Dear Brothers and Sisters (there are no more In-Betweens),
You can see pictures of Jesus in a lot of places. Sometimes He's a light-skinned, bearded guy with a brilliant aura in the background. Sometimes He's a dark-skinned guy... not that often, but I've seen it. Sometimes, He's Jim Caviezel covered in blood.
Sometimes, He's pictured walking on the water, sometimes on the cross, sometimes in front of the empty tomb. Sometimes He's healing a blind man, or a leper, or He's feeding the 5,000.
I don't know what Jesus looked like. Having spent a lot of time amongst Middle-Eastern men, I can form a vague image in my mind. But, it's vague. I'm pretty sure that He was bearded, fairly dark-skinned and dark-haired. He was probably pretty short. As the son of a carpenter (or stone mason, depending on what you've read), I imagine that His hands were calloused, and His arms, shoulders and back were well-muscled. I don't know if He was handsome or unpleasant looking. I don't know what kind of clothes He wore.
I think He probably had a pretty good laugh, and an infectious smile. I think He had a look that, when He gave it to you, you knew that you were in the presence of someone who loved you.
I think about this sometimes, because I don't just think that I've been called to follow Jesus in my every day life. I think that I've been called to BE Jesus to the people that I encounter, because no one really knows what He looked like.
A thousand Christian denominations try to define Him, and ten thousand Christian churches and pastors will try to paint a picture of Him week after week. I'm not writing this to argue with any particular denomination, church or pastor. I'm writing this, because I've been called to be Jesus to the people around me. I've been entrusted with presenting His face to the world, along with every other person who has accepted the call to discipleship, and so I'm taking some time to think and write about what that means to me.
Being Jesus means that I feed the hungry.
Being Jesus means that I pray for and minister to the sick.
Being Jesus means that I touch the ones that society - and sometimes the church - have declared "untouchable."
Being Jesus means that I eat in the homes of the most despised of society.
Being Jesus means that I sometimes have to stand in the presence of powerful and dangerous men, and speak with authority about their misuse of power.
Being Jesus means that I might have to flip the tables of the money-changers, and crack a whip at them, to keep them from misusing the poor and dispossessed.
Being Jesus means that I kneel in the dirt next to a person who has been condemned and cast out, and show her forgiveness and acceptance and freedom.
Being Jesus means that I sometimes have to stand at the grave of a friend and weep.
Being Jesus means that I sometimes have to stand at the edge of a city, and weep for the brokenheartedness of its inhabitants.
Being Jesus means that I must welcome the "least of these" into the Kingdom.
It means that I honor the servant, not the master.
It means that I stand at the side of the oppressed, not the oppressor.
It means that I cry out to God in my own Gethsemane, standing in the gap for my friends while they fall asleep.
It means that I reject my sense of self so strongly, that I allow it to get nailed to a cross.
It means that I live in New Life, and it means that I can show others the Way to New Life.
What does being Jesus mean to you? Is it a belief system, or is it New Life?
My love to you, wherever you are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Standing in the gap for you
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
God On The Ledge
Dear Brothers, Sisters, and All Those In Between,
Most days, I wake up in the morning with a vague feeling of hopelessness, a sense that I and the people around me would be better off if I was dead. That's not a cry for help, it's the truth. I accept that this feeling is a part of who I am at this stage of my life. I wish it was not so. I wish that I could wake up every morning and experience the true joie de vivre that I know a lot of people do - and I do have moments of joy that pierce through the haze. Some days, weeks and months are a lot better than others; some are much worse.
I occasionally reach the point where I graduate from feeling that "it would be better if I was dead" to feeling that "I really want to die." But, even on those days when I feel that way, I accept that this is just part of my experience. I know that the feelings will pass, and I just try to find something that distracts me from it before it gets any worse.
Some days, it gets worse. Some days, it feels like I'm standing right on the ledge, looking down.
Friday morning, I woke up with the vague sense of hopelessness - I was looking at the ledge, but I was still a ways off from it.
Yesterday morning, I walked a bit closer to the ledge. I really wanted to die, just to make the ugly, out-of-control feelings of despair stop.
This morning, after a brief stint of anger, I shut myself in the closet - literally. I sat in the dark, alone, and thought about how I might end my life.
I was afraid to leave that space, that darkness. I don't know if this is the same for others who have a history of suicidal thoughts/intentions/attempts; I don't know if, once you've been all the way out on the ledge, you're always only a few steps away. I know that it is this way for me.
My Accuser was out there with me this morning. He spoke with my voice, using words that I have used.
You fail as a father.
You fail as a husband.
You failed as a soldier.
You fail as a Christian.
You cannot stop failing. You don't even have the courage to end your life. Instead, you sit here inside a closet, hiding from the people around you. Trying to hide from yourself. Trying to hide from the enormity of your own failure.
Just do it. Find a knife. Use the pills. Have the courage to act, instead of just hiding in the closet and thinking about it.
Don't be a failure in this too.
It's amazing how often the spiritual Enemy sounds just like myself. We look so often to the world outside for a glimpse of the one called Satan, the Accuser... when I am my worst Accuser, my own mind is often my worst Enemy.
Whoever the Accuser is, he was out there on the ledge with me this morning.
I am able to write this - only hours later - because my Savior was out there too.
There's a chapter in the Old Testament, wedged into the longest of the books. It's familiar to anyone who knows the Bible, and has been near the ledge. It's the cry of a Psalmist's heart, and it has become the cry of mine on far too many occasions.
I imagine Jesus on those days when I am still a few steps away from the ledge, with His hand on my shoulder. He is reminding me that the ledge is in front of me, but He is right behind me.
I imagine Him on those days when I have walked close enough to see the edge. He is holding my hand. I might be close to the ledge, but He is right beside me.
This morning, as I stood on the ledge looking over, I felt His arms around me. When I am intentional in my desire to die, when I am consumed by feelings of failure and despair, He is no longer content to remind me of His presence. He embraces me, He holds me, I can no longer ignore Him. It is difficult to be consumed by fear and despair when you are embraced by Love and Grace.
And He whispers in my ear:
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
I need an easy yoke sometimes. I need a light burden. I need rest for my soul.
I wish I could tell you that this thing is easy. I wish I could tell you that following Jesus means an end to your pain, an end to your suffering. I wish that I could tell you that you will never see that ledge again.
I can't do that. All that I can tell you is that, without Jesus, all that I have ever found in the darkness is my own despair: a despair powerful enough to drown out the love and concern of multitudes of friends and family.
With Him - and with the continued love and concern of those friends and family - I cannot face the darkness alone. Love is always there - love that is Divine, Everlasting, Unconditional and Present. It is a Love that will not give up, a Love that refuses to let me hide from it. It is a Love that pierces through the doubt and the despair, and shines a light on the hope of a better tomorrow.
If you are reading this, I want you to know this Love. This is why I write: because in spite of my doubts, my despair, my desire to stop existing, Love has embraced me. It has pulled me back from the ledge.
Even now, I feel His arms around me. He still whispers in my ear. I hope that He never lets go.
His Love to You, Wherever You Are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Most days, I wake up in the morning with a vague feeling of hopelessness, a sense that I and the people around me would be better off if I was dead. That's not a cry for help, it's the truth. I accept that this feeling is a part of who I am at this stage of my life. I wish it was not so. I wish that I could wake up every morning and experience the true joie de vivre that I know a lot of people do - and I do have moments of joy that pierce through the haze. Some days, weeks and months are a lot better than others; some are much worse.
I occasionally reach the point where I graduate from feeling that "it would be better if I was dead" to feeling that "I really want to die." But, even on those days when I feel that way, I accept that this is just part of my experience. I know that the feelings will pass, and I just try to find something that distracts me from it before it gets any worse.
Some days, it gets worse. Some days, it feels like I'm standing right on the ledge, looking down.
Friday morning, I woke up with the vague sense of hopelessness - I was looking at the ledge, but I was still a ways off from it.
Yesterday morning, I walked a bit closer to the ledge. I really wanted to die, just to make the ugly, out-of-control feelings of despair stop.
This morning, after a brief stint of anger, I shut myself in the closet - literally. I sat in the dark, alone, and thought about how I might end my life.
I was afraid to leave that space, that darkness. I don't know if this is the same for others who have a history of suicidal thoughts/intentions/attempts; I don't know if, once you've been all the way out on the ledge, you're always only a few steps away. I know that it is this way for me.
My Accuser was out there with me this morning. He spoke with my voice, using words that I have used.
You fail as a father.
You fail as a husband.
You failed as a soldier.
You fail as a Christian.
You cannot stop failing. You don't even have the courage to end your life. Instead, you sit here inside a closet, hiding from the people around you. Trying to hide from yourself. Trying to hide from the enormity of your own failure.
Just do it. Find a knife. Use the pills. Have the courage to act, instead of just hiding in the closet and thinking about it.
Don't be a failure in this too.
It's amazing how often the spiritual Enemy sounds just like myself. We look so often to the world outside for a glimpse of the one called Satan, the Accuser... when I am my worst Accuser, my own mind is often my worst Enemy.
Whoever the Accuser is, he was out there on the ledge with me this morning.
I am able to write this - only hours later - because my Savior was out there too.
There's a chapter in the Old Testament, wedged into the longest of the books. It's familiar to anyone who knows the Bible, and has been near the ledge. It's the cry of a Psalmist's heart, and it has become the cry of mine on far too many occasions.
1 You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
4 Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
5 You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
and you know me.
2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
4 Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
5 You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
17 How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
17 How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
I imagine Jesus on those days when I am still a few steps away from the ledge, with His hand on my shoulder. He is reminding me that the ledge is in front of me, but He is right behind me.
I imagine Him on those days when I have walked close enough to see the edge. He is holding my hand. I might be close to the ledge, but He is right beside me.
This morning, as I stood on the ledge looking over, I felt His arms around me. When I am intentional in my desire to die, when I am consumed by feelings of failure and despair, He is no longer content to remind me of His presence. He embraces me, He holds me, I can no longer ignore Him. It is difficult to be consumed by fear and despair when you are embraced by Love and Grace.
And He whispers in my ear:
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
I need an easy yoke sometimes. I need a light burden. I need rest for my soul.
I wish I could tell you that this thing is easy. I wish I could tell you that following Jesus means an end to your pain, an end to your suffering. I wish that I could tell you that you will never see that ledge again.
I can't do that. All that I can tell you is that, without Jesus, all that I have ever found in the darkness is my own despair: a despair powerful enough to drown out the love and concern of multitudes of friends and family.
With Him - and with the continued love and concern of those friends and family - I cannot face the darkness alone. Love is always there - love that is Divine, Everlasting, Unconditional and Present. It is a Love that will not give up, a Love that refuses to let me hide from it. It is a Love that pierces through the doubt and the despair, and shines a light on the hope of a better tomorrow.
If you are reading this, I want you to know this Love. This is why I write: because in spite of my doubts, my despair, my desire to stop existing, Love has embraced me. It has pulled me back from the ledge.
Even now, I feel His arms around me. He still whispers in my ear. I hope that He never lets go.
His Love to You, Wherever You Are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Sunday, June 16, 2013
In Defense of Doubt
Dear Brothers, Sisters and all those in between,
I'm reading through the few blog posts that I've written, and I realize that I've made most of them sound like sermons. Today, I think I'd rather just ruminate a little.
I've had a tough week, with a great many doubts running through my head. I've been thinking really hard about my future, now that I'm allowed to chart my own course, and I feel a strong call towards full-time ministry. I don't know what shape that ministry will take, but I have watched as all the things I thought I wanted to do with my life and career have ceased to be interesting or important to me. As I told my pastor, I want to have my heart broken for hurting people, I want to be driven to my knees with the need to pray for the hopeless and the helpless, I want to have callouses on my hands from working on behalf of the homeless and the hungry. And I want to do it all in the name of Jesus, so that others will know the depth of His love and compassion.
But I have struggled with so many doubts, and I'm tired of struggling. So, I've decided to rejoice in my doubts.
We have this idea in Christianity that doubt is the enemy of faith, and I have wrestled with that idea all week.
"I need to stop doubting and trust God."
"I can't be a Christian and have all these doubts."
These thoughts were destructive to my spirit, and they were born of the idea that Certainty = Correctness. If someone is absolutely confident in a belief or an idea, then they must be correct. Right?
I'll give you a minute to chuckle.
What's funny is that I never operated under this assumption in the military. Sure, as a young Private, I may have trusted every blowhard that came my way... but after a few transformational experiences, I learned to add a healthy dose of doubt to my interactions. I didn't start to believe in the certainty/correctness principle until I came back to the church.
(Now, let me throw in a caveat: I don't believe that every person who is confident in their beliefs is necessarily an idiot or a liar. Some people have that surety, that conviction, after years of examining their faith. Bear with me, as I try to throw out the bathwater and KEEP the baby.)
Maybe I can both doubt and trust God... in fact, maybe that's a part of what faith is: trusting God in the midst of my doubts. Perhaps, I don't have all the answers, and the answers that I have are imperfect. But, I trust that I am always being led to a better understanding. to a more perfect communion with God.
When Jesus appeared to His disciples in the Gospel of John, Thomas wasn't around. They tried to tell him about it later, but Thomas said that he would not believe unless he could see the holes in Jesus' hands and feet.
So, in true Jesus fashion, the Lord shows up.
And he doesn't condemn Thomas. He tells him to stop doubting, and He blesses those who can believe without seeing. But, He gives Thomas what he needs to believe. (Thomas did end up believing.)
Maybe I'm stretching this story to prove my point - it wouldn't be the first time in the history of Christianity. But, I believe that Thomas had a really reasonable reaction to being told that a guy that he had watched die was now alive. No matter that Jesus had told him that He would rise again; Thomas had probably assumed, like most reasonable people, that Jesus was speaking figuratively.
A lot of Christians that I know really dislike atheists. In contrast, I have made a lot of friends who are atheists over the years; contrary to popular belief, there are many atheists in foxholes. Some of my Christian friends think that it's foolish to talk to atheists about faith. "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God'." That's what gets quoted at me.
And it makes me feel like crap.
Here's the thing: we live in a world that is, at once, bigger and smaller than our ancestors could have ever imagined. We don't just know that the Earth isn't the center of the universe; we know that the Earth is just a speck on the galactic map. We don't just understand how our bodies work in a more complete way than our ancestors; we know how the individual cells in our bodies behave. I know people who will dedicate their entire lives to trying to understand life through physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy - and they will die having gained only a fraction of the knowledge that is available.
How can I look at that person and, because they don't believe in God, say, "You're an idiot."?
We have more access to information than we ever have before. We have the sum of human knowledge at our fingertips. We can talk to people in other countries, in other cultures, as if they're in the same room as we are.
My point is this: when you tell someone in this day and age that the key to their salvation is believing that the Son of God died and rose from the dead, skepticism is a perfectly reasonable response.
Do I think that atheism is a good way to live? No, because I've found a fulfillment in Christ that I could never have found outside of Him. Do I think that the logical person can find a way to believe in God? Absolutely. There's an entire branch of religious study, called apologetics, that attempts to do just that. But I think that atheists are serving a really important purpose in the church, even though I'm certain that they're not meaning to.
Atheists are making us face our doubts. They're making us question what we believe, to validate what we've been certain of for two thousand years. That "Old Time Religion" may have been good enough for the Prophet Daniel, and good enough for you, but it's not good enough for them. Should we change our essential beliefs, turn into pluralists, hem and haw around the Truth? Absolutely not. Should we examine what we teach and how we teach it? Should we appreciate the skepticism - even respect the doubts of intelligent, thoughtful and conscientious atheists and agnostics? YES PLEASE.
While that's pretty important stuff, there is something that I find more important: embracing and encouraging the doubters inside the church. That guy next to you in service, the one who is really into the worship? He's not sure that the Bible is true. The lady that teaches your 7-year-old's Sunday School? She doubts that God cares about her struggles. The pastor who has been ministering to your church for 20 years? He sometimes wonders if he has wasted his life.
We should be okay with that. We should be able to talk to each other about our doubts, without feeling that we're all one step away from the precipice of eternal damnation. Because Jesus didn't hit Thomas in the face or cast him out of fellowship - He showed Thomas the holes in His hands and feet. He gave Thomas what He needed to believe.
I cannot validate this next statement scientifically, scripturally or theologically. I can only speak from my own experience when I say that doubt does not lead to unbelief. Doubt leads to hope. And I know that faith is the substance of the things that I hope for, and also the evidence of the things that I cannot see.
So, I'm no longer getting my spiritual panties into a twist about doubt. I'm embracing it. I'm sharing it. And I'm waiting on the day when all of my doubts become hopes, and all of my sorrows become joys. In the Name of the One who is still willing to show the holes in his hands, feet and side, I hope, for your sake, that one day you will look at what He's trying to show you.
All my love to you, wherever you are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved by Grace
Full of Doubts
But Walking in Faith
I'm reading through the few blog posts that I've written, and I realize that I've made most of them sound like sermons. Today, I think I'd rather just ruminate a little.
I've had a tough week, with a great many doubts running through my head. I've been thinking really hard about my future, now that I'm allowed to chart my own course, and I feel a strong call towards full-time ministry. I don't know what shape that ministry will take, but I have watched as all the things I thought I wanted to do with my life and career have ceased to be interesting or important to me. As I told my pastor, I want to have my heart broken for hurting people, I want to be driven to my knees with the need to pray for the hopeless and the helpless, I want to have callouses on my hands from working on behalf of the homeless and the hungry. And I want to do it all in the name of Jesus, so that others will know the depth of His love and compassion.
But I have struggled with so many doubts, and I'm tired of struggling. So, I've decided to rejoice in my doubts.
We have this idea in Christianity that doubt is the enemy of faith, and I have wrestled with that idea all week.
"I need to stop doubting and trust God."
"I can't be a Christian and have all these doubts."
These thoughts were destructive to my spirit, and they were born of the idea that Certainty = Correctness. If someone is absolutely confident in a belief or an idea, then they must be correct. Right?
I'll give you a minute to chuckle.
What's funny is that I never operated under this assumption in the military. Sure, as a young Private, I may have trusted every blowhard that came my way... but after a few transformational experiences, I learned to add a healthy dose of doubt to my interactions. I didn't start to believe in the certainty/correctness principle until I came back to the church.
(Now, let me throw in a caveat: I don't believe that every person who is confident in their beliefs is necessarily an idiot or a liar. Some people have that surety, that conviction, after years of examining their faith. Bear with me, as I try to throw out the bathwater and KEEP the baby.)
Maybe I can both doubt and trust God... in fact, maybe that's a part of what faith is: trusting God in the midst of my doubts. Perhaps, I don't have all the answers, and the answers that I have are imperfect. But, I trust that I am always being led to a better understanding. to a more perfect communion with God.
When Jesus appeared to His disciples in the Gospel of John, Thomas wasn't around. They tried to tell him about it later, but Thomas said that he would not believe unless he could see the holes in Jesus' hands and feet.
So, in true Jesus fashion, the Lord shows up.
And he doesn't condemn Thomas. He tells him to stop doubting, and He blesses those who can believe without seeing. But, He gives Thomas what he needs to believe. (Thomas did end up believing.)
Maybe I'm stretching this story to prove my point - it wouldn't be the first time in the history of Christianity. But, I believe that Thomas had a really reasonable reaction to being told that a guy that he had watched die was now alive. No matter that Jesus had told him that He would rise again; Thomas had probably assumed, like most reasonable people, that Jesus was speaking figuratively.
A lot of Christians that I know really dislike atheists. In contrast, I have made a lot of friends who are atheists over the years; contrary to popular belief, there are many atheists in foxholes. Some of my Christian friends think that it's foolish to talk to atheists about faith. "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God'." That's what gets quoted at me.
And it makes me feel like crap.
Here's the thing: we live in a world that is, at once, bigger and smaller than our ancestors could have ever imagined. We don't just know that the Earth isn't the center of the universe; we know that the Earth is just a speck on the galactic map. We don't just understand how our bodies work in a more complete way than our ancestors; we know how the individual cells in our bodies behave. I know people who will dedicate their entire lives to trying to understand life through physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy - and they will die having gained only a fraction of the knowledge that is available.
How can I look at that person and, because they don't believe in God, say, "You're an idiot."?
We have more access to information than we ever have before. We have the sum of human knowledge at our fingertips. We can talk to people in other countries, in other cultures, as if they're in the same room as we are.
My point is this: when you tell someone in this day and age that the key to their salvation is believing that the Son of God died and rose from the dead, skepticism is a perfectly reasonable response.
Do I think that atheism is a good way to live? No, because I've found a fulfillment in Christ that I could never have found outside of Him. Do I think that the logical person can find a way to believe in God? Absolutely. There's an entire branch of religious study, called apologetics, that attempts to do just that. But I think that atheists are serving a really important purpose in the church, even though I'm certain that they're not meaning to.
Atheists are making us face our doubts. They're making us question what we believe, to validate what we've been certain of for two thousand years. That "Old Time Religion" may have been good enough for the Prophet Daniel, and good enough for you, but it's not good enough for them. Should we change our essential beliefs, turn into pluralists, hem and haw around the Truth? Absolutely not. Should we examine what we teach and how we teach it? Should we appreciate the skepticism - even respect the doubts of intelligent, thoughtful and conscientious atheists and agnostics? YES PLEASE.
While that's pretty important stuff, there is something that I find more important: embracing and encouraging the doubters inside the church. That guy next to you in service, the one who is really into the worship? He's not sure that the Bible is true. The lady that teaches your 7-year-old's Sunday School? She doubts that God cares about her struggles. The pastor who has been ministering to your church for 20 years? He sometimes wonders if he has wasted his life.
We should be okay with that. We should be able to talk to each other about our doubts, without feeling that we're all one step away from the precipice of eternal damnation. Because Jesus didn't hit Thomas in the face or cast him out of fellowship - He showed Thomas the holes in His hands and feet. He gave Thomas what He needed to believe.
I cannot validate this next statement scientifically, scripturally or theologically. I can only speak from my own experience when I say that doubt does not lead to unbelief. Doubt leads to hope. And I know that faith is the substance of the things that I hope for, and also the evidence of the things that I cannot see.
So, I'm no longer getting my spiritual panties into a twist about doubt. I'm embracing it. I'm sharing it. And I'm waiting on the day when all of my doubts become hopes, and all of my sorrows become joys. In the Name of the One who is still willing to show the holes in his hands, feet and side, I hope, for your sake, that one day you will look at what He's trying to show you.
All my love to you, wherever you are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved by Grace
Full of Doubts
But Walking in Faith
Saturday, June 8, 2013
God's Halfway House
Dear Brothers, Sisters and All Those In Between,
I am going to start by telling you about the most evil thing that I have ever done.
I was a young medic in Iraq, and I was most of the way through my first tour of duty there. I was the Medic on Duty at our small Forward Aid Station, and I was called into our "Holding Area" because one of our detainees (prisoners) was ill. I walked into the room, in which we were currently holding a large number of detainees on suspicion of killing one of our soldiers. The mood was decidedly angry amongst the soldiers guarding the detainees, and I shared it. One of these men - or several of these men - had conspired and killed one of our friends. We hated whoever that was, and so we hated all of them.
Back to my sick detainee. I learned, through an interpreter, that this man was a diabetic, and he had been without insulin for well over 24 hours. He had begun having mild seizures. He had lost control of his bowels and bladder. He had vomited all over himself. He was an older man, probably in his 50s or 60s, and it was unlikely that he had been responsible for the shooting of my friend. He was just a sick man, a man who would die if left untreated. He smelled, he was dirty, but he was dying, and I was asked to bring him healing.
I walked away.
Now, I can imagine what some of you are thinking. "Did he just publicly confess to criminal negligence and war crimes?" There's more to the story, and, fortunately for he and I both, someone grew a conscience and informed his medical superior about the issue - after agonizing over it for much longer than I should have. But, that's not the point of the story. The core of it is that when I was faced with someone sick, hurting, broken, frightened - someone who was as far outside of my identity group as anyone could be - when my empathy was tested at its limit, I failed. I walked away.
I have agonized over that act for years. The sin has become so intrinsic to my pscyhe that my mind has created two separate versions of the event: in one version, I walk away and ignore the man's suffering, but later realize my error and report his condition to the Doctor. The man is taken care of and released, all is well.
In the second version of the event, I walk away and the man dies. No one blames me for my indifference. He was, after all, one of THEM. He was dirty, he was smelly, he was probably a terrorist - or at least a sympathizer. Who could blame someone for not wanting to dirty his hands with the blood and bile of that kind of man?
I'll tell you who could blame someone: me. I could blame someone.
And I did, and I have. For years, I could not convince myself of the first version of the event. I constantly had nightmares and flashbacks of that moment when I turned my back on an old, dying man and walked away. That one event, that one moment of intentional indifference, has defined my life for nearly seven years.
Christians do this all the time.
When I was a kid of about 12, I attended a church that was very wealthy. The congregation wasn't necessarily wealthy, but the church had accumulated quite a bit of wealth - and the Pastor was very well paid - as a result of an aggressive campaign of "tithing" messages. If you were a member of this church, you had bought into this idea that you would be blessed if you helped the church raise a million dollars.
The memory I have is of a Sunday morning. I was sitting in service with my parents, and the pastor brought up this homeless person - I believe it was a young woman, though I can't be sure. The person was dressed in very ragged and dirty clothing, obviously hadn't had a shower in a while, probably no hot meals for a time. The pastor allowed this person to make their plea to the congregation, and then he/she was diplomatically escorted out of the building.
This person had come to our church, because they were in need. Life had not turned out the way that they wanted it to, and so they came to the one place where they thought that they would not be judged, where people would see their need instead of the perceived poor decision making process that led to the need.
All that he/she received was 2 minutes on a microphone, in a beautiful auditorium, while he/she had to bear the uncomfortable, and sometimes hostile, glances of a church congregation that just didn't want to hear.
We have a problem with indifference.
The Church of Peter
Simon is my favorite of all the original Disciples of Jesus. The first thing that I like about him is that he was a fisherman - his hands were undoubtedly dirty, he probably stank, and his language and appearance were probably rather "salty". He wasn't religious material, on the whole. The Gospels record him as being Jesus' most eager disciple, while also being the most thick-headed.
In a great story about both Jesus and Simon, Jesus is asking His disciples what people are saying about him. The guys are passing on the rumors: Jesus is Elijah, He's John the Baptist, etc.
Then Jesus says, "What about you? Who do you say that I am?"
Simon looks at Him and says, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God."
And then, Jesus looks at Simon. I can only imagine His expression. Jesus says, "Simon, I call you Cephas (Peter, or Rock) and on this Rock I will build my church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it."
I'm pretty sure that Jesus knew, even then, the kind of person that He was charging with founding His church. Simon Peter has already displayed a singular lack of attention to detail. He irreligious, he's smelly, his hands are dirty. During the trial and crucifixion of Jesus, Peter will deny ever knowing Him, for the sake of his own life. Peter is a broken man. Jesus knows this, and He knows that Peter is going to get worse far more quickly than he is going to get better.
And yet, He makes a strong statement of confidence in Simon. He even gives Him a new name.
We are the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Peter, who jumped out of the boat, but didn't have the faith to walk on the water with Jesus. Peter, who swore to follow Jesus all the way to the cross, and then denied Him 3 times to save his life.
Peter, who wept bitterly when he realized what he had done. Peter, who was the first to acknowledge his friend Jesus as something more than just a wise teacher. Peter, who promised Jesus on the shore to bring the love of God to all of His lambs. Peter, who did follow Jesus to the cross - even though it was years later.
Peter the Broken.
Peter the Denier.
Peter the Faithful.
Peter the Redeemed.
When we look at ourselves as a church, what do we see? Are we a collection of suits and dresses, in a very nice building, looking out at the world? Or is the world in the church with us, sitting beside us, being comforted by us?
We are meant to be the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Jesus gave Peter an extraordinary amount of Grace and Love, and He only asked Peter to pass it on to His lambs.
What do we do with the Grace that God has given us? Do we find someone else who needs that Grace as much as we do, and show it to them? Or do we dress up our Grace and call it Righteousness? Do we let the homeless person speak and beg for money from the followers of Christ, and then turn them out when they get no response? Or do we sit that homeless person down, and invite them to hear about Jesus while we get them something to eat and drink?
Do we look at the broken and hurting of this world and see Them? Or do we see Us?
But, for the Grace of God
I asked a question on a Facebook post recently. The post was about "dress codes", whether official or unofficial, in church. There are many opinions on this topic, and most of them have a legitimate foundation in something good. The question I asked was as follows:
"If a prostitute walked into your church on Sunday morning, still dressed in the same clothes that she was hooking in on Saturday night, what would you do? Would you tell her to clean up and come back? Or would you welcome her (or him, really) in to the Grace of God and the community of believers?"
Sometimes, we forget that we were all prostitutes at one point. Prostitutes and pimps, tax collectors, pornographers, abusers, addicts, adulterers, cheats and thieves. We were all of those things, even if some of the specifics didn't apply. We all had a symptom of our brokenness, whether it was out in the open or we hid it well.
I've told you about my brokenness, but I still reflect on it daily. I never thought that I could be forgiven for my hatred, my indifference, for the murder that I had committed with my heart, even if I hadn't committed it with my hands. I was sick in my brain and in my spirit, hopeless and hating myself.
When I found Jesus, I didn't find Him by cleaning myself up and trying to be righteous. I didn't find Him because of some really excellent religious folks. I found Him because I found a community of people who were as broken as I was, who were relying on Grace to prop them up, and who really felt that their only calling was to share the Grace and Love that they had received. And that was transformational.
Jesus set us free from our addictions, from our hurts, from the burden of our sins and from our brokenness. Whom the Son has set free, is free indeed. He set us free with Love, and He commands that we love others. He set us free with Grace, and He commands us to be gracious to others. He even gave us an example of what His church would look like in Simon Peter: broken, unsteady, but clinging faithfully to a Savior, to the Christ, to the community that Christ had gathered around Him. We need to find that community again.
Jesus In Our Midst
I was talking with my pastor and youth pastor the other day. They are both good friends of mine, and while our conversation wandered a lot (80s movies was one of our random musings), we talked mostly about Jesus. And I started thinking about Jesus and community, and what it all meant.
After Jesus died, the disciples were in hiding. They had heard Him say that He would rise again, but they weren't sure if they could believe it. They had even heard some other people say that they had seen Jesus, but the disciples still weren't convinced.
So, there they are. They're broken, they're leaderless, they've lost all hope. They've just watched the object of their devotion killed in the most brutal way imaginable, and they don't quite have the faith to believe that there's more to this story.
So, they start talking about Jesus. This group of dirty, scared, broken men start to talk about the one that they love, and who loved them. I'm sure that they are swapping stories. Because I've been in a community where people have died, I'm also sure that there were tears - as well as laughter. There might be wine, because wine is appropriate for these sorts of occasions.
So, there they all are - Jesus' motley band of fisherman, tax collectors, lawyers and other undesirable people - getting drunk and talking about Jesus, crying and carrying on. They are living in community. And the craziest thing happens:
Jesus appears in their midst.
I believe that's what happens when we live in community together in Christ. He shows up. Our hearts burn, and we suddenly love one another more than we ever did - or even could - before Jesus was in our midst. Strangers become friends, friends become family - we become one with each other when Jesus is in our midst. He can't help Himself: He wants to be where we are, where His family meets to remember Him.
And He wants us to invite others in, so that them becomes us. He wants us to revel in our brokenness, and in the grace and love that make us whole. He wants us to celebrate that grace and love in the only way that we can - by sharing it with others.
There is a 3rd version of my story now, one that just came to me as I type this. I think of it with tears in my eyes, and I praise God for Grace and forgiveness.
In the 3rd version of my story, I see this man - sick, dying, smelly and dirty. Instead of turning away, I kneel beside him. I give him some water. I wipe the sweat from his brow, the vomit from his chin. I help him clean himself, and I take him in my arms to the doctor, to receive healing. Because, in the 3rd version of my story, that sick, dying and broken man is me. And Jesus is kneeling beside me, healing me.
I hope that we can recognize that the brokenness in the world is the brokenness inside us all. I hope that we will stop dressing Grace up in a suit and tie, and hoping that people will see it as Righteousness. I hope that we can kneel beside the hurting - in the sweat, the tears, the blood and the bile - and bring those who are hurting and dying, in our arms, to the only One who can heal them. And I hope that we keep them close, and hold them inside of our community. Because, when those of us who have been healed and set free by Jesus gather together and love one another, He is there in our midst. And He never leaves.
My love to you, wherever you are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved by Grace
Walking in Faith
I am going to start by telling you about the most evil thing that I have ever done.
I was a young medic in Iraq, and I was most of the way through my first tour of duty there. I was the Medic on Duty at our small Forward Aid Station, and I was called into our "Holding Area" because one of our detainees (prisoners) was ill. I walked into the room, in which we were currently holding a large number of detainees on suspicion of killing one of our soldiers. The mood was decidedly angry amongst the soldiers guarding the detainees, and I shared it. One of these men - or several of these men - had conspired and killed one of our friends. We hated whoever that was, and so we hated all of them.
Back to my sick detainee. I learned, through an interpreter, that this man was a diabetic, and he had been without insulin for well over 24 hours. He had begun having mild seizures. He had lost control of his bowels and bladder. He had vomited all over himself. He was an older man, probably in his 50s or 60s, and it was unlikely that he had been responsible for the shooting of my friend. He was just a sick man, a man who would die if left untreated. He smelled, he was dirty, but he was dying, and I was asked to bring him healing.
I walked away.
Now, I can imagine what some of you are thinking. "Did he just publicly confess to criminal negligence and war crimes?" There's more to the story, and, fortunately for he and I both, someone grew a conscience and informed his medical superior about the issue - after agonizing over it for much longer than I should have. But, that's not the point of the story. The core of it is that when I was faced with someone sick, hurting, broken, frightened - someone who was as far outside of my identity group as anyone could be - when my empathy was tested at its limit, I failed. I walked away.
I have agonized over that act for years. The sin has become so intrinsic to my pscyhe that my mind has created two separate versions of the event: in one version, I walk away and ignore the man's suffering, but later realize my error and report his condition to the Doctor. The man is taken care of and released, all is well.
In the second version of the event, I walk away and the man dies. No one blames me for my indifference. He was, after all, one of THEM. He was dirty, he was smelly, he was probably a terrorist - or at least a sympathizer. Who could blame someone for not wanting to dirty his hands with the blood and bile of that kind of man?
I'll tell you who could blame someone: me. I could blame someone.
And I did, and I have. For years, I could not convince myself of the first version of the event. I constantly had nightmares and flashbacks of that moment when I turned my back on an old, dying man and walked away. That one event, that one moment of intentional indifference, has defined my life for nearly seven years.
Christians do this all the time.
When I was a kid of about 12, I attended a church that was very wealthy. The congregation wasn't necessarily wealthy, but the church had accumulated quite a bit of wealth - and the Pastor was very well paid - as a result of an aggressive campaign of "tithing" messages. If you were a member of this church, you had bought into this idea that you would be blessed if you helped the church raise a million dollars.
The memory I have is of a Sunday morning. I was sitting in service with my parents, and the pastor brought up this homeless person - I believe it was a young woman, though I can't be sure. The person was dressed in very ragged and dirty clothing, obviously hadn't had a shower in a while, probably no hot meals for a time. The pastor allowed this person to make their plea to the congregation, and then he/she was diplomatically escorted out of the building.
This person had come to our church, because they were in need. Life had not turned out the way that they wanted it to, and so they came to the one place where they thought that they would not be judged, where people would see their need instead of the perceived poor decision making process that led to the need.
All that he/she received was 2 minutes on a microphone, in a beautiful auditorium, while he/she had to bear the uncomfortable, and sometimes hostile, glances of a church congregation that just didn't want to hear.
We have a problem with indifference.
The Church of Peter
Simon is my favorite of all the original Disciples of Jesus. The first thing that I like about him is that he was a fisherman - his hands were undoubtedly dirty, he probably stank, and his language and appearance were probably rather "salty". He wasn't religious material, on the whole. The Gospels record him as being Jesus' most eager disciple, while also being the most thick-headed.
In a great story about both Jesus and Simon, Jesus is asking His disciples what people are saying about him. The guys are passing on the rumors: Jesus is Elijah, He's John the Baptist, etc.
Then Jesus says, "What about you? Who do you say that I am?"
Simon looks at Him and says, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God."
And then, Jesus looks at Simon. I can only imagine His expression. Jesus says, "Simon, I call you Cephas (Peter, or Rock) and on this Rock I will build my church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it."
I'm pretty sure that Jesus knew, even then, the kind of person that He was charging with founding His church. Simon Peter has already displayed a singular lack of attention to detail. He irreligious, he's smelly, his hands are dirty. During the trial and crucifixion of Jesus, Peter will deny ever knowing Him, for the sake of his own life. Peter is a broken man. Jesus knows this, and He knows that Peter is going to get worse far more quickly than he is going to get better.
And yet, He makes a strong statement of confidence in Simon. He even gives Him a new name.
We are the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Peter, who jumped out of the boat, but didn't have the faith to walk on the water with Jesus. Peter, who swore to follow Jesus all the way to the cross, and then denied Him 3 times to save his life.
Peter, who wept bitterly when he realized what he had done. Peter, who was the first to acknowledge his friend Jesus as something more than just a wise teacher. Peter, who promised Jesus on the shore to bring the love of God to all of His lambs. Peter, who did follow Jesus to the cross - even though it was years later.
Peter the Broken.
Peter the Denier.
Peter the Faithful.
Peter the Redeemed.
When we look at ourselves as a church, what do we see? Are we a collection of suits and dresses, in a very nice building, looking out at the world? Or is the world in the church with us, sitting beside us, being comforted by us?
We are meant to be the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Jesus gave Peter an extraordinary amount of Grace and Love, and He only asked Peter to pass it on to His lambs.
What do we do with the Grace that God has given us? Do we find someone else who needs that Grace as much as we do, and show it to them? Or do we dress up our Grace and call it Righteousness? Do we let the homeless person speak and beg for money from the followers of Christ, and then turn them out when they get no response? Or do we sit that homeless person down, and invite them to hear about Jesus while we get them something to eat and drink?
Do we look at the broken and hurting of this world and see Them? Or do we see Us?
But, for the Grace of God
I asked a question on a Facebook post recently. The post was about "dress codes", whether official or unofficial, in church. There are many opinions on this topic, and most of them have a legitimate foundation in something good. The question I asked was as follows:
"If a prostitute walked into your church on Sunday morning, still dressed in the same clothes that she was hooking in on Saturday night, what would you do? Would you tell her to clean up and come back? Or would you welcome her (or him, really) in to the Grace of God and the community of believers?"
Sometimes, we forget that we were all prostitutes at one point. Prostitutes and pimps, tax collectors, pornographers, abusers, addicts, adulterers, cheats and thieves. We were all of those things, even if some of the specifics didn't apply. We all had a symptom of our brokenness, whether it was out in the open or we hid it well.
I've told you about my brokenness, but I still reflect on it daily. I never thought that I could be forgiven for my hatred, my indifference, for the murder that I had committed with my heart, even if I hadn't committed it with my hands. I was sick in my brain and in my spirit, hopeless and hating myself.
When I found Jesus, I didn't find Him by cleaning myself up and trying to be righteous. I didn't find Him because of some really excellent religious folks. I found Him because I found a community of people who were as broken as I was, who were relying on Grace to prop them up, and who really felt that their only calling was to share the Grace and Love that they had received. And that was transformational.
Jesus set us free from our addictions, from our hurts, from the burden of our sins and from our brokenness. Whom the Son has set free, is free indeed. He set us free with Love, and He commands that we love others. He set us free with Grace, and He commands us to be gracious to others. He even gave us an example of what His church would look like in Simon Peter: broken, unsteady, but clinging faithfully to a Savior, to the Christ, to the community that Christ had gathered around Him. We need to find that community again.
Jesus In Our Midst
I was talking with my pastor and youth pastor the other day. They are both good friends of mine, and while our conversation wandered a lot (80s movies was one of our random musings), we talked mostly about Jesus. And I started thinking about Jesus and community, and what it all meant.
After Jesus died, the disciples were in hiding. They had heard Him say that He would rise again, but they weren't sure if they could believe it. They had even heard some other people say that they had seen Jesus, but the disciples still weren't convinced.
So, there they are. They're broken, they're leaderless, they've lost all hope. They've just watched the object of their devotion killed in the most brutal way imaginable, and they don't quite have the faith to believe that there's more to this story.
So, they start talking about Jesus. This group of dirty, scared, broken men start to talk about the one that they love, and who loved them. I'm sure that they are swapping stories. Because I've been in a community where people have died, I'm also sure that there were tears - as well as laughter. There might be wine, because wine is appropriate for these sorts of occasions.
So, there they all are - Jesus' motley band of fisherman, tax collectors, lawyers and other undesirable people - getting drunk and talking about Jesus, crying and carrying on. They are living in community. And the craziest thing happens:
Jesus appears in their midst.
I believe that's what happens when we live in community together in Christ. He shows up. Our hearts burn, and we suddenly love one another more than we ever did - or even could - before Jesus was in our midst. Strangers become friends, friends become family - we become one with each other when Jesus is in our midst. He can't help Himself: He wants to be where we are, where His family meets to remember Him.
And He wants us to invite others in, so that them becomes us. He wants us to revel in our brokenness, and in the grace and love that make us whole. He wants us to celebrate that grace and love in the only way that we can - by sharing it with others.
There is a 3rd version of my story now, one that just came to me as I type this. I think of it with tears in my eyes, and I praise God for Grace and forgiveness.
In the 3rd version of my story, I see this man - sick, dying, smelly and dirty. Instead of turning away, I kneel beside him. I give him some water. I wipe the sweat from his brow, the vomit from his chin. I help him clean himself, and I take him in my arms to the doctor, to receive healing. Because, in the 3rd version of my story, that sick, dying and broken man is me. And Jesus is kneeling beside me, healing me.
I hope that we can recognize that the brokenness in the world is the brokenness inside us all. I hope that we will stop dressing Grace up in a suit and tie, and hoping that people will see it as Righteousness. I hope that we can kneel beside the hurting - in the sweat, the tears, the blood and the bile - and bring those who are hurting and dying, in our arms, to the only One who can heal them. And I hope that we keep them close, and hold them inside of our community. Because, when those of us who have been healed and set free by Jesus gather together and love one another, He is there in our midst. And He never leaves.
My love to you, wherever you are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved by Grace
Walking in Faith
Sunday, June 2, 2013
What God Looks Like, and Why I Have a Hard Time Looking
Dear Brothers, Sisters and All Those In Between,
I am not a master of theology... I'm not even a proper apprentice. I'm what fantasy buffs might call a Novice Theologian. I haven't seen a proper trainer in ages, and I only know what I'm picking up along the way.
So, before I begin, let me thank a few people who are continuously helping me with my theology.
EJ Gonzalez of the Rangerville Church of Christ has been a long-time friend of mine, and he continues to be my friend - either in spite of or because of our sometimes fundamental differences of opinion. There is a huge gift of God in our friendship, because we can continue to love each other when words like heretic and legalistic get tossed into our arguments. That's not a human love - that's a Divine Love. So, thanks to EJ for your sometimes rather pointed observations about my theological musings, and for always reminding me to look to Scripture.
Charles Martin, Lead Pastor of my own Fellowship United Methodist Church, edifies me with his Sunday morning messages, his goofy and authentic way of praying, and his unconditional love for the people of our church and our greater community. He is my teacher and pastor, but he is also my brother and friend. Thank you, Charles, for helping me iron out some of the kinks.
My earthly father, Brian Woywood, showed me Jesus in so many ways as a child and a young man. He continues to show me Jesus in the way that he loves, forgives and corrects, without judgement or conditions. If my children know Jesus through me, it will be because my father showed me Jesus at a pivotal time in my life. (My mother was also instrumental, and I hope that no one thinks I've forgotten her.) Thanks, Dad.
On with the blog!
I'm going to start with something from the Bible, specifically something that Jesus talked about. The story (parable) comes from Luke 15, and I'll go ahead and post the whole thing here (to make it easier for anyone who doesn't have a Bible right next to them.)
11 Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
... this story is important. My pastor told the congregation a few weeks ago, "If you want to know what God looks like, go read Luke 15." So I did, and I was blown away. Let me tell you why.
I would really like to think that I am a good person all the time. And, for the most part, I am a really good person - I am generous with my time and my money, I am kind and respectful to everyone, I try to make friends of enemies... I mean, the list of how awesome I am most of the time goes on and on.
But, here's the problem: all that stuff is about me. I might be generous, but don't you dare respond to my generosity with anything less than total gratitude. I am kind and respectful to everyone, until someone gets rude and in my face. I try to make friends with enemies - until someone refuses to recognize my magnanimity. If you refuse to meet MY conditions, I become a blistering asshole.
And that's when I'm being nice: I have been withdrawing from nicotine for the past few days, in yet another attempt to quit smoking, and I have seen what I"m like when I'm not looking to be nice. I'm angry, impatient, sulky... I act like a 3-year-old child who is not getting his way. Of course, afterwards I feel really awful about it and go out of my way to be nice again... but the monster is always there, lurking, waiting for the next opportunity to appear.
In short, I am actually not a good person. If you are a really good person - you know, the kind that gives of yourself willingly and without a hint of grudge, who never has a bad day or passes by a person in need with indifference - I want to hang out with you and learn from you.
If, on the other hand, you are like me... then, let's talk.
The parable... Son (you and me) decides that he knows better than Father (God) how to spend the family money. So, he goes out into the world and does really wonderful things with this financial investment, right?
NO. He squanders it. Half the family fortune is spent on hookers and card games, and it gets so bad that the son is now living in a pigsty.
That's what I do with God's gifts. I squander them. God gave me a gift for writing, and what is my first instinct? Writing scathing commentary on people's Facebook statuses, belittling people. God gives me a gift of a wonderful family... and I ignore them, preferring to pursue my interests. I have a gift of stable finances, and instead of investing that money, I waste it on stuff. I go to restaurants and eat twice the amount that I need for a meal, while there are people starving on the streets of my city. I spend a small fortune to go see a movie about heroes solving problems... when there are actual problems to be solved in the world, and I have the brains and the means to help.
(If I seem like I might be overstating the case for my own depravity... you might be right. After all, I don't do the killing or the raping or the robbing, so I'm probably all right. But, this thing that we're all called to - discipleship - is about so much more than just not doing the things that we know are wrong. It's about doing the things that we know are right.)
Back to the parable... so, the son is living in a pigsty, probably eating feces (or at least sleeping in them), and he says, "Man, I could live better than this as a servant in my father's house. I'm going to go back and apologize, and hope that he'll accept me as a working man."
Again, we stop for a tangent: most people decide to call on God when they are at their worst, and that's okay! That's exactly the right time to call on God. I mean, He'll take your call whether you're happy, sad or indifferent... but Jesus is the Savior of the Broken and Destitute. He loves you whether you're living in a penthouse or in a PILE OF PIG CRAP.
And we always want to crawl to God, don't we? When we're hungry and smelling of feces, we don't want to walk proudly, with our back up... but we still have that pride. It's not the haughty kind of pride, it's the "I'm going to earn my way back into my Father's graces." kind of pride. We know that we're not worthy of being accepted back, but we're going to prove that we're worthy, we're going to do stuff for God. We will serve Him, but we just want to do the servant thing. After all, we still smell like pig crap.
The next part of the story blows my mind.
The Father sees his son from a long way off, and he runs to him. He runs to this wayward child, who still smells like a bathroom, and he embraces him.
And that is what God looks like. The son had this speech ready, he was going to stand downwind and tell him how unworthy he was... but then he was going to do stuff to earn his way back to his father's grace. BUT, before the son can say a single word, here comes Dad in a clean robe, probably very well made, and he's hugging him and kissing him. Dad was watching for him, watching so hard that he saw his son from a long way off. The Father's joy at having his son home overpowers the son's feelings of unworthiness.
And the son gives it a try. "I have sinned against heaven and you..." So, there is definitely sorrow and repentance... but it was just the act of coming home that caused the Father's joy and acceptance. The Father won't hear anything about his son being a servant - he calls for the best clothes, a feast, the best cow to be slaughtered. The Father is celebrating, because his son has come home. He thought the son was dead; instead, he's alive. He was lost, but now he is found.
Amazing Grace.
There are a few really important points to the end of this story, and since I've been sort of flailing along with my commentary, I will try to make my conclusions a little more Methodist-y.
1) Repentance is all you need. This might be confusing for some of you who read my last blog post that said All You Need Is Jesus. I stand by that earlier point... but I probably failed to point out that Jesus calls us to repentance. (Read my earlier point about being a Novice Theologian.) What this story points out about God is that all that was required of the Prodigal Son was to turn around (the actual meaning of repentance) and come back to the Father. It really didn't matter about the smell or what was covering his face - the Father was already looking for him to come back, hoping that he would come back. He was so anxious to see His son again, that He spotted him from a long way off.
We may think we have the perfect plan to turn our life around, to clean ourselves up and come back to God... but our plans don't matter. Repentance matters. This brings me to my next point...
2) God's Grace matters more. There is nothing that you or I can do to stop being children of God. We are His children because He has called us His children. Whether we live in His house with Him, or in a PILE OF PIG CRAP apart from Him, we don't stop being His children. The only decision that we have to make is whether to continue to live apart from Him, or to come home.
3) Not all of God's children will be happy to see you. The very end of the story has the Righteous Son, or Responsible Son, getting really... butthurt by the way the Father is so welcoming of the Prodigal. I mean, the Prodigal smells like crap, he's wasted all his Father's money on whores and card games - all while the Responsible Son has been doing the back-breaking work of managing his Father's estate. Nobody has been patting Righteous Son on the back for his good deeds... and Prodigal Son gets a party the minute he returns.
So, there's a prod there at Righteous People who really want others to clean up and prove themselves before they get God's overwhelming grace. But, there's also a lesson about love... because the Father doesn't tell Righteous Son to shut up. He doesn't call him a self-righteous hypocrite, or any of the other nasty names that I have been guilty of calling Righteous People. The Father says, "You are always with me, and everything that I have is yours... but your brother who was dead, is alive again. He was lost, and now he is found." Moral of that part of the story? The "Righteous People" may not always appreciate God's Grace for those of us who smell like crap... and He loves them the same as the rest of us.
So, by now I'm sure that you know why I titled this blog What God Looks Like... but now it's time to tell you why I don't want to look at Him.
I really, really need Grace... but I am one of those that has lived in a pile of crap for years. I knew about the Grace of God from an early age, but I never, ever wanted it. Grace was for those people who didn't know how to do stuff for God. I didn't need Grace, I was one of the Righteous People... but I was even better than the Righteous People, because I didn't think of myself as a Righteous Person. I thought of myself as ugly and undeserving, not worthy of God's Grace...
It was all pride. I was just like the Prodigal Son: even in my filth, I really thought that I could still do stuff to measure up to God's Righteousness. And, even when I came back home, when confronted by the joy and the grace of my Father... I had to look away. I couldn't accept it... until I realized that I wasn't worthy of it, I wasn't unworthy of it, it JUST WAS. Grace was there, waiting for me, watching for me... my worthiness or unworthiness didn't even enter the equation. I was always a Child of God, I will always be a Child of God... I just have to accept a fact that already exists. I just have to come home.
It is my sincere and earnest hope that you will come home, too. Whether you are clean and well-dressed or filthy and bad-smelling, I hope that you will turn around and come to experience God's Grace. And when He is looking at you, with love and joy in His eyes, I hope that you don't look away. I hope that you look right back at Him, and know what it feels like to be His child. Always.
My Love to You, Wherever You Are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved By Grace
Walking in Faith
I am not a master of theology... I'm not even a proper apprentice. I'm what fantasy buffs might call a Novice Theologian. I haven't seen a proper trainer in ages, and I only know what I'm picking up along the way.
So, before I begin, let me thank a few people who are continuously helping me with my theology.
EJ Gonzalez of the Rangerville Church of Christ has been a long-time friend of mine, and he continues to be my friend - either in spite of or because of our sometimes fundamental differences of opinion. There is a huge gift of God in our friendship, because we can continue to love each other when words like heretic and legalistic get tossed into our arguments. That's not a human love - that's a Divine Love. So, thanks to EJ for your sometimes rather pointed observations about my theological musings, and for always reminding me to look to Scripture.
Charles Martin, Lead Pastor of my own Fellowship United Methodist Church, edifies me with his Sunday morning messages, his goofy and authentic way of praying, and his unconditional love for the people of our church and our greater community. He is my teacher and pastor, but he is also my brother and friend. Thank you, Charles, for helping me iron out some of the kinks.
My earthly father, Brian Woywood, showed me Jesus in so many ways as a child and a young man. He continues to show me Jesus in the way that he loves, forgives and corrects, without judgement or conditions. If my children know Jesus through me, it will be because my father showed me Jesus at a pivotal time in my life. (My mother was also instrumental, and I hope that no one thinks I've forgotten her.) Thanks, Dad.
On with the blog!
I'm going to start with something from the Bible, specifically something that Jesus talked about. The story (parable) comes from Luke 15, and I'll go ahead and post the whole thing here (to make it easier for anyone who doesn't have a Bible right next to them.)
11 Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
... this story is important. My pastor told the congregation a few weeks ago, "If you want to know what God looks like, go read Luke 15." So I did, and I was blown away. Let me tell you why.
I would really like to think that I am a good person all the time. And, for the most part, I am a really good person - I am generous with my time and my money, I am kind and respectful to everyone, I try to make friends of enemies... I mean, the list of how awesome I am most of the time goes on and on.
But, here's the problem: all that stuff is about me. I might be generous, but don't you dare respond to my generosity with anything less than total gratitude. I am kind and respectful to everyone, until someone gets rude and in my face. I try to make friends with enemies - until someone refuses to recognize my magnanimity. If you refuse to meet MY conditions, I become a blistering asshole.
And that's when I'm being nice: I have been withdrawing from nicotine for the past few days, in yet another attempt to quit smoking, and I have seen what I"m like when I'm not looking to be nice. I'm angry, impatient, sulky... I act like a 3-year-old child who is not getting his way. Of course, afterwards I feel really awful about it and go out of my way to be nice again... but the monster is always there, lurking, waiting for the next opportunity to appear.
In short, I am actually not a good person. If you are a really good person - you know, the kind that gives of yourself willingly and without a hint of grudge, who never has a bad day or passes by a person in need with indifference - I want to hang out with you and learn from you.
If, on the other hand, you are like me... then, let's talk.
The parable... Son (you and me) decides that he knows better than Father (God) how to spend the family money. So, he goes out into the world and does really wonderful things with this financial investment, right?
NO. He squanders it. Half the family fortune is spent on hookers and card games, and it gets so bad that the son is now living in a pigsty.
That's what I do with God's gifts. I squander them. God gave me a gift for writing, and what is my first instinct? Writing scathing commentary on people's Facebook statuses, belittling people. God gives me a gift of a wonderful family... and I ignore them, preferring to pursue my interests. I have a gift of stable finances, and instead of investing that money, I waste it on stuff. I go to restaurants and eat twice the amount that I need for a meal, while there are people starving on the streets of my city. I spend a small fortune to go see a movie about heroes solving problems... when there are actual problems to be solved in the world, and I have the brains and the means to help.
(If I seem like I might be overstating the case for my own depravity... you might be right. After all, I don't do the killing or the raping or the robbing, so I'm probably all right. But, this thing that we're all called to - discipleship - is about so much more than just not doing the things that we know are wrong. It's about doing the things that we know are right.)
Back to the parable... so, the son is living in a pigsty, probably eating feces (or at least sleeping in them), and he says, "Man, I could live better than this as a servant in my father's house. I'm going to go back and apologize, and hope that he'll accept me as a working man."
Again, we stop for a tangent: most people decide to call on God when they are at their worst, and that's okay! That's exactly the right time to call on God. I mean, He'll take your call whether you're happy, sad or indifferent... but Jesus is the Savior of the Broken and Destitute. He loves you whether you're living in a penthouse or in a PILE OF PIG CRAP.
And we always want to crawl to God, don't we? When we're hungry and smelling of feces, we don't want to walk proudly, with our back up... but we still have that pride. It's not the haughty kind of pride, it's the "I'm going to earn my way back into my Father's graces." kind of pride. We know that we're not worthy of being accepted back, but we're going to prove that we're worthy, we're going to do stuff for God. We will serve Him, but we just want to do the servant thing. After all, we still smell like pig crap.
The next part of the story blows my mind.
The Father sees his son from a long way off, and he runs to him. He runs to this wayward child, who still smells like a bathroom, and he embraces him.
And that is what God looks like. The son had this speech ready, he was going to stand downwind and tell him how unworthy he was... but then he was going to do stuff to earn his way back to his father's grace. BUT, before the son can say a single word, here comes Dad in a clean robe, probably very well made, and he's hugging him and kissing him. Dad was watching for him, watching so hard that he saw his son from a long way off. The Father's joy at having his son home overpowers the son's feelings of unworthiness.
And the son gives it a try. "I have sinned against heaven and you..." So, there is definitely sorrow and repentance... but it was just the act of coming home that caused the Father's joy and acceptance. The Father won't hear anything about his son being a servant - he calls for the best clothes, a feast, the best cow to be slaughtered. The Father is celebrating, because his son has come home. He thought the son was dead; instead, he's alive. He was lost, but now he is found.
Amazing Grace.
There are a few really important points to the end of this story, and since I've been sort of flailing along with my commentary, I will try to make my conclusions a little more Methodist-y.
1) Repentance is all you need. This might be confusing for some of you who read my last blog post that said All You Need Is Jesus. I stand by that earlier point... but I probably failed to point out that Jesus calls us to repentance. (Read my earlier point about being a Novice Theologian.) What this story points out about God is that all that was required of the Prodigal Son was to turn around (the actual meaning of repentance) and come back to the Father. It really didn't matter about the smell or what was covering his face - the Father was already looking for him to come back, hoping that he would come back. He was so anxious to see His son again, that He spotted him from a long way off.
We may think we have the perfect plan to turn our life around, to clean ourselves up and come back to God... but our plans don't matter. Repentance matters. This brings me to my next point...
2) God's Grace matters more. There is nothing that you or I can do to stop being children of God. We are His children because He has called us His children. Whether we live in His house with Him, or in a PILE OF PIG CRAP apart from Him, we don't stop being His children. The only decision that we have to make is whether to continue to live apart from Him, or to come home.
3) Not all of God's children will be happy to see you. The very end of the story has the Righteous Son, or Responsible Son, getting really... butthurt by the way the Father is so welcoming of the Prodigal. I mean, the Prodigal smells like crap, he's wasted all his Father's money on whores and card games - all while the Responsible Son has been doing the back-breaking work of managing his Father's estate. Nobody has been patting Righteous Son on the back for his good deeds... and Prodigal Son gets a party the minute he returns.
So, there's a prod there at Righteous People who really want others to clean up and prove themselves before they get God's overwhelming grace. But, there's also a lesson about love... because the Father doesn't tell Righteous Son to shut up. He doesn't call him a self-righteous hypocrite, or any of the other nasty names that I have been guilty of calling Righteous People. The Father says, "You are always with me, and everything that I have is yours... but your brother who was dead, is alive again. He was lost, and now he is found." Moral of that part of the story? The "Righteous People" may not always appreciate God's Grace for those of us who smell like crap... and He loves them the same as the rest of us.
So, by now I'm sure that you know why I titled this blog What God Looks Like... but now it's time to tell you why I don't want to look at Him.
I really, really need Grace... but I am one of those that has lived in a pile of crap for years. I knew about the Grace of God from an early age, but I never, ever wanted it. Grace was for those people who didn't know how to do stuff for God. I didn't need Grace, I was one of the Righteous People... but I was even better than the Righteous People, because I didn't think of myself as a Righteous Person. I thought of myself as ugly and undeserving, not worthy of God's Grace...
It was all pride. I was just like the Prodigal Son: even in my filth, I really thought that I could still do stuff to measure up to God's Righteousness. And, even when I came back home, when confronted by the joy and the grace of my Father... I had to look away. I couldn't accept it... until I realized that I wasn't worthy of it, I wasn't unworthy of it, it JUST WAS. Grace was there, waiting for me, watching for me... my worthiness or unworthiness didn't even enter the equation. I was always a Child of God, I will always be a Child of God... I just have to accept a fact that already exists. I just have to come home.
It is my sincere and earnest hope that you will come home, too. Whether you are clean and well-dressed or filthy and bad-smelling, I hope that you will turn around and come to experience God's Grace. And when He is looking at you, with love and joy in His eyes, I hope that you don't look away. I hope that you look right back at Him, and know what it feels like to be His child. Always.
My Love to You, Wherever You Are,
Michael Brian Woywood
Saved By Grace
Walking in Faith
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