Church Insanity

Churches are requiring a bachelor’s or master’s degree in order to be considered for a position as a “pastor.” Really? So you are telling me that in order to minister to the flock you have to get education from a Bible College, by professors who are not pastors, to teach you how to run a broken, archaic, unbiblical system, that they have never run themselves.

Every day in America, the doors of a Christian church closes. Every day in America are sold into slavery. Every day in America, churches look like ghost towns, and only come alive when the pastor opens the doors for board approved activity. Really? So we determine when the Holy Spirit moves? Really? We determine the dates and hours when God is present? Really?

Every Sunday in America, thousands of churches open their doors to hear the same person talk about God, the same perspective, the same expression of worship, guilting people into coming, because if you don’t, somehow you are not living the Christian life. Every Sunday in America, less and less people gather in the buildings that says “church,” the lie we have believed for hundreds of years, that “church” is the building.

Really? Have you not even read the Bible? Really? Church is NOT a building. Really? Church is not on Sunday! It is every day, all the time, in the everyday places we go, in the ordinary things we do, with the extraordinary people we encounter. Really?

Every year hundreds of people graduate from Bible Colleges, with papers in their hands that gives them permission to be a minister or pastor. It is dipped in the false doctrine of narcissism that says you are who makes the church successful. Today the new trend of Bible College training is “church planting” to fill the void of all the churches that are closing. They are using the old, archaic, unbiblical system they were taught to plant new churches.

Really? Is this some kind of sick joke. Planting the same system of churches, but expecting different results? Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results. Really? A piece of paper from other people, who say that you are educated enough, determines your ability to minister? Really? Didn’t Jesus grab the uneducated men to turn the world upside down? Didn’t Jesus say that “greater things we would do in His name?” His name. Not the name of the college, not the name of the professor, not our own name.

2 Corinthians 3-6

“Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? Or do we need, as some do, letters of recommendation to you or from you? You yourselves are our letter of recommendation, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all. And you show that you are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of the human hearts.”

So, we, 2000 years later, need letters of recommendation (degrees) by men on paper (tablets of stone). but the early disciples relied on the “Spirit of the Living God.” We are called to minister… PERIOD.  In our neighborhoods, communities, cities, states and even to the ends of the earth. We do not need a piece of paper that says we are able to minister. In fact, the Word of God says that we are made “strong” in our weakness, because it makes us rely on the Spirit of God.

My husband has been turned down for countless ministry “positions” simply because he does not have a piece of paper that says he was educated by men. Yet, we have letter from Christ, written on the hearts of every person, we have had the honor of ministering to. We have wisdom, beyond our years, as we have admitted our foolishness and allow God to make us wise. Churches hire young people right out of college, because they have a piece of paper that says they are wise. Really? How embarrassing for the church. How sad that we look like the world. How about use your discernment. Oh but most church leaders nowadays don’t even know what that word means. They rely on what they can see and touch. They follow the world’s pattern, instead of the pattern of God’s Word.

So, my husband and I, we continue to be a nobody. Undercover, secret agents of grace. Moving in and out of the shadows of the darkest places to bring light. We continue to be less so that He can be more. We are nothing without Christ. So in our journey as a nobody, people continue to see that Jesus is a somebody…. And that, after all is said and done is really our desire anyway.

John 3:30

I must decrease, so that He may increase.

Walking in the Hornets Nest

 There they were, holding signs that had a picture of a young man on a poster board, with words that read “CAR WASH for FUNERAL EXPENSES.” I drove past them, on my way to the thrift store to get some things for my daughter. In the car with me, were two young people who came to live with us, after some months of homelessness and drug issues.

“I think that car wash is for him, Mama T,” the young man in the back seat of my car said quietly. He was sitting next to his girlfriend and his eyes were fixed on the people on the street.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked

“No, you can keep going,” he said.

His curly hair was getting long and his eyes began to water. The loss of yet another friend was a lot. Since he had come to live with us, he discovered that one of his brothers got locked up and the other one was on house arrest. Both under the age of 18. His girlfriend held his hand and did not say a word.

We arrived at the thrift store and got out. The couple lingered outside to smoke and my daughter and I went in to find some things for her Sadie’s Hawkins dance. When we were done, he asked me if he could go back to the car wash to see if anyone could give him and his girlfriend a ride to the candlelight vigil. So I drove back to the corner where everyone was.

When we parked the car, the group assumed that I was another customer, there to support the funeral, with a car wash. My car needed one, but I was not there for that purpose. The young man and I got out of the car, and my daughter and his girlfriend stayed inside.

There were close to 50 people there; all helping, grieving, remembering. As I walked closer to the group, all eyes watched me. The smell of marijuana was thick and the tattoos on their bodies, indicated they were from the Bulldog gang. Against the wall, one man, close to my age, tensed up to see what I was doing there. He glared with a fierce intensity as I walked up to the young man’s cousin. She had a joint in her hand and put it behind her back, so that I would not see it. She looked at me, confused, and then at the young man. The young man hugged her and she responded with, “This sucks man.”

He introduced me and I gave her a hug. Her stiff body would indicate that she did not expect my embrace; but I continued to engulf her in my Mama T way, until she relaxed. He introduced me to all the people who came around him. One by one, I hugged them and shared my condolences. Joints were being passed around and sadness hung in the air. My heart was broken for them, for the loss of a life so young.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see a young man that looked familiar.

“Remember me?” he asked.

“You look familiar,” I said, “but I can’t place where I know you from.”

“I met you at the Hall. You were talking to me and my mom and dad. Your husband was breaking it down to my dad, remember?” he inquired.

“Oh yes, I do remember.” I said with a hug. He too knew the young man who had just passed away. One by one young people started to come around me, curious as to who I was. I clearly did not belong there, hugging and talking to this community of people. Yet, there I was: talking, embracing and encouraging them in their loss. Many of them knew Will, one of our Bible Study boys who was killed just two weeks earlier, so their sorrow was heavy. As the smoke and conversations rose in the air, the man who was standing by the wall began to soften. No longer did he stare me down with a fierceness. His posture changed, he leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed and began to talk to the people around him, eyes off me. I was told that he was the father of the young man, who had just passed. So his intense, silent inquiry was understandable to me.

There I was, me, a 41 year old, urban missionary, standing in the middle of Bulldogs from McKenzie Street. Loving them, hugging them, and being accepted by them. I looked at their faces: broken, sad, lost and angry; and had compassion for them. I had just walked into a hornets nest and was not stung. They were swarming around me, checking to see if I was a threat, to see if I had fear, to discover what my motive was. The love that was exuding out of me, from Jesus, was so powerful, that it was like smoke to a bee hive. It calmed them, and took away the threat. I did not look like them, I did not belong, but they saw Jesus in me, and although they may not be able to articulate what was happening, they were experiencing the love of Jesus.

 So many times, we, as Christians look at a situation with judgement and condemnation and miss an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus. So many times, we are stricken with fear and cannot even get out of the building called “church” to bring Jesus to the dark places. So many times, we believe the lie that people who want Jesus, will just show up to church, because, you know, it is church. We live in a post-Christian nation. People are not going to show up to a building to find hope. So many people don’t even know who Jesus is. A lot of people see Christianity as an elitist, judgmental, controlling organization that has no room for sinners or the broken or the lost.

The young man, who lives with my family, continued talking to his cousin and then asked me if I could take him to his Grammie’s house, which was a few blocks away from the candlelight vigil. He wanted to pick up the letter his brother had sent him from the Hall. I drove into Bulldog territory, filled with joy that I was shining a light in a dark place. I gave him a sympathy card for his friend’s mom. He looked at it with bewilderment, as this gesture was a middle class occurrence that he was unaccustomed to.

“If you don’t want to give her the card, you don’t have to. But it’s what we do when someone we know dies.” I said.

“Oh, okay,” he understood. “No, I like it, I think she will too.”

He got out of the car, with his girlfriend and walked up to the door of his Grammie’s house. My daughter and I drove away. She looked at me and smiled. She too felt the joy of just being the light. Not preaching, not condemning, not expecting… Just loving, just giving, just being the hands and feet of Jesus.

If only more people with the light inside of them, walked in the dark; to give hope, to show love, to be present. They are looked at as the scum of the earth, a gang, this gang. But they are human beings with souls and hearts, who need Jesus. Open your heart to those you look down on. Give your hand to those, who you think are beneath you. Share the love of Jesus to those who do not know him.

You will find that LOVE is the most powerful weapon on earth. The LOVE of Jesus, shown to a broken world, is the ONLY thing that will change people, change our city, our state, our nation, our world. No amount of programs, laws, events, organizations will do that. You may think you are a NOBODY, that has nothing to offer this broken world… but if you know Jesus, if you have experienced his love in your own life… you are a somebody- who has the most powerful weapon on earth- AGAPE LOVE.

GO… go and change the world… by showing God’s love… start with one person, today. You will be amazed at how powerful your act of love is. It starts with one, then another, then another.

Matthew 11:19

Legacy of the Ones taken too soon

His name is Marquis Sutton. I never met him. I never knew anything about him.

The sun was setting and the glow was dancing orange hues over the worn down stadium in Easton, Ca where my son was practicing football. I had come early to watch him practice with the new coach, and see how the team was doing.

To the left of me on the stadium stairs were a few of Elijah’s teammates sitting together, huddled close and talking quietly. One of the players put his hands in his face and another put his arm around him. I could sense the tension in the air, the sorrow, and continued to observe their actions. I scanned the field to see if I could make out the reason behind the sorrow, but could not pick up what was going on.

We had just started to settle into Easton. I was just started to get to know the players and the community. I knew these boys names, but don’t even think I had a conversation with them. I felt compelled to talk to them, as my mothering heart could not take the pain of these young people any longer.

“Is everything ok?” I asked intrusively.

The young man with his hands in his face, didn’t even look up at me. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, “I just can’t believe it.” The other boys pulled in closer to the young man, as he began to cry.

“What happened?” I asked the friends standing near him, in the most compassionate tone I could acquire.

“Bruh, our boy was shot. They was playing Russian roulette or something. Like What The F@#k. Who does that?” There was a somber silence, then he continued, “That boy was gonna ball in the pros, man.” He shook his head in disappointment and then stopped talking.

“Is he from Washington Union?” I asked.

“Nah bruh, he from Edison.”

I did not know what to do. I had only heard of shootings on the news. The victims were just faces and names of an unfortunate situation, but had no bearing on my life. I had never been in a place where a shooting hit so close to home. I didn’t really know how to comfort them or what to say. I asked if I could pray for them, and they said yes. My prayer seemed feeble and ignorant, not able to grasp the pain they were overcome with.

I walked away and sat back down on the bleachers to wait for practice to end. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It covered me like a shadow. I could not escape the reality. These boys, these young men knew this boy from Edison. They were friends, grew up together, had relationship with him. He was not just some name and face on the news. He was a part of their life.

Having homeschooled my children, and participating in home church, we kept our children close to home. Most of our friends homeschooled and home churched too. So this new life, of being in community with people who did not share my way of life, was perplexing.

When practice was over, we drove home and I asked Elijah if he had heard about the incident. He said that some of the players were crying and couldn’t practice, but didn’t really know what happened. When I got home, I searched the internet for a young football player who was shot from Edison, to see if I could get more information. I saw a news report and read it. My heart ached. It pained deep. The LORD was giving me a burden to pray for the families and friends of this young man. I had never experienced this kind of intercession before, to pray for people I did not know personally, but the calling was deep and personal. I prayed for hours and days for this family. My heart grieved for a young man, I never even met, for his family, whose names I did not know. This grief felt personal and real and my heart ached with a deep intensity.

I looked him up on facebook to see if I could get some more information. I saw pictures and read stories about this young man, wondering what he was like. I was blessed by the words that people were writing, a living memorial, solidifying his legacy in words and blessings. I was overcome with emotion and there I was, writing on his wall too… I dont know what I said, but I remember promising you that I would do my best to reach young people, so that more lives would not be lost.

Marquis, I have fulfilled that proclamation. Actually, both my husband and I have. After that, my husband started a Bible Study for young men, to find a safe place to go, to laugh, cry, eat, play and get to know Jesus, that only one who can deliver us from the pain of the world. It grew and grew, the Bible Study, and the ministry. We started a Friday night Open Gym, to give young people a positive, safe place to go and hang out. The Bible Study now includes young woman as well.

I wish we could do more.

I often speak about you, and how your death was the inspiration for what we do today. It changed our lives and the lives of so many young men. Your light was not snuffed out when you died, it grew brighter. It is in every young man we minister to, help, encourage and inspire.

This past Friday, two young people I knew personally were shot and killed, Kayla DeBorde and William Harris. I knew them, had relationship with them, loved them, laughed with them, mentored them, did life with them. They were taken from this earth for no good reason. I have been in such pain, personally and also for the families that are let behind. My heart aches in the deep reaches of my soul.

At the Candlelight prayer vigil, you came to mind again. You inspired the words that came out of my mouth. You were remembered at their prayer vigil too, as I encouraged and challenged others to not snuff out the light that was in these two beautiful people, but to carry it on, let it grow brighter, go farther and last longer in the legacy of our lives and those after us. That is what we did for you, Marquis, me and my husband. We carried your legacy with us, even to the young people and families that were grieving William and Kayla.

I think back to the young boys who were grieving you that day that found out you were gone. Now, I know that pain. I feel it today, as I write this. My heart feels broken from the senseless violence that stole the legacy these young people were supposed to live out. Yet, in this pain and sorrow. I will continue to let their light shine in me as well. I will shine their lights too, for all the people I encounter. I will remember them, as I remembered you.

 I never met you, Marquis, but you left an everlasting impact on my soul.  You, William and Kayla will continue to live on in the ministry we do, in the lives we encounter, in the stories we tell.

I look forward to meeting you in heaven and seeing my sweet friends William and Kayla too. 

Marquis Sutton

Kayla DeBorde

William Harris

IF ONLY

I heard a story once about a man who was walking along the shore of the ocean. He came across an entire beach, filled with starfish, who had been washed up.

I think about that story all the time, when I am overwhelmed to the point of tears, in this Nobody life. Only in my mind’s eye, it looks a little different:

I see Bill and me, hand in hand, walking along the beach. We come across these little starfish, washed up on the shore and IMMEDIATELY start picking them up and chucking them in the ocean. Only with every wave that hits the shore, more starfish get washed up. So we look at each other, take off our jackets, and start to scoop as many as we can in our jackets to get more than one back into the ocean. We are frantic and overwhelmed. I stop for a second to wipe the sweat from my brow and get a glimpse of what is behind me, on the beach.  

There was a resort, with lots of bling and glamour. Cabanas lined up near the building. Servers bringing drinks and food to the people lying in the sun, with their Coach Sunglasses and Nordstrom swimsuits. They each had recliners and umbrellas to shade them if the sun got to hot. They were all reading a book, although I could not make out what book it was. The wood plank path led to the resort so no one would burn their feet on the hot sun. Music was playing and people raised their hands up to the heavens.

Splash! A wave hit my feet and I came back to the task at hand. Bill yelled, “Did you see that up there?” “Yes!” I yelled back, and kept scooping up the Starfish in my jacket to throw as many into the ocean as I could. The sun set and left a majestic glow on the water. Diamonds danced on the surface as the waters began to calm. We were exhausted, but saw that NOW was the time, when we could get more Starfish into the ocean, because the calm waters were no longer throwing Starfish onto the shore.

My muscles aches and I was hungry. I wanted to run to the resort and ask for some water, but the urgency of getting the Starfish into the water was greater than my thirst. So we kept going, Bill and I. A man in uniform started walking up to us, as the Starfish were being hurled into the air, reflecting the moonlight and splashing into the safety zone of the ocean.

“You can’t be here,” he said sternly, “the resort is closed.”

Bill stopped, walked up to the man, looked at the resort, looked at the shoreline and said, “The resort does not own the shoreline, no one does. We can be here as long as we want.”

“Well that may be, but you our making our guests feel uncomfortable.” He replied.

“Uncomfortable?” I asked. “Are you kidding me, they are in total comfort, having everything handed to them on a silver platter. What could we possibly be doing to make them feel uncomfortable?”

“Well,” he said sheepishly, “You are working and helping those Starfish and it is making them feel, well, guilty, I guess, because they are trying to relax and enjoy themselves.”

“But these little ones are dying!” Bill said heartbroken.

“Well that is not our problem,” the man in uniform said irritated at our resolve.

“And their discomfort is not our problem either,” Bill said and picked up a Starfish and threw it into the water.

I laughed hysterically, and gathered more Starfish into my jacket and threw them into the water. Adrenaline filled our beings and food and water were no longer a necessity. The man in uniform threatened to have us removed and hurled insults at us for wanting to help these little Starfish. The more he said, the more resolve overwhelmed us. All night we worked, knowing soon the sun would rise and so would the waves that hurl the Starfish onto the shore.

The sun began to rise and I could see that we had made an evident dent in those Starfish stranded on the beach. A smile crept onto my face and my body ached with great tension. In the background I could hear faint voices begin to rise into the air. I turned to see the resort and people filing out of their rooms and onto the beach. One by one they positioned their Egyptian cotton towels on the lounges, and sat down to enjoy the view, that we were obstructing. Again they began to read the same book and servers came around and brought them food and drink while they sat there, fat and lazy.  Bill walked over to me and said, “Can you believe these people? They see that all these Starfish are about to die, they see us, by ourselves, trying to help, but they do nothing!”

“Oh, they do something,” I said. “They grumble and complain that we are making them feel uncomfortable. They are irritated that we are obstructing their view of the ocean. They indulge in all the comforts and won’t even lift a finger to help, but expect others to serve them.”

Before the last word came out of my mouth, music began to play, and just like the day before, all the people started to raise their hands to the heavens. Bill and I looked at each other and started laughing, “What the hell is this place?” Bill scanned the resort to try to make out the name. There, on the top of the resort in sparkly letters spelled out the name:

My heart sank, but… but… they are Christians… was my thought. I realized that the book they were all reading was the Bible, and the music was Praise and Worship. The servers were the pastors, feeding them on a silver platter and the resort was the building, American Christians call the “The Church.” The expensive, lavished lifestyle was neatly packaged in what “The American Church” calls Christianity. Not wanting to move outside of their comfort zone, frustrated with people who ask them to, and uncomfortable with people who do what the Bible says, right in front of them. Putting their time and money into a resort (the building) and expecting the paid parishioners to feed them on a platter, because that is their job, right?

Bill and I looked at the fat and lazy “American Church” and said, “IF ONLY!” If only they would help. If only they would get up and get their hands dirty. If only they would feel uncomfortable for Jesus. If only they would partake in the sufferings of Christ, so that just ONE life could be saved from eternal damnation. IF ONLY. If only the pastors would stop building their own kingdoms on earth and magnify God’s kingdom instead. If only the church would rise up and be who God created them to be in Romans 12, walking in their redemptive gifts and practice their spiritual gifts in 1 Corinthians 12. IF ONLY. If only we had the proper tools to scoop up all these Starfish. If only we had more people to help us. If only we had some support and encouragement. IF ONLY.

The waves started breaking on the shore and more Starfish began to be coughed up by the sea. We gave each other a high five, took a deep breath, and took the simple tools we had: a jacket, a willing heart, and our love for Jesus; and started at it again. IF ONLY half of these Starfish make it back into the safe zone of the ocean… that is still half that will live.

So we got to work, only this time there was a joy in our exhaustion, splashing in the water and a spring in our step. We do not have the title or fancy clothes or servants like those on the beach, we are just NOBODY’s trying to make a difference in the lives of other NOBODY’S, so that they will be will see themselves as a SOMEBODY.

Living in the Shadow of Jesus

I have always wanted to be a SOMEBODY. An actress, singer, speaker, writer, world changer. I crave it, I see it, I am constantly moving towards it. My whole being is engulfed in the vision that God made me someone special. I move in and out of the reality that, today, I am just a NOBODY. I am no one special, I am like everyone else on this planet, trying to just make it through the day.

I was born into a family of a young woman and man, who had the odds stacked against them. My father, a product of rape, grew up in and out of foster homes in the 1960’s. He left the system at 16 years old and started on a journey of self-fulfillment, to become a SOMEBODY. This journey would consume the decisions he made in his life. My mother, grew up in San Diego, Ca, where racism was thick towards Mexican Americans. She committed herself to making something of herself, to prove that she was valuable. That she was more than the bullies and racially bias people said she was.

By the time I came into the picture, my parents lived in San Jose, Ca. My father was in the Air Force and worked at Lockheed. My mom started working at a startup company called Intel; as a semiconductor specialist. Both of my parents were smart, driven, focused and competitive. They would stop at nothing to ensure their vision to be a SOMEBODY, came to pass. My father climbed his way up the space aeronautics ladder and eventually worked at NASA as a rocket scientist engineer. My mom became a VP of her department in one of the largest DOT.com companies in the Bay Area, at the height of the internet boom. They both accomplished what they set out to do: BE A SOMEBODY; but not without consequences.

This drive to be a SOMEBODY, meant losing a lot to be successful. That included their marriage, a relationship with their children and their lives. Both of my parents died young. My mom died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 58 and my father died of a heart attack and lung cancer at the age of 60. My father was even more successful in his career than I knew when he was alive. He had countless accolades from the president of the United States, NASA, congressmen and astronauts. He received honorary college degrees and was nominated as the top 3 people in the nation to contribute to the NASA program. My dad was a SOMEBODY. Recently, I met an astronaut, who came to talk to some of the youth we work with. I told him my dad worked for NASA and told him his name. The astronaut gasped, “He is your dad? He was a huge part of NASA. His safety record was impeccable. Nothing got past your dad. If he said the space shuttle was not ready to go up, it didn’t go up. He made all of the astronauts feel safe, when he was in charge.”

The reality that you have no idea who your parents are is a loss all in itself. I did not have a positive relationship with either of my parents. Their new spouses kept us at arm’s length, ensuring that we would not affect their new lives. Yet, even still, both of my parents imprinted something in me that has become an internal struggle to this day… The importance of being a SOMEBODY. 

Being a SOMEBODY is the heartbeat of America. The American Dream, fame, fortune, get rich quick schemes rooted in the Gold Rush era. This epidemic has not escaped the American church. Young and old, the American church has embraced the mindset of being a SOMEBODY. Building their own “religious” kingdoms on earth, mega churches and para-churches alike have become the pinnacle of American Christianity. Yet, it is not without consequence. In the pursuit of being a SOMEBODY, humans are sacrificed to the “religious” machine that ensures “church growth.” The focus has become “self” and not “God.” The pursuit is “bigger and better,” to make a name for myself and become a SOMEBODY. Instead of becoming “less and submitted” to God’s will. The lies that are believed that being a SOMEBODY is the most important, has literally destroyed the church in America and has left our nation in a post-Christian posture that has churches closing its doors every day.

God, in His upside down kingdom reality, where the “first is last” and the “humble are exalted” delights in the NOBODIES. In fact, it was the NOBODIES that Jesus called to be the ones who carried the message to the ends of the earth, after He left. In this upside down kingdom reality, “when we decrease, Jesus increases.” When Jesus increases, people are set free, delivered, healed, encouraged, empowered and changed. When we say “YES” to being a NOBODY… we are actually becoming a SOMBODY- but in God’s time, in God’s purpose, in God’s great plan for this earth.

Today, as you ponder your next “ministry” move or “religious” strategy to “get more butts into those seats;” think on this:

Why not pray and ask the LORD what He is about, where He is moving, what His heart is for the church… and then partner with Him. Why not get those “butts out of the seats” and into the “streets” to be a visible representation of our Savior.

If you are already a NOBODY…PRAISE GOD!!! We need more of you. Keep doing what you are doing… Continue to be a SECRET AGENT OF GRACE that no one knows. Resist the temptation to be a SOMEBODY, by your own power; and allow God to grow you and guide you as a NOBODY, so that JESUS can shine though us as the only SOMEBODY that can really change this world.

This is my challenge. To resist the temptation to be a SOMEBODY, by my own power. I struggle daily to decrease. I struggle daily to be about God’s business and not my own.

This is the purpose of this blog. To encourage myself and others that being a NOBODY, and living in the SHADOW OF JESUS, is how we, in fact, become a SOMEBODY.