patrickbroaddus

[patrickbroaddus]

Rolling Tides and Twitter Trolls

Conviction is a beautiful thing, but so is humility.

-Aaron Niequist

When it comes to sources of our increasing tribal mentality and polarized culture, social media and more specifically Twitter are low hanging fruit.

My Twitter feed is constantly full of people spewing their bent up vitrol and supposed outrage at one another, our country, x political party, pick your special interest group, etc.

The faceless nature of our social media connections has made launching out in these diatribes not only easy, but at times seemingly necessary as our culture continues to wage it’s war with no one and anyone all at once.

Just yesterday over lunch with coworkers we were talking about the ever increasingly thin line we all walk between being culturally sensitive people and being senselessly sensitive people looking for a reason to be offended.  

When did we get to the point that people can make a living looking through social media timelines of individuals for something they might have said 10 years when they were a young, dumb 14 year old’s just so that we can now tear that person down once they are famous?  

Seriously.  This is a career.

And yet, here I went again this morning, back down the rabbit hole.

Let me tell you, I could not have picked a better day to do so if you are looking for great examples of the divided state of our culture.

Why?

Two reasons.

First, a highly disliked and yet dominant college football program with an equally disliked and yet dominant coach lost a national championship game last night in spectacular fashion to a team that is it’s exact opposite.

Second, a highly controversial president is set to give his first prime-time address tonight to the country over a highly controversial topic that has led to the highly controversial shutting down of the government which has led to a highly controversial standoff between both political parties both of whom are lobbing ridiculous threats and solutions at the other.

It’s like happy hour for Twitter trolls!

And all Twitter’s Trolls said...AMEN!!!

I should know better.

I should stay away.

I should abstain.

I should read something edifying...educational...uplifting...anything other than this ridiculous, divisive, inflammatory rhetoric that continues to tear our country apart.

And yet once again, here I am, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, growing angrier and angrier by the second.

Why do we do this?

Why do we allow ourselves to be sucked down these black holes of anger and frustration?

Why do we allow ourselves to continue to be categorized so easily by political affiliation, religious denomination, race, creed, color, orientation?

Why is it so important to know what tribe we belong to?

And why is it so important to know how to vilify and belittle those who don’t?

I’ve sat through a lot of conversations and sermons throughout my life in which well-meaning people talk about the need to hold to our convictions.

Don’t let this group or that person or the culture convince you to give up the things you believe in!!!

There is nothing inherently wrong with convictions.  As Aaron Niequist points out, convictions are a beautiful thing.  It is important to know what you believe and why you believe it.

But in a time in which more and more we take delight in isolating ourselves with only those who look, speak, and believe as we do, convictions become less about identifying what it is foundational to our own belief systems and more about categorizing and demonizing those whose understanding of life differs from us.

This ceases to be true conviction and instead becomes a form of arrogance.

In the church it is much more damning as it becomes a form of spiritual arrogance where we become the very people Paul warned the church in Philippi about.

If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.  Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. 

-Philippians 2:1-3

The foundation of conviction in the church is not rightness or moral superiority. 

The foundation of conviction is humility.

To stand firmly in what you believe in such a way that you can still regard other’s humanity and our ability to relate one to another as vital to our life together.

This is the call of Christ on us all.

Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.

Mark 9:35

So the last will be first and the first shall be last.

Matthew 20:16

But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.  For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.

Mark 10:44-5

Over and over again, Jesus calls us to something greater than we have become.

Conviction is a beautiful thing, but so is humility.

[patrickbroaddus]

Finding Your Way in the Night

This past Sunday I had the chance to preach at my home church here in Waco, University Baptist Church.  It was a surreal moment to be able to worship in this way with my church family and one I am deeply grateful for.

Towards the end of my sermon I told a story about getting lost as a kid.  I was maybe 4-5 years old and my family and I had gone to Sea World in Orlando.  

Coming out of one of the shows I got separated from my parents.  In a moment that maybe lasted a few seconds, my whole world came crashing down.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Would I ever see my family again?

Was someone going to snatch me up before my parents could find me?

All these thoughts and many other irrational fears gripped my 4 year old mind.  It was terrifying.

Sunday, my mother was quick to point out to me she never lost sight of me, seeing my little head bobbing in the midst of the swarm of people as she made her way back to me.   

This attempt at reassurance 30 years later only help to underscore what it was I was trying to drive home.

When you are lost, physically, emotionally, spiritually, it doesn’t matter who can actually see you.

What matters is that you can’t see them.

In Luke 2, the Gospel writer tells the only story we have about Jesus during his childhood.  He and his parents have joined the annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover.

They offered the sacrifices.

Ate the Seder meal.

Said the prayers.

Told the story of God’s deliverance.

And now they were heading home.

Except when they got down the road a day or so, Mary and Joseph realize Jesus isn’t with them.  

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

As a parent I can only begin to imagine how these powerful emotions bit at Mary and Joseph’s hearts as they raced back to Jerusalem in what must have felt like an impossible attempt at finding their child.

What little hope they carried for finding Jesus among the thousands of travelers must have quickly diminished upon reentering the holy city.

Where do you even begin to look?

Would anyone have seen him?

Would anyone have taken him?

Was he still alive?

Another day passes without any sign of their child, until finally, they decide to go up to the Temple.

Can you begin to imagine the relief that Mary and Joseph must have felt, when there among the pilgrims they spotted their boy?

Rushing to his side, Mary half screams/half cries through her tears, “Child, why have you done this to us?  Don’t you know how you’ve made us feel?”

Relief.

Anger.

Joy.

Being physically lost is one thing.

But what about those of us who experience a different type of lost?

What about those of us who have experienced life at it’s worst?

What about those of us who have known a darkness that is both suffocating and terrifying?

What about those who, like Mary and Joseph, have frantically searched for the face of God, the only one they could ever want to find, only to realize he cannot be found?

For those who have experienced the tragedy of loss, depression, despair, pain, confusion, anxiety, fear...

For those who have cried out into the muted darkness and heard only your own voice reverberating into the night...

For those who lash out at those around them for not understanding the pain of your suffering, the sting of your loss...

For all those who have searched for God only to come up empty...

Don’t give up.

Don’t stop searching.

Don’t stop seeking.

When the easy path is to push away all those who love you and to give up on the one you need most, I beg of you to walk the harder road.

There are no easy answers to your struggle or painless remedies for your suffering.  Life isn’t that fair.

But what I do know is that for those who are willing to look, somewhere along the way you will find the one you need, right where he was always meant to be.

[patrickbroaddus]

Peace

For Jesus, peace seems to have meant not the absence of struggle, but the presence of love.

-Frederick Buechner

Hi.  My name is Patrick and I’m a 9.

For those of you familiar with the enneagram, that should tell you about all there is to know about me.

For those of you who don’t know about the enneagram or have never heard of it, the enneagram is an ancient personality typing system that seeks to help us better understand not only ourselves but also those around us by looking into what it is that drives our decision making and actions.

The more you can understand why it is you do what you do and why others do what they do, the more grace we can show towards one another...or at least that is the hope.

I am an enneagram 9, a peacekeeper.  The driving motivation for much of what I do or don’t do is in an effort to keep the peace both with those around me and within myself.  I avoid conflict like the plague and am constantly fighting a war on two fronts because of this, both external and internal.

It’s exhausting.

It’s exhausting because there is no way of avoiding conflict in life.

We meet people who act in ways that annoy us. 

We run up against people who choose to act in ways that hurt us.

I’m married.

I have kids.

Politics.

Conflict.  Conflict.  Conflict.

And for someone who would rather avoid it, it takes a lot of energy to either ignore the chaos swirling around me, repair the damage done to my relationships, or to mend the brokenness inside me.

All for the sake of peace.

In Luke 2, the stillness of a winter’s night is interrupted on a Judean hillside by an angel proclaiming to a group of shepherds that a Savior has been born in Bethlehem.  The angels sing,

Glory to God in the highest,

and on earth peace among those

with whom he is pleased!

For a fleeting moment in the midst of the Christmas story, all is right with the world.  The angels sing, the shepherds rejoice, and it seems this dream of peace on earth could become reality.

But in Luke 3, a dissonant voice breaks into this joy-filled nostalgia.  John comes preaching about broods of vipers and trees needing to be cut down and thrown into the fire.

Peace interrupted.

Or is it?

John’s part of the Christmas story is often forgotten if not overlooked altogether.  More often than not, he is seen as a bit player in story of Jesus who comes and goes, wild beard and locust diet, yelling a lot, and eventually losing his head altogether.

He is probably best known for being the one to baptize Jesus and set in motion his ministry.

But this is it.

Why?

Maybe it’s because he comes off looking more like Cousin Eddy from Christmas vacation than a true evangelist, all polish and shine.

Maybe it’s because his message seems at odds with the one Jesus preaches, condemnation and not grace.

Or maybe it’s just because he isn’t Jesus.

But we need John.

We need to hear his voice, to feel the record scratch, to feel our tranquil peace interrupted.

We need this because peace as we so often see it is no peace at all, at least as far as the Christmas story goes.

You see, in our world, a world in which 24 hour news cycles only seem to talk about political turmoil and a nation/world tearing itself apart, a world in which cancer and violence and brokenness run rampant, we will do anything to get away from all of this.

We are really all closet 9′s, seeking to find ways to dull the noise of chaos around us in hopes of experience just a little inner-peace and little less of the struggle and strife around or inside us.

And in an effort to find this peace, we often feel we must shut off the world around us, disengage, avoid, numb the pain.

If we can avoid the pain, avoid the conflict, avoid the people, then maybe we can find peace.

And yet, the Christmas story isn’t a story about this kind of peace.  

It isn’t a story in which the struggle ends, the violence stops, and the brokenness is healed...at least not yet.

No, the Christmas story is one in which God enters into this brokenness and lives his love for us.

It is a story in which true peace doesn’t happen because we find a way to numb the pain.  It happens because the love of God is found present in us and around us through the struggle.

It happens because we choose to be a dissonant voice in the narrative of the world around us.

In a story that preaches power, control, violence, disease, and death, we choose to live out love and hope and grace and peace.

Instead of avoiding and shutting off those who aren’t like us, who don’t think like us, whose views cause us to think of them as enemies, we choose to engage, to reach out, to listen, and to love.

True peace, the peace the angels sang of on a hillside and John called the people of Israel to in the wilderness is a peace that comes about because we are willing to enter the struggle of the world around us and live the love of God inside us.

When people experience the goodness of God’s love, this is where true peace on earth is found.

One day God promises he is going to eventually bring about the kind of peace we all long for, a peace that means the absence of struggle.

But until then, God asks us to be the kind of peace this world needs.

Be God’s love for those who need it most.

And in this, you will experience peace.

[patrickbroaddus]

Hope

Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything  That's how the light gets in

-Leonard Cohen

A few months back my wife and I were in San Antonio celebrating our anniversary.  12 years.  12 years she has put up with me.  That probably deserves better than San Antonio, and yet, there we were.  As we were walking around the Riverwalk area we decided to make the obligatory stop at the Alamo.  

I mean, it is San Antonio.  

Anyway, as we were walking up to the Alamo I noticed the street evangelists were out that day in full swing.  You know these people.  They’re the ones who are standing in these public spaces yelling at those who pass by about how the end is near and how they need to get right with God before they go to hell.

I don’t want to insult these people.  I do think their hearts are in the right place.  I really do.  And the few out this day were way better than the sandwich board guy I almost got into a fight with in Galveston once because of how awful he was being towards a group of girls nearby or bullhorn guy who was out screaming at anyone and everyone on the campus of Sam Houston State when we lived in Huntsville.  The couple of people out evangelizing this day were being kind and compassionate in their approach, which I really appreciate.

But, no matter the packaging, the general message of all of these people is the same.  The world is an evil place.  We are evil.  And hell awaits all those who don’t accept Jesus as their Savior...now...because the apocalypse is coming.  And you don’t want to wake up tomorrow and face the end without having accepted Jesus.

There is a certain fear tactic here that is meant to scare people to Jesus with the potential immediacy of hell, damnation, and the end of times.

And for many, myself including, we have grown weary of this message.  We feel it paints a picture of an intolerant, unloving God ready and willing to punish any and all for their wrongdoings.  And for this current generation, this is not a message that resonates but rather insults and turns away.  All things to all people...

But I digress.

Back to the apocalypse.

We don’t like talking about the end of things.  We struggle with the images and themes of Revelation.  And unlike Paul and the disciples who lived in the immediacy of Christ’s death, resurrection, and promises of return, we have two thousand years of waiting that has numbed us to the reality of what Scripture promises: someday this world as we know it will cease and something holy will replace it.  

Or maybe said a different way, someday God will return to complete his work of redemption not just for his people, but his creation as well.  There will be a new heaven and a new earth as Scripture promises.

And yet, here we are.  In the midst of the brokenness.  Watching as families are tear-gassed at the border, or children are dying in Yemen because of war and lack of aid.  Or dealing with the fallout of another school shooting.  Or another broken family.  Or another job lost.  Or another diagnosis.  Or...or...and the list goes on.

Which is why I think it is so important that the first Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of the Hope candle, the lectionary points us towards these confusing passages  not of a baby in a manger, but of a returning King who will come to make all things new.

It seemed a bit disorienting to me this past Sunday as we read texts from both the Old and New Testaments pointing to such images.  I too wanted to hear of an angel appearing to Mary, or of shepherds, or wise men, or any other sentimental, feel good image of Christmas we could conjure.

And yet, here we were.  In the midst of dark passages of troubling times.

And yet was it not into the darkness of troubling times that the Light of the World came?

And is this not exactly what he continues to call his church to be, a light in the darkness of troubling times?

Because there is a crack in everything.

And that’s how the light gets in.

This is the hope of Christmas.

[patrickbroaddus]

We’ve Arrived...but Where?

Towards the end of the movie Shawshank Redemption, Morgan Freeman’s character is finally paroled from prison.  He had been there the better part of 50 years and by the time he gets out, a lot has changed. “It was like the whole world went and got itself in a big d@#! hurry.” (pardon the bleep)

This line sums up many of our lives perfectly.  We are all in a big hurry to get somewhere.  This can be a literal statement as many of us rush around to jobs, ball practices, dance recitals, appointments, etc.

But I think it can also express how we’re all trying to get to the next chapter of our lives, thinking once we get “there”, wherever “there” is, life will be what we have always hoped it will be. We will have arrived.

If I can just get that job...

If I can just get married...

If I can just get past the infancy stage of parenting...

If I can just get past the threenager stage of parenting...

If I can just get past the young children stage of parenting...

If I can just...you get the picture.

A year and a half ago we made the exciting and yet very scary decision to move our family away from job security and the life we knew back home to Waco.  We had little plans other than we’d be living with my in-laws for a spell while I job hunted, believing this wouldn’t be longer than a few months.

But as time drug on and we continued to live with my in-laws and I continued to come up empty on the job trail, that feeling of “if we could just get to...” grew stronger and stronger.  We thought, “If we could just get out of my in-laws and have our own space again..., “ or, “If I could just find a job, any job...” then life would finally settle down and we’d be set!  

We could feel like we had finally arrived.

But what happens when you finally get to where you were trying to go?  Even if it takes a year and a half, when you finally get there it is always tempting to hurry up and move on to the next destination.  There is already that next place you want to get to which ultimately means you never take time to appreciate the place you have worked so hard to get to.

And when you never take time to see where you are, it becomes so much easier to look over the people who are in that place with you.

And that’s a problem.

I don’t know if I would call it an epiphany moment or something else all together, but as we’ve traveled this challenging and anxiety-riden road of transition these past few years, I have finally come to realize something Paul talks about in Philippians where he says:

I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.  For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him...that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.  Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.  Brothers and sisters, I do not consider that I have made it my own.  But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

For Paul, life was not a series of endless destinations that leave us feeling empty and valueless until we find that next place we want to be.  Life was not about “arriving” but rather the road on which we find ourselves.  The only destination that made any sense to him was to be found in Christ, fully, completely, wholly.

And so, as a new year dawns, and as my family finds itself in the most secure place we have been in a year and half, enjoying our new home and my early Christmas gift of a new job at Baylor, we have come to realize we haven’t arrived nor have we reached some place of completion.

Rather, we have simply turned the page on this chapter of our lives, preparing to begin the next new adventure with open eyes for where we find ourselves, our God, and those people we are surrounded by each and every day.  We press on not towards some new goal or new destination, but rather toward the only thing that matters...the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Happy New Year.  

And may God’s richest blessings be shared with you and by you wherever you find yourself along the way.

[patrickbroaddus]

The Road to Somewhere

I’ve been wanting to write this post for some time, but for a variety of reasons have struggled to find the time to sit and put words on paper.

All that changed this afternoon.

I decided to go on a quick run after work today (yes, I am finally working in a full time job...more on that in a minute). But, as I was preparing to head out the door, I realized my headphones had not been charged and were dead.  Sure, that’s nothing more than a first world problem. But at the same time, for those of you who work out, you know how key music is to keep you moving and to help you try and not think too much about the fact you feel like you’re about to die.

With no other options, I headed into the afternoon heat sans music and attempted to make the best of it.

And that’s when an interesting thing happened...

As I began my run, I was much more alert to everything going on around me: cars passing me by, birds flying over my head, people out on walks, and so much more.

Now, that lasted about a whole 5 minutes before all I could think about or focus on was breathing so that I didn’t pass out.  Let’s face it, 90 degrees in November isn’t natural and is just plain wrong.  

But still, for those first 5 minutes I was so much more aware of life happening around me.  For those first 5 minutes the world became a bigger place.

That might as well be a metaphor for what the last two months have been like for me.

Many of you know a lot about our story over the last year and a half.  We left behind a wonderful church and community in North Carolina where I had been pastoring to return home to Waco and family, something we felt and still feel was a calling from God.

It was a leap of faith knowing that I did not have work lined up at the time, but there was nothing that could have prepared us for what we were preparing to endure.  

I spent 15 months with no full time work, lining up part time work where I could to try and make ends meet for our family. 12 of those months we spent living with my in-laws (who were amazing by the way...unbelievably generous and supportive in spite of having 4 extra bodies in their home).

It was the single most difficult year of my life and our life as a family.  Hope diminished.  Depression seeped in the cracks.  Tension and anxiety rose.  And as every new opportunity only produced another closed door, we began to seriously wonder just what was going on and where God was in this whole process.

Then a little over a month ago as we were listening to our pastor preach I had one of those moments when you know it’s time to listen because God is about to reveal something profound.

What I felt I was hearing that morning was this: stop worrying about the destination and start paying attention to the road you’re on.

You see, I have this compulsive need to know where my life is going all the time.  I want to know where I’m going to be in 5 years, 10 years, 15...you get the point.  

Every time we make big life choices I’m constantly spinning out different scenarios about what each ripple in the pond might produce.  I want to know how choice A will impact choice B, etc. 

Now, there’s nothing wrong with planning or having goals in your life.  But at the same time, who many of those plans or goals are guaranteed?  Trust me folks.  Life really does come at you fast.  

And for a planner like me, not having a plan because you have no idea what you’re actually planning for is petrifying.

But here’s the problem.  When you constantly are obsessing over the place you’re trying to get to, you miss out on so much and potentially on an amazing opportunity that you will miss if you don’t have eyes wide open along the way.

You see, we all have this tendency to live in these self made cocoons, focused solely on what we hope might be while all the time missing out on what is around us.  It’s like running with head phones on and never seeing or hearing any of life you are running past.

I have become convinced that more than anything, God wants us to run with eyes wide open, focused more on where we are in our own life’s race than on the ultimate destination (see Philippians 3:7-14).  I feel this way for two reasons.

First, it does matter how we choose to live our lives.  If all we want is to get to the end, then the end truly will justify the means.  We will run over anyone we have to if it means getting what we want.  If this is the way we run, then who will ever see Christ in us?

Second, where we are trying to get to may not be where God wants or needs us.

I have been so focused these last 15 months on trying to land a job at a church or at Baylor that I have been able to think of little else.  But then I slowed down and decided I would allow the road I’ve been on to take me wherever it may.  I kid you not, literally the next day I got a call asking if I’d be willing to take over a long term substitute position in Midway’s Special Education department.  Shortly after accepting that, a few people in the department encouraged me to apply for the position and now here I am three weeks into a new full time job as  a Special Education Assistant.  

At the end of the day, I’m still not sure where this road is leading.  I’m considering certification and teaching next year, but that doesn’t mean that’s where I’ll be.  Nothing is promised...except this one thing:

No matter where the road may lead, we know the one who walks with us.  He is not waiting on us in parts unknown or at a destination still undetermined.  He is right there beside us encouraging, strengthening, leading, prodding, pulling, admonishing, and loving us each and every step of the way.

I don’t know where you are in your life.  And I don’t know where you are trying to get to.  But for just a moment, take time to come out of your cocoon and open up your eyes to what’s around you.  You never know where you might find God and in the process, find yourself.

May the peace of Christ go with you wherever he may send you,

May he guide you through the wilderness,

May he protect you through the storm.

May he bring you home rejoicing at the wonders he has shown you,

May he bring you home rejoicing once again into our doors.

[patrickbroaddus]

Hold On

Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.  And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell—and great was its fall!

Matthew 7:24-27

It was the summer of 2001 and I was getting ready for my senior year of high school.  

I’m not sure how many of you know this, but I actually took piano lessons from second grade through the end of high school.  I wasn’t the best player or student, but I enjoyed the idea of making music and was good enough to be a part of a group each summer who traveled to an ensemble event to play and perform.

In the summer of 2001, the event was being held down in Houston.  But there was a problem:

Tropical Storm Allison was barreling towards the Texas coast.

No one at the time knew just how devastating this storm would become, and seeing as it was not going to reach hurricane status my mom and I decided to chance it and hit the road for Houston.

As we were reaching the outer reaches of the city, the storm was making landfall.  Let’s just say I’ve never seen my mom more tense as we drove through flooding streets and driving rain trying to make it to a family friend’s house where we would hunker down for the next few days.

(Her stress wasn’t helped by the fact that I had put on Richard Wagner’s [pronounced Ri-card Vagner] Ride of the Valkyries...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AlEvy0fJto #nerdalert)

The wind blew.

The waters rose.

And yet...

We did not experience even a fraction of what the people of Houston, and soon the people of Florida, have and will experience in the coming days.

I cannot begin to imagine how devastating Hurricane Harvey was to live through.  And that’s after spending almost a week with my brother and sister-in-law who sat in their Houston home watching the waters rise all around them or having dear friends whose house flooded outside east Houston!

My heart breaks just thinking about the fear and destruction so many have experienced these past weeks.

The storms that rage in our spiritual and emotional lives are no less powerful or destructive than the ones nature produces.

If you have ever been through a season where you felt like it took every ounce of strength you possessed to just keep your head above water, you know that of which I speak.  Every day is another exercise in simply surviving.  You don’t know how much more you can endure or which wave will be the one that finally overwhelms you for good.

Gulping for air, struggling to swim, you wonder how you are going to make it through the day...

Which is why this passage in Matthew 7 has become so important to me.  It’s an all too familiar passage, but one in which I think we have missed the heart of Jesus’s message.

At the center of this analogy are two men who have built homes, one on a strong, rocky foundation and the other on the unstable sand.  When the rains come and the winds blow and the flood waters rise, only one of these two will see their house survive.  It is the one who built their house on the rock.

This is well enough.

But what I feel we often miss in the midst of this story is the fact that BOTH of these men are forced to endure the storms and tempests of life!

Neither the believer or unbeliever are spared the harsh realities of our broken world.

Scripture never claims that those who trust in Christ will be spared life’s most difficult seasons.  Scripture never assures anyone that God is supposed to make their lives easier, simpler, or free of conflict.

The only thing we are assured is when the storms of life rage around us, those of us who have built our houses upon the rock of Christ have something we can cling too, bare knuckled, battered and bruised, by the tips of our fingers, but cling to nonetheless!

A day after we arrived in Houston, we ventured into the city during the lull in the storm to see my brother who was working at a church in the area as he prepared to get married later that summer.

As we drove in there is an image I will never forget.  We were going up on one of the tall overpass exchanges when I looked up and realized we were literally sitting in the eye of the storm.  I could see the cloud walls all around us, knowing all too well the storm was raging just beyond their reach.  But for the moment, we sat in the peace and quiet of the eye of the storm and breathed a reassuring sigh of relief.

I don’t know what you are going through.

I don’t know if the storm is still on the horizon, raging all around you, or simply taking a quick breather before resuming its tempestuous destructive path through your life.

But what I do know, what I have experienced over the last year, is that for those of us who are willing to cling tightly to the one who is our rock, even when God seems most distant, he is still the only one who has allowed me to continue to get back up and stand strong in the face of some of life’s cruelest storms.

So hold on tight, brothers and sisters.

Don’t lose faith.

For the rock upon which you cling is no less than the creator and sustainer of life.  He is with you...

And so am I.  

[patrickbroaddus]

Your Will be Done

Pray then in this way:

Our Father in heaven,

   hallowed be your name.    Your kingdom come.    Your will be done,    on earth as it is in heaven.    Give us this day our daily bread.    And forgive us our debts,    as we also have forgiven our debtors.   And do not bring us to the time of trial,   but rescue us from the evil one.

-Matthew 6:9-13 NRSV

The end was coming.  He knew it was.  He’d known it was coming for some time.  

Every thing he had done.

Every lesson he’d taught.

Every miracle he’d performed.

It had all been leading to this moment.

And yet, in the crucible of that fateful night, he still had a choice.  Jesus had led the disciples outside the city to a small garden on a hillside to pray.  And there in the darkness, away from the crowds, away from the authorities, away from the narrow, cramped streets of the Holy City, Jesus had to choose.

On the one hand, he could stay.  He could stay and face his accusers who at that every moment were gathering together soldiers and Temple police to come find and arrest him.  To walk this road was to willingly choose death...his death...over the death of us all.

On the other hand, he could run.  He was well outside the walls of the city with nothing and no one between him and the Judean wilderness.  He could simply choose to walk away from all of it and live out his life in peace.  To walk this road was to willingly embrace life...his own life...over that of everyone else.

Have you ever taken time to consider these stakes?  To really sit in the difficulty of that moment and that choice?  

Have you ever thought about what you would do?  

Have you ever thought about how hard it must have been for Jesus, begging God to choose a different way, to still pray for God’s will, not his own, to be done?

I mean, he was willingly choosing death by choosing to follow through on “God’s will.”

Think about that!  

Would you choose to die...ever?

Tucked away in these few verses of Matthew 6 is a line I cringe at every time I pray it.  These 5 verses are some of the most famous and most memorized in all of Scripture.  It is a prayer taught to us by Jesus as an answer to the only thing the disciples ever ask Jesus to teach them without being prompted by Jesus himself.  And right there in the middle of this prayer is the same thing Jesus prayed at the end of his own life, “Let your will be done.”

I cringe at these lines because at the end of the day, how many of us actually want God’s will to be done?

I mean, we certainly want his will to be done here on earth so far as it concerns things that work in our favor: salvation, redemption, cures for illnesses, family members brought back from the brink, new jobs, higher paying jobs, new homes, etc., etc.

But what happens when God’s will, whatever that actually means, isn’t our will?  What happens when what God knows needs to be done isn’t what we want to happen?

What happens when God calls us to abandon comfort for charity?

What happens when God calls us to abandon luxury for the poor?

What happens when God calls us to a place we’d rather not go?

What happens when God calls us to give up a relationship that is going to mean our own isolation?

What happens when God says to be patient and wait when you know time is not a luxury you possess?

What then?

What do the words of that prayer mean to you then?

They carry an all together different kind of weight that still somehow seems to pale in comparison to what Jesus faced that night in the garden.

And yet it is still a burdensome weight to us nonetheless.

As I feel this same weight pressing in on me daily, I have come back to this one thought over and over again, sometimes slowly, other times in desperation:

In giving up our own will, we join Jesus on the road to the cross, on the road to death, our own death, and in so doing place ourselves on the only path that can lead to resurrection.

And so once again I sit to pray, allowing those words Jesus taught his followers to pray so many years ago to pass through my lips, cringing still all the same, but in the comfort that in choosing death, I am choosing the path to life.

[patrickbroaddus]

Silence

I find it strangely ironic to be sitting to write on silence while sitting in one of the least silent places I can think of: a coffee shop.

I am surrounded by the constant noise of coffee beans grinding, ice blending, canisters clanking.  Throw in a healthy dose of elevator-esque background music and it is surprising that I can even hear myself think!

Truth be told, we are rarely silent in our modern world.  We are constantly surrounded by noise.  

Traffic.

People.

Music.

Machines.

You name it, it probably makes noise.  

This is especially true of parents who know all too well the need to check every new toy their child receives to make sure it has an off switch, completely prepared to deal with their child’s wrath upon being told they cannot keep said new toy because it cannot be made to stop making noise!

Noise.

Noise.

Noise.

Always more noise.

To many of us, this constant background track of our lives can make silence jarring.  It is uncomfortable and disturbing.  It unnerves us.  Sure, we say we could use less noise in our lives, but the truth is we simply only want less, not the total lack of sound.

Have you ever been around when all of sudden, for no good reason, the room goes completely silent?  It’s almost awkward in its own way.  People inevitably sit there uncomfortably watching and waiting to see who will finally lift the burden of quiet from everyone else by breaking the silence.  When this occurs you can almost hear the collective exhale of the others in the room as they are relieved of the awful weight of the void of sound.

Think about it long enough and you will realize you do not truly want silence in your life...just less noise.

Which I think can at least explain in part why we come unhinged when the silence we experience is not physical but spiritual.

When the line to God seems to go dead and we are lift with nothing but static, we can be left completely incapacitated surrounded by darkness and depression.

It does not help that God only seems to go quiet when we need him most.  I know that is a gross oversimplification, and yet...how often have you been concerned about not hearing from God when life is going well?

And so in the midst of the silence we are left alone, abandoned to our fates, to our hurts, and to our frustrations with nothing and no one.

Compounding this isolation is what I believe to be a culture in the church that doesn’t allow room for doubt and questions from those in the midst of despair.  

I’m not saying people impose this culture willingly or even knowingly on people who are hurting as they plead for God’s presence.  We are not that cold-hearted.  And yet, we are often unnerved by those who are mired in the depths of their pain, not knowing what to say or do.  And so we either say or do nothing, or we offer advice that is unneeded and unwanted.

People in pain don’t want to hear about how it’s going to all be ok.

People needing to hear God’s voice or sense his movement in their lives don’t want to hear about how you need to wait on the Lord’s timing, because in the end it’s going to all be ok.

Is it?

How do you know?

How can you be so sure?

All this makes the silence and loneliness all-consuming.

If you are one of those stuck in the silence, allow me to welcome you to the club.  I feel this has been my life for the better part of the last year.

And guess what?

It sucks...bad.

There are days where I feel I’m barely coping.

I want answers.

I want relief.

I want my situation to change.

And everyday I feel I receive the same response:

Nothing.

But...

I want to give a word of hope to my fellow sojourners in the darkness.  Scripture has not left us without words to speak into the void.

Did you know, tucked away in the midst of the Psalms are a whole host of Psalms, or parts of Psalms, that give word to what it is you are going through?  

They are Psalms that ask the tough questions.

They are Psalms that at times almost seem to be yelling at God.

They are Psalms filled with all the hurt and pain and yearning we know so well.

They are Psalms filled with words like, “How long O God...” or “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

That last one sound familiar?  It should.  It can be found on Jesus’s lips in the final moments of his life.  As one author put it, it was the first time that Jesus cried out to God in his ministry and didn’t receive a response.  It’s the first time he spoke and nothing happened.  Nothing.  Silence.

I want you to know that Scripture is not simply there as a moral code book or a Hallmark card of cute, sweet pithy sayings.  Its not full of just the good things in life.

Scripture is filled with all the grittiness of life, the good, bad, and most definitely the ugly.  It is full of people who knew the crushing weight of God’s silence all too well.  

Sure, it is full of stories of people who got the answers they wanted.

But it is also full of stories or prayers of people who didn't.  And I don’t think that’s by mistake.

I think those stories and those Psalms are there so that we might know we aren’t really alone in the silence.  There are many other pilgrims who have walked this road before.  And maybe it is in the company of the lonely we might find what it is we are really looking for: honest community.

[patrickbroaddus]

Sitting in the Suffering

For Jennifer and Allie...

It should come as no surprise to any who read my most recent post that this past year has been a difficult season for myself and my family.  It was a little over a year ago we picked up the roots we had grown in North Carolina, leaving behind our church, our church family and community, and in many ways our lives as we had known them, for what we believed to be a great adventure and call to return home to Texas and our family.

To say this past year has not gone as we expected might just be the understatement of the century.  We have battled the trials of being a single income household, living a whole year in someone else’s house, bouts with depression and anxiety, frustrations with life, with each, with God...

The list goes on.

Finally, over the course of the past month those storm clouds which have so violently surrounded us seem to be slowly lifting, allowing life to return to our home and our relationships.  It is like that first great breath of air one gulps as they come breaking through the crest of a crashing wave, exploding through your lungs the life giving oxygen you have been starved of as you were tossed about below the water’s edge.

It is often in these moments reflection of what you experienced can take place in all its raw honesty and truth.

Removed from the pain and the immediacy of the hardship, you can begin to look back and take stock of what you have gone through.

It was in one of these moments last week that my wife and I were able to sit and talk and reflect on this past year.  As we talked, Courtney began to open up about a recent podcast she had been listening to by one of her favorite authors.  It had helped to shape a lot of her thinking recently about what we had gone through and has helped her to process these difficult times.

In this particular podcast, this person talked about our need to be able to sit in our suffering.  It is often in these times that God shapes and molds our faith in profound and life changing ways that cannot happen when life is easy.  In the crucible of the fire, our senses are heightened, our wits sharpened, our hearts more open to the movement of the Spirit.  

If we became less concerned about simply changing our circumstances but truly allowed ourselves to sit in the midst of what we were going through, there is an opportunity to have our faith strengthened and grown in ways we could not imagine.

This is a nice thought.  

It can even be a comforting one which allows us to believe our suffering isn’t for nought.

It isn’t thoughtless or spoken by one who has not experienced pain or hardship.

In fact, the person who spoke these words speaks them from very real and extremely unfortunate experiences.

And, truth be told, they aren’t necessarily wrong.

But when you receive news like we did last Thursday...

Courtney and I were sitting on the couch talking shortly after the kids had gone down for the night when Court’s phone began to buzz.  She glanced at the screen and her face immediately went ashen.

On it was a text from one of her best friends from North Carolina saying that her sister’s husband, another good friend of ours...

A good man...

A good husband...

A good father...

Had suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack.

Even as I attempt to write about this almost a week later, words still fail me.  We have been numb and devastated ever since we heard the news.  Our hearts are completely broken for his wife and the 4 year old daughter he leaves behind.  We hurt deeply for his family and for our church as this sudden tragedy has left them shaken and distraught.

And it is in the midst of this unexpected and senseless suffering that the notion of sitting in its midst sounds completely useless if not down right hurtful.  

Why...how in events such as these could we ever begin to encourage someone to sit in the midst of that pain and hope to grow from it?

How could we possibly tell them to look for the God they surely believe has abandoned them or at least simply failed them in their time of greatest need?

How petty these grand notions we speak in times of peace and stillness sound when they crash against the harsh realities of pain and affliction.

It’s not that there isn’t truth we can learn as we sit in the midst of suffering.  And it’s not that there aren’t ways our faith can grow in unimaginable moments during these times of trial.

It’s just that the idea of trying to comfort someone with these words seems...well...useless.

So what are we to do?

When all seems lost...

When the darkness feels absolute...

When God has seemingly abandoned us or those we love to the harsh realities of pain and death in our world with little hope of relief or his intervention...

What are we to do?

Simply this...

Wrap your arms around those hurting and be God’s hands and his feet to the suffering.  Speak his love, and as someone once said, use words if necessary.  Those who are in the midst of the pain want more than anything to feels God’s presence, to sense that there can be meaning to what they are going through which only God can give.

But the truth is, more often than not, those who are engulfed by the darkness simply cannot see God no matter how hard they try.  The darkness is too absolute and all consuming.  The grief, the pain, the fear, the hopelessness overwhelm and the search for God will most often be in vain.

Which is where we as the body of Christ come in.

We are capable of being a tangible representative of the living God in the midst of death...

We are capable of being a moment of light in the midst of the darkness...

We are capable of great comfort in the midst of the pain.

We can be God’s real presence to the hurting and lost.

They may not know it.  They may not see it.  They may not recognize it until years later.  But it is this to which we the church are called.

As our brothers and sisters sit in the midst of the suffering, we are called to sit with them.  

And maybe, just maybe, at some point down the road, when the darkness isn’t so absolute, when the pain isn’t so all-consuming, those whose lives have been wrecked by life’s needless tragedies might look back on those times, see God’s abiding presence lived out through his people, and know His love.

[patrickbroaddus]

Winds in the Desert

For many of you, these past weeks and months have been a mystery as Courtney and I have attempted to settle into a new life back in Waco.

That is not by accident.

I have been hesitant to share about what has been going on in my life recently because, quite frankly, very little has been happening. 

And that’s been the problem.

11 months ago, I resigned as pastor of a wonderful church in North Carolina, believing strongly in God’s leading to return home to Texas and to follow an amazing opportunity that had landed at my wife’s feet.

When this happened, little did I know that we were preparing to plunge headlong into one of the hardest years of our lives.  I had no worries about what life in Texas would look like.  We would be surrounded by the people we had missed the most over the past 4 years of living halfway across the country.  I would soon find a new job either in one of the 150+ Baptist churches in McLennan county alone(!) or somewhere like Baylor.  And we would endure only a brief respite living with my in-laws while we transitioned into a new home for our family.

Well, so much for that.

It has been 11 months.  I’m still job hunting and we still live with my in-laws (though that is hopefully about to change as we are preparing to close on our new house at the beginning of June...fingers crossed!!!).  And though we are surrounded by those we love most, we have felt more alone and isolated than we have ever felt.

I cannot tell you how hard I had to swallow to write those last words...

To confess them publicly when we have spent most of the last year avoiding talking about it...

Folks, this last year has been hard.  It has easily been the hardest my family and I have had to go through together.  

Searching for a job while being greeted by silence and closed doors...

Wondering when we would be able to have our own space again (though may I just say how amazing my in-laws have been through this whole thing?  I couldn’t ask for a better, more understanding, or supportive family.  Thanks for everything Craig and Christi!!!)...

There have been many tears, even more questions, and quite a few late night runs to Starbucks in an effort to get away from it all while attempting to solve why we kept striking out at life.

It’s been hard.  Have I mentioned that yet?

As if life hasn't been hard enough, we have also experienced what so many have experienced in times like these: an overwhelming sense that God is either not listening or has just disappeared all together. 

We have endured the proverbial desert in our faith, struggling with what it looks like to trust in God when life has stopped giving to you and has begun to strip away all you have always taken for granted. (If that last sentence didn’t sound like a spoiled middle class kid from the city I don’t know what would...truth hurts).

Deserts are hard not because they are hot or dry or sandy (though honestly, have you ever been to the beach?  If so I’m sure you’re still finding sand in places you never thought possible no matter how long ago your trip was).

No, deserts are hard because they are barren.

Devoid of resources.

Devoid of necessities.

Devoid of life.

And that’s what it has felt like these last few months, like we’ve been walking through a life lacking in resources, necessities, and true meaning.

And so we pray to God, asking him to fix these things, right?

And when the answers don’t come quickly enough we pray to God and complain.

Then we complain a little louder.

Then we start the shouting.

Then we give God the silent treatment.

And when that doesn’t work we start the whole vicious cycle all over again.

Which is why this morning as I was reading a passage out of the Wilderness Wanderings in the book of Numbers, I had this strange realization that I have been wandering in the same wilderness as the Israelites all those years ago.

No, not the same physical wilderness.

But rather the same wilderness of the soul.

Which is a problem.

Why?

Well, have you ever read the story of the Israelites in the desert?

Yeah, it’s not easy and it is a constant struggle against the elements.

But...

Do they ever seem to lack in anything they really need?

I mean, even when they feel they do, what does God do?  He gives them manna.  He gives them quail.  He gives them water.  He gives and he gives and he gives...

And what do the Israelites do in return?

They gripe and ask for more...

In spite of the fact that God continues to be an incredibly tangible presence with them the whole time.

Cloud by day.  Fire by night.  Voice on the mountain.  You name it, God shows himself in some amazing ways during those wanderings.

And yet...gripe, gripe, gripe, gripe, gripe...you get the point.

Do you want to know the truth?

I’ve been the same way.

God has been present with me these past months even when he has not seemingly provided in the ways I’ve wanted.  I may want a job or a new home or so many other things.

But I’ve always had what I’ve needed.  Roof over my head.  Food on my plate.  Clothes on my back.  And God’s continued presence with me.

How spoiled am I when that’s not enough?

But no more.

This morning I chose to sense a different wind blowing across the sands of this barren time...it is the wind of God’s ever present Spirit blowing through my dusty, sand filled soul.  

And it has been there all along.

[patrickbroaddus]

Responding to Tragedy

Yesterday morning I sat in worship with my church family, blissfully unaware of that the worst mass shooting in the history of our nation had just occurred in Orlando, FL.  When I finally arrived home the horror of those events came flooding in through images, news articles, Facebook and Twitter posts, and so much more.

A few hours earlier I had stood in the pulpit preaching on the need for the church to reclaim a better understanding of who the Holy Spirit is and what the Holy Spirit desires to do in the life of God’s people.  But even more than just a better understanding, I exhorted our people to open their hearts and their lives to the powerful movement of the third person of the Trinity, the very presence of God living within those of us who believe.

As I preached, I wanted to draw attention to one of the few places Jesus ever talked about the Holy Spirit and what the Holy Spirit was going to do for God’s people, a passage found in John 14.  There Jesus states two very important roles the Holy Spirit is to play in the life of the church.

First, the Holy Spirit is to be our companion, God’s forever presence with us now that Jesus has departed.  He is here with us, comforting us, rejoicing with us, embracing us, and reminding us we are not alone.

Oh God, might the families who have been forever altered by this senseless tragedy sense your presence in their lives in a tangible way today.  May they know your love and companionship in a time of loneliness and despair.

Secondly, Jesus tells us the Holy Spirit comes as a teacher, as the one who will remind us of the words Jesus taught and the life he desires us to live.

Oh God, may we be reminded of your words, spoken through your Son to your church:

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

You have heard it said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.

Oh God, remind us of the words of your servant Paul who said:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all.  If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all...Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

But it doesn’t end there.  The apostle Paul would later say in his letter to the Roman church the Spirit has another important role to play in the life of God’s people.  He says the Spirit is there to help us in our weakness, especially when we don’t know how to pray.  

Oh God, I have long ceased to know how to pray for those who continue to be effected by evil incarnate.  

Holy Spirit, pray for us...

Pray for those affected by this violence...

And pray for those who continue to perpetrate such senseless tragedies...

There was one last piece to my sermon yesterday about the role of the Holy Spirit in the church, and I truly believe it may be the most important one.  You see, up to this point, everything Jesus and Paul have said about the Spirit has had to do with what the Spirit can and will do for God’s people.

But, in this last passage, we hear what the Holy Spirit wants to do for others in this world through God’s people.  In Galatians, Paul writes that the Spirit is supposed to be producing a very specific set of values in the church, values such as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  

It is in times like these, as we wrestle with how to respond to tragedy, especially when it is a tragedy that affects a group of people many in the church adamantly stand against, that our true values will stand out. 

Do we respond to this tragedy with the love of Christ for those affected, even if they are people whose lives do not reflect the values we profess to believe in...

Or do we respond with calloused hearts, saying as some church leaders have that they had it coming to them?

Do we respond to this tragedy with kindness, sharing the peace of Christ with those whose lives have been hurled into the chaos of violence and loss...

Or do we respond with bitterness and contempt, refusing to share grace with the hurting simply because their lives do not match our own?

Do we respond to this tragedy with a gentle spirit and joy-filled hearts that break when people suffer...

Or do we respond with indifference, tiring of the continued images of violence in our world and thanking God it wasn’t us?

People of God...

You do not have to stand for or with the LGBT community or any other particular community in our country or in our world.  We have the God-given right to hold firm to our beliefs and what we profess to be truth.

BUT...

What we as the people of God are called to stand for and what we must stand for now more than ever is humanity.  No matter how people choose to live their lives...

How different they may look...

How different they may act...

How different they may believe...

Every last, single human being alive on this earth has been created in the image of God and are therefore his children, imbued with God’s dignity and worth.  No person should have to fear for their lives and no person should have to endure what happened in the early morning hours of Sunday, June 12 in Orlando, FL.

So today, Church, I ask you to stand...

I ask you to stand not for a cause...

Not for a particular group or community...

But rather I ask you to stand for life, for humanity, and for the love of Christ that desires no person should die, but that all might come to know of God’s redeeming presence in their lives.

Orlando, we pray for you today.

We pray for your sons.

We pray for your daughters.

And we pray that the Spirit and presence of Christ would be shared with you in a tangible, life-giving, comforting way as you grieve and mourn your loss.

[patrickbroaddus]

A Letter of Gratitude to Our Church

Antioch Baptist Church,

I have recounted this story now many times over the last week as I have gone about the difficult task of announcing my resignation as pastor of our church.  Three and a half years ago, when Courtney and I came to Antioch in view of a call, we were supposed to gather one night for an informal dinner with the deacons and their spouses.  But, what was supposed to be a gathering of maybe 20-30 people somehow turned into a gathering of over 100 people, and what was supposed to be an informal dinner somehow turned into a formal Q&A between the church and myself.

In the midst of the questions and conversation, I will never forget Eldon Sloan, chairman of the deacons at the time, standing and offering this promise to me and my family.  He said, “We know what it is you would be giving up to come here to be our pastor.  We know how far from family you will be and how hard that will be for you.  But what I want you to know is this: if you come here to be our pastor, we will be your family.”  Not that we had any doubts that God was calling us to this church, but if we had any remaining, they faded away with those words.  We knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was the place we were about to call home.

In the three and a half years that have followed, Antioch you have more than upheld the promise Dr. Sloan made on your behalf.  You have been family to my family and then some.  You have loved us and supported through more than we could have imagined.  From car accidents and surgeries, to the birth of our daughter, through my father’s heart surgery and Courtney’s dad’s a-fib diagnosis, to grandparents cancer treatments, and so much more you have been there for us.  

I will never be able to adequately tell each and every one of you how grateful I am for the way you have loved me, my wife, and especially our children.  We do not deserve the grace, trust, and patience you have shown us, and especially shown to me as your pastor during our time together.  I hope in some small way, you have felt that love returned to you through the way we have served alongside you.  But whatever it is I have given to you, you have given me a far greater gift.

As we prepare to enjoy these last few weeks together, I want you to know that we will continue to pray for you and what it is God is about do here at Antioch.  I trust that if God is the one calling us away that it will also be God who is preparing another to call here to continue the work we began together.  And what is that work?  It is to continue to grow into a wonderful, loving, grace-filled fellowship that has devoted itself to worshipping God, growing disciples, and serving through missions.  

Thank you Antioch.  Thank you for everything.  We love you and will forever cherish these days we have shared with you serving the Kingdom of God.  I pray that his richest blessings and peace will be with you always...

In Him,

Pastor Patrick

[patrickbroaddus]

We Are Followers

A wise person once said, “Our’s is a pilgrim’s faith.”

I imagine they said this because faith is not a stagnant thing.  Faith is something alive and always on the move.  It is alive and on the move because our’s is a God who is alive and always on the move.

I think this is why we are called “followers.”

There is no standing still in the story of God’s people.

That’s what makes Genesis 11:30 such a poignant moment in Scripture. 

Up to this point the story of Scripture was one of creation, of things coming to life, of growth.  Sure, it wasn’t always pretty or easy.  There were many moments in which that growth came at great cost (the Garden, the Tower of Babel, the Flood).  But still, from the beginning, the story of creation and humanity was one of birth, marriage, and growth.

That is right up until Genesis 11:30.

In Genesis 11:30 we read:

And Sarai was barren; she had no children.

For the first time in Scripture...creation stops.  

Barrenness has a way of doing this.

When a couple is unable to have children, everything in life comes to a screeching halt.  There is little else in life that matters except trying to solve the question about why they are unable to have children.  It is a crushing, heartbreaking experience.

When a marriage becomes barren, empty of love or devotion, a family becomes broken.  To watch a couple once full of dreams lose their hope for a future will break your heart.

And when a church becomes barren, empty of life or direction...well, its just something we don’t like to talk or think about.

And yet...this is or will be the experience for many of the churches in our country in the coming years if current trends hold.

There have been many theories given as to why this is happening and even more proposed solutions.  But the truth remains: churches have become barren and lifeless with little hope of a future, and we don’t know what to do.

I admit I have little to offer to an already crowded conversation.  But I do think we would do well to remember our story, the story of God and his people...a pilgrim’s story.

Back in Genesis, when the story of creation came to an abrupt halt with the declaration of Sarai’s barrenness, this poor, aging couple are presented with a choice.  

In the midst of their plight, God shows up with an offer.  He tells them that if they would be willing to leave behind everything they’d ever known, to leave their family, their land, and their life to follow him, then God would replace all those and much, much more.

God did not tell them where they were actually going or how they would get there.  He did not tell them how they were going to acquire new land or a new life.  And he certainly didn’t tell this childless couple how they were going to have children at their age.  He simply asked them to follow...to move...to go forward.

This is the reminder I think our churches need now more than ever.  

Follow.  Move.  Go forward.  Don’t stop.  To stay where you are is to choose barrenness.  To step out in faith is to embrace the future God has promised us, a future full of life, not death.  What kind of future or life that will be, we can’t be certain.  But it is still God’s future and a life promised to us by our creator. 

We can follow him into that future.

Or we can choose to stay where we are, however familiar and yet barren a place that is, living the rest of our days in the regret of what might have been.

May we always be those who choose life over death, creation over barrenness, to follow over staying where we are...may we always choose the way of the pilgrim.

[patrickbroaddus]

Mission of Surrender

*from Sunday 10/11

One of my favorite stories in the Bible takes place in the Old Testament book of Numbers.  There was a prophet by the name of Balaam who had been hired by a king in his vain attempt to keep the Israelite people from taking over his kingdom.  

One day, as Balaam is traveling to meet with the king, the donkey he was riding suddenly stopped in the middle of the road.

No matter what Balaam did, he was not going to make this stubborn beast of burden take one more step...which in the end saved Balaam’s life.

What Balaam failed to see, and what the donkey saw clearly, was an angel of the Lord blocking their path.  It would take Balaam’s donkey literally speaking to convince Balaam to turn around and go back the way he had come.  

God did not want them to go that way.

Paul had a similar, though much less threatening experience in Acts 16.  He and Silas were bounding across modern day Turkey spreading the Gospel far and wide when they too found their way blocked.

And not just once...

In fact, it would take three different encounters with the Spirit of God for Paul and Silas to figure out what God was trying to tell them.  He needed them to go to a place they had not planned on going.  He needed them in Macedonia.

I can not begin to tell you how many people I’ve spoken to who are longing for a word from God as clear as those words from Balaam’s donkey or a vision as clear as the one Paul saw of the man from Macedonia.

And yet, these clear signs rarely come.

We want so desperately to know where God wants us to go or what God wants us to do, but all we receive is static on the line.

Where should I go God? (white noise)

What should I do God? (cricket...cricket)

God?

The answer to this question is never easy.  And it is never as simple as what I want to ask those of you who feel the absence of God’s voice.

But what I want to ask is: what if the reason you don’t hear God speaking to you is because you are exactly where he wants you?

What if the reason you are failing to see the clear sign from God about where to go is because his silence is meant to be a clear sign you are where you are supposed to be?

Silence can simply be just that...silence.

But it can also speak volumes to those willing to listen.

Whether God is speaking in a clear voice from heaven or subtly in the sound of silence, the real question is will we have the faith to surrender ourselves to God’s calling on our lives?

Will we be willing to listen to those around us who are crying out for help, crying out for love, for hope, for grace, and go to these, our own people of Macedonia, and enter into their lives speaking the word from God they need to hear in and through us?

In the end, Balaam chose to serve God, not a paycheck.

In the end, Paul chose to serve God, not his itinerary.

In the end, we chose to...

[patrickbroaddus]

Mission Against Evil (or the Mission for People)

*from Sunday 9/20

When we think of what is evil, we all have different images that come to mind.

For some, it is the image of Nazi Germany of the 1930′s and 1940′s.  It is places like Auschwitz and Dachau where millions of people lost their lives because they believed the wrong thing.

For others it might be places like Darfur and Rwanda.  It can be found in the lives of those who have murdered untold numbers of people because they were simply born into the wrong tribe or in the way thousands if not millions of young girls have been enslaved to be used as nothing more than a disposable commodity.

Or maybe you see evil in the payday lending industry.  It is our country’s dirty little secret.  Slavery may have legally been abolished 150 years ago, but lest you think we’ve come a long way since those days, please know that it is alive and well through these ungodly businesses in which so many are selling their souls to pay their bills.

Where do you see the face of evil?

Scripture is clear that evil is not only real, but it is something the church is called to stand against.

But in our zeal to stand against that which is evil in our world, I believe there has grown an incredible sense of confusion in the church about what actually constitutes evil.

I watch all too often as many Christians get angry at things they believe are evil when really what they are angry at are people or policies that have caused us to lose our place of privilege in society.  This isn’t so much evil as it is life.

True evil, as I read in Scripture, is not that which stands against Christians privilege, but that which stands between the love of God and the people who need it most.

Evil is in the corruption found in too many churches where personal preference rules the order of the day instead of prayerful discernment of the will of God.

Evil is found in relationships where we see abuse and oppression instead of love and sacrifice.

Evil is seen in the human crises we see throughout our world (see the Syrian refugee crisis) but also in our communities (see the poverty and pain around you every day).

The true response to evil the world needs from the church is not more shouting or angry Christians who are upset that the church is losing its seat of honor at the table.

The response to evil the world needs from the church today is more people who are willing to see not only those who are committing evil, but those who are affected by it.  When the church sees the face of those who are oppressed, enslaved, abused, impoverished, and unloved, the church must be willing to step into the line of fire and protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Yes, we are called to a mission against evil.

But we are also called to a mission for people.

May it always be so among the people of God.

[patrickbroaddus]

Mission of the Called

*from Sunday 9/13

Why am I a pastor?

If I were honest, along with most other pastors, I would have to willingly admit this is a question I ask myself on a regular enough basis as to make one wonder why it is I do what I do.

The late night phone calls.

The constant “suggestions” on how we should do things differently than we do...and by do things differently, most often this means do them as we used to do them.

Trying to run an organization of over 200 volunteers who also just happen to be my boss.

The meetings.

The meetings.

Did I mention the meetings?

There is a conversation I wish I could have with people when they are frustrated or concerned with things happening in the church.  It goes something like this:

“Why are we doing ________?  Don’t you understand that we should be doing __________ this way?”

“Well, would you like to be the pastor and figure that out???”

“NOOOOOOO!!!!”

Exactly.  

Nobody really wants to be the pastor.  

So why am I a pastor?

Because I was called...

And so are you.

One of the reasons I believe the church has lost so much of it’s voice is because we have bought into the idea that there are only a select few whom God has called to do the work of ministry, the work of the church.  We have forgotten that Scripture has called us all to the ministry and work of God.  

As Paul writes in Ephesians 4:11-13,

The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers so as to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

Being a pastor is not easy.  But I wouldn’t want it any other way.  I love being a pastor and I love having the opportunity to minister to the people of our church.  But my true calling as a pastor lies in what Paul said to the church in Ephesus:  I am called to equip the saints (that’s you) for the work of ministry.

In other words, I was not called to be a minister. 

I was called to equip ministers.

My prayer is that as a church we can realize this holy calling that God has placed on all our lives to do the work of ministry together, me equipping you as best I can, and you loving God’s world as best you can.

Why am I a pastor?

Because I was called.

But so too were you.

This is the true mission of the church...the mission of the called.