A Good Man

I have a friend. He does many good things for many people. People say he is a good man. A very good man indeed. He works very hard, doing things for God. Yet he's never satisfied, never fulfilled. Always running. Seeking more. He's good -- good and tired. And there's always more to do. I suspect there always will be.

There are many people like my friend. They do good things for many people and for God. History is rich with such people. One such man was the one we know as the apostle Paul. He devoted his life to doing good things for God. In the process, he persecuted and killed many godly people. He did this in God's name and many people thought he was a good man. Then, one day, on his way to Damascus (to kill more Christians), he finally actually met God. God said to Paul that day, "If you think perhaps you're finally finished doing things for me, then it's time to let me do things through you." And the world was changed forever.

There's little doubt that Paul had a "type A" personality. Some say Paul's driven nature enabled him to change the world. I remain unconvinced. I believe instead that God worked through Paul to accomplish this grand mission, and it was only possible because Paul was willing to be used. His personality, his nature, his training and all of his qualifications were secondary.

Why do I think that? Well, for starters, because Paul said so himself, in stronger words than these. Beyond that, I also know this about Paul: immediately following Paul's dramatic conversion that fateful day, the Lord didn't immediately unleash him. Instead, He sent Paul off to his hometown of Tarsus. Not to work. To wait. Ten years. For ten years, as far as we know, Paul seemingly did nothing for God. God used that time to season Paul, and I suspect, given Paul's personality, it took every moment of that time to prepare him to be God's vessel. And when finally Paul was ready to stop trying to do things for God, God did amazing things through him.

It's not that Paul wasn't capable. He was exceptionally capable. But Paul himself pointed out that his capabilities really counted for nothing. My friend is like that: extremely capable. As for me, I'm kind of glad to say I'm no Paul, and I'm not like my friend. I am not "type A." Nobody would ever accuse me of being "driven." I certainly do not consider myself particularly capable of anything God might "need" me for. And it would seem, by the standards we tend to use, that I certainly am not qualified to plant churches. And yet, incredibly, God has called me to do just that.

Lots of people are wondering what exactly that will look like. Will I be able to use the methods all the well-qualified type-A church planters use to plant a church? Not a chance. Not because using methods are bad or wrong, but simply because that's not how God works through me, because He hasn't made me that way. And, amazingly, I cannot please God or glorify Him unless I am the man He has crafted me to be. As the song says, "I gotta be me." But not for my own pleasure or comfort, but entirely for His delight.

As I have thought about it (and oh, I've spent plenty of time thinking about it), the only method of planting a church that makes sense for me is this one: "Unless God builds the house, the people labor in vain." Sounds pretty catchy to me. I'm going to give that one a try.

So what will I do? I'll obey God. I'll watch for Him. I'll wait for Him. I'll abide in Him. I'll move when He tells me to. I'll let Him use me, however He sees fit. I will take on whatever role or moniker that pleases Him: be that "minister", "missionary", "Christian businessman", "pastor", "janitor", or "bum". And I will do everything I can not to try to do things for God. I expect it to be difficult. I expect to work hard, strictly according to God's agenda. And, as the Lord sees fit, He will plant a church through me. In the meantime, and throughout the journey, my only expectation is that it won't look to anyone like I'm planting a church at all. Rather, the church I like to call Church of the Renaissance will simply emerge, in God's perfect timing, in His supreme power, as the simple result of "doing life" together with the people God puts in my path.

After all this, what will people think of me? Well, if I do things right, not much. They won't point to me or anything I've done and say, "Look at all the good things he did for us." Rather, they will say, "See how much God has done." And who could ask for anything more than that?

I love my friend. I respect him immensely. He is a hard-working man. And that is something to be admired. Paul never stopped working hard. My friend needs a dramatic experience -- a Damascus Road moment -- in his life, so that he will surrender himself to God. For me, this part was easy, because my weaknesses are so obvious. But that is not so for him. My prayer for my friend (because I love him), is that God will grab hold of him soon, so that he can get out of the way and let God work through him. After the dust settles, will he work less hard? I doubt it. But I suspect that he will find the fulfillment that eludes him now, and he will be content that everything God wants to accomplish through him is being done. He will have peace. And rest. And he will find his true identity. Indeed, he will be richly blessed.

Coronado's Happy Ending

I've always been troubled by the book of Ruth. It's the story of woman named Naomi who loses everything and everyone (her husband, her sons, her home), except her daughter-in-law, Ruth. By the end of the book we see Naomi in the home of Ruth and her new husband Boaz, rocking her little grandson. And the Hebrews who first heard the story were like, "Ah! Peace! Redemption! Restoration!" I, with my American mindset, have always felt a little guilty, because it seems like Naomi got a raw deal. After all, she did still lose her husband and sons. How can there be a happy ending with so much tragedy?

I know someone else who knows a little something about a raw deal. His name is Francisco Coronado, and he was the explorer of the American Southwest, as well as the man who put in place the first missionary to the Zuni Indians. He was a man of integrity, a man of faith, and a fine leader. And he got a raw deal.

I was thinking about him today as I was reading the review of the latest "National Treasure" movie on Plugged In. (I really want to see this movie!) Part of the story line deals with the legendary cities of gold, including Cibola. Cibola was what Coronado was seeking when he left Mexico City on his expedition in 1540. We've been studying Coronado in school, and just finished the bittersweet story of his life this week.

Coronado made a 3-year exploration of the Southwest, traveling through modern-day Mexico, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. He fought only when he needed to, and won every battle he was in. He lost almost no men of the more than 1,000 he commanded. He was well-respected by his men, and the Indians, all of whom he treated kindly. At the end of 3 years, his men signed a petition to go home, and he assented. On the march home, they passed many settlements, and he allowed his men if they wished to stay behind to build new lives. As they approached Mexico City, he told his men to enter the city a few at a time. He didn't want them to return as heroes because he believed they'd failed. After all, they had only claimed more land for Spain than any expedition ever, converted thousands of Indians to Christianity, and created an atmosphere of goodwill with the tribes so as to open the area for settlement. That sounds a lot like failure!

Coronado even feared returning to his own home. His wife, Beatriz, had financed a large part of the expedition (with Coronado's best friend, Mendoza). He was afraid she might not want to see him again because he'd lost all her investment. Her response to his return was a great celebration and prayers of thanksgiving for his return. (He had been critically wounded just a few months before when he was kicked in the head by a horse, and nearly died.) When he confessed his failings to his friend Mendoza, he told him, "How could you find gold if there was none to be found?"

Coronado's life story echoes Naomi's for me. Where's the happy ending? I think a large part of the problem with happy endings is our own definition of them. We are quick to say, "Well, God's ways are not man's ways..." all the while holding on to our own secret dreams and aspirations. What does success look like when defined by God? Many years ago, Eugene Peterson coined a phrase that is sort of my personal mission statement, "A long obedience in the same direction." Is that (or something like it) closer to God's definition of success?

We have spent a year in the hills of Appalachia, pursuing a dream that God planted in our hearts. And from the get-go things have been everything but what we planned. A year down the road finds us someplace we'd never thought we'd be - struggling to put food on the table, worshipping in other churches, and living a quiet, often lonely life. But it also finds us enmeshed in our community, experiencing the life that our neighbors live, and sharing the hope and the future that we have. We find ourselves uniting the pastors and congregations of this area toward a common goal, and ministering to children and college students in ways we couldn't have imagined.

No, we're not ministering the way we'd planned. This is way better.

And I feel incredibly successful.