"I have three things I'd like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night."

-Tony Campolo

Tony Campolo is a Christian pastor. If you're a Christian, chances are you think there is something vile and unholy about his word choice in the above quote. It isn't a very "Christian" thing to say. Good. Because there's more to following Christ than word choice.

Following Christ is about doing what Christ says to do. It is about living as Christ would live and it is about taking your cues from Jesus, not your church, your pastor, your Bible study group, your political party or your sub-culture. It is about doing what Jesus loves and avoiding what Jesus hates.

Jesus loves when we feed the hungry. He loves when we give to the poor, give second chances and meet the felt needs of people who are suffering. He loves it when we meet the needs of the sick and when we make the elderly smile. He loves it when we forgive people we don't understand. He loves it when we show love to one another, to the world and to our enemies.

Jesus hates whitewashed tombs. Jesus hates it when we appear righteous, when we say we follow Him and don't live in a manner befitting of His name. What am I talking about?

We have Christian bookstores and Christian radio and Christian clothing and Christian music and Christian movies and Christian paintings. We speak a Christian language and over-use words like “blessed” and “saved” and we talk about “our walk with the Lord” and our “prayer-life.” We believe firmly in our Christian causes. We pick up our picket signs and stand outside movie theaters, porn shops, theme parks and abortion clinics. We dress up in our finest linens and drive to mostly segregated churches in usually over-sized and over -priced cars. We wave our hands and sing our songs and compliment our pastors. We hit our knees and we say our prayers. We have all the outward appearances of righteousness. We do and say all the things we think “good Christians” should do and say.

But we lack the compassion and the desire to serve that actually makes someone a follower of Christ. We do not say “I love you” to the child in the ghetto. We do not scuff our knees helping widows with yard-work. We do not give people waiting for the bus a lift. We do not give clothes to children who wear rags. We do not take the time to get to know people who look and talk differently than we do. We do not care for pregnant women who have no way to take care of their babies. We do not help people who have sexual addictions. We do not show compassion for people who believe differently than we do. We do not communicate the love of an amazing and loving God in a way that even makes sense to a generation that doesn't know what they need to be “saved” from and doesn't know what in the blue hell we are talking about when we reference “our walk.” We do not include ourselves in the culture we are “called” to be “in” but not “of.” (In, by the way means “included” or “inside”) We don't watch their movies, listen to their music, talk the way they talk or read the books they read.

Then, we sit around in our ivory towers and shake our heads because we can't understand why people don't want to come to church. Perhaps it is because Jesus has left the building. Maybe if we would spend as much time being Jesus to the world as we spend “doing church” we could make a real difference and actually draw people to the savior we think we're serving.

I hope you saw yourself somewhere in this blog. I know I did.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity."

- from “The Second Coming,” William Butler Yeats

"Blessed are they who do not have to impress others by showing how smart they are."

- Christoph Blumhardt

It’s been an uneventful day. I’ve had no motivation to do anything, really. I have a couple papers left to do so I can finish up my summer classes. It’s a strange place to be at, and to be honest, one that I didn’t think would look the way it does to me now.

I am about to start my third and final year of seminary.

During my time in seminary, I have to admit that I daily fall into all of the three categories nicely laid out by the beginning quotes. I often find myself lacking conviction for things I believe God wants me to do, but probably more for who God wants me to be. I justify my actions (or inactions) by telling myself how responsible I’m being by going to seminary, or that I can’t save the world through my good intentions, thus allowing myself the chance to emotionally “check out” from issues I used to care about strongly. Or, even better, I add good intentions to my laundry list of things I will do when my life is “more together:” when I’m finished with school, when I’ve found a stable job, when I’m married and my finances are more secure.

I don’t know if any of that sounds familiar to you, but that’s where I’m at. I have also, regrettably, been full of passionate intensity at times. I have allowed my opinions or concerns to go so deeply within me that others, even well-meaning friends, have sometimes become the enemy because they are not as compassionate as I am by virtue of their taking different stances than me on select issues. And while I may not be the type to argue verbally for hours on end, at the end of the day my mind will inevitably backtrack to those few conversations when I began to feel less respect because of those differences. Intensity is not always fruitful.

And, like any student who has been a student the majority of his/her life—more recently by choice— it’s all too easy to try to impress my professors, mentors or supervisors. Never mind the fact that the academic level at any given seminary is weighed with grace. I get upset when I get an A-. I worked hard on that paper, thank you very much. And I wouldn’t mind if I got an accolade or two for the article I just wrote for the newspaper.

All of these things—these ways of being and acting—have been to my own detriment. They are also some of the lenses through which I see myself. I see them in myself first because I know that I am a human in need of God and grace, but through these lenses I also see the church.

About a week ago, I stayed up for hours tossing and turning in what I can only describe as a holy, angsty Spirit struggle. I usually enjoy thinking about what the church *is*, what it should be, and how we as a variety of Christians can at least entertain the idea of *being* the church to the world. If someone were to casually ask me on the street, I would say that the church is an instrument of blessing through which God blesses the world through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Nice, abstract, United Methodist Church-approved language, formed from the combination of my home church’s influence on me and what I learned from my Religion professors at my UM, liberal arts undergraduate school.

And then, seminary happened. Cue “Twilight Zone” music here.

I didn’t enter seminary with quite the amount of naïveté I had when I began college, but I at least had enough to think my understanding of what it means to be “church” would become more clear. Interestingly enough, the context for all of my ecclesial musing has been the United Methodist Church, a denomination surrounded by conversations from all sides about declining church membership and generational angst. Woo-hoo! Sign me up.

What I have realized about the church has come from a few channels: My understanding of Scripture, my experience in several very different church environments, the denominational lens of the UMC, and the logic which I claim as a halfway-rational person (“halfway” in the sense that my logic can become fuzzy at times). But just for kicks and grins, I’ll also throw in a few more qualifications: I’m approaching this as one influenced by post-modernity. I’m approaching this as a Christian who is clearly frustrated by many things happening under the same label, and I’m approaching this through my academic habit of writing with themes and ideas, which may sound a bit “preachy” at times. However, there are times when the words we are given must be presented. There are some things that must be preached.

I don’t claim to be an authority on anything. I see things incompletely and through my own biases. But I also think there may be a whisper of the Spirit, and so I preface these confessions of my late-night ecclesial/theological angst. They are in no particular order and fall at various places on the angst-o-meter.

1. Shelving books at the seminary library, I’m struck by the number of books which feature proud-looking, old, white theologians (all men!) with their chins in their hands, suggesting visually that they have aspired to the heights of a theological Gnosticism I could only imagine. Is this the truth to which I am aspire? That if I throw myself into theology with enough rigor that I, too, will be praised by scholars and placed on the cover of a book to admire my own profile?

2. I am sick and tired of the polarities into which we are so hell-bent on putting ourselves. It doesn’t matter if someone is a self-proclaimed liberal, conservative or moderate. We can learn from everyone, and just because each person has a particular hermeneutic or tendency does not mean that yours must match perfectly in order to be refreshed by their insight. The Holy Spirit is a little bit bigger than that.

3. I am tired of feeling like I have a third eye when someone asks me about biblical authority. I don’t believe the Bible fell out of the sky in a Ziploc (kudos to Anne Ferguson). Simultaneously, I’m also tired of feeling irrelevant when I discuss the reality of sin with someone else of another perspective.

4. We— the church—do not take ourselves seriously. We don’t take the power of the gospel seriously. We are often too content to “play church” while we live off of catch phrases we throw around like old t-shirts, like “social justice” or “liberation.” Meanwhile, there are people sitting at the table with us convinced that their lives will always involve leftovers, people envying the meal we have. We talk about a feast that is real to us but crap to everyone else. We can’t even properly show who prepared the meal of grace. We are content to feed people with witty references, interesting comparisons and “new perspectives,” all the while forgetting that if salvation is up to us, we’re screwed.

5. I am tired of sacrificing piety for mercy or mercy for piety. The history and practice of the UMC has a lot to say about that separation, but since when is it the telos? And who are we to think that we can make such a separation? I think about it as sacrificing the crucifixion for the resurrection, or vice versa. They define each other. Sin and grace. Sorrow and joy. Why do we think that we can focus on one without the other? Is this not irresponsible?

6. I am tired of being pigeon-holed; of having to apologize for being open-minded when I see the work of the Spirit in different places.

7. I am tired of re-shelving book after book about clergy burnout because there are people in every congregation who treat their ministers like slaves through the sins of needless over-programming and an unhealthy understanding of service.

8. I am tired of being concerned about orthodoxy at the expense of orthopraxy. Right belief and right practice should be together. Right belief leads to right relationship, but it must always be held in check by the Spirit because we see dimly. Right relationship, if we are to live into it in this life, results in justice. Justice unites belief and practice. Faith without works is dead.

9. Although I referred to God as “He” for many years (and still do in knee-jerk moments), I still have a problem understanding why we must be so insistent on our own use of pronoun for God over someone else’s. Are we really so determined that our pronoun is worth hurting others in the process?

10. I’m reading a book now about doing the least amount of harm to others as a way of glorifying God. While I agree with that argument on a general level, I cannot say that it is enough to do the least amount of harm. We have to return to the idea that we have the power to do harm. We have to understand what it means that we have privilege of some kind, and in that privilege we have power that leads to harm. Once we see that we can inflict harm, we must repent. We absolutely, positively have to repent.

What we cannot do—what we must never do—is turn away from hope. We cannot turn away from hope because of the resurrection of Christ. We cannot turn away from joy, and we cannot turn away from faith seeking understanding. We do not have the liberty to check in our brains at the doors of the local church, tempting as that may be to some of us who would love to do so. God is not asking for the sum total of our interpretation. God is asking for fullness of life through love. God is asking for reconciliation. And if we are to ever be reconciled, we must first admit that our attempts to be clever or convincing are ill- fated.

The only way to ever live in a family is to see who you are in relationship to everyone else. My personal piety, my quiet times or moments of emotional prayer are pointless unless I realize that faith comes through participation in something bigger than myself with people surrounding me. For those of us who embrace the title “Christian” (or some new, catchy alternative way of saying “Christian” but meaning the same thing) that particular “something bigger” involves the witness of a God who emptied himself and willingly loved us. That “something bigger” is the reason why the church matters, the reason why any of us can ever contemplate it, and the reason why our lives together matter.

The church which Christ talks about—the one against which the gates of hell cannot prevail—seems like a nice story to me most of the time, particularly as I look around me and wonder about the new creation of the world. How long, oh God?

The church of mediocrity must die. The church of oppression, intolerance and arrogance must die. The church that relies upon itself as a glorified country club must die. The church of anything short of God’s vision for humanity must die, and it will.

We are afraid of death. We are also afraid of the ways in which we participate in death. What a paradox it is then that we, who are afraid of death, continue to perpetuate it by our polarization and arrogance. Luckily for us, God even uses our participation in death to work something incredible.

We love our polarities. We love our extremes. We are obsessed with figuring each other out and playing whatever card is needed to ensure our needs are met, even at the expense of others. But if we are to even ask the question about what it means to *be* church, we must realize that, somewhere along the way, we forgot the power of the gospel that transforms. And when it transforms, it makes all things new. My question is, must this new creation be ex nihilo, or will it happen with the death of our sinfulness? Will it happen with the death of this institutional Christianity we so love and hate to embrace?

I hope that our notion of church, church as ego-supplier and church as country-club will die. I hope that it dies, and that out of the ashes something beautiful arises. I am hoping for that resurrection. I have no other hope.

This week I discovered PostSecret.com. For those unfamiliar with the website that has spawned several books, you send a postcard with a secret, which is then anonymously posted on the website. Having run a teen website for several years now, I can tell you that people are willing to tell you things on the Internet that they would never divulge in “real life.”

After just a few minutes browsing the site, some truths about humanity became apparent. Take a look at this video of some of the confessions and see what strikes you.

The authenticity and depth of emotion struck me. In these secrets we can see every human emotion including regret, unexpressed gratitude, misery, loneliness, greed, shame and brokenness, just to name a few.

We all have secrets. We all have baggage we carry with us everywhere we go. We are all broken, messed up and miserable, yet we all put on masks, go to work and pretend we are “normal.” We pretend everyone around us is normal, silently suffering and terrified that someone will find out what we're hiding, not realizing that everyone around us feels the exact same way.

It begs the question, what would the world be like if we were more authentic and open with one another? Based on the depth of my relationship with the people I am closest to and most open with, I think the world would be a better place.

On the other hand, another revelation of PostSecret is the darkness of the human sole. The way we use one another, hurt one another and keep our own interests at heart. If everyone was more authentic, we would exploit each other's weaknesses.

Still, authenticity is admirable if not always practical.

We despise abortion
But we refuse to help the poor and the fatherless

We stand for “family values”
But we don't value broken families or children from broken homes

We call ourselves blessed
But blessing others is “not our calling.”

We like to raise our hands in worship
But we don't open our hands to the needy.

We go to a church so we can be “fed”
But we don't feed the starving.

We attend a house of worship
But we call the homeless “bums.”

We say we are completely dependent on Jesus
But we call the destitute “irresponsible.”

We talk about a savior who meets you where you are
But we make the hurting come to us and on our terms.

We have the audacity to call others “lost”
But then we pray they will “find their way” on their own.

We travel the world on short-term mission trips,
But we ignore our next-door neighbor who needs long-term care.

We practice “tough love” when we get frustrated
But our lack of compassion betrays the fact that we don't love at all.

We say we are forgiven
But we go out and cast judgment.

We preach forgiveness
But we practice gossip.

We want people to know our God is real
But we are the most inauthentic people on the planet.

We're big on politics
But we reserve Bible reading to “quiet time” once a day.

We have bumper stickers proclaiming that our boss is a Jewish carpenter.
But we mock the Muslim convenience store owner down the street.

We say Jesus died for all people
But we only live for ourselves.

We say Jesus unites all people, that there is neither Jew nor Greek.
But we scoff at interracial couples.

We say there is neither male nor female
But our churches pay men more.

We call the Bible “the only rule of faith and practice”
But we follow a political ideology instead.

We wonder why people don't come to church
But we don't look in the mirror.

We ask why people don't turn to Jesus
But we ignore their cries for help.

"I am so blessed!"

This cute catch phrase echoes through the halls of churches and private schools. It usually means “Let me brag a little bit about my recent accomplishments.” When you hear this, you either have just heard or are about to hear about someone's new house, new car, wonderful marriage, recent promotion, or sudden acquisition of unexpected funds.

Jesus called people blessed, too, but some of His “blessings” are a little weird in our culture. Take a look.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Who are the poor in spirit? In Jesus day, they were the people He hung out with. Prostitutes, tax collectors, fishermen. Common, everyday people with mounds of sin heaped high. They were people the religious establishment had rejected. They loved God and wanted to grow closer to Him because they knew how much they needed Him, but they were turned away at every point by the self- righteous.

In our day, they are the woman who has had an abortion, the pregnant teenager, the homosexual, the alcoholic and the man with the tongue ring. They are the ones who sit at the back of the church and don't talk much. They come because they want to know God, but they don't feel like they belong. You might look down on them, but strain yourself and get to know them, they might have a much deeper faith than you.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

Think about someone who is truly in mourning. I picture a widow, who just lost her husband of 50 years. She's broken, when she closes her eyes she sees his face and when her eyes are open, she can't control the tears. She is hopeless and miserable and she can't get it together. If you see her, you certainly wouldn't call her “blessed.”

When Jesus talks about mourners, he is likely talking about people who mourn over their sin and over their personal failures. These are the people who are hard on themselves, who beat themselves up over minor failures. These are the folks who can't forgive themselves. They may not be right in the depth of their self-hatred, and their tendency to blame themselves may be counterproductive, but you cannot ignore their understanding of the depth of their need for Jesus. He promises they will be comforted. Those who mourn for their sins are the only ones who truly understand how badly they need to be rescued from those sins. They are also 100 times more thankful for that rescuer. Their personal pain, the very failures that keep them awake at night provide the groundwork for the true blessing of loving their God.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

The meek. The patient, the passive and the peaceful are promised the earth itself. It is not given to the go-getters, the name-droppers, or those who call undue attention to themselves. Ironically, Jesus calls a group of people blessed who would never dare to boast about being blessed. This particular group would either be the type who wouldn't have much, or who would give material possessions away easily. If they felt they were blessed, they would be unlikely to tell anyone about it, but instead quietly thank God for giving them what they know they don't deserve.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.”

It isn't those who think they have it all figured out, it isn't those who already consider themselves righteous, it is those who hunger and thirst, who are desperate for love and redemption and who know they are hungry and thirsty and that God satisfies. Again, we see that it is the desperate and needy who are considered bless.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.”

The people who give to others and who try to put others before themselves are called blessed. So often, the people who go around claiming “blessings” are the ones who did all they could to take from others, push others under the bus, and adopted a “me-first” attitude. That works in this world and has made a great many quite wealthy, but Jesus says true riches are given to those who show mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Pure in heart here is more than just a moral purity. This one is about motives. People who give so they can boast or make a name for themselves don't give from a pure heart. The pure in heart are those who do good, not with an ulterior motive or because it gives them something to boast in, but those who are concerned with their own motives and try to do good works out of a genuine love for God. These are the people who come to God with broken hearts to be purified, not the ones who come to him with arrogant pride and feel that God somehow owes them for their goodness.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

In a world where getting what you want often means backbiting, office politics and all out war, those who are called blessed are the ones who strive to avoid conflict and who try to compromise. Creating conflict can get you power, property, money and success, but it doesn't resemble God. Those who resemble God are the peaceful and those who seek to resolve conflict rather than perpetuate it. Once more, we see that the ways of the world are not the ways of God. The peacemakers are called blessed, but they are often walked on. Isn't it ironic that what is profitable on this earth is not profitable in eternity.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Persecution is not something the average person would consider a blessing. When we count our blessings, we don't typically include this on the list. Afterall, if you are truly persecuted, you could lose your family and your life. Persecution in this sense though means to be persecuted because of your relationship to Christ. To be persecuted for this reason shows evidence of a life focused on God. Such a life is considered to be blessed. The shift in thinking here is profound: those who are persecuted are powerless. It is the powerless and not those in power who are called blessed.

“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad for your reward is great in Heaven.”

To be reviled, persecuted, and lied about shows contempt and hatred for a person or idea. The unpopular and hated are blessed. Those who stand for what they believe in and are not blown by the winds and moods of the masses are called blessed. Those who choose the long and hard road instead of the easy ride are considered better off.

Why are all these groups of what we would call today “nobodies” considered “blessed?” Because God is a long-term God. He is the God of the Big Picture. You may feel blessed because you have a BMW, but your biggest blessing may come from it's being totaled, your being paralyzed and learning that you are utterly dependent on God for even your next breath.

"God wants us to prosper financially, to have plenty of money, to fulfill the destiny He has laid out for us."

-Joel Osteen

"I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create calamity, I am the LORD, who does all these things."

-Isaiah 45:7

"It's God's will for you to live in prosperity instead of poverty. It's God's will for you to pay your bills and not be in debt."

-Joel Osteen

"Is a trumpet blown in a city, and the people are not afraid? Does disaster come to a city, unless the LORD has done it?"

-Amos 3:6

The differences in these sets of quotes is striking. I picked Joel Osteen quotes, not because I have a particular problem with him, but because he happens to be one of the most popular preachers in America right now. He is also one of the leading teachers of what many people are calling "the prosperity gospel." The gist of it is that God wants to bless you financially, and if you live a good life, do good, and think positive thoughts, God will show you favor. You will find yourself wealthy and influential because this is what God wants for you.

Well, doesn't he? I'm certainly not going to say that God doesn't want to bless us. And as for prosperity, the Bible does mention it: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." -Jeremiah 29:11. This verse has gotten quite a bit of play lately. What these prosperity pastors don't tell you is that just prior to this verse, God has told Israel of His intent to bring the world to its knees so they will realize their great need for a Holy and eternal God.

The point of this often misquoted jewel is not to tell us that God has a particular interest in fattening our wallets, but that His plans are always good. His plans may bring us through struggle and calamity, but they will always make us prosper in the big picture. That means we may have a prosperous faith and a life that makes a difference, but an empty bank account. God is quite literally the only blessing human beings ever need and He knows that even if we don't. That means that in His economy, “prosperity” has a different definition. True prosperity is anything that brings us closer to the God we desperately need. We need a relationship with our creator more than we need air. We don't always want that, but God is concerned with what we need, not what we want.

If your child had a deep desire for a new video game system, but they were making C's in school, you probably would decide not to give them what they so deeply desire because it would distract them from their deeper need. In the short term, they might hate you or think you don't love them. You know that in the long-term, your decision is right and good and will benefit your child more than the instant gratification they were chasing after. God does the same with us.

First century Jews had a hard time identifying Jesus as the Messiah. He wasn't what they expected. Their interpretation of Scriptures left them expecting a King who would come with a conquering army, destroy the Romans and set up a new kingdom on this earth. They were looking for a conquering warrior who would solve their momentary struggle and improve their political situation.

In some ways, a lot of Christians who believe this prosperity gospel are doing the exact same thing. They are expecting a God who will make them financially successful and meet their short- term needs for money and property. The problem is, when bad things happen, we want to deny that God is responsible. We'll go and blame the devil or society or our boss or our spouse for our predicament.

What if God's primary concern isn't our happiness? What if He is trying to teach us something? What if He is giving us a challenging situation to mold us and to build us into the person He wants us to be? What if our definition of prosperity is entirely different than His?

It's been about a week since my last post, so let me fill you in briefly on where I am right now. Last week it became obvious that my wife's Crohn's Disease is going to prevent her from returning to full-time teaching. If the complete lack of energy doesn't stop her, the immuno- suppressants the doctor is recommending will.

So... my wife has quit her job and mine doesn't pay nearly enough to afford all of the medical bills. Right now we're more than a little scared. It feels like we're standing paralyzed at the edge of a cliff deciding whether or not to jump or be pushed.

Do we have faith? Surprisingly yes. We both know God led us here, and did so for a reason. Obviously there is something to be gained from this precarious place.

And hope? This is fleeting. The whole situation seems so hopeless, but from time to time, one or both of us will manage to look on the bright side. Mostly, we feel numb.

We're right in the middle of something that is likely to forever shape us and we have no idea what it is or what is to come. It's one thing to tell someone to “hold on to Jesus” or to “have faith.” It is another thing to actually live it out day to day, to go from holding to clinging because otherwise you know you will fall and fall hard, or to have faith simply because it is all you have left.

I'm learning over and over that when I have nothing left and feel at the end of my rope, I stand face to face with Jesus. He's all that's left when my struggles have overcome me. There's a certain amount of freedom there, because I know I don't have to fight the battle alone and that it isn't my battle to fight. Of course, that doesn't mean I will walk away without my fair share of bumps, bruises and deep gashes.

Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame; they shall be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous.
Make me to know your ways, O LORD; teach me your paths.
Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long.
Remember your mercy, O LORD, and your steadfast love, for they have been from of old.
Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for the sake of your goodness, O LORD!
Good and upright is the LORD; therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way.
-Psalm 25:3-9
I can't stand waiting.

I get impatient in long lines at the grocery store. Traffic infuriates me. I've been known to stand pensively in front of a microwave tapping my fingers on the counter because thirty seconds just seems like four days sometimes. I have a brand new laptop, it is by far the fastest computer I've ever owned. It isn't fast enough though.

I'm a journalist. My days are deadline-driven. I'm not accustomed to waiting. You can imagine how hard it is for me when I'm facing challenges in life to wait for answers that don't seem to come. When God reminds me that life moves on His time and not on mine, I don't know how to handle it. Do I pray more? Read the Bible more? Twiddle my thumbs and watch TV until whatever is supposed to happen does?

Often, I find myself worrying. Worrying begets stress and stress begets weakness, illness and misery. Waiting is by far the worst feeling in the world.

Yet, over and over again in the Bible God commands waiting and patience. He says things like, “Be still and know that I am God.” Be still? How do you do that? Just sit still and know that someone else is driving the ship? Where are we going? Why? Do we have to? Are we there yet? How much longer?

When I was a kid, we used to pack into the car once or twice a year and make a 10 hour trek to Virginia to visit my grandmother. Grandma's house was great. The town she lived in was a bit boring, but the house always smelled of home-cooking and I knew when I arrived I would be greeted with that smell and with the warmth of her house. But the drive often overshadowed the destination. I hated that drive. I would read until it made me dizzy, and listen to music until I got tired of music, and somehow that still left a balance of about five hours of sheer misery cooped up in a car that seemed to be shrinking with each mile.

Waiting means frustration. It is a slow march forward, in most cases uphill. I don’t think I know anyone who is OK with waiting. Most of my friends don’t get frustrated with microwaves like I do, but I’d venture to guess that on the big issues, most people don’t suffer waiting easily. It could be a medical diagnosis, a cure, an elusive job, a baby or a long-awaited check. Waiting is painful and it isn’t easy.

But God frequently positions us at different stages of life to wait. In the Old Testament we’re told to be still. In the New Testament, we’re told to abide and rest. The Israelites waited in slavery for 400 years and then again for 70 years in exile. The wait from Eden to the coming of the Messiah spanned thousands of years, and the wait for Christ’s return has continued for 2,000 years. Waiting is necessary, but the answer to why, isn’t really given.

Maybe it is to teach. Maybe it is to refine and build up. Maybe it isn’t for us at all, but to the people around you who watch and are inspired by how you handle the uncertainty. One thing’s for sure, whatever the reason for the wait, you will have to suffer through it without knowing the end result or the reason. You might find out once the matter is resolved, but there’s a chance you may never know the reason. The only comfort I can take from that, is that I’m in good company. The Bible does give us a bounty of others who found themselves in a position of waiting.