The premier outreach event for our church, Kids Games, is coming in a week. Let me assure you, we do have room for your child still and it is not too late to register (but, the sooner the better). We are limited only theoretically by space and practically by the number of leaders; with Aviara Middle School as our venue and 163 people enlisted to help, we are in good shape.
So - we have a job for you: invite.
First, of course, register your own child. You can still do this by phone at 760-579-4161 or in person at the church between 9:30-1:30. While there are some electives full, many more remain available and we do place a priority on getting kids with their friends. That's part of the beauty of Kids Games - it gives kids common activities to share, the axis of kid friendship, and weaves spiritual lessons into those experiences, all while kids are under the wing of a caring adult leader.
Second, have your child bring a friend. Kids Games is about as non-threatening as it gets. And parents are the engine of invitation. I do believe kids are capable of deep, meaningful spiritual experiences, but most lack the maturity to view the world through a spiritual lens. As a result, kids don't always get why they should invite friends to church.
But we do. Parents grasp spiritual needs and spiritual health, and I've met some parents at this church who are very, very good about having their kids be intentional inviters. Some of them shrug off this acumen, and just lay credit on their own son or daughter, but I know better. And I can see the effect that these parents' hearts has on their kids: after a while, the kids start to "get it", that we don't just invite others to church because church is fun and cool and neat, but because people are spiritual and they need God. Constantly asking your child, "Who else can we bring with you?" is a great way to make them other-minded. After a while, bringing a friend along becomes second nature. And, as kids grow older, they're less likely to feel embarrassed about their own church affiliation and identity as a "churched kid" because everyone they know is aware of it. AND - the best thing - it keeps churches from becoming closed clubs.
How's your kid at inviting? Very likely the answer is related to how strongly you encourage it. I'm often asked whether some upcoming event or another is ok to bring friends to. The answer is nearly always yes. We do almost nothing that an unchurched child would feel uncomfortable attending, and that's by design.
See you - and your kid's friend - at Kids Games.
Info, articles, and thoughts for parents of kids at North Coast Calvary Chapel.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Why We Are Saved
This week I relayed to the kids a story from high school that was meant to illustrate forgiveness. Instead, to me it ended up illustrating the limits of an example.
The story is that when I was in ninth grade, I forgot to do a packet of English worksheets. I was normally a conscientious student, but this packet had been assigned several days before it was due and I simply, honestly forgot. As I result, I had none of them done, and receive a grade to match. This Zero followed me through the grading period, sandbagging what would have otherwise been a healthy A and weighing it down to a C+ or B-. By the end of the quarter, despite otherwise strong test and homework scores, I still was hovering around low B.
That's when the teacher, Mrs. Langemo, called me forward and at the end of class shared with me what she'd decided to do. (This was before computer grading, which has made omitting a missed assignment an easy thing.) Knowing how badly that set of worksheets had hurt my grade, and knowing how much I wanted an A in her class, she reasoned that if I had done them, I probably would have scored around a 94%, which would have allowed my quarter grade to rise to an A, and so that was exactly the grade she was giving me. Case closed.
I used that story with the kids because it was a story of forgiveness and also of a sweet motivation. I knew at the time, because she said it often, that Mrs. Langemo had a heartfelt affinity for all of her students. She told us so. Every year, to all of her classes, she would express that she loved them. And you believed it; not that she merely had enthusiasm for her job or a fondness for young people in general, but that she cared individually and wanted every student who came through her door to succeed, in English and in life. Mrs. Langemo loved us.
And since God forgives us because of his great love for us, I thought it made a great example. Except that when I asked the kids "Why do you think my teacher did that for me?" most of them answered with something sensible like, "Because she knew you were a good student," or "Because she knew you deserved an A," or "Because she knew you'd try hard after that to remember to do all your homework." Stated simply, they reasonably believed that Mrs. Langemo's "forgiveness" of the unfinished work was conditioned on her belief that I wasn't willfully ignoring my assignments, and that in other ways I'd shown my good intentions. Put another way: yes, I would have deserved the grade I had coming (a B), but I also had proved myself deserving of an A.
As I reflected on this later, I came to realize how imperfect our metaphors for the forgiveness of God really are. Not that we as humans don't legitimately forgive one another, or love one another unconditionally. But the kids' analysis was right: whether or not my teacher loved me, her offer to raise my grade was based on an expectation about the quality of the work I would have done. I may not have earned an A, but my history as a student in her class earned her consideration.
But this is not the way God forgives us. How could God rescue Paul, "the worst of sinners" (1 Timothy 1:15-17) if grace was offered because our own merit? How could Jesus have pardoned the woman caught in adultery, whose sin was obvious and shameful, or associated with the cheater Zacchaeus? How could the people of the church at Ephesus have been redeemed by God, when they were as Paul wrote, "dead in your transgressions and sins…gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath"? Paul gives the answer as he continues in Ephesians 2: "Because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in our transgressions - it is by grace you have been saved."
There is a noxious version of the gospel out there that goes like this: God expects you to measure up. God knows you haven't. Jesus died for you, and that should motivate you to live for him. Receive God's forgiveness and then get over your struggles. Resolve to strive to measure up like God expects you to do. I have seen many Christians - kids, teenagers, and adults - interpret the gospel in this way: Christ died, so I'll try. The problem is that it gets forgiveness wrong. The death of Jesus is not just a motivator, but an actuator (yes, that's really a word) - in other words, it produces a definite (not just a suggested) result. The result of Jesus' sacrifice is that by faith we can be free from condemnation, free from shame, and free from the Law, which never brings life.
So when Paul writes (Galatians 2), "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me," he is not writing of possibilities or probabilities, but certainties. How do we know? Because he continues, "I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!" But Christ didn't die for nothing! And he didn't die in the hope that we - and let's be specific, that includes children - will choose to be good boys and girls. Christ died so that we could be saved.
When I was growing up, there was a banner that hung in my church that said, "Christ served to save; we are saved to serve." But that's not quite right. It makes salvation seem less like freedom from sin and more like parole: yeah, you're out, but watch yourself this time or the real punishment's coming.
Which brings us around to the question, why are we saved?
Many people can relay when they were saved. Every Christian should at least be able to tell how we are saved. But what about why we are saved? The answer must surely entail a certain amount of wonder. God saves us because of his love for us. OK, but what is the nature of this love? Are there really no strings attached? How can he love like that? It's these seeds of doubt, I'm convinced, that keep some people holding onto a version of love and forgiveness that imposes some performance obligation on the part of the forgiven. This is "I love you" with a comma, rather than "I love you", period.
I'm not saying we should all walk around dumbfounded and clueless as to why God saves anyone. But neither, just because "the Bible says so" should we reduce God's love to some cold, propositional truth, as ordinary as saying, "the sky is blue" or "2+2=4". Words, in any context, that are repeated over and over run the risk of becoming cliches, and we've done it in the church when we pronounce God's love without any accompanying awe or humility or wonder.
God loves us? Yes he does. God loves even us. Even you. Even me. And it fuels his mercy, which is the engine of his grace. And by grace, through faith - not resolve, not best of intentions, not daily quiet times, not camp rededications - we are saved.
A generation of strivers is first cousin to a generation of keepers of the law. Believing that God's forgiveness is possible shoots too low. Let's do our best, in word and deed, to communicate to kids a vision of God's forgiveness that will make them not strivers, but celebrators. How would culture change if we could plant 50 or more kids in every North County middle school who, rather than believing in the prospect of God's forgiveness, were convinced of its reality in their own lives, and were motivated and humbled by that?
The story is that when I was in ninth grade, I forgot to do a packet of English worksheets. I was normally a conscientious student, but this packet had been assigned several days before it was due and I simply, honestly forgot. As I result, I had none of them done, and receive a grade to match. This Zero followed me through the grading period, sandbagging what would have otherwise been a healthy A and weighing it down to a C+ or B-. By the end of the quarter, despite otherwise strong test and homework scores, I still was hovering around low B.
That's when the teacher, Mrs. Langemo, called me forward and at the end of class shared with me what she'd decided to do. (This was before computer grading, which has made omitting a missed assignment an easy thing.) Knowing how badly that set of worksheets had hurt my grade, and knowing how much I wanted an A in her class, she reasoned that if I had done them, I probably would have scored around a 94%, which would have allowed my quarter grade to rise to an A, and so that was exactly the grade she was giving me. Case closed.
I used that story with the kids because it was a story of forgiveness and also of a sweet motivation. I knew at the time, because she said it often, that Mrs. Langemo had a heartfelt affinity for all of her students. She told us so. Every year, to all of her classes, she would express that she loved them. And you believed it; not that she merely had enthusiasm for her job or a fondness for young people in general, but that she cared individually and wanted every student who came through her door to succeed, in English and in life. Mrs. Langemo loved us.
And since God forgives us because of his great love for us, I thought it made a great example. Except that when I asked the kids "Why do you think my teacher did that for me?" most of them answered with something sensible like, "Because she knew you were a good student," or "Because she knew you deserved an A," or "Because she knew you'd try hard after that to remember to do all your homework." Stated simply, they reasonably believed that Mrs. Langemo's "forgiveness" of the unfinished work was conditioned on her belief that I wasn't willfully ignoring my assignments, and that in other ways I'd shown my good intentions. Put another way: yes, I would have deserved the grade I had coming (a B), but I also had proved myself deserving of an A.
As I reflected on this later, I came to realize how imperfect our metaphors for the forgiveness of God really are. Not that we as humans don't legitimately forgive one another, or love one another unconditionally. But the kids' analysis was right: whether or not my teacher loved me, her offer to raise my grade was based on an expectation about the quality of the work I would have done. I may not have earned an A, but my history as a student in her class earned her consideration.
But this is not the way God forgives us. How could God rescue Paul, "the worst of sinners" (1 Timothy 1:15-17) if grace was offered because our own merit? How could Jesus have pardoned the woman caught in adultery, whose sin was obvious and shameful, or associated with the cheater Zacchaeus? How could the people of the church at Ephesus have been redeemed by God, when they were as Paul wrote, "dead in your transgressions and sins…gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath"? Paul gives the answer as he continues in Ephesians 2: "Because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in our transgressions - it is by grace you have been saved."
There is a noxious version of the gospel out there that goes like this: God expects you to measure up. God knows you haven't. Jesus died for you, and that should motivate you to live for him. Receive God's forgiveness and then get over your struggles. Resolve to strive to measure up like God expects you to do. I have seen many Christians - kids, teenagers, and adults - interpret the gospel in this way: Christ died, so I'll try. The problem is that it gets forgiveness wrong. The death of Jesus is not just a motivator, but an actuator (yes, that's really a word) - in other words, it produces a definite (not just a suggested) result. The result of Jesus' sacrifice is that by faith we can be free from condemnation, free from shame, and free from the Law, which never brings life.
So when Paul writes (Galatians 2), "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me," he is not writing of possibilities or probabilities, but certainties. How do we know? Because he continues, "I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!" But Christ didn't die for nothing! And he didn't die in the hope that we - and let's be specific, that includes children - will choose to be good boys and girls. Christ died so that we could be saved.
When I was growing up, there was a banner that hung in my church that said, "Christ served to save; we are saved to serve." But that's not quite right. It makes salvation seem less like freedom from sin and more like parole: yeah, you're out, but watch yourself this time or the real punishment's coming.
Which brings us around to the question, why are we saved?
Many people can relay when they were saved. Every Christian should at least be able to tell how we are saved. But what about why we are saved? The answer must surely entail a certain amount of wonder. God saves us because of his love for us. OK, but what is the nature of this love? Are there really no strings attached? How can he love like that? It's these seeds of doubt, I'm convinced, that keep some people holding onto a version of love and forgiveness that imposes some performance obligation on the part of the forgiven. This is "I love you" with a comma, rather than "I love you", period.
I'm not saying we should all walk around dumbfounded and clueless as to why God saves anyone. But neither, just because "the Bible says so" should we reduce God's love to some cold, propositional truth, as ordinary as saying, "the sky is blue" or "2+2=4". Words, in any context, that are repeated over and over run the risk of becoming cliches, and we've done it in the church when we pronounce God's love without any accompanying awe or humility or wonder.
God loves us? Yes he does. God loves even us. Even you. Even me. And it fuels his mercy, which is the engine of his grace. And by grace, through faith - not resolve, not best of intentions, not daily quiet times, not camp rededications - we are saved.
A generation of strivers is first cousin to a generation of keepers of the law. Believing that God's forgiveness is possible shoots too low. Let's do our best, in word and deed, to communicate to kids a vision of God's forgiveness that will make them not strivers, but celebrators. How would culture change if we could plant 50 or more kids in every North County middle school who, rather than believing in the prospect of God's forgiveness, were convinced of its reality in their own lives, and were motivated and humbled by that?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
One New Building, Thousands of Possibilities
"This is great."
"Wow."
"Look at all the space."
"How exciting."
The past four days have been a blur of excitement and a real sense that I am part of a historic time in the life of this church. Things are now out of control. And I like it.
At long last, we have moved into our new space just up the hill, and the campus is gorgeous. I grin every time I climb the stairs from the parking lot and up to the second floor. We have been given more than we deserve.
I landed home from our summer camp (a week during which some amazing and unexpected things happened) on Saturday at 1:00, went into the office to prepare for Saturday night, dashed home to change clothes, and rolled up Poinsettia Lane just as the cross was approaching the new property. It was really emotional to see all of the people on the sidewalk and up on the lot, looking out into the street and waiting with ecstatic anticipation: the day had finally arrived! Saturday was simply electric, and from our perspective in 4th-6th grade, the flow of people from the open house never ended all evening; we simply started at 6:00 with the room as full as it had been all day. We didn't even know what had hit us.
Tonight again, at the "Without Walls" concert, I felt a sense of ownership and accomplishment and pride - good pride, not the evil variety - among the people who call this church their own, and not an ounce of possessiveness. Everyone seems eager to share this place with friends and neighbors, to invite them to a spot that's clean and new and has plenty of parking and breathing room and space to grow.
Saturday night, with the biggest crowd we've ever seen, did underscore the need to stay small even as the total church grows - by which I mean we must redouble our efforts to personally identify and reach out to kids in our ministry. It bothers me, and it always will, when a child spends an hour at a church event, anywhere, without being talked to or acknowledged by an adult leader.
What I saw Saturday, and again tonight, was a coming together of people and families whose paths never otherwise crossed in the shopping center, because the Saturday nights and the 8:00's and the 11:15's distinctly belonged to their respective services. And no doubt, people will again settle into their new attendance patterns. But for now, we're together, and that's great fun.
I want to thank the people at the beginning and the end of this process: at the beginning, those who conceived of the idea for a new property, and at the end, those who built, finished, and physically moved items from the old church to the new. I was blown away to learn that a "new" NCCC had its genesis in 1994, a time when I was still in college and when California and Christian ministry were nowhere near my radar screen. When I moved west in 2005, grading on the new site had not yet begun. Over the past couple of years I've come to realize that "fullness", inside and in parking lots, really does keep people away. So even if our new home seems "too big" at the start, it was needed and the planning proved fortuitous. There are too many volunteers to thank by name for lending a hand in getting our 4th-6th grade room packed and then resettled in the new children & youth building. But thank you all for investing in the future of that space and taking ownership over a piece of the new room.
This post isn't terribly deep or thought provoking, but it represents my mindset this week: I am preoccupied with gratitude - for the visionaries, the planners, the builders, the believers, the givers, and the many, many helpers. And that's a pretty good place to be.
"Wow."
"Look at all the space."
"How exciting."
The past four days have been a blur of excitement and a real sense that I am part of a historic time in the life of this church. Things are now out of control. And I like it.
At long last, we have moved into our new space just up the hill, and the campus is gorgeous. I grin every time I climb the stairs from the parking lot and up to the second floor. We have been given more than we deserve.
I landed home from our summer camp (a week during which some amazing and unexpected things happened) on Saturday at 1:00, went into the office to prepare for Saturday night, dashed home to change clothes, and rolled up Poinsettia Lane just as the cross was approaching the new property. It was really emotional to see all of the people on the sidewalk and up on the lot, looking out into the street and waiting with ecstatic anticipation: the day had finally arrived! Saturday was simply electric, and from our perspective in 4th-6th grade, the flow of people from the open house never ended all evening; we simply started at 6:00 with the room as full as it had been all day. We didn't even know what had hit us.
Tonight again, at the "Without Walls" concert, I felt a sense of ownership and accomplishment and pride - good pride, not the evil variety - among the people who call this church their own, and not an ounce of possessiveness. Everyone seems eager to share this place with friends and neighbors, to invite them to a spot that's clean and new and has plenty of parking and breathing room and space to grow.
Saturday night, with the biggest crowd we've ever seen, did underscore the need to stay small even as the total church grows - by which I mean we must redouble our efforts to personally identify and reach out to kids in our ministry. It bothers me, and it always will, when a child spends an hour at a church event, anywhere, without being talked to or acknowledged by an adult leader.
What I saw Saturday, and again tonight, was a coming together of people and families whose paths never otherwise crossed in the shopping center, because the Saturday nights and the 8:00's and the 11:15's distinctly belonged to their respective services. And no doubt, people will again settle into their new attendance patterns. But for now, we're together, and that's great fun.
I want to thank the people at the beginning and the end of this process: at the beginning, those who conceived of the idea for a new property, and at the end, those who built, finished, and physically moved items from the old church to the new. I was blown away to learn that a "new" NCCC had its genesis in 1994, a time when I was still in college and when California and Christian ministry were nowhere near my radar screen. When I moved west in 2005, grading on the new site had not yet begun. Over the past couple of years I've come to realize that "fullness", inside and in parking lots, really does keep people away. So even if our new home seems "too big" at the start, it was needed and the planning proved fortuitous. There are too many volunteers to thank by name for lending a hand in getting our 4th-6th grade room packed and then resettled in the new children & youth building. But thank you all for investing in the future of that space and taking ownership over a piece of the new room.
This post isn't terribly deep or thought provoking, but it represents my mindset this week: I am preoccupied with gratitude - for the visionaries, the planners, the builders, the believers, the givers, and the many, many helpers. And that's a pretty good place to be.
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