It's me, mike hillebrecht

Have you ever considered the very real possibility that we’re not in the right time zone? Maybe that’s not the right question. Have you ever considered the very real possibility that we’re not in the right era? Let me try to explain what I’m driving at.

Over the past several months I’ve been doing a tremendous amount of studying about the development of humans across history. The one thing that I’ve noticed is that certain perceptions of how the world operates tends to change within the population at critical points. The points aren’t the main issue as much as what the change ushers in in its wake.

Consider for example communication forms. For the longest span of time mankind’s primary mode of communication has been verbal. There were no writings, let alone reading of those writings, to collect and store. A man’s word was his bond. Somewhere along the line of time, someone decided to craft pictures and scrawls to denote what those pictures meant. Words were formed from those scribbles and a new class of people were created, those who knew what the scribbles meant, readers, and scribes, those who knew how to make the scribbles. (The reader and the scribe were not always the same person; one could write, but not read!) This invention, writing and reading, created a whole new industry in governance and trade. However, it never made a real, lasting impact to the vast population who couldn’t read or write.

Take a moment to think about how much time passed from this initial phase of writing until a printing press was created to permit multiple documents to be reproduced. Thousands of years went by before the general population could see the benefits of printing more than one copy of a document. Suddenly, printed communication began to have importance to all classes of people. Reading became a sign of a person’s place in the hierarchy of society, as did writing. New professions leapt onto the scene to capitalize on this trend in communicating.

Fast forward a few hundred years and a whole new method of communicating springs unto the world stage in the form of dots and dashes transcribed from the operation of mechanical devices attached by wires. Events could be recorded and sent across continents to people who never before had the ability to relate to others at such great distances. The distance of time had shrunk just as the distance between people had.

Today, 150 or so years since the Morse code was first instituted, we hold in our hands devices that give us instant access to people and events across the globe. We can speak to, and understand, people of a different language, see their reactions, and store pictures or video of those reactions for later viewing. Time has shrunk again to meet the requirements of a new form to an old medium of communication.

It would seem that the evolution of communication over thousands of years has been a natural event. But we all know that my simplified telling of the events cannot truly capture the drama which underlies all the brain power and technology mankind exerted to get us here today. The only obvious thing is that there was a progression, despite moments of regression, towards a goal, championed by few, embraced by all. No one would believe that the smart phone was in the works with the first drawings crafted in the recesses of some cave, would they? Of course not.

So, you might be wondering what all this has to do with grace. Have you ever considered that for all the wonders which grace has revealed to us, it was presented to us by Paul, someone who believed that the world was flat? Not only flat, but that the sun orbited around the earth? And he spread this idea of grace across the entire known world without even Morse code or a hundred copies of his letters?

Have you ever considered that the message of grace, the total unconditional acceptance of humanity by a singular deity, is a concept completely out of touch with a society where you were required to worship the ruler of the society you lived in? Have you ever thought what it must have been like to preach the inclusiveness of grace to a people who were slaves, people so below social standing that they resigned themselves to forever be beyond marginalized? Is it possible that grace then, just as today, was ahead of its time, waiting for time to catch up with it?

I have come to realize that grace is the one eternal affair which time cannot comprehend. It can quickly stick people in a box of certainty to old patterns of thought, while it also can blast people out of the same box into a life of apt wonder. It is the only concept, idea or belief that I know of which can create division by inclusion.

We live in an era where humanity across the board is rife with prejudice. Many are seeking a means of reconciling the differences these prejudices have created. However, no one is willing to offer the one means that will advance their desire simple because grace is not of this world; no one wants to take credit for employing a tactic they can’t call their own.

There are some people who believe that humanity is running out of time. I agree, however, not like you think. I believe humanity is running out of time while they run into grace. Grace is the Kingdom’s favorite means of communication. Eternal life never looked so good until grace revealed it for what it truly is.

I spoke to a friend a few days ago and the subject of grace came up. I asked him how grace was presently effecting his life. His response was a gleeful, “Grace – it’s da bomb!” He went on to eagerly tell me all the great things he was attributing to living in the grace of God. I was happy for his exuberance to life, yet, I could see that he didn’t fully understand the significance of identifying grace as “da bomb.” Sure, the term is a cultural euphemism meaning something great, grand, and incomparable. However, the truth is, grace is A BOMB! An explosive device that destroys all things which were formally known and experienced. Let me explain using some terms and concepts from the writings of Ken Wilber.

Over the last 150+ years the evolution of the science of human development has produced many experts who have clarified the nature of human consciousness. Today, these experts claim that each of us goes through four distinct transformations. Consciousness, our ability to perceive and be aware of our reality, starts at birth, obviously. We are from the get go only aware of ourselves, or egocentric. Me, myself, and I are the only concerns we have. This consciousness dominates our entire life cycle, it is our survival mode in threatening situations; it is our first line of defense in any new environment. Narcissism is the result of not developing into the next level of consciousness, ethno-centric.

Ethno-centric consciousness means that we have recognized and are aware of another person in our lives. As young children begin to interact with others we witness the progression through this stage by a) recognition – there is someone in my space; b) acceptance – this person does not appear as a threat; c) integration – we can play together. “My four, and no more,” is the fundamental campaign maxim for us in this mode. We form very tight-knit communities in this stage accepting only those who like what we like, who dress like we do, like the same musicians as us, watch the same movies, eat at the same restaurants, worship the same god. Yup, it is that prevalent. Tribal cultures form at this level of consciousness. Whether it be nations, churches or sporting clubs, ethno-centric consciousness feeds and binds our ego to someone like us.

Numerous studies have been conducted over the years and one of the primary areas of agreement they all share is that up to 75% of the entire world population operates daily from these first two forms of consciousness. I can assure you, even as you read that statistic, you are not in the remaining 25%, yet. Even to think that you are, would demonstrate how much you’re still in the first mode, simply because you haven’t heard what the remaining two modes are.

World-centric becomes our third level of consciousness. Here we begin to look at our place with the world which is different than the previous level which was very narrowly focused. This viewpoint takes into consideration large people groups of differing cultures, beliefs and values. It is the inclusiveness of others in this mode that enables us to think through and solve problems from many vantage points. The tests show that maybe only 20% of the entire world population is even close to fully functioning in this arena. Again, read that stat in relation to the world, not the church.

Kosmos-centric is the last level of consciousness. People at this level function with the scope of the entire universe in their field of vision. This is the realm of Christ consciousness that Paul exhorts us to be at when he says, “…let this mind be in you…” and, “…it’s not I that lives…” or, when Jesus claims, “… in that day you will know that I am in you and you are in the me…” This is a level which must be sought after since it does not just manifest on its own.

So now knowing these various levels or modes of consciousness how does grace fit into them. I said that grace is a bomb simply because if you’re in the first two levels and you suddenly see the depth of grace and what it impacts, your entire life is about to be blown up and not many want to live in a blast zone, yourself included.
Grace enters at the world-centric level. This doesn’t mean it’s not always around, which it is, it just happens that now you have become conscious of it, enabling you to see it at this level. Your “…four and no more” slogan suddenly changes to, “What! No more?”

How could I tell that my friend hadn’t fully developed into grace? His blessing, his favorable position, his prayers, his church…you get the point (I hope). Had he got the point, it would have not been about him at all. He would have talked about how his family is dealing with the diminishing number of friends who want to be associated with them; he would have told of how complete strangers come to him and ask for help knowing he won’t preach to them; he would have held back the tears of a lover longing to be in the presence of his greatest friend; he would have been true to himself and not feared telling me his doubts and apprehensions about living the grace-filled life in a world so totally clueless.

As I stated, grace is always around, however, until it has blown up your world, affected you and your loved ones, decapitated the false gods you’ve crafted in prayer and worship, paralyzed the fear towards those lords you’ve manufactured, and burned up the hope in your ability to be the redeemer in all things, you don’t know the power of the grace you’re juggling in your hands. Yeah, grace. It’s a bomb, working all the time.

Consider the following scenario.

You have just arrived at the grade school to drop off your child for another day of elementary learning. You notice that there appears to be a number of vehicles in the parking lot sporting the logos for a variety of local new stations and a few from outside of your community. Curious as to the meaning of this discovery, you park your vehicle and enter the school only to witness a flurry of excited activity. All about you are adults with cameras jockeying for positions around a cluster of closed doors while arriving children take up their seat in the hallway leading to these doors. Off to your side you catch a glimpse into the main auditorium where many adults have gathered before a column of tables and chairs placed uniformly upon the stage.

A mother of one of the children sitting in the hallway taps you on the shoulder and with inquisitive eyes flickering around the unfolding drama asks you what is happening to which you shrug your shoulders and shake your head in wonder. As you both look around at many of the other parents present, each holding the same expressions on their face, the clamor of the school bell shocks everyone to attention.

Suddenly, a bustling of young bodies arises as if on cue and a door surrounded by all the photographers flies open and out prance a cadre of young children, six in number, each sporting the most whimsical grins as the march in unison toward the auditorium being led by a woman who you recognize as the kindergarten teacher. The whirling machinations of cameras, the flashing of lights from the cellphones of proud parents provide no answer to what is happening as everyone from the hall files into the auditorium, greeted by the applause of the people who had already taken up their seats.

You enter the room and take a position standing along the back wall with several parents amidst the cables and video cameras stationed there to record the proceedings. You watch as the six children ascend the stairs to the left of the stage and proceed to take a seat in the center of the tables while several adults enter from the right and jockey for positions in the remaining chairs.

A hush falls over the room as the principal maneuvers her way to the front of the stage. “Thank you all for coming today to this very special meeting. It is a great privilege and honor to have such a distinguished panel of scientific experts here today,” she says as she turns and makes a sweeping gesture with her arm towards the adults seating upon the stage.

“I would like to ask before we begin this symposium that you would keep you questions until the end so that each of the six participants will have ample opportunity to present their findings. We have set aside a block of time specifically for those representing the media for answering your questions and it will follow this meeting and be held in room 105, just down the hall to your right.” There is a rustling that transpires as a few camera people and reporters gather their equipment and scurry out the door, heading towards room 105.

“For our first presenter, I would like to introduce you to Perry Whitman. He is 5 years old and known to sleep longer than most of his peers at nap time.” A chuckle rises from a number of the participates while Perry’s cheeks turn a bright crimson. “Perry will be describing…” she halts while searching the pockets of her blazer. Locating a piece of paper, she unfolds it and adjusts her glasses. “Perry will be releasing his findings dealing with the quantum differential in oscillating quarks and how it might be possible to capture the latent power they produce.” A standing ovation greets Perry as he climbs the steps to the lectern and adjusts the microphone.

Ludicrous, right? Some 5-year old presenting advanced scientific findings before a panel of esteemed scientists! Almost as ridiculous as trying to present the message of grace to fundamentalist believers. Think about that one for a minute because the comparison is intentional. Little children, Kingdom of God. Baffled believers like parents and reports who have lost their steam toward being esteemed. If I must spell this out for you, well… Go Perry!

For a moment, I would like you to consider the population of your local church community. How many of these fine people are dealing with life-threatening illnesses? How much are you involved in their suffering? How many of these illnesses are affecting children? How often do you pass them by justifying in your mind that what they are enduring is just not in your ministry profile?

There is no easy way to state this: We’re all selfish. We think about our own needs long before we’ll even consider the need of others. I’m not picking on you because it’s an indictment on myself just as much as upon any of the rest of you.

Personally, I hate sick people. Not in the way I hate cantaloupe. More in the manner that I just find it difficult to be around whiners – not in the sense of someone who listens to Adele’s music – but in the sense of someone whose pain and suffering is something I can’t remedy. I hate that the promise of,”…greater things than these shall you do…” hasn’t manifested in my life particularly when I’m around the very people that a “greater thing” would certainly help. I’m willing to give, they’re able to receive, we don’t see the end of our…faith?

Don’t think that you can get away with it either. A promise is a promise – it has no respect for who hears it. Yes, I know that we have to step out of the boat of logic and in faith pray for the wholeness of those who are less than whole. But, sincerely, I’ve spent over 23 years out on the storms of less-than-whole life calling out as waves tossed me to and fro, desperately clinging to a promise as a preserver, and well, the condition in the boat is no drier than in the water – I just do not plunge down as far.

“…As you’ve done it for the least of these…” Who is the least in your life? The sick are. The single mother who has a child with a rare disease who treks every day to therapy and doctor’s offices all to keep a little one from experiencing the dread of not be able to be around friends who don’t understand what’s happening. The grandparent who has to spend the final days of a well-deserved retirement huddled on the couch embracing a feeble grandchild dropped at the doorstep every morning so the parents can attempt to make enough money during the day to pay for the medicine the child needs to make it through the week. The list goes on and on, the circumstances unfold in varying degrees of suffering and despair.

How many of these stories can you even relate too? How many are just in your community, your circle of acquaintances alone? How many are you just plain old oblivious too? Before you go and get your condemnation all jacked up realize that we’re all unaware of these things for one reason: people in despair don’t tend to publicize it very much. They’re stuck in it and its all they can do to keep their heads above water.

How do you help? Don’t ask; do something, anything, no matter how little it seems to you. Size is not measured by volume of work accomplished but by the volume it shows just that you care enough to help. IF you’re really looking to score points, come back tomorrow and do something else. And the next day too. And next week. It’s easy to alleviate your sense of guilt the first couple of times, and then justify your absence due to the hectic schedules of a life dealing with normal. Try abnormal for a change, then you’ll know hectic because that is where it got its true definition.

Additionally, get that humble attitude out of your gullet. Pride has no place here. If you can’t stand the smell of vomit or diarrhea, so what. Your ego doesn’t smell any better to a family facing the existence of another sleepless night trying to soothe a crying child lying in pain. Giving them the opportunity just to take a shower can often give them the additional stamina to deal with the mess one more night.

Yeah, I hate sickness. I hate having to deal with it and how it bends you to meet its demands rather than the demand of wholeness. I hate that you never seem to get a break, a leg up on it even when your eyes are all puffed up from tears that never seem to stop flowing or blood shot from 36 hours of never seeing what a fresh bed looks, or even feels like. I hate that lovers get lost in parenting to the point of losing each other at a time when each other is all you’ve got left since friends left you weeks ago. I hate that the least you could do is more than you’re willing. I hate how begrudgingly you hope someone takes your place just so you can have a life, any life, just not the life you presently have.

What I really, truly hate is that many reading this will skip right along without missing a beat and remain ignorant to the souls around them who I’m trying to point out to you. My only consolation regarding this comes from a preacher who once said that God doesn’t put any more on you than you can handle – which is why most of your friends leave you – because in the midst of your suffering, the little they offer is the last thing you need to handle.

My rant is over. Now, try to carry on with grace. I dare you.

We don’t see eye to eye. We’re not even on the same page.

Does that frighten you? Are you fearful that by reading this you’re getting into something you hadn’t bargained for? Have you decided to back off just for the sake of being sure nothing will cause you any harm?

Or do you feel intimidated? Is there something that you lack and are afraid to admit it? Or do you feel vindicated now that I’ve finally admitted how there is a difference between us? Or do you feel relieved now that you don’t have to continue with the charade?

Let me level with you. We’re all on different levels or at various stages. Equality just ain’t happening, now or any time soon.

Your worldview might be at, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…” while mine is at, “In the beginning was the Word, and the word was with God and the word was God…” Your worldview might be, “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion…” while mine is, “…the kingdom of God is within you…”

On the surface, it might appear that we’re speaking the same thing, yet you know we aren’t. It is this knowing which is producing in you one of two emotions: envy or contempt. You either want to be like me, or wish that I would hurry up and be like you. Yeah, sure, you’ll continue to love me, but it’s such an ordeal at times. More often than not, the ordeal, not the love, takes the decisive, primary role of considering how we’ll deal with each other.

Wisdom, or the lack thereof, makes one haughty, prideful, egotistical, maniacal in-your-face-fist-pumping-I-told-you-so rude. So, the choice is to not pursue wisdom or hide behind the façade of humility while patiently waiting for the line to catch up with you knowing they have no intention of even moving in your direction.

Development in any discipline requires sacrifice. Your commitment of time to master the discipline is the obvious sacrifice. The hidden sacrifice is the loss of community or station. We each orbit in a sphere of like-mindedness, a body of fellowship which adheres to similar beliefs and viewpoints.

A new discipline, a new thought, a new paradigm acts like an asteroid impact to the communal body; shattering long held alignments and fracturing tectonic plates of similarity causing enormously wild gyrations in emotions and responses. Sometimes fragments fall away from the impact left to navigate their own gravitational orbit; other fragments often just fall apart, scattered about on the celestial winds, wispy dust particles from a bygone era.

Grace is a cosmic force greater than an asteroid, more powerful than any black hole. It shatters everything it touches, realigns all chaotic structures and propels hearts at breakneck speed towards the all-consuming vastness of unrequited love. When grace grabs wisdom by the jugular and transfers it’s egoic pulse with the harmony of a universal commitment to the highest union, the trappings of superiority, the last vestiges of one-upmanship dissipate into the ether of the one-man-ship.

My plateau may very well be your peak. It is, plateau or peak, however, our journey, not a destination. While the vista might appeal to a part of us, it will change only when we decide to move on. Movement is neither forward or backward in a journey, it is merely momentum towards the destination. Wisdom is neither forward or backward, it is merely the path. Grace is the illumination of the path on the journey along many levels, over many peaks, across vast chasms of uncertainty and perilous heights of doubt. We’re all on the same path, we’re not all on the same level.

He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see. (Joh 9:25)

Jesus notoriously attacked blindness. Whether it was a physical impairment like the man in the verse from above, or the type that clouds the mind of someone like the Pharisees who were questioning this man, blindness was a condition which I believe he took great pleasure in eradicating.

Let me give you a little science trivia that I read recently. The colors white and black aren’t actual colors. The color white is actually the integration of all the visible colors in the spectrum. Black is simply the lack, or non-existence of the spectrum integration.

When a person is healed of blindness, they can see the integration of visible light, an action they were incapable of accomplishing before. The Pharisees suffered from a focal blindness which was singularly sin-consciousness. Churches across the globe suffer today from this same malady.

In another passage from John, Jesus and the disciples come across a man blind from birth sitting by the road and the disciples ask if the blindness was the result of some sin the parents or the blind man committed. Jesus’s response was neither applied but that it was so the glory of the Father could be displayed, a claim which confounded the disciples then just as much as it does religious people today. Sin-consciousness is blindness, a dark veil spread over the mind making it unable to see the spectrum of human integration. Even blind to grace.

Blind to grace – blind to Jesus; blind to the kingdom of God – blind to Jesus; blind to love – blind to Jesus; blind to compassion – blind to Jesus.

Doctors will tell you when a person is blind, their other senses will heighten to compensate for their lack of sight. Having lived with someone who was blind I can attest to this phenomenon. Their sense of touch is more highly acute, hear things at a level which can’t be understood, and smell things that “normal” people don’t even know exists.

Yet, Jesus never said to a group of blind people, “those who have ears to see…” simply because I think he knew that they already did. His grace gave them the ability to integrate, to become a part of the spectrum of human culture, no longer isolated, a light, set on a hill that all could see.

Some would say that grace is blind to our sin. Wrong. Grace has no reference, no integrational map for the color we paint our sins with. Sin is our own schema at trying to act as god through moral and holiness codes. We may appear before the Creator covered in mud, maggots and misery but He will see the royal hue of true blue children trying their best to act like Him rather than just accepting that they are.

Grace is blind to the singular focus of…being human. It recognizes one to be divine; it moves all from “me” to “us” within the triune panoply. It is blind to the darkness found in exclusiveness, bringing us into the vast, marvelous light of a kingdom filled with the panorama of depth, breadth, height, and width of an all-encompassing love.

We may not know how it happened, but now I know that I was blind, and now I can see. Grace did this to me. It has been done for you too. Can’t you…

“Love your neighbor as yourself…” “Love your enemy…”

Have you ever considered the implications of these two commands from Jesus? Probably not like I’m about to address.

I read some time ago that the single most important discovery to all humanity was that we were capable of repressing thoughts or emotions and disassociating from them. Events, often traumatic, could be set aside in order to carry on the acts of living. Regrettably, the psyche retains these moments, never forgetting, always replaying at the most inopportune times. Only through proper therapy can these moments, the emotions and assorted beliefs be reintegrated back into the make-up of the human.

What is fascinating though is that when these emotions, thoughts or beliefs are not addressed, they take on a shadow persona within each of us. Over time we begin to react towards others who demonstrate the tendencies we have repressed. Often our reactions are manifested in vehement internal contempt for another person or people group. In essence, we create enemies not for who they are or what they have done, but entirely because they remind us of…us.

Why do you find it impossible to love your enemy? Simply because you can’t love yourself. There is that famous quote, “We have found the enemy, and it is us.” Most people laugh this off not understanding the great truth that lays within it. Why can’t you love yourself? What thoughts, feelings, emotions have you repressed, stored on a dark shelf behind a secured door in the recesses of your mind that somehow seems to peak out whenever you’re around someone who depicts their tendencies?

Maybe you were embarrassed as a child by a teacher in front of your friends. You’ve taken the turmoil of that moment and shelved it, however, every time you’re with your friends around a person of authority you loathe them and find it difficult to even show a modicum of respect to them. Or maybe you sway the other direction and just clam up, unable to communicate for fear of being embarrassed once again. This causes you to hate yourself for being so easily manipulated.

It is extremely easy to point out our enemies. We do it all the time even before we’ll pick out our friends. This is the power of repression. Friends are a mirror of who we long to be associated with. Enemies too are a reflection, yet it is a fractured image of ourselves. The greater the internal pain, the greater the outer hatred.

So how do you, we, rectify this matter? Forgiveness.

Mothers have always told us that need to forgive someone who has harmed us. Nations attempt to forgive their enemies of war. Sometimes it works with greater bonds of friendship developed. Other times…well, you know how that works.

Enemies need to be forgiven. Grace needs to be extended. Yes, you’ve been hurt; yes, you are not the one who deserves all that this has created; yes, you are a good person who has experienced something bad. Forgiveness will not magically make all the pain, all the suffering, all the internal dialogue of self-righteousness disappear in a moment. Honestly, it may never leave you. However, it will set you onto a path which will lead to being whole.

Yes, you will have to keep forgiving for a long period of time for all of this to feel right. Consider that some of these issues go way back in your life and daily you have conjured up their memory in a variety of situations. It may require you to forgive the same number of times that you relived the experience just to reintegrate yourself.

Hopefully, you’ll be able to overcome it sooner. But understand that this process is not a microwave answer to being civilized. You’ve stewed on it for a while, allowed the moisture from your tears to evaporate, let the saucy bits of despair burn to the edges of the pain, setting the whole matter to a low simmer, and then walked away ignoring the pungent aroma of hopelessness. Forgiveness will clean up the matter, but you’re are going to have to get into it up to your elbows and press through the tougher, stuck on spots. Yet, eventually, when it’s completed its work on you, and in you, the mirror, the reflection will be filled with love.

Neighbors and enemies, integrated, made whole inside and out. This work never starts outward first. It always begins within…

We’ve all experienced it. Traveling down the road when suddenly fluorescent orange signs and flashing lights signal your attention to the impending work which lays ahead. “Fines double in work zone,” whiz by you while you’re trying to keep from slamming into the rear end of the vehicle which has just merged into your lane. Bumper to bumper traffic moving as a centipede through the long landscape of caution cones and barrels keeps you on high alert, anxiously looking for the end, or possibly a turn-off from the monotony of obedience to the rules. We long for a journey that is void of such inconveniences.

Thank goodness that church life isn’t like this, right? Actually, church is the longest running public works project on record. There is scaffolding to reach the heights and tarps to cover up the sacred which probably date back to Peter and Paul still proudly displayed across the globe as a testimony to the crawl with which this work still isn’t complete. Most of the congregants are so use to the dust and debris they’ve even memorialized portions of it just to keep the workers from cleaning up, tolerating temporary barricades and warning lights as they develop into “coming soon” shrines.

Most, regrettably, don’t even notice. To them this is normal. However, there are the few who embrace the work, not as part of the crew, but as those who, on their own feel the compulsion to deconstruct all they’ve been a part of in the realm of churchianity. They’ve lost the awe and wonder of a coming attraction and are drawn to the smell of the grime and dust beyond the barricade. The glory of an artist’s rendering has been supplanted by the glory of a cross-shaped piling sunk deep into the rock bottom of a yearning heart. This impaling can never be expressed in terms the multitude will understand but it is what all, knowing or unknowing, desperately seek.

Many from this intrepid class will feel compelled to toss out past events, personal experiences which drove them to the place they now occupy. It’s as if they missed the sign proclaiming the payment doubles for ignorance. Signposts don’t always need to be a warning. They also declare historical moments along the journey. Even sacred areas are protected during construction. How would you know work needs to be done if you didn’t experience the fleeting peak state of ecstasy?

Church, you and I, us and them, are being built up. We are a work in progress, not a remodel project. Nothing like this was ever here before just so it could be torn down to bring in a new design. This is what most who begin to accept the nature of grace first believe. Rarely do they recognize that rather than being a wrecking ball, grace is the very fabric, the ultimate intention of what the structure of church is truly all about.

We’ve not reached the pinnacle of our stature. While some after 30 years of pew sitting haven’t even got past the excavation work to pour footings, others after one sermon seem ready to install the weather vane over their grass hut to detect which way the wind of the Spirit is blowing. Yet work is in progress even when you don’t feel like attending, singing the same old same old, and hearing the monotone discourse of worn out stories with moral inevitability. We often miss the work that happens to us, the work that shapes us, transforms us, knocks chips off our shoulders and pulls splinters from our eyes.

It is harrowing work detonating the ego and admitting we’re not there yet. However, no progress is ever made unless the truth hidden under the rubble is uncovered. That is the work. Revealing the truth, not some imitation from a bygone era; not some paint chip outdated and called back into a patina of worthlessness; not some ancient fresco using garish modern tiles as a substitute for defining the eyes and mouth; not some IKEA-fashioned cabinetry to compliment the weathered beaten wainscoting.
Knots and worm holes, chinks and cracks are all testimonies to a life lived. One day, suddenly, we realize there is no devil in the details simply because we are the details. Stresses endured and temperatures suffered express a witness to the durability and resolution of the eternal blueprint we comprise.

Caution at the merging ahead of us or blind negligence in taking a short cut around the work. We chose. Meanwhile, work rolls on.