Author Archives: ericcase

It’s Not the Location; It’s the Landlord

Posted on by

By Notorious4life (talk).Notorious4life at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

By Notorious4life (talk).Notorious4life at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

I was taking my son to school this morning, and we were listening to folks on the radio talk about their faith and such. A woman came on, talking about how her favorite song reminded her that, “this world is not her home.” She went on to talk about how it was great to remember that we don’t belong here and this isn’t our true home.

I started to think about how many songs talk about that, and how it’s generally understood belief that this place—this earth and all that’s in it—isn’t our true “home”, and we’ll never be content here until we go to our “true home”.

Then I thought, “I wonder how God feels about this?”

Does it bother Him that we so easily throw aside the world He created and declared “good” in Genesis 1 and 2? 

Even in light of the Fall, is God ready to scrap this place, declare it a mistake, and evacuate us all (along with everything else He spoke/sang into being) to somewhere else?

Do we really understand these phrases that roll of our tongue so easily?

A lot of the “not of this world” language comes John’s gospel, reflects the most “Greek-like” thinking of the four gospels, and with Greek thought comes Greek philosophy. To summarize (almost criminally), Greek thought was much more interested in different “planes of existence” than the Hebrew thinking that pervades the rest of the Bible. It’s natural to Greek thinking to think that something we are encountering now is merely a shadow of a more perfect type of that thing that exists in a different world. Greek philosophy would look at, say, a shot of espresso and go, “This represents a shot of espresso, but somewhere there is a true, perfect shot of espresso that exists.”

In contrast, Hebrew thinking says, “Drink the espresso already! Savor it! Enjoy it: God created it!”

Hebraic thought is more inclined to say, “Well actually, this world is our home! It’s messed up, but God will fix it, someday, and until He does we are going to work and be faithful.”

For a few legitimate reasons, it’s much easier for us to gravitate towards a Greek perspective on the world—it’s easy to see its flaws, for instance—but that doesn’t mean that we should do it to the neglect of the Hebrew perspective.

The truth is that God is neither Greek, nor Hebrew; both paradigms help us understand God’s reality more, but neither can tell us the whole truth.

To the thoughts that say, “This world is not our home,” first I’d say, “but what about Revelation?” If you read the end of The Story (Revelation 21-22), it’s pretty clear that, well, God actually remakes this place. It’s New Jerusalem. It’s No More Tears. It’s Twelve Gates. It’s No Temple.

And it all happens here.

On. This. Earth.

I don’t think God is interested in scrapping something He declared Good. I don’t think He’s into throwing less-than-perfect things onto the scrap heap just because they’re broken (I’m thankful for that). Actually, I think that’s what we would do: we’d take one look at this messed up, busted up planet with all its striving societies and dehumanizing and oppressive systems, and we would throw it right over the cliff and take everyone to a new home where we could start over.

But that’s us, not Him. 

I think God is a fixer. 

I think God is in it for the long haul.

In other words, we don’t need to sweat about our location, because even though it’s rough, we have an awesome Landlord.

What do you think? Is this place our home? What would it mean if God intends to heal this place rather than spirit us all away?

 

+e

Sherlock and Leadership “Clues”

Posted on by

Surely we can agree: Benedict Cumberbatch is the Dreamiest Sherlock Ever.bbc-sherlock-1600

Okay, so I’m pretty addicted to the latest version of Sherlock Holmes, courtesy of the BBC. Robert Downey Jr. not withstanding, it’s a really great iteration of the story. A modern-day Sherlock and Dr. Watson (played by Martin Freeman, aka Bilbo Baggins) solve crimes around modern London and England in that oh-so-distinctive (and deductive) way: Sherlock perceives the clues and hints surrounding an “unsolvable” case and eventually comes up with a solution.

One of leadership’s most crucial tasks is to “interrogate reality.” That is to say, a leader’s job is to be able to take the pulse of his or her team/organization by asking questions like:

What’s succeeding?
What’s failing?
Where are resources needed?
Who needs encouragement?
What needs vision?

And so the list goes on. The main point is to be able to assemble an accurate portrait of what’s going on. Really going on.

Kind of like solving a crime.

A repeating theme in Sherlock (or it’s California-equivalent, Psych) is when the police rush to a decision because they have reacted to the most obvious clue. Sherlock then shows up to show how they’ve missed 5 other clues that would lead them down to a different suspect.

A different reality.

Similarly, one of the most common mistakes I’ve seen leaders make is when they attempt to interrogate reality using only one—usually very obvious—clue. It’s the ONE conversation with their favorite employee; it’s the SINGLE e-mail that says something disastrous (or something amazing); it’s the one metric that determines their paradigm.

But just like inspector Lestrade, this singular clue is most likely leading them to a skewed version of reality.

I’ve been around leaders who have contentedly announced, “Sue is so happy here!” while at the same time I’ve heard from 3 other people that Sue is frustrated and feels like she’s not listened to.

It’s easy to blame Sue and say, “Well she’s not being honest.”

But here’s the deal: you’re the leader. You are the one who is supposed to provide an environment where Sue can be honest, or at the very least you should be disciplined enough to talk to multiple people about Sue’s state of mind.

The thing leaders need to do is to step back and look at the wider view; to assemble a multitude of clues from which they can more accurately deduce the truth. What employees are they not hearing from? Which segment of the church population does not have a voice? What metric is being ignored?

Interrogating reality is not easy. Facing the truth is a bit scary, and merely mustering up the energy to observe multiple “clues” can be exhausting. At the same time, that essentially is one of our charges as leaders and influencing.

It’s elementary.

(did you like how I did that?)

++++++++++++++++++++>

Sunday Spine

Posted on by

I’ve been reading Twyla Tharp’s book The Creative Habit, and it’s really great: practical productive ideas on creating from a long-time practicer. She talks about the need for every creative work to have a “spine”, something which knits the whole work together. It answers the question, “What am I trying to say?” with ruthless clarity and conciseness.

What’s interesting to me is that the spine is not necessarily the same thing as what the audience/public/congregation sees or hears or experiences. That’s the story; the spine belongs to the creator or team of creators that orchestrate it.

For those of us who work on Sunday, I think we have the opportunity to think about spines as well. We already know our story (and it’s a good one); but we don’t always think about our particular spines. In my context, a spine may be anything that holds a set of songs together besides the obvious (a journey towards God). For better or for worse, this past Sunday my “spine” was a musical one: it was the concept of a power trio. Could I (a) have no acoustic guitar; (b) play slide in open tuning; (c) re-arrange some familiar songs to have a heavier, bluesier feel to them; and (d) do all of this without it becoming distracting or prideful?

In regards to the spine, “What am I trying to say?”

I am trying to say that worship music can be bluesy and soulful and still congregational. 

That was my thinking, but a spine can be just about anything: it may be a stylistic approach to the songs; it may be a progression of musical keys; it may be a subtle facet of spirituality—meditation or contemplation, say—that’s not overtly being discussed but that I’ve been working with.

Now, here’s the deal: First, in Sunday worship “business”, spines are not necessary. We’ve been handed a story to tell, and it’s up to us to tell it clearly and compellingly. In a sense, we don’t need spines.

(I hope I don’t need to tell you that spines should never detract or distract from the story. People shouldn’t notice that all your songs were in the key of A; they should notice this God that we believe in.)

But spines enrich our stories. They give us the opportunity to make our Sunday stories multi-layered and rich.

They also infuse our creative lives with fresh wind.

(I daresay they make it fun.)

What some of us need is a dose of creative energy, a breathe of fresh air to engage our thinking and give us the strength and focus to run another leg of the ministry race that we’re in. Ultimately, I think that spines are a useful tool to keep us engage over a period of time with the work we do.

(By the way, I also use the concept of a “spine” when I’m developing a sermon; it governs what stays in and what goes out. In this sense, sermon prep for me is like poetry. It’s about editing down to the essentials and trusting that what is left over after the process is sufficient and essential.)

What spine can you insert into your work this week? What would give you energy?

++++++++++++++++++++++>

With Teeth

Posted on by

I am a musician.

I am a Christian.

(Even a sort-of “evangelical one.”)

I play “contemporary worship” music.

 

…

 

All that said, I will only quote Bono this one time: “Great music is written by people who are either running toward or away from God.”

 

<whew>

This may or may not be widely known, but I’m a Nine Inch Nails fan; I’ve even used them in a sermon.

(If you don’t know who they are, please go read something about them or Trent Reznor before you go mindlessly buy a record; it’s really jarring, even unsettling music.)

Ultimately, I don’t know if Trent Reznor is running to God or running away from Him, or running at all, but here’s what I know…

… Reznor is honest; brutally so.

I suppose the reason I gravitate to Trent Reznor is this honesty. He is simply unafraid to say things that make us cringe and squirm.

In 2005 they released the record With Teeth. Aside from the concert film And All That Could Have Been, this was my first in depth exposure to what they did. I’d read plenty about the infamous Downward Spiral sessions, and had frankly shied away, but something grabbed me about the first single, “The Hand That Feeds.”

The record was recorded just after Reznor decided to get sober, and the record reflects a lot of his experience. Similarly, I listened to this record constantly from 2005-2007, when I was going through some particularly difficult times in my life.

The title track in particular grabbed me. What I hear is a description, not just of heroin, but of anything that can take over your life and go from being an indulgence to a habit to an addiction.

I heard Reznor preaching a stronger word than I’d heard from a preacher about the dangers of addiction—to alcohol, porn, drugs, people. He laid it out square, and the music just brought it home.

Listening to it recently, I was struck again with the power of addiction. I’ve been battling my own demons recently, and now I hear the song from a new place; as I’ve been able to get some perspective on life, I can actually recognize the power of addiction even more clearly in the lyric.

It’s death.

It wants to kill you; if not physically, at least spiritually.

I can’t write like Trent Reznor, but I can just speak plainly for a moment.

If you are struggling with something, and can’t stop, you need to take it seriously. 

Get help.

The entire nature of this thing is that you can’t get on top of it. You need to get help.

And get this as well: it (whatever “it” is for you) wants to destroy you. 

It DOES have teeth, and it wants to gnaw your life down to the bone. 

It wants to burn it all down. 

 

You have to stop.

Ask for help and start the work.

This isn’t nearly as subtle as the studio track, but it gets the point across:

“With Teeth”

She comes along
She gets inside
She makes you better than anything you’ve tried
It’s in her kiss
The blackest sea
And it runs deeper than you
Dare to dream it could be

With teeth …

Wave goodbye
To what you were
The rules have changed
The lines begin to blur
She makes you hard
It comes on strong
You finally found
The place where you belong

With teeth …

I cannot go through this again …

With teeth …

She will not let you go
Keeps holding on
She will not let you go
Keeps holding on
This time, I’m not coming back
She will not let you go
This time, I’m not coming back
She will not let you go

+e
———————————————

Why I am Still a “Seeker”

Posted on by

(I promise the “Jesus” series will start soon!)

My faith became vital and alive to me in the late 1990s. At the time, it was fashionable to label people who were spiritually curious as “seekers”. The church that I was at (and eventually worked at) was actually known nation-wide as a pioneer in the “seeker-movement”, meaning it designed its weekend worship experiences for this particular demographic of people.

Years later, you can still find churches who use these labels to describe themselves:

… “seeker-friendly”

… “seeker-driven”

… “seeker-sensitive”.

Whatever you may think about the “seeker movement”, it was helpful for at least a season.

Lately, however, I’ve begun to think about the term differently. When we first started using the term in the late 90s, the unspoken implication was that eventually you would go from being a “seeker” to being a “finder”. Eventually your search would be over.

You would be “home.”

But I wonder if that’s truly accurate.

To seek something is to be actively pursuing it; to look for it; to crave it. To find something means to cease looking; to rest; to sit.

For better or worse, this has NOT been my story. My story (at least) has been characterized by an active pursuit of not just salvation but LIFE CHANGE (two fancy, spiritual words would be “sanctification” or—my personal preference—”theosis”).

The end of my “seeking” only triggered another phase of seeking.

In the eastern religions (in my primitive understanding of them) the notion of a “seeker” carries with it the idea of being a spiritual master. For many other faiths, “seekers” were those who remained pre-occupied with deeper and deeper levels of spirituality. They were contrasted with people who were merely content to dabble.

When did we turn “seeking” into something that was done before you were certain about your faith?

Why couldn’t our spiritual “arrival” to Christianity trigger an even greater level of seeking?

This is what I am pursuing.

I am not content.

My master (his name is Jesus) is still moving. So I have to keep on moving too. I have to keep seeking and following.

Do you have a seeker service for me?

Under the mercy…

====================================

It Still Hurts (sometimes)…

Posted on by
Chicago, from Jonathan's Boat

Chicago, from Jonathan’s Boat

I know I was supposed to start this series on Jesus today, but I decided to wait another day or two…

So today, I lost my center. I’d been a little a over the place all day, but what sent me (at least briefly) over the edge was a simple text from a good friend in Chicago. He just asked me how I was doing, and caught me up in his life (including this totally unfair shot from his boat on Lake Michigan).

Almost in an instant I was swamped with the practically physical pain of loss from my life in Chicago. It’s a pain I knew really well for about two years, from 2006 to 2008. During that time, I thought of my life in terms of some kind of giant joke that God was playing on me. So much of who I thought I appeared to be taken from me, and very little was given back.

It took years to work through those feelings; to begin to accept my life in Tallahassee for what it was/is, and to begin to see good things grow up around me.

But in that instant, those things were shaken, and I was transported back to that place 4-5 years ago.

It wasn’t pleasant; in fact it was almost strange and surreal to feel the (once normal) feelings of pain, loss, regret and hopelessness.

But some things have changed since then.

After a lengthy battle with those demons, I gradually developed some healthy spiritual practices that remind me of the truth of my life.

(It’s much, much too easy to believe the lies…)

Centering, contemplative prayer (I’m still a novice, believe me), meditation and praying the Daily Office have slowly begun to transform me; it’s easier now to remember that those feelings of homesickness for Chicago may be valid, but are simply not the whole truth of who I am.

There is a deeper truth to my being (and to yours as well). That truth is mostly covered up and obscured by a lifetime of lies and pain and mistakes, but it is still there.

However, most of the time it won’t influence our lives unless we do some kind of work to get out of its way. We layer our own false selves—Brennan Manning’s “Impostor”—on top of that truth and bury its life-giving breath underneath the heavy fabric of pride and arrogance.

We need, as I’ve discovered, practices that silence those unhealthy, false voices and let the voice of God, of Love, of Jesus whisper through.

And over time, day-to-day, minute-to-minute, moment-by-moment, we begin to recover that true self that is centered and rooted in God’s love and power.

At peace.

At rest.

In Tallahassee (or wherever).

========================================

Footsteps :: Intro

Posted on by

I was talking with some folks the other day about Jesus, and I had a curious thought: if we are Jesus’ disciples, what exactly are we supposed to do? 

At our most pure state, it seems that we are supposed to be Jesus’ disciples. In Mark’s gospel, Jesus makes it (almost troublingly) clear that being a disciple means doing what he did.

In Mark chapter 6, we’re told that Jesus called the Twelve, and subsequently, “sent them out in pairs. He gave them authority over unclean spirits… So they went out and proclaimed that people should change their hearts and lives. They cast out many demons, and they anointed many sick people with olive oil and healed them” (vv7, 13).

The curious thing about this statement is that the things that Jesus sends the disciples out to do are the very things that he has been doing in Mark’s gospel. In Jesus’ mind, there’s no difference between the things that he does and his expectations for the Twelve.

This is pretty amazing when you think about their track record at this point. Rather than being the star pupils, at this point in the story of God the disciples are a little bit more like the odd kid in the back of the class who may or may not have been eating paste. They’re not exactly hitting it out of the park…

… And yet Jesus does not hesitate to send them out to…

  • have authority over unclean spirits
  • proclaim repentance
  • cast out demons
  • heal people.

The profound implication for this story is simply this:

Being a disciple of Jesus means doing the things that he does…

Whether or not you think you’re good enough… 

These things constitute the short list of what Jesus expects us to do.

But then I got to thinking: what else did Jesus do? Maybe he expects us to do those things too.

So I took a brief survey of the gospels and just tried to look at the things that Jesus did. Some things he did in order to serve people; some thing he did in order to stay connected with his Father.

Over the next few weeks, I’m hoping to lay out some of those things, and see what we can learn from the way our master arranged his life.

Weapons of Mass Production :: The “135 Principle”

Posted on by

You should see my “To Do” list…

Currently, it runs 11 pages.

This is not a source of pride for me; it’s simply a picture of what my priorities are.

I don’t know how long your list is, but let me as you this…

How many things do you try to accomplish on a given day? 

One of the things I’ve realized lately is that there’s a serious disconnect between what I think I can accomplish on a given day (given an 11 page long “To Do” list) and what I actually can accomplish. I used to wake up and be determined to make some serious dents in that list, but over and over again, I’d end up at the end of the day frustrated and discouraged, because the list just seemed to actually get longer not shorter. It was pretty demotivating.

vsco_0What if the problem is not with my work ethic, but with my expectations? Would it not feel more motivational if I actually was clear (and reasonable) with what I wanted to get done?-

I’ve been trying to re-frame my thinking about my daily productivity, based on something that I’m simply calling the “135 Principle.”

It’s based on the premise that in a given day, you can really only accomplish one really big goal, three medium-sized goals, and five small goals. 

  • The “1” could be that very significant, highly creative project you’re working on that needs the best of you over multiple hours. It’s the centerpiece of your day, the “mission” of that day.
  • The “3” could stand for the thirty-minute standing conversation you need to have with a co-worker regarding an upcoming meeting or event. It could be the set of instructions you need to write up, or the recap conversation or email you need to craft.
  • The “5” could represent phone calls or informational emails; things that are still proactive, but not necessarily time- or resource-intensive.

Sophisticated language, I know, but this was significant because I realized that I’d actually been operating in something like a 5-8-15 paradigm, and there simply is not enough time to do those things. 

And when we “fail”, over and over again, to accomplish things, most of us stop referring to our lists, because we become subtly aware that they don’t mean anything. When you constantly feel like you are unable to accomplish your list, a trigger starts to go off in your brain to avoid it. It’s a drain; it’s a sign of failure.

What something like the “135 Principle” can do is to help you manage your expectations and complete your tasks on a given day, which can give you a minor sense of accomplishment and some motivation to get up and accomplish the next day’s tasks.

 

It’s about momentum.

 

NEXT WEEK: I’m starting a new series on Jesus (surprise!) Stay tuned!

 

========================================

 

 

Words

Posted on by

I’ve been thinking lately about words… We spend an awful lot of time interacting with them: spending them, receiving them, pondering them, etc.

I’m probably over-simplifying this, but I want to suggest that there are three levels of words that we deal with in our lives. Each one of these categories are useful, but can also contain a certain amount of danger in them.

Level 1: “Wal-Mart Words”. I have nothing against Wal-Mart; like most American families, we shop there for certain items. But let’s be honest: there’s not a whole lot that’s special and unique about Wal-Mart, besides the fact that they are relatively easy to come by, and you know what you’re getting when you go there. Wal-Mart words are the words we run across as we go through our days: they can make us laugh, or cringe, but they are typically used to get through our lives, and are soon forgotten about. We need Wal-Mart in our lives (ever run out of toilet paper at 11:45 on Saturday night?), but our lives may not turn on our experience in a Wal-Mart store.

Level 2: “Luggage Words”. How long do you keep a suitcase? I don’t know what the prescribed retention is for luggage, but it seems like most of us keep ours around way past the date that it’s useful. I used to haul luggage out of my closet that was falling apart, had holes in it, and looked like my grandmother’s curtains from 1967. Luggage is something that we keep with us, usually for a while, and certain words are like that. They are the spoken at pivotal times in our lives: in departures, in graduations, at major events in our lives. They are often accompanied by tears and deep expressions of love.

The Apostle Paul speaks and hears words like this when he says goodbye to some friends in Ephesus (modern day turkey). The scene is recorded in the book of Acts. I find it to be one of the most moving scenes in the New Testament:

“‘Remember that for three years I constantly and tearfully warned each of you. I never stopped warning you! Now I entrust you to God and the message of his grace, which is able to build you up and give you an inheritance among all whom God has made holy…’ After he said these things, he knelt down with all of them to pray. They cried uncontrollably as everyone embraced and kissed Paul.”

Those are deep words, and deep emotions. I also think of Jesus with his disciples in John’s gospel, when he shares deep “luggage level” words in John 13-17. These are the types of things you don’t forget, and they give you life (hopefully) for a long time. They sustain you…

… But there’s another level still…

There are words that we hear (and ideally share) that are so deep they transcend our “luggage”, and speak to the foundation of our being. 

They are what I simply call “Soul-Level” words. 

These are the words that speak to the deepest level of who we are and who we most want to be. They challenge us to be better human beings, better Christ-followers. They call us to be full of more joy, gratitude, love, and humility.

But you know the most radical thing about these words?

Once we hear them, we must be very careful about sharing them. 

Jesus’ mother, Mary, heard (and experienced) amazing things around his birth and childhood: prophecies, angelic encounters (ahem), babies jumping around in wombs.

In short, there was a lot to tell her that this was no ordinary child.

But a certain phrase in Luke’s gospel always struck me. In summing up Jesus’ childhood, Luke wrote that Jesus “went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. His mother cherished every word in her heart.” Other translations read that Mary “treasured all these things in her heart” (NIV).

Secrets lose their power when they are shared; when they are negative it’s one of the reasons that it’s good to dispel them, for once you shed light on them they tend to lose their effectiveness.

But what happens when the secret has a sort of powerful goodness that accompanies it?

When it’s the story of the Savior of the world who grows up obedient to his parents?

When it’s the story of prophecies fulfilled, prisoners set free, love embracing humanity?

When it’s the words of deepest affirmations that call to the highest parts of our soul?

Don’t we want those secrets to keep their power?

Most of the time, we run to share words that we’ve been given, either through Twitter, or Facebook, or over coffee or beer.

But I want to suggest that there are some words that you need to keep back for yourself. That you need to “cherish” and “treasure.” You need to go back to them, and you need to let them pour over you repeatedly like cool water on a July day.

But don’t give them away cheaply.

I’ve been fortunate to have received some of these words lately. They were so far out of my depth of understanding, it hurt (in a good way) to just read them. They called so much more out of me than I thought capable of giving.

And guess what: you’re not going to read them. 

My prayer is that you get to read or hear those words from someone in your life. They have the power to change you, and to continue to change you.

My prayer is also that you have the chance to give those words to someone as well, knowing that they will reverberate for a long time in someone’s life. And remember: it’s not about eloquence, it’s about generosity of spirit, and of relational commitment.

And lastly, I pray that you lock those words away, and keep them between you, God, and the person you shared them with.

Because their power will go on.

=========================================

Oh THAT Kingdom….

Posted on by

Some manuscripts contain a postscript to Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. It reads:

“For Yours is the kingdom, power, and the glory forever. Amen.”

When I pray the Lord’s prayer, I often think about God’s strength and power, and how He is Lord of all the kingdoms on earth, and has unending power. However, recently I stumbled across an interesting passage in the Old Testament that prompted my thinking. In 1 Chronicles, King David is telling everyone that his son Solomon is going to build a temple for God. He ends with this pretty cool prayer that has some interesting echoes:

“Blessed are you LORD, God of our ancestor Israel, forever and always.
To you, LORD,
belong greatness and power, honor, splendor, and majesty,
because everything in heaven and on earth belongs to you.
Yours, LORD, is the kingship, and you are honored as head of all.
You are the source of wealth and honor,
and you rule over all.
In your hand are strength and might,
and it is in your power to magnify and strengthen all.” (1Chronicles 29:10-12)

Do you see the similarities? It’s interesting language that Jesus chooses here.

However, what really jumped out to me as I read the 1 Chronicles passage is the specific location and occasion of God’s power.

When David pray, “the kingship belongs to you”, it’s a very specific thing. God was meant to be, in a very real way, Israel’s king. (When the people demand a king in 1 Samuel chapter 8, God basically says, “You are rejecting me in favor of a human king.”)

So David has a very specific place/kingdom that he’s thinking of when he prays this prayer—it’s the place where God rules, and is meant to rule.

What struck me is the way in which we have a kingdom as well. In a very real way, we are the kings and queens of our bodies, our lives. They are our kingdom; we choose, make decisions; make rules for ourselves.

What if to pray, “yours is the kingdom” means “yours is THIS kingdom—this life?”

What if this epilogue to the Lord’s prayer is actually the most radical part of all? To utterly surrender our kingdom—our lives—to God and allow Him to take the throne?

*e

===================================