Envision the route that you travel to church each week. Maybe you drive past suburban strip malls and dozens of other churches. Perhaps you navigate the subways, hoping not to see a rat playing on the tracks and hurrying past homeless people who somehow managed to survive another night. Now think about the space you meet in to worship. Perhaps you meet in a sleek, refurbished warehouse, maybe you meet in a school cafeteria or someone’s home. Maybe you even meet in a building that was designed for the sole purpose of being a church. Whether you travel by foot, car, or train and whether you meet in a comedy club or a traditional church building there is a striking dissonance that confronts us all as we enter the doors to worship.

The earth is the Lord’s and and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it.

This is the claim of Psalm 24. The worshipper, upon entering the temple of Solomon, hears this big opening chord resounding, inviting her to worship. But then she thinks about her journey, even to arrive at the temple. How could all of it, all of the things she has seen, all of the places she traversed, all of the people she crossed paths with—how could it all of it be the Lord’s? It doesn’t add up. Some of it seemed so mundane, some of it so painfully commercial, some of it just plain evil. And then the people. So many people going about their days, so many of them with no thought of God or existence. They belong to the Lord?

The world that we live in and the world of worship seem like two completely different worlds altogether. But there it is right there, the earth is the Lord’s, not some other place, not heaven, this place, this town, this neighborhood, these people.

So how do we begin to reconcile these two worlds? Psalm 24 presents us with a radical reorienting of our imagination and a subsequent way of walking in the world. First, we have to allow our imaginations to be recalibrated. The questions, presented in call-and-response fashion at the end of the psalm are not questions seeking an answer but rhetorical questions inviting remembrance. “Who is the King of glory?” Who is the king that can hold under his reign the world that we just walked through and the world of worship? Who is the king that doesn’t further separate them into secular and sacred but harmonizes them? The answer given is the same answer given to Moses when he asks the blazing bush, who should I say has sent me? The divine name—the Lord. To declare that the Lord is Lord of all of existence is not to exercise blind faith but to shape our imaginations to the mold of the kingdom. Worship is a discipline of seeing that changes the way we view everything.

Second, how do we live in a world such as this? When we walk out of the doors, squinting in the bright sunlight with our minds freshly challenged to see in a new way,does it change anything about how we actually live? The psalmist tell us that the ones who will stand in his holy place are those who “have clean hands and pure hearts, who do not lift up their souls to what is false, and do not swear deceitfully.” Many have thought clean hands and pure hearts required avoidance, like Pilate constantly washing his hands of the world. But Jesus shows us that the path towards purity of heart and hand is not avoidance, rather it is incarnation. Clean hands and pure hearts are not the product of avoiding stain from the world. They are hands that bear the scars of Jesus, the one who ascended the hill of the Lord, on behalf of the world. When we as Christians walk the world as he did, in love and in service, we live out of the overflow of the new imaginations shaped in corporate worship. We live out the declaration that the earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it when we see every corner of our lives “charged with the grandeur of the glory of God.”^[1]Gerard Manley Hopkins, God’s Grandeur. We live out that every person is beckoned by the freedom and love of God when we lift Jesus up and he draws all people to himself.^[2]John 12v32

The psalm invites us, lift up your head, that the King of Glory may come in. In worship we hear the call afresh, lift up your head, see the world as it really is. Stand in the holy place of God’s presence so that you might see all the world is infused with the glory of his Spirit.

Jesus Weeps

There are two times that Jesus is recorded weeping in the Scriptures. Once as he stands at the tomb of his good friend Lazarus, lamenting the loss of his friend and face to face with the specter of grave.^[1]I preached a sermon I am particularly proud of on this text here. The second time is found upon his entry to Jerusalem. The last week before he is crucified, Jesus enters the city riding on a colt. The people welcome him as a conquering hero. You see, in their minds the fact that he’s riding a colt is a minor detail. They all have heard about this Jesus, the miracle worker who may even be God’s Messiah, the anointed one who would finally bring about the judgment of God upon the Romans. The people want bloody revolution, they want a fight and here, finally, is one who might be God’s chosen instrument in bringing victory and vindication. Sure, they’d like their king to be on a stallion, standing tall above the crowds on a stately horse, but maybe, they ventured, all he could find was a a colt. For the writers of the gospels, however, Jesus’ chosen vehicle, the colt, is not an ancillary curiosity but expresses the very point of the story. The fact that he is not on a war horse tells us everything about what he says as he stands far off from the city crying over its coming fate:

⁴¹ As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, ⁴² saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.

The Destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans

Approximately 40 years from Jesus’ fateful ride into Jerusalem, the war horses will come. Except they won’t be carrying the Messiah, they will be mounted by Roman generals leading legions of Roman soldiers to march upon Jerusalem. The people of Israel will gear up for war thinking this is a battle like the days of old when their own generals went by the names of Joshua and David. In days of old God would speak to the leaders of Israel before the battle, commanding them to be faithful in order to ensure victory. The problem in this instance is that God has already spoken, in fact he came himself to speak, and he what he said to the people staring down the barrel of the Roman gladius is simple, “Run, don’t fight.” But as Jesus foretold, they missed that word and thus they fight. They fight because that’s the only way they can envision conquering. They fight because they think that’s what God wants them to do.

And they lose. They lose everything. Josephus, a Jewish historian on the Roman payroll, records the horrors visited upon the Jewish people because they try to resist the Romans. What he describes is a literal hell on earth. He describes the utter desperation of the city’s inhabitants, dying of starvation, the most chilling tale being that of Mary, a woman who kills, cooks, and eats her own son.^[2]See Flavius Josephus, The Wars of the Jews Like, I said, hell.

Hell On Earth

Hell is the one place in all of the universe where God is absent. In hell, there is no love, hope, justice.  As humans, we have seen the sorts of hells on earth throughout our history due to human hatred. This hatred is fueled by a myopic will to power a completed inability to see the humanity or at least a ready willingness to dismiss it. Hell is the place where nothing new can be imagined —a world that trades eyes for eyes, a world that says the answer to America’s gun problem is more and more guns.

The suggestion that we arm every corner of society to the teeth sounds, to me, like hell: a complete failure of the imagination. If all we can envision in a world fraught with violence is having more people equipped to return fire, we have lost both our minds and our way. For Christians, the notion is particularly absurd. Jesus showed us that the only way to undo violence is to exhaust its power in self-giving love. When Jesus gave his life on the cross, the devil actually thought he had won. The devil, caretaker of hell that he is, is bereft of imagination. The devil colluded with the powers of the world—human sin, religious systems, political empires—to crucify the son of God. But because he was unfamiliar with what C.S. Lewis called “the deep magic”, because he lacked imagination, he could not conceive that in giving his life completely, Jesus was making a show of these powers, disarming them, nailing them to a cross.^[3]Colossians 2v14

Hell is the place where nothing new can be imagined —a world that trades eyes for eyes, a world that says the answer to America’s gun problem is more and more guns.

Imagining A New Day

The Scriptures envision a day where weapons of warfare will be melted down into tools for farming. ^[4]Isaiah 2:4What if every Christian responded like this guy, who though he loves to shoot his gun and would never use it to purposefully hurt anyone, decided to part with it?

Sure we would be more vulnerable in a sense, but well, isn’t that kind of the point of our faith? In embracing weakness, absorbing violence, turning the other cheek, and praying for those who persecute us we are not conquered but conquer through the love of God. As John writes to the church:

For whatever is born of God conquers the world. And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith.^[5]1 John 5:4

We were in hell, dead in our sins, nothing new was possible until our Savior, in a profound act of imagination, liberated the world not by conquering, not by fighting, not by demanding but by laying down his life. Jesus showed us the only way to peace is a cross. He invites us to imagine our own lives completely shaped by his, carrying our crosses and following him. May we as the church imagine a new way way, grace and peace to you.

In the Old Testament, few gods other than YHWH (the name of the Israelite God) warrant mention.  The Old Testament witness is univocal in its condemnation of idolatry but usually these alt-deities are lumped into categories, “gods” or “idols.”  However, there are a few pagan objects of worship that warrant mention by name because of their particular allure to the covenant people.  Among those specifically referenced are Baal, the chief god of Canaanite cult, Asherah, the mother goddess of Canaanite and Babylonian origin, and Molech, a Canaanite god notorious for commanding human sacrifice.^[1]Mentioned by name in Lev. 18:21; 20:2-5; 1 Kings 11:7; 2 Kings 23:10; Isa. 57:9; Jer. 32:35   The nation of Israel was not like our own consumerist culture looking for the flashiest spiritual fads or the latest most “relevant” message to allow a person to be their best self.  Rather, these deities were much like the political parties of the ancient world.  The idols named in the Old Testament came with promises attached to them.  Deities promised fertility, harvests, victory in battle, all it required was the devotion of the worshipper.  For the most part, these idols were a part of a pantheon of divinity and thus did not require the sole devotion of its members.  YHWH seems to be unique in this regard.  The OT writers go to great lengths to display differences between the way of YHWH, the way of holiness, justice, and mercy with the way of the idols, who seek to divert Israel’s gaze away from YHWH and are powerless to bring about blessing of provision they promise. The psalmist in Ps. 106 reflects:

35 but they mingled with the nations and learned to do as they did. 36 They served their idols, which became a snare to them. 37 They sacrificed their sons and their daughters to the demons; 38 they poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood. 39 Thus they became unclean by their acts, and prostituted themselves in their doings.

The psalmist describes his own heritage of faith, a history of idolaters.   Often in the course of its idolatry, the nation of Israel does not explicitly give up on faith in YHWH.   They simply try to mix it with faith in idols.  While YHWH forbids any image trying to capture the essence of who he is, the pagan cults allowed for gods that you can see.  There is something alluring about an idol, about a god you can hold in your hand, a god that promises to get things done for you no matter the cost.  YHWH demanded unflinching, singular devotion but the pagan idols let you have your religion a la carte—a little YHWH, a little fertility goddess.  It’s all very pragmatic.

We live in a bleeding world.  On the whole, America in 2018 is violent, hostile, embittered, and divided.  Schools, concerts, and churches have all become shooting galleries of horror and devastation.^[2]I write this in wake of the horrible devastation in Parkland but unfortunately, I know this content will be evergreen, not needing one event as its referent  I am not sure if a world in the throes of sin and idolatry can evince itself as anything other.  But here’s my fear.  When I survey the world that is hostile to God—the world that in John 3:16, God loves so much that he gives his Son for them— and the world of the white evangelical church in America.^[3]I think it is important, in this instance, to distinguish this particular segment of the larger evangelical church as the majority of our Black, Latino-American, Asian-American and Native American … Continue reading, I do not see the kind of difference I would expect. What I see, instead, is a church that is trying to combine a small understanding of devotion to God with fervent devotion to political entities and thus both literally and figuratively is sacrificing its sons and daughters at the altar of the idols.  The church, in not modeling the peaceful way of Jesus is aiding and abetting the proliferation of weapons of indiscriminate murder in America.  In large part, the white evangelical church has blindly supported a political agenda that, in the face of heinous acts of mass murder, essentially shrugs and says, “the blood that was shed is the price of upholding the 2nd Amendment.”  Sounds a lot like sacrifice, does it not?

The loss of life is unspeakable, but as horrible as that result it, it is not the only consequence. Not only do the lives of the innocent suffer but future generations face the consequences of our lack of faithfulness.  The white evangelical church in America is shrinking^[4]https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2016/08/15/white-christian-america-is-dying/?utm_term=.9aa7d1395c5f because it has forsaken its witness in the face of political pragmatism.  It remains to be seen what effect that this will have on the wider church in America.  I tend to think a new kind of evangelicalism will rise from the ashes, led by minority leaders and female voices that are already emerging, but that hope does not stopping me from  lamenting over the church of my own cultural heritage, weeping because we do not know the things that make for peace.

The church, in not modeling the peaceful way of Jesus, is aiding and abetting the proliferation of weapons of indiscriminate murder in America.

It is possible to be love America and to love Jesus.  But we can only learn to love America rightly by loving Jesus fully.   Anything less than the God revealed in Jesus is an idol.  Both God and the idols demand sacrifice.  There will be blood. Will we continue to sacrifice the blood of the innocent to our idols of political relevance or will we cling to the blood of Jesus shed on behalf of the world to make peace?  Will we give up our American rights and embrace our God-given mission of peace and mercy?   Either we will sacrifice the blood of the innocent and our witness along with it or we will offer our bodies as living sacrifices, burning with the love and beauty of our God.

The 23rd psalm is so simple in its beauty, so evocative in its imagery. For generations, it has inspired artists and comforted mourners. I want to connect this psalm with my reflections on Psalm 21 and Psalm 22. Psalm 21 is triumphant, God will demonstrate his power. Psalm 22 is apoplectic, “My God why have you forsaken me?” Psalm 22 screams the questions that Psalm 21 should rightfully raise, “Is God’s victory and hope certain even in the darkest moments of life?” In Psalm 23, the psalmist no longer has a voice to shout his objections in the assembly, rather he whispers them in sobs all alone in the dark. Psalm 23 takes the question, “How?”, to its fullest extent and in doing so gives us a glimpse into the heart of the Gospel of Jesus: “How does God keep his promises in the valley of the shadow of death?”

You see, the promises of God always run the risk of disintegrating into platitudes. Quasi-spiritual assurances like, “everything happens for a reason” or “God works everything for the good of those who love him” are nice and all but don’t do us a lot of good when we are lost in the abyss, traversing treacherous terrain, surrounded by predators, exhausted from walking and fear. Ideas are nice, they are content of faith, but in the face of certain death, I need more.

Enter Psalm 23. The psalmist proclaims, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.” He proclaims the tender care of the Lord in sustaining and guiding him. David expresses the innocent bliss of trusting in God to provide. But then, almost on a dime, he turns from the sunlight to the shadow. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley ^[1]I still like the feel of the  traditional translation “valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

Did you catch that? The question of God-forsakenness in Psalm 22 is given its free expression to deconstruct any notions of simplistic faith. What about the valley of the shadow death? Am I forsaken there? How are you going to keep your promises there? According to Psalm 23, God will not merely decree his will from far off in Heaven, he will not leave us to rest on cliches while we wallow in the darkness, he won’t even miraculously light up that darkness in a demonstration of sheer power. No, none of this will do. How will God keep his promises? He himself will come to us. He is right there, walking in he valley of the shadow of death as he walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening.

Psalm 23 doesn’t just tell us we are not abandoned, that we will not be forgotten or forsaken. It shows us. The Lord is our shepherd, we don’t have to be afraid not simply because he is powerful, good, full of justice and mercy. He of course is all of those things and more. We don’t have to be afraid because he is here. His rod, his staff, his table. Even in the darkest hour, he comes to us.

What is in me that needs to die before I die?   Lent, for all its caricatures of giving up chocolate or not drinking so much red wine, is the seasonal embodiment of Jesus’ promise that those who wish to find their life must lose it.  Lent is a journey away from petty idolatries and distractions towards a life focused on the Jesus way—the way of sacrifice and meekness, the way that , incidentally, happens to lead to truth and life.  As Christians around the world receive the ashes tomorrow and we hear the sobering words, “Remember from dust you have come and to dust you shall return,” we are not engaging in an exercise of cynical fatalism or morbid asceticism.  Nor are we merely wallowing in self-righteous self-pity.  Rather, we are taking the first step, with Jesus, towards Jerusalem:  towards the upper room, towards Gethsemane and Golgotha, and ultimately, the empty tomb.

The ashen cross smudged on the foreheads of faithful children, women, and men declares with the psalmist that we are but a breath, a flower cut from the bush that dies as soon as it flourishes (Ps. 103).  Furthermore, we wear the dark marks of our humanity and our failure to live in proper relationship with God, one another, and creation.  We have sinned and sin leaving mangled relationships in every part of its scorched-earth wake needs more than just a simple, “sorry.”   Ash Wednesday, as the gateway to the lenten season, is a funeral for our idolatrous lives, the clear-eyed acknowledgment that we have sinned and we will die.  We clothe ourselves in ashes and sackcloth mourning our own shortcomings, repenting of our sins.  And yet underlying even this judgment is an indescribable current of hope that looks to a day when God himself will clothe our feeble mortal bodies with the imperishable garments of eternity (1 Cor. 15).

When I, as a pastor, impose the ashes, I look into the face of people I love and walk with everyday and tell them one of the two or three truest things I am capable of saying to them:  “You are going to die.”  When Christ talked to his disciples of his impending sacrifice he followed up with an equally cryptic statement:  “But in three days I will rise again” (Mark 8:31).  The Messiah, according to Peter and many of his contemporaries, was supposed to restore the Kingdom.  He couldn’t exactly manage those affairs from the grave.  But the disciples, as a microcosm for the world at large, fail to understand what Jesus is telling them.   When Jesus is telling his disciples, “I am going to die,” he is in the same breath saying, “I am going to live and you are too!”  We would have God form a bureaucracy and give us a cushy job.   Instead he offers us himself and his eternal kingdom.  God’s life offered to us is always better than the one we would dream up for ourselves.  Even our imaginations need resurrecting.

But first, the dying.  There is no get-rich-quick scheme in the kingdom of God, no life-hacks for eternity.  There is no way to resurrection except through death.  Jesus, as the incarnate Son of God, died everyday to his own wants and desires and submitted to the will of the Father.  Lent is a 40-day period where we practice the art of dying well—the art of dying like Jesus.   But just as Jesus’ death is not ultimately about death, we don’t die merely for the sake of dying.  We die so that we may live.  We fast so that we may feast.  We deny ourselves so that we might share.  We allow the Spirit to do meticulous surgery on our hearts so that those renewed hearts might beat for God and for others.  So the question of lent remains what needs to die in us before we die?  What needs to die in us so that we may live?  “The world is not conclusion,” Emily Dickinson wrote.  Death is not the end.  But the only way to resurrection is to come and die.

The juxtaposition between Psalm 21 and Psalm 22 could not be more striking. Look at the end of Ps. 21:

Be exalted, O Lord, in your strength! We will sing and praise your power.

Now read the beginning of Ps. 22:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? In many ways the bookends of these two psalms frame the Christian life.

Psalm 22 tests the integrity of the promises of Ps 21. It’s one thing to declare in the sanctuary that “your hand will find out all your enemies; your right hand will find out those who hate you” and another to be tortured mercilessly at the hands of those very same enemies. And the question the two psalms ask together, “Do these promises hold up in the darkest nights of the soul?” Psalm 22 moves us from the comfort of the congregation to the bloodthirsty chaos of a lynch mob. You can hear the thuggish mocking of the strong bulls ^[1]Psalm 22v12 and the ravenous lions ^[2]Psalm 22v13 surround our psalmist.

As the people who follow the crucified Jesus, we walk the line of trust and hope, resting in the promises of God and being literally God-abandoned, stretched to our breaking and pierced by this life.  If the promises of God are true, promises for life from barrenness, life from exile, life from death, then they have to be true in our moments of God-forsakenness.

This psalm contains such stunning poetry that finds its fullest manifestation in Jesus. As he is poured out like water, as his bones are jolted from their joints, and his heart melts like a candle that has been forgotten about, ultimately to be laid in the dust of death.^[3]Ps. 22vv14-18 is so hauntingly beautiful and bears witness to so much of the pain of life; Jesus holds on to the promise. He holds on to the promises of God that God will hear and save^[4]Ps. 22vv19-21, that the poor shall have their share ^[5]Ps. 22vv26, that the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the Lord like waters cover the seas ^[6]Ps. 22vv27-28, and that his arm is long enough to reach even to the grave ^[7]Ps. 22vv29-30.

The line between victory and utter defeat is  tear-soaked, blood-stained, anguish-ridden faith. Are the promises of God true? Ps. 21 says they are true in the congregation in the songs of the people of God. Ps. 22 says, yes, they are even true in the blackest night, in the curses of the enemies of God. The cross is simultaneously the place where all hope is lost and the only place that hope is possible. Jesus, holds onto the promises of God with nail-pierced hands, this is faith that proves God’s word true.

When you think about it, the claims of the covenant people of the Old Testament are not even slightly absurd. At no time in its history was Israel the dominant power in its region.  Rarely did the nation enjoy peace and autonomy.  Mostly, the nation was being squeezed like a vice by forces from Egypt (the south) and forces from Assyria, Babylon, or Persia (the north). And yet there is insistence that the children of Abraham lie at the center of the story of the world and that Zion, the City of David, is the geographic center of the world. The promise to Abraham was always a universal one, weaving the disparate strands of the tribes and nations of the world into one unified cord. If the God of Israel, YHWH, was trying distinguish the nation of Israel among the nations of the world he certainly had an interesting way of doing it. Surely, Israel, constantly fighting for its life, might suggest an alternative plan.

And yet the Lord will not short-circuit the process. He has called a people, a people to be a nation of priests, a people to be witnesses to his salvation and loving kindness, a people to be formed and shaped by his passion and words, a people which would form the very tabernacle of his presence. He knows this people will only be able to fulfill these tasks in fits and starts. He knows that there will be pain, confusion, betrayal, and injustice. If he wanted to accomplish a certain task, he should be fired for his severe lapse in judgment and inefficiency to execute his vision but the way the Lord goes about things suggest he may have something entirely different in mind.

Psalm 20 is a corporate psalm offered on behalf of the king of Israel. As we hinted at above, the king of Israel often entered battle with a smaller military budget, technological disadvantages, and troop shortages. And still the psalmist insists, “May we shout for joy over your victory, and in the name of our God set up our banners.” Is this just glib optimism from a self-deluded startup—on the modern geopolitical spectrum, this would be like Uzbekistan saying, “Hey Russia, hey China, let’s do this.” Or perhaps this confidence, this triumphalism is not vain nationalism but pointing us towards something larger.

“Now I know that the Lord will help his anointed; he will answer from his holy heaven with mighty victories by his right hand. Some take pride in chariots, and some in horses, but our pride is i the name of the Lord our God. They will collapse and fall, but we shall rise and stand upright.”^[1]Ps. 20vv6-8

The people of Israel were a people who never washed the sand from the shore of the Red Sea off their feet. Everywhere they went that story followed them, defined them. On that day, outside of Egypt, the question of victory had nothing to do with the inventory of their weaponry or their strategic acumen. In fact, on that day they stood helplessly with their backs against the sea, waiting to be slaughtered by the Egyptians. But the Lord, “answered in the day of trouble.^[2]Ps. 20v1” He split the seas, he made a way. The people, in Psalm 20, sing the past into the present and the future because they know that the question of victory is not what’s in their hands but whose hands they are in. Over the long arc of the history of Israel, we are not simply receiving information about what happened to a certain people long ago. Rather, we are being formed as a people of promise witnessing what happens when we recognize that the story was never about us to begin with. The story is about God, God dwelling near, God promising, God saving, God sustaining. God is not undertaking a project, he is forming a people.

The end of this year marks the end of my time in vocational youth ministry. I could not be more grateful for the amazing people that we have gotten to serve and those we were blessed to work alongside. I am forever shaped by my experiences—both painful and joyful—working with students. In this post, I am waxing nostalgic about some of the lessons I have learned. While these may be specific to my observations and experiences in youth ministry, they are not sequestered to that particular field or church work in general. Truth is truth, because it transcends borders. Grace and peace.

1. Prayer Is The Work.

You got into student ministry because you (hopefully) enjoy being in the presence of students. One problem, those people to whom you are ministering are in school seven hours a day, nine months out of the year. So what do you do when everything is all planned and everyone is in school? I can’t tell you how many youth pastors I have spoken to simply don’t feel like they know how to fill out the hours of their day. A lot of youth pastors feel guilty because they spend their time distracted on social media or completing busy work tasks because at least an open computer makes them appear productive. We often spend our time coming up with more efficient ways to reach people and miss the fact that God has given us the most efficient way to reach people: his own presence. When we pray, we spend time with Jesus, we become more like him, and thus become better pastors.

2. Stories Win.

Can you feel the anxiety? Have you been in ministry for a couple of years and already used your best stories? Youth pastors often feel the pressure to tell stories that are equal parts hilarious and relevant. We have all been at that retreat or conference where the speaker that will only ever interact with our students once gets up and tells a story that kills and also paints a poignant picture of Jesus. But here’s the thing, I’m not talking about those stories. I’m talking about the stories that have been passed onto all of us in the Scriptures. It’s amazing how many youth ministries see their task as doctrinal download. Don’t tell your students what grace is, show them. Jesus embodies and enacts grace, the things he does and says are the essence of grace. Bring your students back to those stories. Help them to locate their lives within the story of Jesus. The Bible is amazing, mysterious, perplexing, and breath-taking. Don’t turn your gatherings into lectures, help your students encounter Jesus.

3. Students Are Not The Future, They Are The Present.

Like in those zombie movies where the heroes are able to finally shut the door on the hordes of brain-eating monsters, many churches group all their teenagers in one place, shut the door, and run away. But what if teenagers were invited to actually do ministry, not in the future, but right now? What if they led worship, served communion, greeted people at the doors? When we involve students in the life of the church during their formative years they don’t run into the dissonance of trying to integrate into “adult” church when they are older.

4. You Won’t Connect With Every Student. Don’t Try.

This is not about the value you place on every student you have the privilege to pastor. This is about what it means to be a finite human being. No matter the size of your group, you simply don’t share interests, similar experiences, or even a basic understanding with every student in your midst. And God never asked you to try. What God has asked of you is to create an environment where young people are cared for and nurtured to grow in their faith. You’re going to need help. Find and empower people to minister to your students. If you are the focal point of every aspect of your ministry, you are bottlenecking the growth of those you serve.

5. Words Create Worlds.

Every day your students walk in worlds where they are competing for attention, for meaning, and affirmation. Don’t make them fight for it within the confines of your ministry. Make it a regular practice to verbally encourage individuals. Pray for them so you can point them towards the things that God is doing in their lives. Beyond this, have regular rhythms throughout the year where you publicly affirm, encourage, and speak life into your students. Be thoughtful, be effusive, be prophetic. Your words, well-thought out and proclaimed in front of the group become seeds that are certain to produce a harvest.

Look for part two tomorrow.

“All their thoughts are, ‘There is no God.'”  This is the psalmist’s diagnosis of the most successful people in his world—a powerful group collectively called “the wicked”.  Hidden within this observation is a question:  “God, are you watching this?”  The psalmist continues, “Their ways prosper at all times; your judgments are on high, out of their sight; as for their foes…”  In other words, the psalmist is suggesting that something is getting lost in translation between the heavenly judgments of God and the facts on the ground.  It seems that the one’s who are getting ahead in our world those who are willing to climb on the backs of others.  The rich get richer at the expense of the poor and they think to themselves, “God has forgotten, he has hidden his face, he will never see it” (v. 11).

It is always tempting to take things at face value.  In our world, no different than the psalmists, it just seems like the good girls and guys can’t win.  But the psalmist counters the observations of his eyes with his expectant hope that God does in fact see the things that take place on the earth.  He sees and he cares deeply (v. 14).   And beyond that, he is able to judge rightly and bring about true justice.  The psalmist implores him to do so:

Break the arm of the wicked and evildoers; seek out their wickedness until you find none.

David asks the Lord to act and to disable those who oppressing their neighbors.  But at the close of this psalm, this is his only request.  Surrounding this imploring of God to act is theology.  Look at what he says in v. 14:

But you do see! Indeed you note trouble and grief, that you may take it into your hands; the helpless commit themselves to you; you have been the helper of the orphan.

And again in vv. 16-18:

The LORD is king forever and ever; the nations shall perish from his land.   Psa. 10:17    O LORD, you will hear the desire of the meek; you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear 18 to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed, so that those from earth may strike terror no more.

Even though everything David sees would tell him, echoing Longfellow, “that hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men,” his faith tells him otherwise.  In order to combat injustice, we not only need righteous indignation we need deep theological reflection and prayer.  The psalms invite us to the intersection of this sort of rich theology and bold, unflinching prayer.  Jesus, in announcing the “Kingdom has come near” declares that through his power and life, that the justice of God is no longer a pipe dream but that the judgments of heaven have come to earth at last.

In Psalm 9, the tone has changed but the circumstances really have not.  David opens with the lines:  I will give thanks to the LORD with my whole heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds.  I will be glad and exult in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.  But even though, David expresses a heart that is eager to praise the Lord, it is clear from the rest of the psalm that all in his life is not well:

Be gracious to me, O LORD. See what I suffer from those who hate me…

There is no shortage of danger in Psalm 9 but the lens through which David looks at everything is a lens of gratitude, hope, and faith.  He does not simply will himself to this place of expectant fidelity but recounts the past when God had rescued him.  David in the midst of anxious present can look to both the past and the future with clear eyes.  He sees that God has indeed rescued him in times of trouble and he is thus confident that he will do it again.

He declares in the assembly:  The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. 10 And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek you.

This is the confidence that comes from a long obedience in the same direction.  David can speak as one who has put their trust in the Lord, sought him, and he has found himself not forsaken.  We see this cycle in Scripture, often its when the most dire, hopeless of circumstances strike that the people turn again to the Lord.  The pendulum swings from a sleepy complacency which usually results in idolatry and judgment to a desperate plea for God’s intervention.  But Psalm 9 shows us a different rhythm.

What would it look like to seek God so fervently that your circumstances would almost become ancillary?  Or another way we could ask the question, what would it look like to be so alive to God in our daily lives that even in the face of certain death, we would still find faith and hope in his life?  I want to be alive to God in the daily moments of the ordinary days because I know that the trouble finds us all.  David, here in the bleakest of circumstances, can express such unwavering trust in the Lord because he has expressed that same trust on the bright, sunny days.  I don’t know where you find yourself today but perhaps God is inviting you to just acknowledge that he exists, to have your day interrupted and shaped by the beauty of his presence.  When we seek him in the sunlight, we can stand confidently against the black of night, knowing the dawn is coming.  He is faithful.