Drive-By Witness

May 24, 2013 — 2 Comments



Occasionally someone will take me out to lunch and really take an interest in the drama that I’m going through. They nod, listen, show support, encourage, and even pray.

But then I never hear from them again.

That’s when I realize –

1) They were just curious about the latest gossip in town, 2) they feel like hanging out once is their good-enough deed for the day, or 3) they did it to impress me and puff up their ego.

 

It’s a bit heartbreaking because –

1) They were really good at acting like they cared, 2) I was excited to have someone who could walk through my struggle, and 3) it’s so hard to find trustworthy friends these days.

Of course I’ll continue to open up to people.  It won’t stop me and I’m okay with taking the chance. 

But please don’t be a drive-by witness. People are not hotel rooms: you can’t just check in and check out.  If you’re going to be there, then be there.  And really care.


– J.S.

Anonymous asked:

Any advice for someone who suffers from Self Harm? Or a Christian that suffers from depression? It’s so difficult talking to most Christians about these things because of the stigma attached to both situations but keeping it inside feels bad too.

 

First I want to say: I’m really sorry, because I know how much it sucks and also how bad the church has been about honestly approaching this issue.

And believe it or not, I did go through a season of cutting before.  I was a wimp so I don’t have any scars, but I know what the aftermath is like.

Self-harm can boil down to: a coping mechanism, a way of life, a release, a form of punishment, an outward expression of inner-loathing, a relief.

I won’t pretend to know all the psychology behind it: but on some level, people hurt themselves because it helps somehow.  Otherwise we wouldn’t do it.  It’s not the right kind of help, but it’s trying to help something.

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You’ve been in meltdown before, when the world felt unusually cruel and your insides collapsed and there weren’t enough tears to cry through your heaving convulsing sobs.  Like the wind was uppercut out of your soul.

It’s not pretty.  Not like the movies.  It’s not dramatic or cathartic or ironic or Oscar-worthy — it’s ugly, snot all over, face puckered in fifty places, bowled over with all kinds of noises spewing from your guts.

I was reading John 20, and Mary Magdalene was there too.

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying.

I read this and grew horribly sad, imagining her hunched over and hopeless.  Her world was punched through.  I knew how she felt.

The man they called Savior, who had rebuked seven demons out of Mary and had been bathed by her family’s precious perfume, was now just a cold lifeless body in an airtight tomb.  Along with his body were the dreams of a different future.

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Pray, Donate, Help

May 21, 2013 — 1 Comment

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In light of recent disasters, please consider donating to:

http://www.salvationarmy.org/

http://www.okdisasterhelp.com/donate/

http://www.samaritanspurse.org/


I went for the Salvation Army.

– J

Anonymous asked:

Why is it that I want to get better, I want to be unstuck from where I am, but I don’t do what I should do? If I really wanted to experientially know and serve God, I’d at least try. But I don’t. How to I really learn to WANT something desperately? Resolve in my heart that I want it? People keep saying resolve in your heart to follow God but I don’t know how to want something that badly no matter how much I’ve suffered and no matter how much good I know He is. No one seems to understand.

 

So a long, long time ago (in a galaxy called here) was a dude who had the same problem, and he wrote about this struggle in a letter that we now call the Book of Romans, in Chapter 7, which says,

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. … For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do — this I keep on doing.

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

I almost want to yell, “SURPRISE %@$#^&!!”

That was Apostle Paul, who was probably the holiest dude of his time but fully acknowledged that he struggled like crazy. 

I’m not trying to be cute here.  Paul was describing the entire dang human condition.

Hang with me a bit longer.  In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul talks about his “thorn,” some crazy affliction that he doesn’t ever name, which God didn’t take away.  This is Paul, who by the way could revive dead people and also heal the sick by his shadow or handkerchief, and he couldn’t heal himself.  It was something so drastic that it probably caused others to doubt God, but Paul writes,

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.


The truth is: You can NOT do this on your own.

There’s no willpower, no personal resolve, no inner-strength, no part of your flesh will ever get to the place where you can say, “I made it.”

Maybe not the pep talk you were hoping for.

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About social media, moralistic meme cultures, digging the dirt of our past, and a transparent future without privacy — and why this can all be a good thing.


I once wrote two different songs about killing two different ex-girlfriends.

In my college years I used to rap and freestyle, and using what lyrical skills I had, I recorded a song over Eminem’s “Stan” about killing my ex-girlfriend. A few years later, I did the same thing with Common’s “Retrospect For Life” about killing another ex-girlfriend and eating her baby.

These were sick, horrible, disgusting things that constitute assault and battery — and they make me want to throw up at myself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

If you search for these songs online, you can probably find them on an old music site under my name. I say this to my own shame and horror, and I’m not proud of this in the least at all. I’m now publicly outing myself — not out of some patronizing “reverse humility” or a victim-card, but because I deserve any repercussions that come my way.

If one day I go public somewhere: I want to have outed myself already. I’m tired of keeping this regret a secret. And it’s okay if you’re disappointed or you dismiss me. At least I can finally breathe, unburdened.

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If you ever met me, you would think I was an extrovert — I preach, I lead praise, I talk to everyone, I talk too much, and you can hear me laughing from across the street — but I am a full-blooded introvert.

If it were up to me, I’d rather be in my boxers all day eating Godiva while browsing food photo blogs and bothering my dog and cracking up at YouTube videos of Whose Line Is It Anyway and leaving dry ironic comments all over Facebook while reading the latest theory on how Sherlock survived the second season finale. 

I intensely guard my personal space and my private life.  It takes a herculean effort to step outside my comfort zone and interact with messy, fleshy, real live human beings.

Here’s how you handle us.

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Ever prayed more for someone just because they’re hot?

Come on, I’ve done that too. Let’s not act like we’re above judging looks here. We give more cred to someone based on their defined jawline and bigger bra size than their less tangible patience and hospitality and compassion.

A very fleshy part of our human nature presumes that good-looking people are also just good, or that less good-looking people don’t really count somehow.

In church it’s easy to ask for prayer requests from the well-off, well-dressed, clean-cut, easily approachable mid-twenties demographic. Not the weird cat lady off the street, not the dude with the one rotten tooth who talks up a storm, not the pale socially awkward kid who says dorky things.

Most Christian books have the same problem: they’re geared to that same easygoing group of believers who attend the same megachurch in a crimeless suburban gated neighborhood with the sparkling 2.5 kids and Hollywood acceptable appearance, but they have nothing to say for the sick struggling screwed-up former addict who can’t find a job because he just “looks wrong.”

Wired into all our unaware brains is the deception that appearance means more than it should: but if I could give you a pair of X-ray goggles, you’ll see a bunch of skeletons with the same hopes, dreams, ambitions, anxieties, and worries that everyone else has too.

That seventeen year old pimply kid who loves Call of Duty is the same bag of meat and bones as the athletic football captain with the perfect hair; that girl who everyone hates because of her so-called overweight body could just as easily have been the same girl with the slightly higher cheekbones who runs the gang of cheerleaders. You can honk your car horn at the punk teenager on his skateboard crossing the street, but wave at the old lady on her walker: when both are just people who run deeper than what you see.

Take a Spiritual X-Ray and we all have the same vacuum of eternity within our souls with the same desperate longing inside. You and I could do way better than our visual addiction to all things sight, and instead see by vision.

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Quote: The Tension

May 24, 2013 — 2 Comments


Here’s the tension: God is too holy to let sin go unpaid, but He loves us too much to let us pay for it.

Both are true, perfectly balanced, and will meet us where we are broken. If you are a prideful person, the Gospel revokes your self-glory. If you are a self-condemner, the Gospel makes much of Jesus through you. If you’re the guy who hurts people, Jesus will jackslap you. If you’ve been hurt, Jesus heals the brokenness. If you cause consequences, God will take up vengeance; if you’re living through consequences, God will carry you. Both sides will inevitably happen over the course of life, but that’s why the Gospel is for everyone.


– J.S.



Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy if anything can.


– Thomas Merton



During this two month break, I went to fourteen different churches across the eastern United States. About one church every four days. I would sit in the back and I would ask myself, ‘If I had never heard about God or the Bible or Jesus — what would I think about God just from what we do at church? Just from what the pastor says?’ And I recognized that we learn a lot of principles and rules and steps, and it became about, ‘Here’s how you use God so that you can make your life better.’ So I felt like a lot of people were marrying God for the money. I wanted to get closer to the heart of our Father, not just learn how to be a better person.

Where we get messed up is that prayer begins to be a way to clear your mind, Scripture becomes good advice and good habits, worship becomes an emotionally driven moment, and serving becomes this self-fulfilling good-deed checklist. We can become really good at these things, and there’s nothing wrong with those things, and those sermons can be great. I just wonder: When we’re praying, are we just worried about technique and method? Or are we really praying to our Heavenly Father who loves us and created us?

– J.S. from this message


Quote: To Be Alive

May 20, 2013 — 1 Comment


To be alive is to be broken; to be broken is to stand in need of grace. It is only through grace that any of us could dare to hope that we could become more like Christ.


– Brennan Manning

Anonymous asked:

(Edited, and made you anonymous just in case)

Hey J.S. Park! I’ve been following you awhile and love your blog! I saw that you reblogged one of my things and when I hit up tumblr the first thing I saw was a bunch of reblogs/likes and immediately thought, “Ermahgahd I’m so cool!!11” And it was cool, but at the same time I’m scared that I cared too much about it.

Given that you write a lot of sweet messages and that you have a lot of followers, is this something that you struggle with as well? And how do you remain focused on glorifying God first, rather than writing for yourself or for others?

 

Thank you for all your kind words!

So this is a huge personal struggle that I eventually had to relax about, because the reality is we Christians tend to beat ourselves up over stuff that is probably harmless. 

See: I think we exaggerate the battle of “self-glory” and “idolatry” and “vanity” to a ridiculous level, so that Satan is laughing his butt off when the church is hanging their head in shame over nothing.

We really shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously.  It doesn’t have to be this dramatic war all the time.  The preacher might convince you that feeling good about yourself is evil, but think: why?  Doesn’t everyone feel pretty good when they get some attention?  Why should we suppress being human?

The point is to know what attention CAN’T do for you.  It can’t validate you as a person.  It can’t fulfill your emptiness.  Having no attention doesn’t mean you’re bad.  Having a lot of attention doesn’t mean you’re good.  Writing a couple good blog posts, in the grand scheme of things, is just a streak of lightning in the pages of history. 

Anyone who tries to fight for that sort of glory is fighting in vain, and those sort of people already know it’s not working.

So if my blog post gets a thousand hits, cool.  It’s okay to feel good about it.

If my blog post gets three hits, cool.  It’s okay to feel not-so-good about it.

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Quote: Real Passion

May 17, 2013 — 3 Comments


When I practice my sermons, I sometimes pull up a chair right in front of me.

I picture the 15 year old kid whose parents are divorced and who wants to kill himself everyday and hates everyone at school.

I picture the single mom who lost custody of her children because she can’t hold down a job in this economy and drinks herself to sleep every night.

I picture the hard-hearted religious hypocrite who sings loudly every Sunday at his church but goes home to beat his kids.

I think of my future wife, my future children, I think of the historical figures in the Bible sitting there hearing my preaching.

I’m not about to yell in someone’s face who has real issues that need real help.

It’s great to sound passionate. But what does real passion sound like?

It sounds like a man nailed to a cross whispering forgiveness over his own murderers. It sounds like a man raised to life calling for the disciple who betrayed him so he could reinstate him back to fruitful ministry. It sounds like Jesus weeping over Jerusalem, angry at a temple for turning God’s house into a consumer’s playground, raising a young girl to life with the words, “It’s time to wake up now, honey.”

I’m fine with loud preaching, but what are we loud about?


– J.S.


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I don’t know anyone who thinks they’re praying as much as they should.

When the preacher tells us to pray more, we really want to.  It’s a constant, itchy, burdening debt.  Days, weeks, months go by with a handful of failed attempts — and each prayer feels like we’re apologizing. 

I’m sorry I haven’t prayed in so long.  I’m sorry it’s not longer than a few minutes.  I’m sorry it’s not “deeper.” 

Prayer is hard though, if you ever really tried it.

I mean in the first five minutes, you start thinking of other stuff.  A lot.  Did I leave the stove on?  Should I send that email first?  Should I do some sit-ups after?  Did I respond to that text?  It feels like we’re running through an iron stocking, with all these distractions and interruptions and runaway thought-trains.

Then there’s the doubting.  We don’t know if it’s working.  Or if God is listening.  Or if we’re doing it right.  Or if we’re too dirty to pray.  Or if I even need to, since God does what He wants anyway.

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Christians dare to believe in a hope that is larger than life and bigger than what happens to us. It is a hope that does not deny pain, but confronts the darkness with the smallest sliver of faith that God has written our finale on a cross. Oh faithful struggling soldier: dare to believe, dare to hope, fight the good fight. He has won.


– J.S.

Anonymous asked:

I have a friend who strongly hates religion. While he doesn’t try to force Atheism down my throat, he does often go on a lengthy rant about all the evils religion (especially Christianity) has brought on to the world and holds Secular Humanism and Scientism on the pedestal. I am trying very hard to be kind to him and listen to him but sometimes I can’t help but personally get offended by some of his statements. I am not sure what to do because some of the stuff he says is personally affecting me.

 

Please, dear friend: whatever your friend says, do NOT take it personally.

I understand it feels like he’s talking smack about your mama, but any sort of pushback from you will only prove his point. 

I’ve said this story many times, but in my old housing complex there was an awesome black gentlemen who was a guard at the security gate.  He had to work with a raging atheist, who was also a pretty cool dude.  Both of them became my friends.  When I asked Terry, the Christian black gentleman, how he handled the atheist, he said some very simple words.

Oh man, he just don’t know.

That was it.  No detailed script, no three-point plan, no evangelism cube, no apologetics.  Just the simple reasoning: He doesn’t know any better, and that’s okay.

Because at one point in my life, I didn’t know any better. 

At one point in your life, you didn’t know any better.

We all hated a weak version of Christianity that some lame college professor could dismantle in a thirty second lecture in the impressionable mind of a seventeen year old freshman. 

I was an atheist who hated God, who hated Christians, who shrugged at Jesus.

We just didn’t know.

I hope you have patience for your friend, to remember what it was like the first time you walked nervously into church expecting to be judged, not knowing why these Christians were being so nice to you, thinking the preacher was scamming everyone with the offering plate, seeing some weird stuff on Sundays like “drinking the blood” and being “baptized with the Holy Spirit,” and hearing that murmuring during prayer time. 

Try to remember.

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“God is holy, He is glorious, He’s powerful, He’s awesome, He holds the universe in the palm of His hand. But even though God is way above us and sits on a throne in control of everything — He punched a hole in the pages of the sky and He wrote Himself into the story of humanity. The feet of the Son of God touched the dirt of the earth and He became one of us. And he didn’t just get crucified, he didn’t just go to a cross: his whole life was a crucifixion. He was tempted, persecuted, hungry, tired, he was weak, just like one of us. Then when he went to the cross, he made this exchange called grace, where he said, ‘Your sin for my life. One of us has to pay the cost.’ And Jesus, our friend, said, ‘I will.’”


– J.S. from this message




Hello beloved friends!

I had the privilege to preach at a wonderful church in Huntsville, Alabama.

The sermon is titled: A Living, Breathing, Pulsing, Dirt-Filled Faith.

Stream here or download directly here.

 

In this message, I discuss real relational intimacy with our Father — about a faith that is bigger than just church. The passage is John 15:9-17.

Some of the things I talk about: The time my dad saved my brother from drowning on a tricycle, how the homeless helped me love Jesus, that time Jesus busted a drug ring, and the greatest Christian I ever met.

Love y’all!

– J
















For my podcast, click here:


Anonymous asked:

I have many friends who are not believers that are far greater people than I am. They are more kind, driven, and morally upright so it makes me wonder if people can be good without God, then why Jesus? If people can be good through sheer will power and by taking charge with their life, then I don’t see any reason to continue to believe. Maybe I am just frustrated by a lack of change in my life and filled with regret because of all the bad decisions that I have made that still haunts me today.

 

Dear friend, absolutely anyone can be “kind, driven, and morally upright” without Jesus: but that’s not the point of Christianity, nor do I even believe it’s the point of life.

You mentioned you feel a lack of change in your life and a regret over past decisions: which means you’re actually much closer to the heart of the Gospel than you think. 

Jesus is exactly for people who realize they are broken, beat up, and busted in all their attempts to be “good” — because Jesus offers a supernatural grace that surpasses what we’ve done and what’s happened to us.

Let’s consider a few important nuances in your question.  Feel free to skip around.  Please bear with me on the doctrinal stuff.

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I was walking along the beach tonight, wave after wave rushing at the side of my toes.

I saw a light at the end of the shore, a tiny dot, and I thought about the end. My life was halfway done.

I saw people swimming, clapping, dancing, kissing, fighting on the sand. I thought about taking a part in those lives, the swirling stories and journeys and conflict all colliding; I thought about the crying and joy and laughter and paintbrushed moments like they were made just for us; I thought of births and weddings and funerals, places where people hug.

I saw the invisible clock on our foreheads counting back to zero and the sound of the book closing shut on the last page of our lives.

I thought about the people who lied to me, hurt me, betrayed me, stole me — and I was mad, but I was sad too, because they need grace as much as I do.

I thought of being old, wrinkles on my eyelids, and how much I’ll love my wife as her hair goes grey, and if my kids would say to me near the end that I did okay as my frail fingers hold their fresh hands, and if my last whisper would be something funny or something wise.

I thought of God: watching us grow up, a proud Father who felt our stumbles and picked us up again, even when we refused, and His very breath lighting up my lungs like the way the moon hit the end of each wave as it broke along the shore.

I saw the light at the end of the beach again, and thought about the other side of those lights, to a strange eternal place called home, where I could keep my toes in the sand forever.

I looked at the waves, wave after wave, endless in their relentless supply; and I thought of grace.

I walked back to my car. My life was a little past halfway done. I want to end it right. I want to fight this fight. I need the waves this night. I need grace.

– J

Anonymous asked:

Does Christianity encourage laziness? The whole concept of Grace you often speak about lets people off the hook too easily. The Bible says faith without works is dead and Jesus said all trees that bear no fruit will be chopped down and thrown into fire. The reason people are so lazy and under-motivated is because they are always told they’re some special person while no one really is all that special. So how does telling them God loves them help deflate their ego?

 

So occasionally I get questions like this that make me wonder: Do you really care what the answer is?  Are you trolling right now?  Are you baiting me into a trap?  Have you ever struggled alongside real hurting people? Are you teachable enough to see where you went wrong here?

Christianity encourages laziness just as much as atheism provokes genocidal baby-eating evil — which is to say, you can take any issue and spin it the way you want, and you end up with a simplified straw man that makes ya looks so smarts.

This is a “deconstructive reductionism,” like when movie nerds reduce a movie plot into a laughable writer’s room. It doesn’t add to the discussion, at all.

I love you bro and I say this knowing we might just misunderstand each other: but you’re probably taking the Grace of God and reducing it to a parody of itself, which I would reject too: because it’s not really grace. 

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