" as long as I can, Father, but, please, come Lord Jesus.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Catch and Release?

I'll be back on the old blogging schedule soon. At present I am in Vero Beach, Florida finishing a three day seminar for that congregation. I must admit that it is exceptionally pleasant to sit on my hotel balcony overlooking the ocean as I read my books and write my lessons. It would be perfect if my wife were here. She is back home in Michigan in temps of 44 with cloud and rain. I don't share much about the glory of Florida with her on the phone. I want to stay married.

My father returned from Guyana safely. He and a friend baptized 16 people and strengthened a few congregations they have established over the years. Dad's health let him down a couple of times on this journey and he fears that, at 75, he might be done with jungles. I know that is a terrible thought for him to consider.

My mother is doing very well. Thank you for your prayers.

Now... to explain the title of this blog. I fear that our times of prayer for our brothers and sisters are too much like the "sport" of fishing (c'mon, how can it be a sport if you can gain weight and get drunk while doing it?) when the rules are "catch and release." Of course, we could collectively craft several columns on "catch and release" as it is practiced by our churches: get them into studies, make them lose the argument on baptism, dunk 'em, and forget 'em. But I want to address prayer this time around...

Two weeks ago on Wednesday we began a new policy on prayer. When I called up a man who is battling cancer, I asked for all to stand who would personally commit to him that they would pray for him every day until he was completely cancer-free. They would also be committing to stay in touch with him, exchangine phone numbers and emails, making contact. having lunch, etc. Several stood, then we all stood and prayed. Next were our elders. I asked for members to stand who would remember them in prayer -- by name -- daily. I told them that by standing they were making a covenant with the elders and with God; take it seriously. Once again, quite a few stood.

Thus passed the whole hour. Hundreds prayed, stood, and made contact -- personal, meaningful contact -- with those we lifted up in prayer. At the end of the evening I asked the congregation to line the walls of the Family Room (what we call the sanctuary) as we sang some hymns. I stood in the middle of the room and asked for all who had prayer needs to come to me. The elders joined me in greeting them and making personal pledges to stand with them in prayer. It was considered by most present to be the most powerful night they had spent in worship.

We're doing it again this week. I want to make sure we are not a catch and release congregation. The only way to do that is to make religion personal; to take seriously our covenant with God and each other.

Try it at your place.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Shall We Plant?

Should we plant more churches? Let's dispense with the obvious: Jesus is not optional and we want more people to worship him in spirit and in truth. That said, is church planting the answer? May I be forthright at the risk of being offensive? Perhaps we shouldn't plant churches that are just like the churches we have if those churches are not reaching their communities and the cultures that surround them. Your church may be small and struggling because it is faithful, but more likely it is small and struggling because it is not connecting with the culture that lives outside its building. Putting up another building won't help.

George Hunter III wrote about the difference between Celtic and Roman evangelistic efforts ("The Celtic Way of Evangelism"). The Romans built a building and preached a system. You could belong to that group only if you came to their building and bought into their system. You had, in short, to look like the Romans. The Celts moved into an area and, instead of building a chapel, looked for ways to serve the community. They protected travelers, provided health care, helped mend fences both physical and emotional, and worked their way into the hearts of the people so effectively that the people belonged to the community before they even believed.

Here is a quick question, the answer to which will help you determine whether you are a Celtic or Roman style church. Is your church a redeeming force or a sacred outpost? The Crusaders held territory but didn't change hearts. Is your church a crusading church or does it transform the hearts of the people in their culture? Our churches are called to be pivot points of a movement working to reform the cultures of the present day; to engage the people who ARE around us rather than the people we WISH were around us. We must be like the first century Jews who were admonished by Paul to sit in peace with the Gentiles.

Hold the line? Stay the course? Three thousand churches in the US close their doors each year (source: George Barna). While they wanted things to change, they were not willing to change. they held to their traditions and programs, answering questions the culture was no longer asking. We baptize a lot of people, but none of them are baptized because we won an argument with them about their church, their baptism, or their worship. They are baptized because people of this faith community engaged them, befriended them, served them, loved them, and cared for them until they found themselves part of the community; willing to do anything to belong to the Jesus that had found them. I don't preach against the denominations. I try to out love them, out serve them, out Jesus them so that anyone who watches can see the difference. It works.

Mark Driscoll (read "Reformission" and "Confessions of a Reformission Rev") says that the church is called to love the gospel, the culture, and the church but most churches only love two of the three. If we love the gospel and our culture but not the church, we form a parachurch organization that tries to connect people to Jesus without connecting them to each other. If we love our church and our culture but not the gospel we become a liberal, mainline denomination without power to change the world. If we love the church and the gospel but not the culture, we become isolated and our churches slowly die (it can take a century or two), prone to legalism and irrelevance. We have determined that Rochester will be a church that reaches up, reaches in, and reaches out. We will fulfill all three parts of our calling.

We are launching a multi-site in the spring of 2007. We have Soul Space reaching out to the Goths, pierced, tattooed, and addicted. We have every support group known to man using our building every week -- AA, Al-Anon, NA, NarcAnon, etc. We have missional orders -- groups of people with special callings or gifts sent out to reach people wherever they find them. One such group is a prayer group that we encourage to go door to door and ask -- in a non-threatening, sweet way -- if there is anything the people there would like for them to pray about. You would be shocked how many people say "yes" and then express a willingness to pray right then (we don't push that. We offer to put it on a list to pray about, but if we sense that they are open, we make the offer to pray immediately). We form small groups in every community and in every culture around us. While some in those small groups will never feel comfortable coming to Rochester, we consider them a church where they are and encourage them to grow up, out and in. And they do. We expect our small groups to "birth" within six months.

One of our young men used "The Passion of the Christ" as an opportunity to bring the gospel to his neighborhood. He purchased tickets for everyone in his area and personally delivered them to each home, asking them to see the movie and, if they felt comfortable with it, to visit with him about their impressions, positive or negative. We plan to have a congregation built out of his work, his patient foundation laying, in the near future.

When artists were locked out of their venues, we opened our building. Once a quarter we have an Emerging Artist night where bands can play (secular music. We ask them to keep it clean), poets can display their work, photographers and painters can place their work so that all can see and enjoy them, and those who love the theater can put on short plays for us. When the Rochester Symphony Orchestra was priced out of their venue, we offered them our building in which to practice and for a couple of concerts.

Hear that sound? Those are walls coming down. People who never considered Jesus now consider Rochester their home... and are becoming believers. People who would have shuddered at the thought of going into a church building are loved so much that they now come and go without fear. When there are incidences of domestic violence, fire, or other tragedy the Sheriff's Office calls us because they know our doors are open and we are ready to serve anyone, anywhere, anytime.

God's Helping Hands, our warehouse full of food and clothes, takes care of hundreds of people every month.

But what if the people are scary or smelly or weird? Remember Jonah. He was sent to reach Ninevah even though he didn't like those people. He was infuriated that they received the grace he was so happy to receive from the hand of God. The Jews understand this book. Each year they gather on the Day of Atonement, read this book, and declare, "We are Jonah." What if we had the heart towards the people around us that mirrored the heart of Jesus towards Jerusalem, and not that of Jonah towards Ninevah?

Shall we plant? Not if what we are already doing isn't working. Plant the gospel in the hearts of those around you -- especially in the cultures you have been avoiding -- and where it blooms into faith, THAT is the base of your church plant.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Once More Into The Breach...

Back from Wichita. Tomorrow morning I will preach our three services, have lunch with my darling wife, and then on to Canada. I will be taking one of the Rochester College students with me. He lives near Beamsville, Ontario (the site of the Great Lakes Lectureship). He'll pick up his car and drive home later. I am to deliver the keynote Sunday evening ("In No Other Name but Jesus") and then give a plenary lesson on Monday ("The Importance of Church Planting") before turning around and driving back to Michigan.

The trip to Wichita went well. The minister of the Westlink congregation, Gary Richardson, and his lovely wife, Susan, were wonderful hosts. The morning was spent giving the sermon and the class for that congregation as they renewed their mission pledge for the coming year. This medium sized congregation of about 250 seems -- to my eye -- to be primarily middle and lower-middle class but they contribute over $40,000 a year to missions. All of that money was pledged that Sunday morning, which they assure me had never been done before. In excess of $12,000 was given as a down payment on their pledges. God is at work at Westlink!

That evening was the area wide worship. We met on the campus of Wichita State University and basically filled the auditorium. I've received a couple of "thank you" emails but it was hard for me to know if I reached the main group or not. I hope I did some good for my brothers and sisters in Kansas.

When I get back from Canada on Monday evening I will have just one day at home -- long enough to vote! And then I am off to Indianapolis where I speak to one of the mega-churches there, Kingsway Christian Church. This will be my second time there and I am looking forward to it.

Back Thursday afternoon in time to be off again on Saturday for Florida for a three day meeting.
My mother is doing well and thanks all for their prayers. My father is still in Guyana, way up river and out of contact. On the way down there his airline, British West Indies Airways, was making its last trip... and just in time. His plane kept breaking and had to set down to be repaired... twice! He stayed on it even as others left in fear at the thought of crossing over water at night in an aging and unreliable plane. He was to arrive at 8PM but got in at 2:45AM. Two hours of sleep and he got up to catch a ride on a boat into the interior. Did I mention he is 75 and has all the usual health problems one attaches to that age group? Being raised by Dad was like being raised in an Indiana Jones movie... except that the credits never rolled...

Snow flurries here again today. Christmas music is now being played 24/7 on WNCI, one of our FM powerhouses in Detroit. Andy Williams is advertising Branson, Missouri on TV. It might be three weeks from Thanksgiving, but Christmas is in the air.

And that's fine with me.