Quite frankly, this question has been debated for at least 16 centuries – most famously in the days of Augustine and Pelagius.  Over the years I have made peace with the dilemma by believing that both are true – we are chosen and yes, we also choose.  How these two come together in synthesis is, of course, a profound mystery.  We live in time and space and history – and God does not.  God lives in the eternal now…outside of time and all dimensions of human existence.  He exists beyond our universe and any other billions of universes that might exist – and by the way, if they do exist, He created them too.  The Biblical text is a human author’s attempt to explain in time and space issues and matters that can only be synthesized beyond time and space.  So, we should expect some mystery.  We should expect NOT to be able to totally “get it” and probably are wisest if we simply let the text speak for itself – and the text clearly says [not only in John but elsewhere] that we are chosen and that we are able to choose.  Most days, I leave it there and live with the apparent antinomy, the mystery, the tension.

But today, as I study for our Wednesday group bible study, and yeah – we’re in John 6 – and I’m rethinking these issues and wondering and praying about how to present them in a way that builds up and doesn’t confuse or discourage…and I get to the point where I am comfortable with what I am going to say and where I am going to try to lead our group…and for whatever reason, I suddenly look up at my lap-top screen and see my granddaughter Ada gazing at me with 5 ½ month old eyes as I hold her at a family dinner at the Coney on Mack and Moross.  And everything…everything…immediately changes.

All of a sudden, I want a personal audience with God and I want Him to explain this whole thing to me in detail and I don’t want any philosophical, theological jargon or gibberish or nonsense about antinomy and mystery and “wait until eternity and then you’ll understand” – I want God to tell me about my grandbaby and whether Jesus really died for her or just for the “elect” and whether she has a real opportunity to choose Him and believe in Him or whether it’s already a done deal.  All of a sudden it isn’t about all those people “out there” – it’s about this little girl that I love in ways I can’t even explain and I want to know and believe that God feels the same way about her and that He has made real and truly accessible provision for her to be delivered from this mess of a fallen world into which she has been born [not by her choice] and in which she is going to grow up.  I want to know if she can really believe.  Or…is she simply a potential pawn in some kind of eternal cosmic showdown between good and evil.  Can she choose?  Or is she simply chosen…or not?

And I do remember.  I remember losing my first dog that I named Bullet after Roy Roger’s dog.  He was some kind of German shepherd, collie mix and I really loved that dog and one night we came home and he was just gone.  And I remember one day coming in from the backyard where I had been playing with some neighborhood kids and I said a swear word in front of my mom and one of her friends, naively repeating what I had been hearing outside and I remember her telling me to go and take a bite out of a bar of soap and to come back and show her that I had really done it.  And I remember when I was 5 telling my dad I had to leave the dinner table to use the restroom and then I changed my mind and hid under another table in the front room – and he belted me until I had welts…for lying.  And I remember my little brother being born when I was 6 – but actually I don’t remember the pregnancy at all and don’t really even remember him coming home from the hospital and I don’t remember him being a baby which seems odd to me.  And I remember hating meatloaf sandwiches and one lunchtime throwing one in the garbage when my mother left the room and her coming back and figuring it out and being really, really, really angry.  And I remember feeling sort of out of it with the other kids in the neighborhood – like I didn’t quite fit and did the kids really want to play with me because I didn’t think so.  And I also remember some other stuff which I am really uncomfortable writing about – so I won’t.

To be fair – I have some good memories as well.  I remember watching Home Run Derby in my red striped little slugger pajamas on a Saturday night.  And I can remember waking up one Christmas morning and opening a junior baseball uniform with the old English D and running around the house screaming, “I got it, I got it, I got it!”  But what occurs to me, in fact what grips me and even almost overwhelms me is how few good memories I have about 1940 Windsor Drive.  How lost and lonely I felt as a 5 year old…and 6 year old…and even when I was 7 and 8.  And that when I drove up to the house just an hour ago…I started to cry.

My God, kids need to be loved.  And they need to be held.  And they need to be nurtured and encouraged and listened to and yes, disciplined but always, always in love and never out of the empty, angry places inside our wounded, parental hearts.  And we need to try to understand their world, what they are thinking, how they are feeling and we need to remind them that they matter, that they are valuable to us and no, they aren’t the center of the universe but they absolutely are the greatest gift God has ever given us.  And speaking of God, they need to know that He is their Father, their Abba and that He loves them unconditionally and will never, ever leave them.

And since many, many of us – all grown up – still sit outside our childhood homes, in our hearts, silently weeping…it is so absolutely important that we reach out to one another today and give one another the love that maybe we didn’t get much of when we were small.

Don’t lecture me about “the will of God”.  I get it.  I understand that every human prayer by default must end with “nevertheless, not my will but Your will be done.”  Of course, this might be one of those times when the Father says, “I’ve got another plan.  Trust Me.”  But lately it feels to me like He has been saying, “I’ve got another plan” a lot…especially when it comes to physical healing.

And don’t even tell me we need more faith.  There has been enough faith for a dozen healings.  N herself has trusted the Father with a deep, childlike, persistent faith all the way through her illness.  And I’ve been in prayer sessions for N where faith was literally dripping from the mouths and hearts of those praying…dripping from the ceiling and the walls and the furniture as the brothers and sisters groaned for the pain of their wounded sister, begging the Father to heal, believing that He could heal and would heal.  Don’t…don’t even start with me about more faith.

So, what do I do?  And what do those around N do, who love her and love God and base their entire lives on His goodness and power and plan for all of us?  Do I stop believing in God?  Do I stop believing in His love and goodness?  Do I stop believing in His power?  I have considered all these options over the years in similar situations that made no sense to me and that angered me and actually, frankly, embarrassed me for my God.  I have considered all these options in the past…and have considered them all in this situation with my friend…for about 30 seconds.

Call me naive.  Call me gullible.  Call me an idiot.  But even when I don’t understand and am angry and embarrassed and deeply confused – I can’t stop believing in Him or His love and goodness and power.  Is it because of other data – other arguments for or situations in life that seem to “prove” that God is still around and good and powerful?  I guess…a little…maybe.  But more than that – what keeps me hanging on is Jesus.  I just can’t get over Jesus of Nazareth.  In fact, every time I think “I can’t do this God thing anymore”, I see Jesus’ face and his tears and confusion when he was on the earth, when God and how His will was playing out made no sense to him – and how he kept trusting and obeying.  Like at the tomb of Lazarus and when he wept over Jerusalem from the Mt of Olives and not least, in the garden when he begged God as his Abba, his Dada, to protect him…and He didn’t.

And then I hear that same Jesus saying, “Follow me.”  And I look around and there really isn’t anyone…not anyone else worth following.  There’s especially no one who walked through death hanging on to a greater reality than his depression and disappointment and tears about God not coming through, not measuring up and literally leaving him to die alone.  There’s no one who seemingly abandoned by God to death…eventually comes back from the dead.

And so, today…I choose to trust my friend N to the same God Jesus trusted himself to 2,000 years ago.  I don’t understand any more than he did.  Maybe his journey shows me I don’t have to understand.  That sometimes the battle will be so intense and desperate that God won’t make much sense to me, that I won’t understand the Bible, that there won’t be a systematic, formulaic and clear answer to the pain, and that I will be called to hang on, like Jesus, to a greater reality than my deep disappointment.  Like Jesus…who promised to never leave us and to personally stay with us all the way home.  Promised to stay with my friend N…with me…and with you…to give us strength to hang on in our darkest hour…to give us grace to believe that nothing is greater than the love of our God…not even death.

And in my prayer time for J, I believe it was the HS who took my mind to a conversation I had just last Friday afternoon with another one of our sisters [I’ll call her M] who has been in prison for a couple of years in the Michigan system.  M told me that her new roommate [I’ll call her A] who has been so deeply wounded in her life and who has developed an incredibly hard shell around her and who is known, even in prison, for her anger and belligerence…is literally changing before her very eyes.  She is getting softer…kinder…gentler…more tender with herself and with others.  M told me that this wounded sister gets email from some brothers and sisters in Christ outside the walls and finds herself reading the words of encouragement and comfort and then crying, unable to hold back the tears.  The other day she walked into their room and said, “M, what’s happening to me?”  In fact, A’s former roommate sat down with M the other day and said, “I don’t’ know what you or your friends on the outside are doing with A but she’s not even the same person anymore!  It’s some kind of miracle!”

And right then – in the prison visiting room while M was telling me this story – my mind went to I Peter 4:8: “And above all things have fervent love for one another, for ‘love will cover a multitude of sins.’”  And in that moment, I knew that J would be alright.  I knew that the Father’s love would be able to transcend and permeate and overcome and cover up even the mess that is in the county jail.  Or for that matter, the Michigan prison system.  Or all the oppressive political regimes that have ever been.  Or our incredibly dysfunctional and wounding families.  Or our painful, debilitating illnesses.  Or even all of our disappointed, tired, fleshly hearts.  This love – the love of Jesus Christ – is the most powerful healing force in the universe.  It is the only light in the darkness.  And the darkness cannot overcome it…not in J’s life, in M’s life, in A’s life, in your life or my life…not today…not tomorrow…not ever.

But initially, let it be said loudly and clearly – I BELIEVE IN PRAYER.  I pray all day…every day.  I have 17 journals of prayers to my Abba Father dating from 1995.  I set aside time to specifically talk to Abba almost [can’t say “every” or I’d be lying] morning.  I love praying with my brothers and sisters.  I believe in the power that comes through prayer.  I believe God has chosen to enact His will on the planet through prayer.  I believe prayer is the way we put on the armor of God [Ephesians 6:18].  I believe God heals through prayer.  I could go on but you get the point.  I love my Abba so much and so desperately need to connect with Him that I literally can’t not pray.

Nevertheless, I’ve got to admit that I’m a little concerned about “the Call”.  I ain’t judgin’…in fact, from what I understand, about 20 folks are going from the church I pastor.  That’s cool.  But here’s a couple thoughts about why I personally just can’t get into it.

First, I am increasingly not about big events.  Of course, there’s nothing inherently morally wrong with a big event – and I’ve been involved with many and have preached at more than a few – but what do they really accomplish in the long run?  Or maybe a better way to ask the question is – If the resources and time and energy put into a big prayer event at Ford Field were put into all of us in Detroit living out Jesus’ call to love one another with foot-washing, sacrificial, “I will die on a cross for you even if you are my enemy” kind of love…I wonder if the results wouldn’t be more deep and lasting and Kingdom.  The early church didn’t have the resources or organization or facilities to do any big events and they grew from 10,000 to 15 million in 250 years.  According to the ancient documents [like Aristides’ letter to Hadrian in the early 2^nd century], all they did was sacrificially love one another and their communities.  Sometimes [and again, I ain’t judgin’, just sayin’] I wonder if we do big events because in the long run they “cost” less in terms of our hearts, lives, flesh, dying to self…they hurt less, they look and feel great at least for a moment, everybody gets a buzz and we go home feeling good about ourselves…but I wonder what tangible good the huge prayer rally does Johnny who’s lying drunk on our church porch or Samson who’s about to be sentenced to federal prison or the sister who’s battery died and she struggled to get to work this morning or the brother struggling with cancer at St. John’s…what if we didn’t go to the stadium and just went and hung out with folks like the ones I just mentioned and prayed for them…and prayed with them…and not just today in a one-time event but tomorrow and the next day and the next day.  I really just wonder why we continue to be enamored and have to be about this big event stuff.  I don’t know for sure but I’m not positive Jesus would have been all about it if He was here.  And yeah, He did engage in a few big events of His own – like the feeding of the 5,000 – but He always seemed reluctant around crowds and always seemed really pumped and excited to touch the one.  What about us?

And second, in terms of this particular big prayer event – I wonder a little about the theology behind it.  From what I understand – and I’m sure my understanding isn’t perfect – the sincere followers of Jesus who put together “the Call” believe that there are territorial spirits over cities like Detroit that will only be defeated – and I emphasize “only” because I sense that is what is believed – by 24/7 prayer effort.  Somehow, so the theology goes, when we pray, we “smite” the demon powers and eventually pummel them to the point that they literally “fall from heaven”, their rule is over and the way is paved for the coming of the Kingdom of God.  But here’s my question:  can we really show from Scripture that there are territorial spirits over areas and cities?  I know the argument from Ephesians 6 [as well as from Daniel’s apocalyptic images] and I understand the Greek language and the suggested meanings behind “principalities and powers in heavenly places” and I’m not saying there isn’t a “hint” of Satanic, demonic organization.  But…does the Scripture really outline in detail – anywhere – the extent of our Enemy’s organization and is there really a detailed, outlined strategy for “blowing them off their thrones in the heavens” SIMPLY AND ONLY through prayer?  If there is, I just don’t see it.  Again, I believe prayer is a powerful part of our God’s strategy to defeat the Evil One in battle – in the world, in our families, in our personal lives and the battle we fight with our habits, addictions, sins, and flesh – but there is also love and righteousness and forgiveness and making peace with our enemies and scraping maggots out of leper’s wounds and feeding the hungry and wrestling with the Word and surrender and so much more.  I’m not suggesting that those involved with “the Call” don’t believe in any of those things – but it feels like to me that in this kind of prayer movement, there is such an emphasis on “24/7 prayer bombarding and defeating the demonic world, in and of itself” that it is out of balance and a bit skewed and potentially might even hinder the body of Christ from being about some of the other Biblical stuff necessary to win the war against evil.

So, what am I doing today while some folks are at “the Call” – and by the way, many of them – even some of the organizers – close, dear friends of mine and sweet brothers and sisters in Christ…well, I’m praying for all of them, for everyone at Ford Field, and for Detroit – but then again, that’s what I do all day every day.  And I’m meeting someone who is struggling and needs a brother and meeting someone else who wants to launch more deeply into Kingdom ministry and studying the Scripture a bit and making a few calls to some hurting folks and going to the funeral home to grieve with another brother and then spending some time with my bride of 34 years whom I’ve neglected this week because of the wounds of precious human beings bleeding all over the place that I’ve been called to attend to.  And I pray that somehow, our God will bless in His way and His time both the efforts of those at “the Call” – as well as the humble attempts to follow His Son of those of us who just felt like it wasn’t for us.

I think this was the intent in the first century church – note when the New Testament documents command us to “admonish one another” [admonish = to warn about sin – Romans 15:14]] or “exhort one another” [exhort = to challenge toward a goal – Hebrews 10:24-25].  The call is obviously NOT to judge one another or further wound one another or to make a brother or sister feel foolish or less than.  But that’s pretty much how most “tough words” seem to be taken in the body of Christ today.  “Hey, who do you think you are to say that to me?” or “What gives you the right?” or “Get the log out of your own eye”.  Or maybe we simply listen while silently and resentfully saying, “screw you…you don’t know me…”, sometimes because we are angry and defensive…and sometimes because we are hurt and afraid.

And I get it because sometimes our motives for speaking hard words to one another are less than pure.  We speak out of what WE need, not out of what is good for those we are speaking to.  And sometimes our methods are less than kind and gracious so even well-intentioned hard words sound and feel cutting and hurtful.  But what if the love of our Abba Father [first of all] begins to permeate our own hearts so that we start to be “filled with all the fullness of God” [Ephesians 3:19] so that our lives really aren’t about “us” anymore but what our brothers and sisters need from us…even hard words of challenge?  And what if we then began to trust one another that when we speak hard words to one another we are speaking them out of “other’s centered love” and there is no intent to expose our nakedness…but to help cover our nakedness?  That there is no intent to exploit or embarrass us in our weakness…but to help protect us in our wound and weakness until such time as our God heals us or strengthens us in our weakness?  In fact, what if these hard words became a source for healing our weakness?

We are all blind to certain areas of pain and mess in our lives.  We desperately need each other to help one another become whole.  In fact, without one another, can we ever become healed and whole?  So it seems to me we have a choice: to continue to be afraid to give and receive hard words in our relationships with our brothers and sisters in Jesus…and stay stuck and unhealed…OR to move toward a security in the Father’s love that allows us to risk the hard words…knowing that we mean no harm and only want to help protect one another from our weaknesses.

That’s what happened this last weekend at Echo Grove about an hour north of Detroit with 50 guys of various ages, sizes, backgrounds, colors, denominations and experiences…what we had and have in common is a desire to grow ourselves up…to stop being stuck as “little boys in men’s bodies”…and to begin the process of growing up in Jesus Christ.

We talked about the emptiness inside…

The shame that tries to fill that emptiness with painful behavior in every relationship – our relationship with ourselves, with our God and with others…

The wounds from our past that have sucked the life out of us, leaving us empty and stuck in emotional and spiritual childhood for way too long….

Learning to hear the voice of our Abba, our Dada, our Father that affirms and fills our emptiness…

The grieving that can cleanse our wounds and lead to forgiveness…letting go…and freedom…

We took risks to open ourselves up to one another – confessing our sin and wounds to one another so that we could experience the healing that comes from intimate connection with a brother…

We celebrated the body and blood of Jesus – “by His stripes we are being healed”…

We wept before God…and before and with our brothers…

We laughed and joked and encouraged and played and ate and rested and sang and lived together…

And then we drove back home to Detroit, pledging to continue the journey of growing ourselves up, together, in Jesus’ name…for our sake, for the sake of our wives, our girlfriends, our sisters, for the sake of our friends and our enemies, for the sake of the King and His Kingdom…

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man…I put away childish things…”

“Countless questions, problems, discussions, and difficulties always demand one’s attention.  Despite this, when I look back over the last thirty years of my life, I can say that, for me, the person of Jesus has come to be more and more important.  Increasingly, what matters is getting to know Jesus and living in solidarity with him.  At one time I was so immersed in problems of church and society that my whole life had become a sort of drawn-out, wearisome discussion.  Jesus had been pushed into the background; he had himself become just another problem.  Fortunately, it hasn’t stayed that way.  Jesus has stepped out in front again and asked me, ‘And you, who do you say that I am?’  It has become clearer to me than ever that my personal relationship with Jesus is the heart of my existence.”

I really don’t have words to describe how much Nouwen’s thoughts echo my own.  To be honest, religion – even Christianity – makes me so tired.  I’m so done with the endless philosophical debates concerning the pros and cons of Christianity vs. Islam vs. Buddhism vs. Judaism vs. Hinduism vs. atheism vs. agnosticism vs. Roman Catholicism vs. Protestantism vs. premillennialism vs. amillennialism vs. Calvinism vs. Arminianism and trust me, there are a million more “isms” that I could list – and I’m sick of them all.  They make me puke and arguing about them makes me puke some more.

But Jesus of Nazareth…what he taught – “blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth”…how he treated people – lepers and prostitutes and the demon possessed and murderers and everyone, including religious leaders who were humble enough to seek him…how he died – so powerfully and others focused that one crucified next to him stopped cursing him and realized he must be a king and humbly asked if he could be a part of his kingdom…and how he inauspiciously but very historically came out of the tomb and beat death and how his authentic followers – wherever they are in the world they bring shalom and healing and reconciliation…you see, this Jesus, well I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF HIM.  I just can’t.  I want to be like Him.  I want to be with Him.  I love Him.  Like the two friends in Luke 24, it is because of Jesus that my heart burns within me…it is because of Him that I believe life is worth living and that there is hope for the world.

It is because of Jesus, the heart of my existence, that I feel alive.
Without Him…I wouldn’t give a crap about my next breath.

There was a new girl there…a young lady with some obvious challenges.  I won’t say her name and I’m going to withhold most details of her story to protect her anonymity – but she has just come to live with someone at Hope because the place where she was formerly living was literally not fit for humans.  I spent some time praying with one individual and then another individual…and then I came over to where the new girl was sitting and I sat down in the pew right in front of her.  She looked so very, very sad and troubled.  I introduced myself and then put my hand on her arm and told her how glad I was to meet her and then I embraced her and told her I loved her.  And then I just sat with her for a moment or two…sharing that this was a safe place and we’re all just a bunch of human beings who hang out with each other around the person of Jesus…and pointed to the three crosses hanging from our stained glass window at the front of the sanctuary.  And then we sat for a little more.

Finally she leaned her head over near mine and began to share a deep and significant struggle she is facing right now – a struggle I sensed she had probably been dealing with her entire young life.  And then she said, “Will you pray for me?”  And I leaned in and put my arm around her and began to stroke her tightly curled hair and I poured my heart out to the Father in behalf of His young, troubled daughter.  I begged Him to draw close to her, to heal her wounds and take away her pain.  I asked Him to let her know, deep inside her heart, that He loves her and will never leave her…never, ever…never ever.  And while I prayed I hugged her tightly over the pew as a father would embrace a daughter – and when I looked up at the end of our prayer the tears were streaming down her face…the face of this girl I had just met 20 minutes earlier in our little prayer time.  I kissed her on the cheek, told her I loved her…and that I and we would be here for her all the way…because that’s what love does.

And as I walked out of the sanctuary a few moments later, I struggle to describe the feeling but let me just say that I knew that the Father had drawn me into that room to meet with one of His daughters who needed an earthly father for a moment and that by meeting with his wounded little girl…I had somehow been with Jesus.

I was holding my granddaughter Ada, looking into her eyes and talking to her – and I found myself asking her if she wanted to go to the zoo with me.  Of course, she’s only 7 weeks old and not quite ready for the zoo yet – but that’s beside the point.   I told her about all the animals I wanted to show her – the zebras and the ground hogs [Carla said, “You mean prairie dogs, don’t you?” and as usual she was right] and the lions who just sit there but are pretty cool to look at anyway.  And then I said, “Ada, I want to buy you a big Coke and then we’ll have a hot dog or two with mustard and relish and then we’ll get some cotton candy when we’re done.”  And I think she started fussing a little and her mother took her to feed her so I didn’t get a chance to tell her about the cool souvenir shops where I would buy her one of everything if she wanted it – and I also didn’t get a chance to tell her about taking her to the Tiger game and the African American History Museum and the DIA.  I had so much fun even THINKING about the places I want to take Ada and the gifts and presents I want to buy her and of course, the gift of simply being with her and holding her hand while we walk and carrying her on my shoulders when she is tired.  I’m telling you – I was literally overwhelmed with delight…even thinking about giving to my precious little Ada.

And then, in an instant, in that moment…I got a glimpse of why the Father gives and gives and gives and keeps on giving good and perfect gifts to us.  He loves me…He loves you so much.  And He loves loving us.  Look around you today – He’s giving to you…good gifts, perfect gifts…right now…and He’s loving  it…because He loves you so very much.