God » Sean Durham

On Risk and Having What it Takes

God, John Eldredge, life is epic, manhood 5 Responses »

Jul 272010

John Eldredge talks much about the wiring of a man, about our built-in longing for the validation of our capability. “Do I have what it takes?” is the rhythm of a man’s heart, and from our youth it beats on inside us – a deep question in need of a true answer.

But most of us never hear it, so we answer ourselves. Romantic conquests become a kind of response, “You have what it takes” she says. Jobs and status become another kind of answer, “This legal tender represents capability.” And on we crawl, engaged in a real battle with plastic guns and toy knives, looking to fight an enemy most of us don’t even know exists.

And we get older and call the question “answered” but we chase Eve all over Eden and try to earn as much money as possible – hoping that one or both will supply enough affirmation to quiet the echoing.

“Do I really have what it takes?” The call continues.

And answering the question is risky.

I don’t risk many things. I never have. The college I went to, the girls I’ve dated, the jobs I’ve taken, the comfortable faith I’ve adopted. All sources of solid, reliable affirmation. Please understand, I’ve been lucky in each department, and God’s brilliantly weaved those stories into some kind of beautiful narrative, but still – I haven’t risked much.

Risk is for other people, I reason. Other people with less to lose. Other people with perfect families and abundant opportunities. People without student loans and people without plans. It’s not for me, though, I live on the other side of the street, a different neighborhood altogether.

If you’re anything like me, more nights than you care to admit are spent wondering “what if?” – What if we did risk? What if we truly leaned in the direction of our dreaming? Literally, what’s the worst that could happen? What if we did? What’s to lose? I’m not talking about quitting your job or finding another husband and I’m certainly not talking about some kind of physical risk (though, there’s some merit there) but the real kind of risk. The kind that costs something, the tough conversations, the revelations, the deep transparency that I’m truly afraid of.

But, how?

To be honest, I’ve no idea. I guess that’s why I’m asking you. Where do we start? How do we risk in the direction of our dreams? Is it worth it?

What do we have to lose? Do you have what it takes? Do I?

On Mark Driscoll, Rob Bell, Sean Durham and Jesus

God 11 Responses »

Jul 202010

I wrote a blog post a few days ago in which I (ignorantly) pitted two camps of Christians against each other. The truth is, as I discovered, that there really isn’t two camps at all. There’s my self-understanding, and there’s my insecurities. I projected them into my perspective on the Christian life. I was wrong. But, of course, I’m wrong all the time.

Then, a girl from work. She starts talking about a favorite pastor and I hear the words “Mars Hill” in conversation, so I begin my work of eavesdropping. I know her, I respect her, I think she’s a great person, but I knew immediately – well, I judged immediately the church she was talking about. Mars Hill Church in Seattle – Pastor Mark Driscoll.

I relaxed in my chair, smug. My insides were grinning, because I knew, I knew it. She would love that Mark Driscoll. She even looked at me quizzically when I asked her to clarify which Mars Hill she was so crassly promoting. She knew what I was up to, too.

Because I, on the other hand, love Rob Bell, who is another pastor, of another church – also called Mars Hill. You could feel the tension mounting. Well, I could. She probably (rightfully) didn’t care. And the thing is, I don’t just like Rob Bell, I love Rob Bell. And I don’t just know about Mark Driscoll, I really don’t like the dude. I think he’s a brazen shock-jock of a pastor and I don’t think he gets the message of Jesus.

Yes, me. The guy who hasn’t gone through a decade of biblical education. The guy who’s running out of excuses and has settled on “in between churches” as a way to shrug the inevitable “where do you go to church?” interrogation. I was ashamed and surprised in equal measure at my response.

But really, this is exactly what we’ve been doing all along. Christians, we get so many things right, don’t we? We feed the homeless and build wells in Africa. But sometimes, loving our neighbor is easier than loving our brother. Our neighbors are sinners, after all; “know not what they do” and all of that. “Can I borrow some sugar?” I’ll ask “And usher you into the Kingdom of Heaven?” But it’s easy to love the guy next door. It’s not easy for me to love someone who, for so many reasons is connected to me deep down in the roots of my system. We love the same Jesus, or do we?

But, do I love a Jesus that makes sense to people who make sense to me? Maybe my parents were parents about grace, so I love the chorus of the Jesus song and fast-forward through the parts I don’t like. Maybe Mark Driscoll was raised by a tough dad and ended up knowing a stern Jesus who was very serious about everything.

Or maybe I’m totally wrong. Not just in my understanding of the ministry of Mark Driscoll, but in my understanding of Jesus. Maybe him and I don’t see the same Jesus, but maybe we do. And maybe he’s the one ushering in healing for thousands of people every day (I met a man in Colorado once who had been buried in an affair before going to Driscoll’s Mars Hill, where he found healing). And maybe I’m the one slowly sorting myself out through daily blog posts.

The truth is, I know almost nothing about Mark Driscoll. I’ve seen probably half a sermon and read a few incendiary quotes. That’s it. No books, no messages, and I certainly haven’t met him. I know what I think is enough for me to satisfy an itchy ego that loves division and its affection for “us vs. them.” What I do know, is that he’s doing amazing things for the Kingdom of Heaven.

My infighting is a manifestation of my own pride. Every. Single. Time. And I’m tired. tired. Tired of pride. I’m ready to get out of the way. There is no “them”, there is only “us”. And “us vs. us” can only end one way.

Why’s his Name on the Bus?

America, God 2 Responses »

Jul 192010

Now, I’m trying as hard as I can to parse from this blog as much judgment as possible. Maybe there’s two Foothill Baptist Churches? Maybe that’s the pastor’s direct phone number and he’s hoping to receive calls from the needy in our community? I can only hope for the best, but instinctively, reactively – I’m bummed.

I caught this gem on the way home from the gym a week or two ago. At first, I wasn’t affected. It was Sunday after all, I’m glad to see a Church bus around town. “Maybe they’re picking up sweet old ladies who pay their bus fare in pastries and pies.” I thought. I’d seen this church around town, they have a school or something and I might remember sharing more than a few laughs at the commercials they’d run on local networks.

But why’s his name on the bus?

Probably my favorite part of church is the distinct “otherness” of it all. I call it the “not about you” factor, and I love everything about that idea. Most of my day is spent engaged in some kind of communication with people, whether it’s at work, outside of work, with myself – I’m talking with people. My ego is engaged (no matter how reluctantly) and I’m always some kind of self-aware. If I’m talking to customers at work, I’m hyperaware of myself, my posture and my communication. If I’m talking with friends or family, I’m thinking about them, their needs, and my reaction to them. “Am I doing enough? I should really call them back.”

To be perfectly honest, I’m tired of myself. So church has always been a kind of respite from the ego; where I go to feel smaller. Most of the time, I go alone, and all of the time I leave my phone in the car. I’m there to reconnect with a life bigger than my own. Life that I know is found only outside (my)self.

I promise, I’m not trying to throw the good reverend under the bus (puntastic!) but I do think this is problematic, maybe even symptomatic of a much larger issue than just a name on a bus. And I don’t pretend to have a better substitution. Maybe there shouldn’t be any words on the bus, maybe it should say “hope” or “life” or something bigger than a man, because I believe we’re all desperate to feel smaller and I’d hate for anyone to get on that bus and go to that church and hear only from a man.

Show Me Your Friends and I’ll Show You Your Future

decisions, God, life, life is epic, sean durham 1 Response »

Jul 172010

“Show me your friends and I’ll show you your future.”

Depending on your situation the phrase is either haunting or hopeful. I’d heard it a few years ago and to be honest, I hated it at first – seemed like something said by well-meaning but over-protective moms just before reciting some other recycled maxim. But as I get older, and as the rivers of potential and ambition are now converging, it’s become apparent, and exactly true.

Your friends aren’t just your future, they’re your present. I realize we’re all born and molded into our own tangled messes of idiosyncrasies, habits and gifts. And each of us – in varying degrees – are absolutely our own person, responsible for our own machines. But, we are communal beings, born with a need for community and the inability to truly function without it.

I see this in the lives of almost everyone I know, and getting older is a great way to find more respect for your parents (and sometimes their sleepy cliches)

But the truth is, we become the people we’re surrounded by. Most of us would like to think ourselves more maverick and independent and “above the influence” and maybe we are, but not totally.

I’m beyond blessed to have amazing people in my life who have remained my friends through cross-country moves, family divorces, and more than many occasions of my being a total ingrate. It’s true that decades of friendship seals bonds in ways that not even the greatest commonality can, but just as proximity isn’t enough, neither is time.

If youre balking at my wiping a broad swath, justifying the maintenance of unhealthy friendships, please stop to consider the foundations of your friendship.

So examine your friendships as if you were cleaning a mirror to a spotless perfection. Be with those stronger than you are. Re-engage a challenging relationship, destroy the harmful ones.

On Faith and Works, A Layman’s Opinion

God, Healing 7 Responses »

Jul 162010

“But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead?” – James 2:20

There are of verses in bible I don’t understand, James 2:20 may be chief among them.

In the ethos I’ve built for myself (If I’m honest, it’s a collaboration of the best parts of the Bible mixed with what isn’t too challenging for me) I’ve understood and accepted a gospel of grace. I love the idea of a Father who waits with eyes on the horizon for us to “turn the corner”. A God who runs and falls to embrace us like the prodigals we are.

I get Grace. I don’t understand it, but I get it. I’m the thief on the cross, I’m the prodigal son, I’m the rich young ruler. Maybe I’m better at needing grace so it intrinsically resonates with me. But this James verse seems to kind of stand in contradiction to freeing grace and our earning power in relation to it.

I’m not attempting an exegesis on this verse, there are better men doing bigger things with the verse; I guess I’m just working it out on my own head, and I guess I’m inviting you into that kind of madness.

For most of my understanding, faith and works stood as toe-to-toe competitors. There was one camp who espoused the “works” aspect of the Christian life, as though we were called to externally work the fertile field of the Kingdom of God. These people loved the book of James and valued discipline – These people were never really my friends

And then the faith camp, where I sat comfortably. It was faith that allowed me to keep a small image of Jesus tucked somewhere inside me, drawing upon it for a quick indulgence of hope or quiet contemplation. Works didn’t matter, they’re the stuff of Pharisees anyways, right? And Jesus wasn’t a big fan of the Pharisees, so it would follow that I wasn’t a big fan of “works”.

Then this verse comes along and shatters my conception of the relational dynamic between faith and works
The truth is, what I was calling “faith” wasn’t really faith at all. It was just belief.

Belief was the light blanket during a cold season of doubt. It was belief that guided my intellectual confidence in conversations about Christ. It was belief that was, to be honest, not indefensible. Because belief is passive, Faith is active. Belief is sympathy, Faith is empathy. Faith requires something of me; it’s a willingness to move forward whereas belief can be both apathetic and lazy, depending on the situation.

So the verse, it makes more sense now. And it’s actually kind of beautiful. “Faith without works is dead” I notice the distinction made by the word “dead”. It’s not that that it doesn’t exist, it’s there, he says, but it isn’t alive. So I understand “Works” to be the action-manifestations of faith

For a long time the verse was pretty heartbreaking. I’ve always struggled in the works department, so I kind of felt that the verse was negating my faith. No works = no faith, I thought. But it’s not that at all, it’s No works = dead faith. The distinction is important

Because God is in the business of resurrection.

Like I said, I take no teachery position on this one. I love the verse for the implied hope. I love faith for the required action. Feel free to tell me I’m wrong.

I’m Not Scared of You, My Love – I’m Scared of Me

God, life, marriage, sean durham, Uncategorized 3 Responses »

Jun 182010

I read Donald Miller for the first time about five years ago. Blue Like Jazz had been out for a little while but hadn’t really picked up steam, I’m not even sure how I got my first copy. For me, the book was cool air in dry lungs. For the next few years, most of my birthday/Christmas gifts for others were copies of this book; if I had the money, I’d buy it for everyone I know. I’ve seen Don a few times since then, he remains one of my favorite authors/speakers/thinkers. Most days, I alternate between wanting to write exactly like him and trying to make sure I don’t.

For a few reasons, I think about this quote a few times a week. It’s just so beautiful.

“I’m not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.”

————————————————————————————————-

“What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul, that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I’m not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem for you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, the only one liable to be led by you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though you’ve taught me to lay my hand in yours, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you’re not my friend; you have slipped up warmly to the person I wanted to be, the person I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human just like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we forever be fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we may break into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

Were I some Eve, to wake and find myself resting at your rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk with you through the garden, you counselling my timid Steps, my bewildered eye, my heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that you stepped up your aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though he made me from you rib, it is I who is making you, humbling you, destroying you and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be ashes before we are one?

What gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go to each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together we will learn to love, and perhaps then, only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.”

Throwing Golfballs and Chasing Dreams

God, life is epic, sean durham 3 Responses »

Jun 022010

In my younger and less scrupulous days, I once cheated at golf. Okay, to clarify, I always cheated at golf.

Golf is some kind of miserable sport that rewards discipline, technique and patience – I hadn’t yet become acquainted with these virtues, so I suffered constantly.

My parents shipped me off to my Grandfather’s house in Arkansas where I spent three years one summer learning and practicing the game. By “learning” I mean nodding in feigned understanding when Grandpa would demonstrate the geometry of a swing, and by “practicing” I mean throwing the ball in the hole’s direction when he wasn’t looking.

Grandpa would concern himself with the matters of an iced beverage while I would practice tearing my rotator cuff trying to launch the small satanic sphere as far as I could in the hole’s general direction. I would then swing the club, and it would sound something like golfing. A pretty sweet system I had.

“Good aim” he’d say, and he’d study the curious accuracy of my “strokes.”

“But it’s landing short.”

The few times I’d actually been able to convince my club to make contact with the ball, it would launch into the distance, usually careening wildly to the left or the right (I believe there’s some kind of jargon for this errant misdirection – Grandpa called it “Fore!”)

But something about the physics of it didn’t make sense to me. While I always cheated in the right direction, the ball wasn’t really getting anywhere, and my arm was starting to feel like wildfire. I threw as hard as I could and still, a wild stroke of lucky contact would send the ball soaring ten times further than my 10 year old arm could.

I didn’t understand it then, but I’m starting to now.

We spend most of our time trying to make things more comfortable for ourselves, but it’s comfort that’s killing our hope. Without resistance, our muscles atrophy. Without contact, confrontation, and really leaning into the messiness of life, we cannot move in the direction we’ve been created to.

Our dreams move quickly most of the time. We see a hint of them in someone’s life, they keep concealed in the corners of conversations and echoes in our hearts. We recognize them like familiar strangers who brush our shoulders on busy streets. Something in them draws us in their direction. But it requires real strength, -real, willing discomfort to even begin to chase them.

Me? I spend all day insulated and air conditioned, my stomach is full and my needs are met. In a few clicks, I can see how all of my friends are doing, but it’s been days since I’ve gotten my hands dirty and called a friend to ask if he’s had that hard conversation with his wife.

It’s been weeks since I’ve really sweat at something that matters, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve really been scared.

For any real movement, there needs to be contact, there needs to be action, there needs to be some kind of real, purposed transfer of energy in order for anything to move as far as we need it to. Passivity or comfort (or cheating in golf) will never, ever move us in the direction we have to go.

God is Not Pro-life.

God, God is not pro-life, sean durham, Uncategorized 6 Responses »

May 172010

The bumper sticker read: “God is Pro-life.”

At first, it struck me as obvious. Yes, of course God is “pro-life.” Fire is hot, water is wet, the Son of Man doesn’t like abortion. Check, check, check. That’s affirmative. Strange that such an obvious observation would make its way onto a bumper. Also, why was it red white and blue? And while we’re at it, why am I growing so uncomfortable?

It hit me and it hurt. The driver of the sedan in front of me probably meant well, but the truth is that God is not pro-life.

If we strip away the assumptive reasoning I don’t find an “obvious truth about God,” but really an ultra-divisive political agenda being placed like a filter on top of God. The terms pro-life and pro-choice are caffeinated and politicized terms used to define a position on abortion. They’re snappy political clothes used to summarize, in one hyphenated phrase, a person’s political affiliation. But God doesn’t have a political position on anything. Our invention of modern politics (or any politics for that matter) are just tools for definition, used to explain or to embolden a group’s collective opinion. A mode of translation used to classify our feelings about creation.

They serve wholly to divide. To make bolder the lines that divide ideology. Politics are about the business of power.

But really, God is not pro-life. God IS life. Our terms are too small.

Really, what the bumper sticker is telling us is that God would not only VOTE pro life, but, more specifically – he would vote for a candidate who is pro-life. Now, here’s the long stretch the bumper sticker wants us to make: “Voting for the candidate sponsoring the “God/Pro-life” campaign is what an approving God would have us do.”

That’s really what that bumper sticker is saying, and honestly, what that bumper sticker (and dozens more like it) is saying, I want nothing to do with.

God is not pro life because he is not ever small enough to fit into yours or my political frame. Sometimes I picture God in some kind of eternal royal garb, shaking his huge powerful head, simultaneously speechless and dumbfounded at how small we can make him. That we would align ourselves with Eternity in order to win an election.

I would argue that one of the greatest and most dangerous heresies in Church is that we are a Christian nation. It’s easy (and tempting) to think that a strong and brazen gladiator-Jesus enters into our political Colosseum fighting the lions of liberalism and ransoming lost and wayward ex-patriots. The truth is, we are not a Christian nation. Too often we objectify the scriptures to punctuate our position: we enslave them, we molest them. We are a people using scripture as a sword and God as a shield when it suits our purposes but we have forgotten that God is the whole of the battle – and it’s us, it’s me, who most needs the cutting.

Jesus asked us to “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s,” but it feels like we’re giving God to Caesar instead.

God does not love the bottom of the ocean.

bottom of the ocean, fake your death, goblin, goblin shark, God, life is epic, scary, sean durham 1 Response »

Mar 102009

I don’t like scary things. I most definitely don’t like Oceany-scary things.

I’m well aware of the beautiful correlation between both the earth and our bodies being composed of 2/3rds water. I’m pretty sure it’s one of God’s profound metaphors for deep, worldwide connection.
I love that all of us are connected to the earth and each other, bound and branded by beautiful and purposeful design.

But.

God does not love this creature.

Maybe He does, but I hate everything about this shark. I hope he’s swimming on the opposite side of heaven and we happen to “just miss each other” for all of eternity.

I hate the Goblin Shark.

Also, almost every other water-breathing, bottom feeder.

God is not Pro-Life

God, God is not pro-life, pro-life No Responses »

Oct 192008

Saw a bumper sticker today that read: “God is Pro-life.”

At first, it struck me as an obvious statement. Yes, of course God is “pro-life.” Fire is hot, water is wet, God is pro-life. So why would anyone need a bumper sticker declaring that God doesn’t want babies to die? Why was it red white and blue? And while we’re at it, why am I growing so uncomfortable?

It hit me and it hurt. The sedan in front of me probably meant well, but the truth is that God is not pro-life.

If we strip away the assumptive reasoning we find a very divisive political agenda being placed like a filter on top of God. The terms pro-life and pro-choice are highly-caffeinated and politicized terms used to define someone’s position on abortion. They are snappy political clothes used to summarize, in one hyphenated phrase, a person’s political affiliation. But God doesn’t have a political position on anything. Our invention of modern politics (or any politics for that matter) are mere tools for definition, used to explain or to embolden a group’s collective opinion. A mode of translation used to classify our feelings about creation.

They serve wholly to divide. Politics are about the business of power.

God is not pro-life. God IS life. Our terms are too small.

Frankly what the bumper sticker is telling us is that God would not only VOTE pro life, but, vote for a candidate who is pro-life. Now, here’s the long stretch the bumper sticker wants you to make: CANDIDATE VOTING PRO-LIFE = GOD.

That’s really what that bumper sticker is saying, and truly, what that bumper sticker is saying, I want nothing to do with.

God is not pro life because he is not ever small enough to fit into yours or my political frame. I simply don’t believe God can be bothered with it.

I would argue that one of the greatest and most dangerous heresies in Church is that we are a Christian nation. We think a strong and brazen gladiator-Jesus enters into our political Colosseum fighting the lions of liberalism and ransoming lost and wayward ex-patriots. The truth is, we are not a Christian nation. Too often we objectify the scriptures to enforce our position: we enslave them, we molest them. We are a people using scripture as a sword and God as a shield when it suits our purposes but we have forgotten that God is the whole of the battle.

Jesus asked us to “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s” and indeed, we must. But what we’re doing is giving God to Caesar.

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