HEELCATCHER

I woke up to the news that 71 people had been shot at a movie theatre in Aurora, Colorado. 12 of them have died.

How do you process such news?

12 people dead. I can only imagine moms, dads, friends, sisters, brothers, children all impacted forever by one senseless act of violence. Many in the hospital fighting for their lives or recovering from injuries. Bodies damaged. Minds scarred. Families mourning. Relationships gone. Lives never the same.

It makes you feel helpless. Nauseated. And strangely numb.

Unfortunately such events are becoming all too common. Maybe we are just hearing about them more. We are bombarded daily with the worst of the worst, the sickest of the sick, instantly, via multiple media outlets, from all over the globe.

Our world is shrinking and our heart seems to be shriveling up with it.

The motives of the killer will be examined, dissected, and evaluated. Probably no one factor can be blamed. A person who callously plans and randomly kills innocent people has to be irrational and unstable to begin with. Thus discerning exact motives is impossible and proposing simple answers is inappropriate. Ban assault weapons. Sure, there is a case for that. But would it have stopped a person who also had apparent knowledge and use of other weapons and explosives as well? Increase security. Sure, but where does such security stop? We can’t police everywhere nor stop every violent act. Arm everyone in society? Well, for every life saved, there may be more caught in the crossfire.

The debate about guns will certainly enter the picture but it will only be scratching at the surface, treating the symptoms rather than addressing the disease.

Ultimately it was a human mind that planned such an elaborate, cold-hearted attack. And it is the human mind that has to be addressed.

This man was sick but, in examining the initial details, also so “normal.” Nothing sinister seems to lie in his past. He had no previous police record. No apparent addiction to drugs. No real cause of vengeance to exercise on a group of people in a movie theatre. He just acted…almost as if he was part of the movie itself.

We seem to be a society losing touch with reality. We are so immersed in entertainment that the lines between fantasy and real life are constantly blurred. And when kids grow up exposed to an endless feed of violent games, violent shows, and virtual worlds, it is naive to think that there is no long-term impact on their minds. In many “games” today, young people play out killing people one by one with the most realistic of graphics. For an unstable mind, it can’t be a far leap to make it reality.

I remember reading excerpts from the trial testimony of Anders Breivik, the man who massacred 77 people, many of them teenagers, in a pre-meditated killing spree in Norway. He testified that he sharpened his skills and deadened his conscience by playing violent video games 16 hours a day for months at a time. His testimony was chilling because it was so matter-of-fact. So divorced from reality. So detached from the tragedy of innocent young lives snuffed out like they were part of a sick video game.

Again, there are no simple answers. Banning a video game or protesting violent movies is not the solution. But when you have a society with a steady breakdown in the family, a devaluing of life, an appetite for virtual violence, a growing sense of boredom and discontent, a love for notoriety, an absence of moral boundaries, and limitless exposure to methods of killing and destruction, then you have the makings of a “culture of death.”

As a society, we reap what we sow.

The book of Proverbs warns us bluntly: Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life (4:23).

The things that go into our minds do not just disappear. They work deep into our thought processes, affect our perception, numb our consciences, and flow out into our words and actions. It is a slow process which means no one piece of input can be pinpointed or blamed…and no one can really notice the changes in their heart. But the steady drip of virtual violence, entertaining immorality, and glorified self-gratification works into one’s bloodstream, poisoning the mind.

And a poisoned mind can eventually spill out into destructive actions, into needless tragedies that destroy innocent lives.

I pray for the victims of this tragedy…the critically injured, the recovering, the families and friends of the slain…and I pray for myself, my children, and the society in which we live. May we wake up to the Light of truth, honor, virtue, purity, and grace before we experience another dark night.

From June 4-12, sixteen of us from Community Bible Church took a short term mission trip to Guatemala. It was an eye-opening, faith-stretching, physically-tiring, emotionally-draining, group-unifying, spiritually-satisfying experience stuffed into eight days.

I have been on short term mission trips before and each one has its own unique “flavor.” But this one was especially sweet. A good mix of people…young and old, single and married, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters…working in a variety of ministries…painting at an orphanage, doing Vacation Bible School, playing soccer, singing in Spanish, taking kids to the zoo, sharing our testimonies, showing Christ’s love…in a beautiful country…volcanoes, mountains, cool weather, gracious people, and great coffee :>).

I experienced the trip in several different ways.

As a father. I have led several mission trips as a youth pastor but never as a father of youth. On this trip, I had my two older sons, Nate and Noah, with me. It was a memory that I will always cherish. 3 John 4 says, I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth. I not only heard that my children were walking in the truth but I watched them and ministered along side them. My older son, Nate, played guitar and helped lead worship. My second son, Noah, helped lead games for the kids we ministered to. Both of them took initiative. They made relationships. They got involved. They worked hard. They made an impact. I couldn’t have been prouder…or filled with more joy.

As a pastor. I am still new at this senior pastor thing. It is a unique role to be in. As a pastor, you feel the spiritual responsibility of an entire flock of people…and your incredible inadequacy for such a task. And as I got on the plane in Baton Rouge with 15 others from our church, I felt that responsibility and inadequacy even more. I didn’t have a clue exactly where we were going, what we were going to do, or how the week was going to go. I could only pray for God’s provision and protection and keep moving forward. Thankfully, the week went well and we were all protected on the trip. No serious illnesses, injuries, or problems. And God enabled me to get to know the sheep in my flock even more.

As a man. Men are not supposed to cry…or so we are told. But I cannot think of a week in my life where I cried more than I cried in Guatemala. I saw the depths of sin, hopelessness, and poverty and the heights of grace, hope, and ministry juxtaposed together. It was a strange mixture and it did a number on my heart.

I cried when we left the orphanage and I thought about all the lives that we touched there…and the lives that touched us.

I cried when I saw other team members cry.

I cried when we visited with the kids and their families at Kairos House, a place where families can stay while their kids are receiving treatment for cancer and other life-threatening diseases. The night we arrived a 12-year old girl named Alena had just found out that the doctors could do nothing else for her. As I looked at Alena with her frail body and short hair, I could see my sister who died of cancer in 1996. All I could do was weep.

Then at the end of the week, we watched a documentary on Guatemala called Reparando. After experiencing a week of ministry in Guatemala, the documentary hit home and the tears once again flowed.

There is something about crying that is hard to explain. In one sense, it is not pleasant since it is generally caused by unpleasant circumstances. But in another sense, it is cleansing, releasing, refreshing. It reminds you that you are alive, that your heart is still capable of loving, of feeling. I remember Gerald Sittser stating in A Grace Disguised (one of the best books on grief ever written) that sorrow enlarges your heart. I felt my heart expand in Guatemala.

As an American. Mission trips to foreign countries always remind you of your blessings in America. This trip was no different. I was reminded of how much I take for granted…adequate housing, clean water, abundant food, political stability, family, freedom, opportunity, prosperity. Watching hundreds of people scavenging through a garbage dump has a way of giving you perspective. Whom am I to complain? I am so blessed to have lived in one of the freest, most stable, most prosperous countries in the history of the world. Thank You, Lord.

But experiencing another culture also helps you evaluate your own. As an American, I tend to be wasteful. I have so much that I rarely appreciate what I have. As an American, I can also value results over relationships, tasks over people, meeting a schedule over meeting a need. It was refreshing and stretching to be in a culture where it is considered rude not to greet and personally say good-bye to every person in the room. It made for some long good-byes…and for some precious memories.

As a member of the body of Christ. The body of Christ was the theme that kept resonating in my mind on this trip. The beauty and wonder of the body of Christ. I experienced it with my church family. Spending every morning on a veranda studying God’s Word and praying together was one of my favorite highlights of the trip. It got the day started off on the right foot. It was better than a kick of caffeine in a cup of Guatemalan coffee.

I experienced the body of Christ with the Hispanic church in Guatemala. Even though I didn’t understand the words to the songs, I worshiped. I truly worshiped. The joy, exuberance, and hospitality of my Hispanic brothers and sisters overcame the language barrier and drew me into their fellowship.

And I experienced the body of Christ in ministry. Being used by God. Being joined together with other believers. Being Christ’s hands and feet.

I don’t know how people live apart from the body of Christ.

Well, that was my trip in a nutshell…and these shorts words don’t even do it justice.

There are just some moments in time when the season of your life, the state of your heart, and events of your experience seem to align in the center of God’s purpose in the community of God’s people. It is a glimpse of glory, a slice of shalom, a taste of heaven on earth.

And it’s better than a cup of Guatemalan coffee.

When I was in junior high, I actually wrote a country song. I was stuck on a church bus for several hours going on a trip and I started making up and singing some goofy country song. I called it the “Worst Country Song Ever” because in it the guy has literally everything go wrong in his life. After being subjected to HeeHaw episodes by my dad and hearing “gloom, despair and agony on me” over and over as a kid, I guess I was scarred by country music and this song is the result. (So forgive me if the lyrics offend you in any way…I wrote this in junior high.)

I am posting the song because a few days ago we had a “Sounds of the Old South” country/gospel concert at our church to raise money for our summer mission trip to Guatemala. It was a great evening…with a lot of fun music. At some point in the evening my ol’ country song popped into my head. A few months earlier I had dusted it off in my mind and sang it for my kids during a fun family evening. They loved it and made me sing it several times over. I even revised a few lines to sharpen some of the rhymes (which tells you how bad they originally were). So the song was fresh  in my mind, the evening was informal and fun…and my wife wasn’t next to me to talk sense into me.

So, near the end of the concert, I was called on stage to talk about the Guatemala trip. As I stood up there with my two older boys and several other youth going on the trip, I decided to sing my song. Carlton Jones, our music leader, tried to accompany me on the spot…while my two older boys tried to disavow that they were related to me.

Unbeknownst to me, someone in the crowd had a smartphone and recorded the song. Here it is for all those people who have asked for proof that I actually sang a country song in front of a live audience. When you hear it, you will understand why the words I heard the most after the concert were “please don’t quit your day job.”

BlindAllMyLife