my Christ

I’m not very apt at brandishing theological profundities and convincing people to change their ways and follow the Christ I know. All I can share is that I know this Christ, the one who lives not only in the pages of the Holy Scriptures but in me. I know the Christ who is so intensely personal that I actually feel Him. I know the Christ of the Cross, the Christ of forgiveness, the Christ who literally shepherds me.

I desire greater passion, but conviction and evidence I have. I hold the conviction that were it not for Him, I would be a mess, a directionless one. I have the evidence that this is true, because I can point to what my life is about, and it would be Him I’m pointing to. I have the conviction that He personally knows me and cares for my affairs, that He has some plan for me that He keeps working out. My evidence lies in His words, in the things He does in my life, in the way He shapes my thinking, attitudes and steps.

I am sure that He’s the right way for me, because I see the ways the people that do not know Him take, and how it ends always in death, of one kind or another. Sometimes I’m not too sure about the details, but I am yet to get lost in following Him – I suspect I never will. I know the Christ who keeps His word – contrary to popular (mis) belief, His way is rather simple – follow me and I will show you the way of life.

My Christ has given me life (in abundance), the true meaning of life. I know some of us Christ people use Him as an excuse for poverty and laziness, but underneath is a truth – Christ first gives you life, blesses you royally and then gives you materially, as to your need or even more. Because by then, you’ve realized that it’s not as important as it’s made out to be. I’m a wealthy person because of Him – I have peace, I have joy, I have purpose, I have identity and I have a secure source.

Of all the trumpets I could blow about Christ (mind you, He doesn’t need any trumpeting), the loudest note would have to be the one about His unconditional love, saving grace and forgiveness. Oh, when I say I am redeemed, I do it with tears, because I know what I really was and what I have the capacity to be were it not for Christ. As Matthew West sang, I'm a man with big mistakes, big regrets and bigger breaks than I even care to confess/but you're the one that looks at me and sees what I was meant to be/where would I be without someone to save me/someone who won't let me fall…

It really is true – about my past and about my present. Also, about the Christ who saved me and won’t ever let me fall. He loves me through every season – the days I run away, the days I slink back in shame; the days I rave about Him, the days I couldn’t care less; the days I know where we’re going, the days I don’t want to go anywhere; the days things make sense, the days I feel like dropping into a bottomless hole. He just loves. And it breaks me, all the time.

My Christ has a firm handle on life and all the answers too. Give Him a try. I, for one, am a Christ-ian and mighty proud of Him.

I Like You. I Really DO.

I like you. I really do. I like the way you know me through and through, you’ve seen all my bad and my good and you’ve weighed it and decided it’s me you want. Oh, what a stubborn fool I can be. Sometimes I love you, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel you, other times I couldn’t care less. I know the things you love, and I want to do them to make you happy, but they’re so hard, and easier ignored. I know the things you hate, and I try to avoid them to make you happy, but they’re so much easier to do.

I try hard, and I like that you help me and you never let me feel like I can’t make it. I like the way that you’re always whispering in my ears that you believe in me, and that you like what you see in our future. Oh, I want to make you happy, that’s my greatest desire. And not for no reason – it’s because I’ve never met anyone like you. Who loves so unconditionally? Who cares so much about what I am becoming rather than what I am now? It’s amazing the things you’ve done for me, even knowing my capacity to turn my back on you.

I worry about my world a lot, and how everyone has so many problems they can’t solve. I worry also, how everyone has so many answers, and so many things that they think will make them happy or make their problems go away.

So of all the things you’ve done for me, I like how you fulfill me. How with you I feel safe, never uneasy, never wondering whether things will turn out OK. I just know that they will, because when you speak to me, it’s like gentle cool rivulets flowing down my face on a hot afternoon. I like how you answer my every concern with that stillness. I like the hope you give me, how I get a spring in my step every time I come from spending time with you. I like the way you show me love and make me want nothing else. Oh, bliss!

And yet, I fear that I do not talk about you enough. So this here is a reminder, to myself and to everyone that ever reads this, of what you mean to me. I live for you, I would die for you, and I like that I get to spend forever with you. I like your names. Jesus. Emmanuel. Wonderful Counselor. Prince of Peace. Savior. Hope of the World. You’ve been with me, you guide me, you give me peace in the midst of all these chaos, and my, o my, you’ve gone and saved me from despair and given me hope.

I wish, I wish that all your sons and daughters would see that you really are all that. And that when we have you, we really do need nothing else. I wish that they would see – yea, even those that have known you and turned their backs on you – that the road back has no conditions. You’re standing at the door looking out into the horizon and wishing that they would just appear – oh, how you will run toward them then and clothe them in that never ending embrace.

I like you. I really do.

Departed, To Where?

‘The’ king of pop died, and, world media tells me, over 18,000 turned up at his memorial service (Ronaldo was being received at Real by over 80,000 around the same time, so well…) and millions watched by television. I was not among them. Not just because I didn’t have a telly anywhere near me, because if I did my eyes would be glued to the Spanish side of things or maybe Wimbledon re-runs.

MJ. I had a brief fling with one of his jams in December of 2001. That was it, until my becoming a dancer necessitated my hearing a bit about the moonwalk, and my bro excellently nailed an MJ imitation for a play. That was as far as my relationship with this pop idol went.

Pop, by the way, is truncated from popular, something I’m not sure MJ was very much in his later days. His influence on popular music culture is obviously undeniable, even to the uninitiated like me. I suppose that’s what the pop meant. I also think there’s the other side: I once watched a documentary showing a grand military-like unveiling of an MJ statue, and thousands of people ‘worshiping’ it – it was a very disturbing image, the kind that the 'it’s just music' generation of believers would want kept tightly under wraps.

Anyway, this is obviously not one more memorial to the king of pop (forgive me), so let me pick up from the end of the prayer at his memorial – even the king of pop, the minister boomed, has to bow to the King of kings. I wonder how that went – his meeting with the King of kings I mean. I wonder, as I've heard mentioned elsewhere, whether he was greeted by an equally enthusiastic crowd of celestial beings on the other side as he was waved off by men and women on this side.

I wonder only because I do not know whether some miracle happened as MJ was on his deathbed that caused him to accept Christ. But if he didn’t, as is most likely in my mind, then he went into eternal damnation. Never mind that he invented the moon walk. Never mind that there will never be another like him. Never mind that he’s probably one of the most talented and gifted musicians that ever lived. Without Christ, all that there is to his life now is hell – the real one, not the one he went through at the hands of the media and critics.

Men are consumed with immortality – it’s almost a curse. We wax lyrical about people who’ve died and find every little way to carry their names through the winds of the present long after they’re gone. And that’s all good. But you know what? That celebration of life is only meaningful if they’re on the other side celebrating it as well. Otherwise, it’s sad, but it’s all vanity. With all due respect.

We’re all going to live forever. As to where, I guess that’s everyone’s choice. Heaven is real. And so is hell. I’m working hard to end up in heaven, and hopefully convince everyone I know to do the same.

Football...and a Few Other Thoughts

I started out with the intention of writing a long piece on the champions league final. That was yesterday. In retrospect, there's little to be said - the best team won, by the number of goals I'd thought they'd win by, and even the other team's coach conceded he'd been outclassed by the Spaniards. So there's little to say.

Except one little thing, and that has more to do with life than with football - if pressure breaks you, if not having your way leads you down the path of anger because you think you're 'entitled', then the word best cannot be used to describe you. And when the rubber meets the road, it is character and not skill that says what you really are. When push comes to shove, who you really are will come out, quite on its own...

Oh, one more thing: one of my pastors, Pr.Gich, once pointed out that one the biggest traps that great men fall in is the trap of 'entitlement'...thinking that because you are who you are, you must have your way, and you can make your own way. Think about David, he said. King of all Israel. One night, when people were away at war, the guy saw a woman. Only she was someone else's wife. But no, he was king of all Israel, could have whatever he wanted, right? He even went ahead to kill the guy (who, by the way, refused to be entitled to rest while his mates were out fighting)...

Beware, dear Christian who has been saved for many years and now thinks a little 'fun' fire to the bosom is in order, and that Moses probably set the boundary too far - I'm an Israelite, can't I move closer to the boundary than God said? Remember Korah, Dathan and Abihu; Beware dear leader, held in reverent piety by all yet hiding behind lifted unholy hands and busy compromising - I'm a levite, is it not my right to be honored, unquestioned and do whatever I wish? Remember the sons of Eli; Beware dear youth minister, thought cool and highly esteemed, letting pride check in and seeking title - flashbulbs, the fans are shouting my name..He will share His glory with no other.

By the way, no one is perfect. Those who know they're not and are quick to seek and lean on the grace of the Savior, embrace the humility of repentance as David did, and remember that our God is just and an all consuming fire... those are the wise ones. The only things I am entitled to are the ones God says I am. And He is not a flimsy speaker who gives us to satisfy our flesh and selfish desire.

I had intended to talk about football.

Be THE Man

I missed my father by a long whisker – by the time I was old enough to understand anything, he was long dead. Much of what I know about the African prima male, I’ve learned from watching and listening to other people, learning from some of them, and reading, of course. That manhood is about going out to kill lions for fun, beating your opponents to a pulp and plundering them and theirs. That being a man is about never displaying need for anything, or anyone. That manhood is about being rough, never smiling, a permanent ‘no emotions allowed’ zone.

The other day I saw a former MP scream on national television that the way to recognize a ‘mature’ man and leader is by the number of wives he has. Therefore, he said, since he’s about to marry my glaringly controversial cousin as his third wife, he should be elected to parliament without any problems. Ah, the African man is king over his household, and runs roughshod over his women.

And yet it occurs to me that somewhere, there is a better definition of the man. A place where men are sold-out servants who will gladly fight thousands of Philistines to get drinking water for their thirsty king. A place where men have their heads on right, and can always be trusted to make the right decisions for everyone’s good.

I’m thinking about the place where men and women complement each other at every level of life, as God meant it. Where men are not afraid to take the lead, and do so with the skillfulness of their hands and the uprightness of their hearts. Where chivalry is a way of life, because the protected is safe in the protector’s confident arms. Where men love their one woman with all their heart, and would do anything to protect her and their love.

I wonder, sometimes, if we’re a generation that has lost its place because we no longer remember what being a man is all about.

But of all the distorted images of man there are, the biggest lie is the one about weakness. That a man must never admit he’s weak, must never admit error, and must never take responsibility. Oh, I miss those days I didn’t know - the days before blame was invented, before the great cover-up. Those few days when man was just an open book, never thinking that it is ‘cool’ to wear a façade.

One of the reasons I love going to church is that there’s always something new to learn. My pastor recently pointed out a thought I’d never paid much attention to – that great first cover-up, when Adam quickly shifted blame to his wife. Can you picture Adam going to find the fig leaves to cover their nakedness, then figure a way to make sure he was safe from blame? And so it has been ever since. He said, my pastor, that the greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak.

I identify. Yet I quickly see the lesson, and that is what this is all about: a dear friend of mine found himself in the clutches of sin. A leader, admission was certainly the hard way to go – not only would it cause a ‘fall from grace’ so to speak, but it would scar his relationships and the process of restoration would be a tough one. It would have been easy to let it slide, and continue to be a man in the eyes of the world, look like he has it all together, while slowly dying in darkness. Yet he didn’t. He owned up, repented, sought restoration, and submitted himself to the process that would see him strengthened.

And in the process, he added gems to all the lessons he’s taught me so far about being a man – you take responsibility and face the consequences, no matter what they are; you value your relationship with God above every glory; you live your life in the light always, and realize when you are weak and need help; and you never think you’re too man to ask for help. Never.

Be the man.