Leaving, on a jet plane...

So I'm sitting in the Columbus Airport at AA gate 32. My flight doesn't leave for an hour, but I'm one of those, "get-to-the-airport-really-early-so-you-can- leisurely-stroll-to-the-gate-and-watch-the-people-who-show-up-5-mintues-before-boarding-run-like-their-hair-is-on-fire" kind of guys.

I'm actually flying to California to have lunch with John Ortberg (see previous post). I'm also visiting their other sites to see if I can get a better sense of how they do the multisite thing. Turns out I also get to attend an meeting of the executive team to do some strategic planning, meet with some staff and attend a creative team meeting. I'm pretty excited.

People have asked me if I'm nervous or if I fear anything about meeting him. Honestly, what I fear most is being perceived as a stalker. I mean, really -- I'm flying to California JUST to have lunch with this guy.

I actually think I have a healthy perspective on "celebrity." Plain truth -- in many ways John has been my pastor and mentor through his writing. (Pastors don't get a lot of pastors as we are usually pretty busy on Sundays.) I respect him a great deal. But although I deeply respect John, I really am not all that star struck.

Although, just for fun, my wife and I began a list of "Top 10 ways to make this lunch really, really, uncomfortable for John."

# 10. Have a shirt made with his head on it (older Central folks, think of the Aaron S. floating head shirt). Have something printed on the back like, "I [heart] John Ortberg."

#9. Bring a stack of his books (yes, I own all of them-- and a couple I have multiple copies) along with a pen to the lunch. Ask him to sign them all, "To my best friend Paul. I will never forget this wonderful day together. Let's do lunch again! Love, your friend, John."

#8. Bring a photographer along and stage random "grip and grin" photo ops. At various points throughout the afternoon, just throw my arm around him and smile. [FLASH!]

#7. Pull a picture out of my wallet and say, "Here's a favorite one I have of you and your family on that secluded beach. I had to use a really big zoom lens but eventually I worked my way closer."

I have a couple of more, but the plane is here. Time to fly.

But feel free to add to these. I would love your ideas. BTW, his wife nancy is joining us, so I also thought about asking for really explicit marital advice....

dizzy

I've been struggling lately with dizziness. I had a bunch of test done and the best they can determine is that my blood pressure is high pretty consistently.

I've never been good at self care. Truth is, I've always been overweight. My tendency is to always put other people's needs before mine. I have a somewhat stressful job and I stress eat. There have been seasons of my life where I have exercised pretty regularly, but not lately. Really, this past year or so has been exceptionally bad in terms of self care and this has been especially true lately, on multiple levels.

So my doctor put me on blood pressure medication while I try to bring it down naturally. Honestly, I feel like a failure. I feel really, really old. Defeated. For some reason this doesn't feel motivating to me ("Wow, now I really need to make those changes!"), but more of a nail in the coffin. It has had a profoundly negative effect on my self perception. So yeah.

All of this could be a really long blog post. One that is probably a lot more personal than I want to make it, so that is pretty much it for now.

Except to say that I found the #1 side effect of the blood pressure meds very humorous:

Dizziness.

An Open Letter to my High School Class

Thanks to Facebook, I've re-connected with some former High School classmates -- I guess that is part of what we "old people" do on Facebook.

It's been good. It's fun to see my HS class all grown up. It is strange to see us with kids, jobs, and responsibilities. I've enjoyed following the threads of sharing memories. Catching up.

As I type these words, I realize that some of my former classmates may actually read this blog (although I'm betting most of you have more to do with your time than stalk my blog!). I hope this post is not misunderstood. In fact, I hope my words ring true to you as well. I would love to hear your thoughts, either here or in my inbox.

______________________________

Dear Former Classmates of Toronto High School

Recently, I got out my HS yearbook (yeah, I was trying to figure out a friend request). It was the first time I had looked at that book, or for that matter, even deeply thought about high school in years.

And as I looked at the pictures, matching names with faces, I realized something: At the time, so many of your opinions meant so much to me (I guess that is the way high school is for a lot of people). Today, I don't remember many of your names. Some I couldn't remember at all.

I realized that I had forgotten who the HS quarterback was, and I couldn't name more than two cheerleaders. I'd forgotten who was voted class president or prom King or Queen. (I did remember Gretchen was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" but only because she was my first girlfriend and my first kiss. Come on, I was in 5th grade, I think... so I'm sure she will own up to it.) But I had forgotten who was voted "Most Popular" or "Prettiest Hair," etc.

I don't say that to be mean. In fact, I'm kind of embarrassed by it. But it WAS a realization that the particular part of my life called "high school" was actually a very small part in the overall picture, and a fairly insignificant part.

I smiled when I looked up the section of the yearbook where we voted for "Prettiest Smile," "Funniest," "Most Talented," etc. I smiled because, at the time, those things actually meant something to me. I looked at the pictures of the guys who were so popular. I looked at pictures of the girls I had huge crushes on... I remember feeling like I was on the outside most of the time.

But here's the point: In those days my classmates' acceptance of me mattered. My day would rise and fall based on their opinion of me. Opinions based, not on any substantive character issues, but on who was "in" who was "out."

That is so sad.

And now, with age and perspective... I really regret the way I saw myself and others in high school.

So I'm writing this letter to my entire class to apologize.

I'm sorry for those of you I may have excluded. I'm sorry I made you feel like others made me feel.

I'm sorry for those of you I judged, or put into a box, or stuck a label on: "stuck up," "jock," "nerd" -- whatever. We label people to control them. To categorize or even dehumanize them.

I'm sorry for the years I lost because I cared more about avoiding you, or impressing you -- rather than caring for you or impacting you.

I'm sorry I was so worried about you noticing me, that I didn't really notice you.

I suspect many of us felt "on the outside" in HS.

I suspect many of us wore masks.

How stupid we were.

If I could do it again, I would do it differently.

So I commit to trying to live that way now.

dad

I guess I have been reluctant to write about my dad. I haven't slept well the past couple of weeks and I have been stress eating like crazy. Things that used to make me excited just feel flat.

I'm kind of a "wear my emotions on my sleeve" kind of person - transparency has never been an issue for me. But this struggle seems more private to me. It's been harder to talk about for some reason. And there is a tiredness to this season of my life that goes deep to the bone. Even to my spirit.

If you don't know, my dad has had serious health issues for the past 5 years. Slowly, I have watched his body deteriorate. Three weeks ago he had major open heart surgery (replacing a valve and repairing another). He spent the past couple of weeks in ICU struggling to recover from that surgery. And wouldn't you know, the day after they took him out of ICU, he had a stroke. He now has limited movement on his right side and has a lot of trouble getting words out. It's clear he knows what we are saying, he just can't put the words together. (This is in addition to the heart surgery and other complications.) So where most people are up and walking after 3 days, my dad is worse off now than when he went in.

To really know me is to know my family system. I'm incredibly close to my parents. My dad is, hands down, the most influential man in my life. Growing up, he was my hero. He could do anything. Fix anything. Overcome anything. He worked 30 years in the same classroom and loved every minute of it. He was loyal to his wife, his work, his friends, his family. I loved the way he loved my mom. He was my best man at my wedding. I could go on and on...

Tonight I was lying in bed trying to sleep and, for the first time, it dawned on me that I might have had my last "conversation" with my dad (as least as I knew it).

Even writing those words seem so surreal to me.

And really painful.

Growing up, dad would be teaching me something and he would say, "I know I have probably told you this before, and if so, I'm sorry. Just listen to it again. You know, when I was your age I used to get so frustrated with my dad. He would say the same thing over and over. But now, I really wish I had him around."

I guess I just want to "listen to it all again."

wow

Does this scare anyone else?

More is never enough

So I write this post with a little fear of potential comments. I don't want to take this into a discussion of the evils of the "institutional church" or "church growth." So please don't go there if you decide to comment. Fair?

So this weekend Central had a total of just over 450 people at our worship gatherings. A couple of things about this:

1. It is a record attendance for us. (It's about 50 over our previous high attendance which was on a special event Sunday years ago). But this is a lot of people for Central.

2. I am really not a numbers guy (other than the obvious truth that many anti-church-growth-people just can't escape --that numbers are people and people matter to God.) But I really don't put all my identity and value in "nickels and noses." You'll just have to trust me that I've worked this out with God and I'm pretty clear on this. I'm not into numbers for numbers' sake.

3. There was an excitement that was palatable in the conversation between the services. New families and people who just said to me, "Man, we hear that God is doing something here and we wanted to check it out." Which I found to be a strange comment: I agree... but I have always thought that the case. I LOVE this congregation. I'm the luckiest guy in the world. But it seems that several other people are picking up on this as well.

So here is the thing. Honesty time.

As I was driving home from our gatherings, I knew had a staff meeting in the evening, so I called my administrator and asked for the attendance numbers. She added them up and told me, "452."

My first thought: "Wow, that is really great. That is a new high attendance for us. That's exciting."

HONESTLY, my immediate second thought: "Man, I wonder if we could break 500?"

Now, let me put this out there: I think it's okay for a congregation to grow. I think it's even okay for a pastor to WANT a congregation to grow (for the right reasons). I will even go out on the edge and say that I think setting numerical goals can be okay (not in that you are trying to reach them, but in setting them you begin to think about what is beyond yourself.)

But what bothered me about this incident was that I was not satisfied.

More was not enough.

And I know my personality type. It will never be enough.

There is an addiction that comes with "success." I'm so thankful for what God is doing at Central. And not just the numerical growth. I love the stories of life-change. I love the community that is being formed. I just love being a part of this congregation.

But I never want to be at this place in my life where God is working and I can't enjoy it because I'm thinking of the next thing. And this is how I'm wired. And honestly, sometimes it just bugs me.

This was a vulnerable post for me to write. Be kind. :)

Thorn

"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

2 Cor. 12:7-10

__________________________________

I grew up as a magician, doing magic shows before very large crowds from a pretty young age. I loved being in front of people. I loved to "perform." I loved figuring out the timing of making people laugh. My dad and I would critique each show, often as we drove to the next one. In the car, we would methodically walk through the show and hone each routine from the opening words to the closing ones. We would add jokes (even "ad libs" that weren't ad lib). We would craft the "patter" of each effect.

Occasionally we would be doing a show and I would get nervous. My dad's advice? "Fake it until you make it." He really was of the school, "Don't tell them you are nervous and they will never know. But if you tell them, it will make you seem less professional and you will be all the more nervous."

Now, it's funny; I don't remember having "stage fright" all that much growing up. I spoke in front of hundreds of people at a time, and never really gave it much thought.

That was then.

When I did magic shows.

And it worked.

Now, to be clear, I think much of my life has been to prepare me for what I do now. I've been speaking in public as a magician since the age of 5. I spent hours upon hours a week learning how to engage an audience and craft a routine. I did four years of drama while in High School, acting in plays and musicals. I did several years on the debate team. In college I was a speech communication major. There is no doubt that I have been trained as a speaker (often I think I should be MUCH better at this than I am!).

Then I became a pastor.

And something happened.

While I was in seminary, I was a youth pastor in this small church. This church hired me... and to say I was "green" would be an incredible understatement. I had this little youth group. And I did the best I could do at being their pastor -- knowing absolutely nothing about being a youth pastor.

I remember I did this bible study. It was on forgiveness. And as I was speaking, I felt this strange sense that something "bigger than me" was going on. I have no other words than that -- but the strange mix of confidence and heaviness was overwhelming.

What surprised me is that I would teach on something... and dang it... the students would go and do it. They would forgive people who hurt them. They would reach out to people they wouldn't normally have reached out to. They would share their faith with their friends.

It was weird.

Sometimes their parents would call me and ask me what happened to their child.

I will never forget the first time I spoke before a church. (Sermon title: "If I am a part of the body of Christ, than why do I feel like a toe?") It was this very odd mix of incredible excitement -- and nothing short of terror. I wasn't expecting that.

So...

I've been doing this "preaching" thing for 17 years now. And the excitement... and the terror... have never gone away. I get sick before almost every time I speak. I'm a mess the day before. Moments before I walk on the platform, most of the time it would not take much to talk me out of it. I can't describe it. But I don't like it.

And yet, at the same time, while I'm teaching, I feel most alive.

There is an old movie called, "Chariots of Fire." In it, Eric Liddell (who is a runner), says something like, "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast, and when I run, I feel God's pleasure."

When I teach, I feel God's pleasure.

Yet.

I'm writing this because after taking 4 weeks off from preaching, I started again this past Sunday. I felt like I hit a brick wall. I felt like I got ran over by a train. I took a 4-hour-nap afterward and, really, would have slept through most of Monday and most of today if I didn't have a job to do. Fortunately, it usually gets easier in a few weeks. My body gets back into a groove.

But until then...I don't like it.

I'm not complaining. I'm so thankful to God that He distributes spiritual gifts to his Church. And I'm actually pretty thankful that I have a fairly good sense of my gifts. But gifts come at a cost. The giver of the gifts paid a price... and there is a "price" that is paid whenever we are broken open and poured out. There really is a difference between a gift and a talent. And maybe this is part of the difference.

So, do others of you struggle with this? In what areas? And if not.. I wonder why not?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

God's power made perfect in weakness.

Power made perfect in weakness.

Power... perfect... weak.

Power. Weak.

God

Really?

You have GOT to be kidding.

No really.

"The Envelope Please..."

Well, it turns out that Paul is a liberal.

Okay, a "progressive."

I scored a 66 one time and a 68 another (After reflection, I changed my answer to a question). It seems that Andrew wins the lunch. For the record, I really wanted to give it to SJW because her husband is a good kisser AND she was the first one gutsy enough to guess my score-- and was pretty darn close. But she did give a range, which felt like a copout... and Andrew guessed right between my two scores. So Andrew it is. (But I will invite SJW, her husband and daughter over for dinner as a constellation prize when we all stop being sick. And Beth gets honorable mention for the line, "I smell chicken." She ought to get something for that!)

I was honestly surprised about falling in the "progressive" camp. I'm still not sure I would define myself that way, or, that if held up to a someone who claims to be progressive, I wouldn't appear like a conservative. I guess it is all relative. Looking at the questions, there is a REALLY big difference between someone who scores a 68 verses a 90. Huge. But I did score higher than a couple of my colleagues who I thought much more liberal than me... which I found interesting.

This has been my story for a couple of years now. I often feel like a man without a theological home. The conservatives don't want me because I'm too liberal. And the liberals don't want me because I'm too conservative. I find myself standing with people in both camps, and sometimes repulsed by both camps. And to be honest, I often feel isolated among my colleagues who fit in these nice, neat little boxes.

On top of that, for some reason anymore, I really resent being labeled. I don't like to be put in boxes.

I spoke at an event in the fall, and when I went to register, I told them I was one of the speakers. They said, "Okay, are you conservative or liberal?" And I said... "yes."

[long pause]

[strange look]

[awkward pause as she waits for me to say more]

I mean, it does depend on what you are asking, right? I'm liberal in my use of chocolate, pizza toppings and love for my wife. I'm conservative in my use of mayo, my dress and anything having to do with Yanni. We actually got into a little fight because I refused to be put into a box so that they could put me into a discussion group.

But as much as I don't like to be labeled, I honestly think I have a particular fear of being labeled "liberal." Largely because all my life I have been taught that "liberal" is a theological cuss word.

Theological Liberals don't love or believe in Jesus.

Liberals don't believe in the bible. Liberals are "them."

But... see, here is the thing: I DO love Jesus and I DO believe in the bible... maybe more now than ever. I think I have a MUCH higher reverence for the bible than many of my more conservative colleagues. I just don't use the same words to describe it as I used to use.

My journey since seminary has been trying to reconcile what I read in the bible with...well...uh... what I read in the bible. I mean, we are all okay with reading James. Phillipians makes us generally feel really good. But then there are those tricky things. The "problem passages."

As Scot said, I'm fascinated "with the portions of the Bible we don't tend to read, passages like the story of Jephthah. Or how God was on the verge of killing Moses for not circumcising his son, and his wife stepped in, did what needed to be done, and tossed the foreskin at Moses' feet, and God let him alone."

"I have become fascinated with what goes on in our heads and our minds and our traditions (and the latter is far more significant than many of us recognize) in making decisions like this. What decisions? Which passages not to read as normative. The passages we tend not to read at all."

For the record, I still don't think I'm in the "theological liberal" camp. I know theological liberals, and I'm not one of them. I feel very comfortable in the moderate camp. In fact, in many ways I'm still a theological conservative.

But why does the Bride of Jesus Christ have so much fear? Why are we so afraid of having the wrong answers? And does this fear say something more about our faith, than which theological box we are stuffed into?

P.S.

I am thinking of going through some of the questions and talking about why I answered the way I did. If I get enough encouragement, I may do that. But I think I have said what I wanted to say.

Come Lord Jesus, Come...

By now you have probably all heard of the shootings at Northern Illinois University. I guess we should not be surprised at this, with Virginia Tech, the shooting in Colorado, etc. But for some reason, these hit me hard.

I watched the interviews of the students. There is one interview ("Thinking I was going to die") where this girl talked about laying on the floor and then getting up to run and being afraid she was going to get shot... and I just got just a glimpse of what that must have felt like.

I'm not a person who lives in fear a lot. I don't even think I'm all that afraid to die. But for the record, this world really sucks sometimes. And the older I get, the more the hope of a new earth seems more and more real.



From Revelation 21-22. You might want to read these words slowly...

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away..."

I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendor into it. On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there. The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it. Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever. The angel said to me, "These words are trustworthy and true."

"notes"

A couple of weeks ago, my daughter got really sick. Either a cold or allergies, but she couldn't breathe. So my wife decided to put a "Vicks" children's patch on her as she slept. It really helped and she slept well. The problem is that now, for some reason, she is terrified of them. And she won't even let us take her shirt off.

I was afraid I screwed her up for life and her husband would hate me so I talked with a woman who is a children's counselor and she told me stuff like this is normal. That children develop fears for strange reasons and, over time, she would work through it.

Parenting is really, really strange.