How the Digital Age is Affecting Sunday Church

I'm super excited to be featured today over at Christianity Today's Her.menuetics.

I have long since wondered whether one of the reasons we are losing young people in the Church today is because of the methodology of our teaching and lack of community/interaction.  Many educators have begun trying out new, more effective modes of teaching in response to a wave of students who have been learning most of their lives from computer screens, websites, and visual media.  It seems, however, the Church is a little behind.      

Are 40 minute sermons becoming less effective in this digital age?  What do you think?

Here's a little snippet.  You can read the whole post here.

Flipping the 40 Minute Sermon
Should Church Teaching Evolve in this Digital Age?  

A new trend in academia encourages educators to focus less on lecture and more on active learning within the classroom environment.

"The danger with lucid lectures ... is that they create the illusion of teaching for teachers, and the illusion of learning for learners," explained Eric Mazur, a professor and pioneer for this educational model, in Harvard Magazine.  "Sitting passively and taking notes is just not a way of learning.  yet lectures are 99 percent how we teach!"

As I discussed Mazur's approach with my family of public educators, my thoughts went from public school classrooms to the church.  Mazur advocates directed conversation in the classroom between students, debate, dialogue, and active listening, and he sees higher levels of success and engagement as a result.  Could so-called reverse lectures and flip teaching change the way we approach the traditional Sunday service?

Think of what a typical church gathering looks like.  During the teaching portion, we sit in our chairs, take notes, follow along in the outline, and listen to our pastor deliver his well-prepared lecture on John's letter to the church in Laodicea, or whatever the passage or topic may be.

We hear the message, we write our notes, but are we learning?

...

To read the rest, head on over to Christianity Today: "Flipping the 40-Minute Sermon."  I would sure love to see your thoughts or comments to the article as well!      
 

Blindfolded on the Battlefield: My Encounter with the Enemy

My dear friends, this post has been sitting in my 'draft' folder for months.  I've been too chicken to share it.  Today I'm feeling brave.  

I don't know what you think of spiritual warfare, or if this whole subject is going to weird you out.  I am simply sharing from my personal testimony.  

###

A few years ago I was awakened from my sleep to see a man standing in our room.  I was laying on my right side, facing the wall, and something stirred me.  Not a bad dream or the need to go to the bathroom.  I'm not even sure why I woke.

When I opened my eyes, there was the shadow of a face in front of mine.  It could have kissed me it was that close.  I saw the contours of a face, and it was laughing, mocking me.

I let out a terrifying scream.  Bookguy jumped awake.  The lights went on, and there was no man.

Bookguy held me as I sobbed, terrified.  He began to pray with loud authority over me, our bedroom, our children, sending any dark forces or demons away in the name of Jesus, summoning angels to our side to fight for us.

Even typing it right now I get the chills.  Because I do believe there was a dark spirit in my room that night -- not a boogie man or some fake shadow of my imagination.  I saw a person, and it wasn't when I was asleep -- I was awake.

This unwelcome visit came during a time in our marriage and our life when there was a lot going on.  I was working for Amazima almost full-time (which, there is so much warfare where God is at work), planning a national book tour, and trying to homeschool two of our children {do you like how I said trying?! haha}.  Bookguy had three authors about to release books, and there was much to be done with publishers and authors on the marketing plan and execution.  And our three year-old was having several meltdowns a week for hours at a time, leaving us all exhausted and discouraged.

I believe there was literally a spiritual war happening in our home -- a war over our hearts and minds, and I happened to see the Enemy with my own eyes.

The same night I saw this person, two of my closest girlfriends that I pray with on a bi-monthly basis also had visitors.  My good friend Sarah* had a demon sit on her in the middle of the night and try to choke her.  She sent out a text message begging for prayer, recounting the visit and how scary it was.  My other friend Rebecca* also woke in the middle of the night to see a beautiful woman with fiery eyes standing at the base of her bed.  The woman told her, commanded her, to stop praying for me and Sarah.  Rebecca talked to the Spirit and told her "I will not stop praying."  And they got into an actual argument -- until Rebecca commanded the Spirit away in the name of Jesus.

It sounds psycho, I know.

Can I ask you though, how is it that so many of us are willing to believe in Angels, but we don't believe in Demons?  Why is it that we can wrap our minds around ghosts -- spirits dwelling in homes and haunting us -- but not believe there are dark forces at work all around us?  Why do many believe in magic, in witchcraft and superstitions and even the movement of the stars, but not believe then, in the reality of angels, demons, and dark forces at work to cause us, or others, to do horrific, unimaginable things?

Am I a liar?  Is it a coincidence TWO friends were visited on the same night I was?  Did my eyes deceive me?  Did I not see the shape of his lips and his whitened teeth smirking at me? And did Rebecca's eyes trick her?  Did she not have a conversation with a demon?  And what tried to choke the life out of Sarah?

It seems if you believe in angels, you are regarded as a person of hope and faith. But if you believe in demons, you're one of those "crazy" Christians.  

Has you ever moved about your day, doing whatever you do, contentedly, when suddenly you have a thought, out of the blue: 'Nobody really cares about me.'  Where does that thought come from?

Or you feel love for your spouse one moment, grateful for what you have, and within hours find yourself dreaming of that x-girlfriend or x-boyfriend, sifting around on Facebook to find out what they look like these 15 years later?   What is that?

I am not a person who discusses spiritual warfare often, and I certainly don't want to absolve people of the sins they commit.  But to acknowledge that there is more going on than meets the eye, that things are happening that we cannot see, is a part of the spiritual life.  This, unfortunately, includes the "dark side" and not just the light.  I find I am able to see people through a more significant lens of grace and compassion when I consider that maybe, just maybe, the hurtful things they do and say, the mean things, the malicious deceit, the selfishness, the greed, is not just an act of the physical realm.  It is also an act of the spiritual realm.  The war rages not just for our bodies, but also our minds and our hearts -- our passions and dreams and desires, the spiritual self.

In the Muslim world, in Africa, in parts of Asia and South America, there is an openness, a belief in the spiritual realm that is lacking here in the West.  Muslims are leaving Islam and turning to Christ because of spiritual dreams and visions.  I wonder -- are we actually having these spiritual dreams, these spiritual encounters, but not talking about them as openly?  Or are we actually having less spiritual interaction?  Are we being careful not to 'scare' our congregations and fellow believers with all this talk of demons? Do we think if we don't discuss it, we won't be under attack?  (Kind of like provoking a bully?  Just stay away from it and it will stay away from you ... )  Do we think learning about the "dark side" puts too much emphasis on it -- let's focus on God and Jesus and Angels and not give the Enemy a lick of our time?

Meanwhile we walk blindfolded on the battlefield.

Good gravy I don't want to talk about these things either.  I don't!  You think I don't want to sit around on the back porch and sip iced tea, listen to a little One Republic, and talk about Anne Hathaway and Les Miserables?  I DO.  But there's no better way to be reminded of the seriousness of this battle than to have a demon wake me up and scare the crap out of me.

Of course we set our minds on things above.  Whatever is pure, whatever is noble ... YES! Let's think on these things!  Let's fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith.  But let's also remember we have a real Enemy.  We are in a real battle.  Let's tightly grip our swords.

I'm curious your thoughts... Have you ever had a spiritual encounter with God in a dream or vision?  Have you ever come face to face with Warfare?  Why do you think we don't hear much of this conversation in our churches?  Should we hear more of it, why or why not?

To Grieve is to Human

Source: Paul Hellstern, The Oklahoman, AP

"The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.  But still there is much that is fair.  And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater." J.R.R. Tolkien

When I write about poverty or orphan care or 9 year-old boys staring down the barrels of guns, my blog stats are dismal.  

You don't want to hear the heavy.   

You want to hear my thoughts on Church, on friendship, things happening in the culture around us, book recommendations and thoughts on motherhood ... things that relate to YOU, that affect YOU, that educate YOU, inspire YOU, or help YOU. 

Bookguy and I have learned (aspiring authors take note), negative titles don't sell.  Nor do negative stories.  Yet the negative stories are often the things that make us WANT to write ... something so hard, so heavy, so horrible happened -- we need to share how we came out of it, how God met us in the pit, how we survived.  We journeyed through the dark places, and somehow still, love flourished.     

I've been invited, along with many incredible friends, to be a part of this year's The Idea Camp.  It's a two-day conversation taking place in Austin, TX on September 20-21, and I sure would love to see you there.  This year we are going to be discussing "human care," including how the church cares for the vulnerable, orphaned, mentally ill, how we care for ourselves, and the many facets of what it means to care for one another.

I don't quite think we can discuss human care unless we address our strong aversion to going to the hard places.          

When I was a junior in college a dear friend of mine lost her father to cancer.  

But two years earlier, I was with her in her dorm room when her parents called to tell her of his diagnosis.  I sat with her as tears of disbelief fell.  He could have been my dad, or my dad could have been him. 

When you are 18 the whole world is before you.  Few know the reality of a parent dying, the weight of the shortness of this life.  It was ... surreal.  And scary.    

He went to meet his Heavenly Father that Thanksgiving holiday, and I did something I have regretted ever since.  

I did not attend his funeral. 

She was one of my closest friends, and I was not present.  

Looking back, I didn't know what to do.  I didn't know how to be there for my friend, how to support her or her family, how to grieve alongside her.  Do I give them space?  Do I drive to her house?  Do I send flowers?  Do I telephone?  

I was timid.  Uneasy.  Uncomfortable.  

We don't know how to tear our clothes, paint our skin with ashes, and weep dripping tears over the heartache of another.  

Yesterday a tornado in Oklahoma ripped a path of death and destruction 22 miles long and 2 miles wide.  So far 51 people are dead, at least 20 of whom are children.  Shakespeare tells me, "Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break."   

The few words I have are not enough.  And too many.  

Grief is a burly, ugly mess.  

In grief some of us reach out and some of us collapse in.
In grief we administrate, cry, scream, detach.  
In grief we blame, lash out, and wade in sorrow, self-pity, and remorse.   
In grief we shrink our world down into the important things, and cast aside the trivial.
In grief we forget birthdays, holidays, and special events.  
In grief we burn dinner and gain 20 lbs.
In grief we shrivel back in fear.   

I choose to sit today and grieve with the people of Oklahoma.  I am uncomfortable.  I've torn my clothes, smeared darkened soot on my body, and I cry out, because it's healthy to cry and human to grieve.  

If you are interested in joining me and a whole host of others for The Idea Camp, you can register here.  Want more information?  Visit The Idea Camp.  

The Try Harder Mentality: Burning Holes in Our Shoes

Painting: "Pair of Shoes" by Van Gogh

To my Fellow Runners in the Rat Race,

A few weeks ago, somewhere in between brushing our teeth and tying the Bean's shoes, Bookguy and I were discussing high school, college, and the satirical essay in the Wall Street Journal by Suzy Lee Weiss: "To All The Colleges That Rejected Me."

Suzy Lee Weiss is a Senior in high school with a 4.5 GPA and a 2120 on her SATs, but she wasn't accepted to Princeton, Yale, Vandy, or Penn.  So what did she do?  She vented via op-ed -- in the WSJ of all places!  Then she appeared on the Today Show!

Visit NBCNews.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

She writes: "Colleges tell you, 'Just be yourself.'  That is great advice, as long as yourself has nine extracurriculars, six leadership positions, three varsity sports, killer SAT scores and two moms.  Then by all means, be yourself!  If you work at a local pizza shop and are the slowest person on the cross-country team, consider taking your business elsewhere."

Some readers of the article gave Suzy flack, calling her whiny and spoiled.  (The piece was written as satire, and if you watch the video above, you'll see she has a good sense of humor about herself.  I would hardly call her whiny.)

When asked about the response she's received to her article, Suzy explains: "Everyone my age, whether they wanted to get into Penn State their whole lives or Harvard is agreeing with me that it's just a rat race nowadays and it's such a business model as opposed to who's most qualified should get in.  It's a crapshoot, and I understand that."

There are a lot of things I'd love to discuss about this:

What indicates whether someone is 'qualified' for a specific college?  SAT?  GPA?  IQ?
Should having 'two-moms' be a determining factor for diversity?
Was all her hard-work and effort to get into an Ivy League in vein?

But the biggest thing the article stirred up in me was concern for my own children and the inevitable rat race coming 'round the bend.  

Honestly, I wonder how the rat race mentality is affecting the whole of us, not just our children.  The 'try-harder' mentality pushes, forces, and urges us to do more, so we can be more, so we can buy more and achieve more, enjoy more, because we deserve more.

We burn holes in our shoes.

Saturday morning we bumped into a friend from little league and learned his 12-year-old son, all-star baseball player, had decided not to try out for baseball his final season of little league.  He didn't want the two-hour practices three days a week, and the three-hour games twice a week, on top of two hours of homework a night.

Who can blame him?

I feel the rat race.  Do you?

I have three children in three different sports with three different social spheres.  I have a husband that works 50 hours a week.  I myself work 15-20 hours a week.  We volunteer at church and in our city, and I lead a bible study, and participate in a beautiful prayer group, and attend fundraisers and volunteer in the classrooms, and Bookguy helps coach baseball.  I don't intend to sound like Suzy Lee Weiss, but my point is, it's not just our children being worked to the bone.  It's all of us.

I find great tension in the thought that I am supposed to 'press on toward the prize' and simultaneously find rest in the vine.  How do I find rest when I'm pressing in?

Is it possible that pressing in might actually mean backing off?  How much restraint does it require of us, how much faith and surrender does it cost for us to slow down, to actually listen, to say no to our to-do list, to schedule time for creativity, friendship, and beauty?

Do we have a choice how fast we run, and whether or not we participate at all?  I believe we do.  

A while back I read a beautiful, true post over at A Deeper Church by Amber C. Haines called You Are as Valuable as the Orphan.  She's writes: "I wouldn't know a Sabbath if you threw me in bed with one, and I am indeed physically exhausted, but it's more than that.  It's been long enough now that I know it's not just us and our friends.  It's our own culture, church, and otherwise, caught up in a whirlwind of work-based righteousness, grappling to find meaning and aching to be a radical." 

It's not just Amber or Amber's friends.  Or Suzy and Suzy's classmates.  It's the whole lot of us.

Rats.  Running.  Crazy People.

Maybe we need to work harder at trying less.

Give ourselves permission to say no.

Prioritize better.

Run a different kind of race than the rest of the world.

It will come at a cost, I know.  But the alternative is continuing to burn holes in our shoes -- and that isn't very fun, or very effective, either.

I like to think that maybe a different pace, a different sort of life perspective, might one day be the thing that sets the Church apart.  Maybe our at ease, our confidence in God's timing and provision, our prioritizing of people over achievement and worldly success, our 'moving at the beat of His drum' will be the thing that becomes attractive to the stressed out, over worked, lonely, empty, achievement driven culture around us.  Maybe our neighbors will look at our steady, internal peace, and see something different -- Someone different.

"Our greatest fear should not be of failure, but of succeeding at things in life
that don't really matter."    Francis Chan

Quid Pro Quo: Keeping Score is No Formula for Friendship

Quid pro quo, Latin meaning, "This for that."

It, (the quid pro quo), is a widely accepted outlook practiced every day in secular and Christian circles.  In some cases it's outright, and in other cases it's an implied expectation: 'you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.'

If you share my post, I'll share yours.

If you come to my event, I'll come to yours.

If you invite my kid, I'll invite yours.

If you buy me dinner this time, I'll buy yours the next.

Some might argue that quid pro quo is good business etiquette --"sharing is caring" and who you know matters because referrals matter.  According to BusinessWeek, word of mouth is the best ad.  So we collaborate, build relationships, and we help willingly--not necessarily with selfish ambition (although maybe sometimes), but often with a desire to be a team player because we know "what goes around comes around."  

Motivated by guilt, fear, selfishness, or obligation, we say yes, when deep down inside we know we should say no.  Or we say yes because we're hopeful -- maybe if I do this for her, she'll do something for me?  

Last week I found myself a little miffed because I had been helpful to a friend and I didn't feel reciprocation.  I actually [shamefully] convinced myself the quid pro quo was friendship etiquette; after all, it's good manners to return the favor.  Friendships are built on give and take, I told myself.  I went out of my way for that person, now it's her turn to do the same for me.

Where was this coming from?  Ug.

I needed a heart check.  It came when I sat down to read and pray.

We are supposed to lay down our life for our friends.  I know this in my mind, but I have my selfish moments too.

It seems an impossible charge, to lay down my life for my friend.  [Some days it is easier to do this than others].  She is in a hard marriage and he needs help with a project and her daughter is a mess and she is coming to town, and oh, I have three children and a home and a job and a community that needs Hope.  There's not much room for laying down this crazy busy life, but I still try.  I catch myself when I make it about me, and I remind myself this: laying down my life for my friend is messy.  There is no formula for friendship.  Every relationship is different, and every season is different.  But one thing I am sure of -- laying down my life for my friend most certainly does not mean keeping score or obligating that person to do anything for me.

If you serve, serve willingly with no strings attached.
If you invite over, invite because you want to include.
If you reach out, extend your hand graciously without judgement.
If you share, share abundantly, without grumbling or complaining, out of the generosity of what was given to you. 
If you promote, do it with integrity, because you believe in a person, project, or product.  
If you love, love because you are filled by a Greater Love, not out of your flesh or your selfishness, but out of a genuine, overflowing, sacrificial, unconditional love.  

On earth as it is in Heaven,
{no tit-for-tat]
{thank goodness, or I'd be in real trouble},

Thank you, Birthmother

His birthmother ...

She is important.

She is important to him.  She is important to me.

I find myself thinking of her at the most random times.  And if I think of her, I'm sure the Bean will think of her.

I am not threatened by her.  I don't wish her away.

It is a big loss to me that we don't know anything about her.  

When we received our referral, at the time, it seemed a bit relieving.  We were going to fly to Ethiopia and pick him up and there was no birth family to meet, nobody's arms we were taking him out of, no birthmother relinquishing because of poverty, no birthmother dead from AIDS, no negative ...

What a lie.   

I wish I had a picture.
I wish I had an address.
I wish I had a genealogy.
I wish I had an explanation.

I wish I had something I could tell him.  I can tell him about his story in our family, but what of his first family?

When you know nothing, you are left to wonder everything.

I love what she's given me.
I think she is courageous.
I know she is beautiful (have you seen how beautiful my son is?).
I feel gratitude she chose life.
I am interested in who she is, what she is like, what she enjoys, what makes her laugh.
I wish I could tell her thank you.

Thank you for being his first mother.

for the person who struggles on Mother's Day

Painting: Gustav Klimpt

In a few days it will be Mother's Day.  Already I'm seeing tweets, emails, special Mother's Day sales, and posts honoring mothers.

I'm all about honoring mothers.

But I am also heartbroken for my friends who long to be a mother and are barren.  Ten percent of women struggle with infertility.  She is on the outskirts, watching friends get pregnant year after year, attending baby showers, trying to stuff down jealousy and sorrow.  She is sitting in our friend groups, silent, while we discuss our birthing stories, how we felt during our pregnancies, and breastfeeding woes.  She stands beside us as we dote on our toddlers and find joy in the cuteness of our children.  She and her husband spent their piggy bank (and then some) trying to figure out why they can't conceive.  She has been poked and pricked and lathered up with ultrasound gels; she's popped hormones that make her crazy; she's begged, pleaded, screamed, cried, and cursed because she cannot make what she wants, what she dreams, and the other 90% of women around her can.  

I'm sad for my friends who are mothers and lost a child -- who have miscarried once, twice, maybe three times -- they've peed on a stick and celebrated, and then watched it disappear five short weeks later, flushing clots -- dreams -- down the drain.  Or she birthed a child who lived only 27 minutes, or birthed a child stillborn, or lost her little four-year-old girl to an oncoming car, and lost her son to suicide at twenty-seven-years old.  On this day, when she is honored for being a mother, beside her there is no child, no card in the mail, no "Happy Mother's Day" from his lips, no flowers delivered to her doorstep.  

I'm anguishing for the mothers whose children are still alive but are lost -- they are missing, maybe in body and maybe in spirit -- they are unreachable, undiscoverable.  She moves about each day wondering where he is, what he's up to, when will he come home, is he even alive?  She dreamed of motherhood, but no, never thought her child would be that prodigal, that runaway, that addict, that abuser, that criminal.

I'm broken for the children who don't know their mother, or whose mothers have been absent, blasé, sick, or just plain old mean.  I'm sorry for the children who have been removed from the care of their mother because mommy was not safe, mommy did not take care of them, mommy was not kind to them, mommy was not a mommy.  This is the day when he is supposed to say I Love You and buy her a flowery card, when he's expected to speak words he cannot say to a woman undeserving of honor, a woman responsible for inflicting much pain and lifelong wounds.

I'm sad for the children whose mothers have died, from an accident or a sudden illness or terrible disease -- mothers who cannot lean on their mother because she is no longer here.  Children who bury holiday traditions and have nobody wrapping Christmas presents for Christmas Day.  Graduates who walk without a mother snapping her camera, and wedding photos without mother standing in her fancy mother-of-the-bride dress.

Mother's Day can be painful for many people.  Maybe you are one of them.  I'm so sorry.

For those of you that have opened up to me about your Mother's Day wounds, thank you.  Thank you for helping me be more empathetic to what you feel on Mother's Day.  I sincerely think most people are not intending to be insensitive.  (I know I wasn't.)  Many of us simply don't know what it feels like to be in your shoes, and we are intrinsically about ourselves.  :(  But when you share with us your story, your heartbreak, you help us be more sensitive -- you help us see the stupidity in what we say, the ways we've excluded you, how to be more considerate with our words and actions, and remind us to have more gratitude for what we do have.  

As we love our friends who suffer this Mother's Day, I'm reminded of this great quote by Henri Nouwen:

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.  The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."