(Not) Beyond Hope

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]


Maybe it’s the coworker who always shows up for work late, leaves early, and seems to leave half their work unfinished. Maybe it’s the fellow student who brags about partying every weekend and cheating on their exams. Or maybe it’s the people we hear about on the news, those who steal and kill and destroy. And maybe we see glimpses of it in ourselves, in the wrongs we commit but have never told anyone about.

Most of us can think of the person, or the types of people, we think will never change. If we’re honest, we may wonder if they can change, or if maybe there are some people who are too far gone and are only capable of spiraling deeper into darkness.

In John 4, we find the story of the Samaritan woman. She came to the well at noon, perhaps because she was unwelcome with the other women or because she wanted to be alone. Or, as Pastor Dirk suggested on Sunday, perhaps she had a hidden motive of going to the well by herself of thinking she may happen upon a lone man. This woman had had 5 husbands, and the man she was living with at the time was not even one of her husbands. In that time, a life like this would have drawn more than its fair share of whispers, gossip, and speculation. Some of her neighbors may have written her off completely by this point, assuming she would never change and could never be better than her circumstances.

Jesus, however, did not see her that way.

He didn’t have to go through Samaria to get to Galilee. He didn’t have to stay by the well while all his disciples went off. He didn’t have to situate himself by or even on the well. And, given the customs of that time, he certainly didn’t have to talk to this Samaritan, much less this Samaritan woman.

But he did. Despite all the reasons he didn’t have to, and despite knowing her story, Jesus spoke to her. He talked to her when maybe no one else would, and he told her who he was, and of the way to a better life--a life of following him. Ultimately, that conversation led to this woman and many other Samaritans believing in Christ.

Jesus knew that even a woman with a messy past was not beyond hope.

As followers of him, he calls us to believe that too. And not just to believe it, but to act on it. He calls us to show his love and tell his story to everyone, without letting our own judgments of who is or who is not capable of change through Jesus, getting in the way. Because of Jesus, no one is ever beyond hope. There is no darkness that he cannot reach into, where his light cannot touch. Jesus was willing to do what it took to reach out to the Samaritan woman.

What could our city, our state, the world look like if we all lived the same way? What if we really believed that no one is beyond hope?


[Brianna DeWitt is a believer in Jesus, surrounding yourself with good people, and that desserts are best when they involve chocolate and peanut butter. She also blogs at http://awritespot.wordpress.com and tweets at @bwitt722.]

When Prayer Feels Pointless

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]


As someone who grew up in Christianity-saturated community, I’ve been told all of the “correct” answers for when we feel like God isn’t listening to our prayers.

“His ways aren’t like ours.”

“He answers prayer, just not always in the timeline we’d like him to.”

“When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.” (Okay, that one might have come from The Sound of Music, but I’m sure someone has said it at some point too.)

At least for me, prayer is one of the most difficult parts of following Jesus. I'd be willing to guess that unanswered prayers have been a catalyst for more than a few people to walk away from faith entirely. For those of us who have ever prayed, even if only a handful of times, at some point we’ve probably all wondered what the point is. We’ve probably wondered if God is actually paying attention, or if our words just fall to the floor, empty and meaningless. Maybe we’ve prayed the same thing for weeks, months, or years, and though we’ve been told that God answers prayers, even if it’s sometimes with a “No,” it seems that he has completely overlooked ours.

As he has for each message in this series, on Sunday Pastor Dirk started by reminding us prayer is not supposed to be about bending God's will to ours, though that's how many of us approach it. Instead, prayer is supposed to conform our will to God's.

This is not something that comes easily to me.

Thomas à Kempis, who was a German priest and author, wrote:

"As thou wilt;

What thou wilt;

When thou wilt."

Which strikes me as perhaps the scariest kind of prayer we could pray. It doesn’t ask God for anything except for what he wants for us.

Because ultimately, prayer is not a way for us to get what we want from God, but a way God uses to form us, ever-shaping us to look more like him.

Which is likely not going to be a comfortable process. It might lead to a life that looks a whole lot different than the one we planned for ourselves, whether it's outward changes like a change of major, job, or location, or inward changes like a change of desire or focus. Those are the things God uses to form us into his likeness.

It doesn't mean he always ignores our prayers or that he doesn't want to hear them--nothing could be further from the truth, really. Prayer is about communication, about building a relationship with God that teaches us how to be more like him and to align our hearts with his.

It’s easy for me to sit here and type these words about how God uses prayer to form us to be more like him, but in the actuality of unanswered prayer, in the heartache and the sickness and the longing, it’s much harder to believe. While it sounds nice to say that we want God’s will to be our will, his will may be for us to simply trust him in the midst of our unanswered prayers--even when we cannot understand what he’s doing or even see it, and when he doesn’t seem to be opening a door or a window. If we allow them to, these places between the yes and the no or the maybe of our prayers can be the spaces God uses to make us look more like him.


[Brianna DeWitt lives, works, and writes in Grand Rapids, MI. Among her favorite things are good people, good books, and good desserts. You can see more of her musings on her personal blog at http://awritespot.wordpress.com and on Twitter at @bwitt722.]

Carrying a Bucket of Dry Ice?

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]

Midweek Encounter 9.17.14

On Sunday at Encounter Church the worship space was full of carbon dioxide (and this is no dig at the preaching)—but in an unusual state—carbon dioxide as a solid. You probably know it as “dry ice”.

Dry ice is really cool stuff. It sublimates as it warms, meaning that it goes directly from a solid to a gas while skipping the melty liquid state. Really cool. Surrounded by these vapors, Dirk encouraged us to think about what it would be like to carry the visible glory of God with us everywhere we go. The metaphor was simple enough—the gas as a visual and physical reminder of the glory of God—but as I thought more about it, it became increasingly complex.

What would it be like to carry a bucket of dry ice around for a day? Think about the gas that would accumulate in your car during your morning commute. At some point, you might have to open your windows to let some of the gas escape. What does that mean for us metaphorically—having to open the windows because the glory of God is too powerful to be contained within the car? I happen to be a teacher, so I imagined what it would be like to bring my bucket of dry ice into my classroom. Students, of course, would all want to know why I was surrounded by fog. What would I say to them? And then I imagined myself picking up a few groceries on the way home, or taking my kids for a walk to the park, or going for a run after dinner—all while carrying a bucket of dry ice. At the very least I would get a few strange looks, but more realistically, strangers would ask me why I was carrying around a bucket of dry ice.

Without my bucket, nothing changes. I don’t remember to acknowledge the power and the presence of God more frequently; strangers don’t stop me to ask me about my faith; students are not wowed by the power of Christ within me; everything remains unchanged.

It’s probably unrealistic to carry this tangible reminder of God’s glory with us, but it’s easy to carry the metaphor into our lives. There are a number of references to the glory of the God appearing as a cloud in the Bible, and you can read about some of them here: http://biblehub.com/exodus/13-21.htm. God speaks to his people, leads them, and protects them, all in the form of a cloud. In John 17, where the passage from this past Sunday is found, the cloud of the Lord or the glory of God settles on his people to unify them—not to extinguish their differences, but to use those differences to bring an even more diverse population of unbelievers to Christ. God sends us with his power to reach new people, to live markedly different lives, to bring the cloud of his glory into our every day situations.

So, should we start a #dryicebucketchallenge? Sorry—I literally couldn’t resist.

[Kristin vanEyk lives in Kentwood, MI where she attends Encounter Church with her husband Dirk, and two kids, Lily and Colin. Kristin teaches high school English and otherwise passes the time reading, writing, running, and enjoying all that Michigan's West Coast has to offer.]

Perfect Phil and Terrible Tom

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]


This past sunday, Pastor Dirk introduced a new message series called “Red Letter Prayers.” We started off by looking at the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (or Phil and Tom, as Pastor Dirk called them), as told in Luke 18:8-14.

Phil actually sounds like a pretty stand-up guy. He fasts and gives more money than he needs to, is probably loving and friendly to his family and friends, and seems like the type of guy who helps elderly people cross the street. Meanwhile, Tom sounds greedy, skeezy, rude, and like the type of person you probably wouldn’t want anyone you know to be hanging out with.

Except, when they start to pray, cracks appear in Phil’s seemingly-perfect facade. He stands off to himself, not to avoid distraction, but to subtly send the message that he is better than the rest. The words of his prayer emphasize his message, as he thanks God that he is not like the other people around him.

Meanwhile, Tom separates himself from the crowd, but for a very different reason--he doesn’t want to risk tainting the people around him, because he knows he’s done wrong. His prayer is more of a beg.

And so, at the end of his parable, Jesus says that Tom is the one who goes home justified.

Because Tom understood what Phil did not: no amount of money he gave away, times a year he fasted, or any other works could earn him forgiveness, grace, or answered prayer. Tom knew he had done wrong, and that he had no reason to assume that God would forgive him.

In our human mindset, we often view things in terms of “input/output.” We input money at the store; we walk out with purchases. We go to class and do our homework; we graduate and get a degree. The problem comes in when we try to use the same logic for our spiritual lives: We donate money and go to church; God answers our prayers.

Tom didn’t think this way, though. He knew he had done wrong, and that he had no reason to assume that God would forgive him. Because forgiveness is not something we earn by doing, but something God gives us freely. All of the gifts God chooses to bestow on us are exactly that--gifts. We cannot earn answers to pray through anything we do, no matter how committees we volunteer on, how much money we give away, or how many hours a week we spend reading our Bible. These are all good things to do as expressions of gratitude and ways to honor God, but it is not a system of input/output. Phil’s actions certainly weren’t bad, but he completely missed the point.

While prayer can be a difficult part of the Christian life, one thing we never have to worry about is trying to earn God’s attention through good works. Everything from God is an undeserved, beautiful, gracious gift.


[Brianna DeWitt lives, works, and writes in Grand Rapids, MI. Among her favorite things are good people, good books, and good desserts. You can see more of her musings on her personal blog at http://awritespot.wordpress.com and on Twitter at @bwitt722.]

The Big Reveal

In college I had a good friend who was one those super health-nuts. She ran a 5K every morning, did yoga in the afternoon, sometimes ran up and down my entire floor banging on doors to invite us to meet in the hall to do 8 Minute Abs, and she was eating organic food before it was trendy. She introduced me to a lot of natural and homeopathic products and was the poster child for the Pacific Northwest healthy lifestyle. 

And then I saw her car.

We decided to run to Meijer late one night, and, *gasp*, her car was full of Twinkies. Twinkies? I could see Snickers for the "protein" or those Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Nut granola bars because they say "nature" on the box, but the Twinkies: those things really caught me off guard. I mean, according to the internet, Twinkies contain cellulose gum, an ingredient also found in rocket fuel. I didn't care that she was eating junk food. Twinkie on, good people. It just seemed entirely counter to the lifestyle she had built. We both laughed about her backseat Twinkie stash, and she merely remarked that she loved Twinkies but found she didn't eat as many of them when she had to walk to her car to retrieve one or two. Using this logic, I should move my pantry across the street and put my treadmill in front of my TV.

In many instances, the way we look on the outside--our appearance and habits and the things we say-doesn't match the way we look on the inside. Outwardly we may look confident, even hubristic, but on the inside, we're hopelessly insecure. On the outside we may look like the mom who has it all together with the new (to you) minivan and the Britax and the gDiapers and the Kate Spade diaper bag, but inside we're exhausted and empty. We've all had that moment where we feel disjointed, where the outside looks or feels different than the inside and we're not sure what to do about it.

Last Sunday Dirk preached on a story about Jesus eating in Pharisee's home where the meal was meant to test rather than to nourish. The Pharisee was interested to see how Jesus would wash his cup before using it, because there were two camps  of cup washers in Jesus' time, and the Pharisee wanted to know which teaching Jesus would follow. Jesus, of course, followed neither of them, and then he rebuked the Pharisee for his test of piety. Jesus said, "You Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness" (Luke 11:39). On the outside we look confident, even hubristic, or like we have it all together, but on the inside, we're a mess. 

Our challenge over the past week was to peer into our cups and see what's in there, and then to pour it out at the foot of the cross. This task turned out to be much more challenging than I had expected. In fact, it's the reason why this "Midweek" writing is coming to you on Saturday night. On the surface, my cup was pretty mellow. Just a little negativity and judgement and impatience. But once I started pouring off the surface layers, I found that the middle layers were much thicker and sludgier. They were full of envy and discontent and a little malice, I think. I'm not sure that I've reaching the bottom layers yet. 

This is the last Midweek Encounter for the summer. We're taking a little break for July and August and will be back in the fall. It's kind of a weird place to leave things--peering into a murky cup--but it's a good place, I think. Dirk wraps up the Kosher Jesus series tomorrow by showing us how to live as Christ intended us to live--with chutzpah and passion. I look forward to learning about how we can re-fill our cups with boldness and temerity even as we learn to empty the sludge at the cross.

See you in the fall, 

Kristin

Taking the Time to See

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]

Whether it’s lingering memories from being picked last or not at all for kickball in elementary school, or more recent moments of feeling like the odd one out because our house or car isn’t up to the same standard as many people we know, we all know what it’s like to feel left out. The particularities of the situation can take many different shapes, but the root—feeling different, unwanted, outcast—remain the same.

In Luke 8 we read the story of a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. Not only did she have to deal with the physical aspects of her ailment, but in that time, this ailment that was completely out of her control would have meant she was socially, physically, and religiously isolated from her community. Far from being the last one picked for the kickball game, she wouldn’t have even been welcome to sit in the stands to watch.

So I can only imagine what was going through this woman’s mind when she heard that Jesus was going to be in the area. She had spent all she had on doctors, trying to find someone who could make her well, so maybe she was thinking that Jesus was her last chance. I had always thought of this story only in physical, medical terms—she had been bleeding for twelve years, and suddenly, she no longer was. But when Jesus healed her, he broke down all the barriers for her—the social, physical, and religious ones. Perhaps she had family and friends who hadn’t talked to her or spent time with her in years, and once she was healed they did again, or maybe she started a completely new life, one she had hardly dared dream of all those years she was sick.

Whatever it was, it all began because Jesus was willing to break down barriers. While the healing took place as soon as the woman touched Jesus' cloak, he took the time to stop. He talked to her at a time when it's likely that very few people were doing the same. He saw her.

In our society, we don't often isolate people in as noticeable of ways as what this woman endured. But it still happens. We've all felt it, and likely even inflicted it at times as well. The question is, are we willing to notice? Will we, like Jesus, stop and take the time to talk to the people no one else seems to want to acknowledge? Will we take the time to really see them, to break down a barrier in whatever small way we can?

[Brianna DeWitt attends Encounter Church and lives, works, and writes in Grand Rapids, MI. You can see more of her musings on her personal blog at http://awritespot.wordpress.com and on Twitter at @bwitt722.]

Grace and Truth

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are a reflection on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://www.myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media]

Christians who represent Christ poorly sure are easy to find, aren't they? I've seen the fruits of their labors all over: in church social circles that are closed off and cliquey, in political Facebook posts, in signs held on street corners. I don't know how you feel when you see these mishandlings of God's reputation, but I often feel embarrassed and hope that no one one associates me personally with such sentiments.

But of course the mishandling of God's reputation happens in my life every day, too. A snide comment about a co-worker makes everyone in the break room uncomfortable. An old college friend sees me snap at my kids and decides not to say a quick “hi” this time. I come in late to church looking frazzled rather than welcoming.

These are times to respond with grace. And truth. And that combination of grace and truth is much more difficult to execute than it might seem.

There was a time back in college my when my social life was, maybe, an 11/10 but my academic life was hovering around, oh, a 2/10. I was enrolled at Calvin College on a Presidential Scholarship, and the scholarship was renewable for four years as long as I maintained a certain GPA. Which, given my social life, obviously did not happen. When my scholarship was revoked after my freshman year, I was called before a committee to explain any extenuating circumstances and to petition for the reinstatement of the award. I told the committee that I had a lovely time participating in dorm activities and that I enjoyed early morning (5:30!) rowing sessions on the Grand River as part of the crew team and that I was in off-season training for lacrosse. I didn't mention that I was also dating a handsome young man who would eventually became my husband, but I did manage to let the committee know that I didn't find all of my courses entirely...useful...or interesting.

The committee had two choices, obviously:

1. Banish me from Calvin forever for being an ignorant, ungrateful, spoiled, entitled youth; or

2. Kindly explain to me what a privilege it was to take philosophy from the Greatest Philosophy Department of the Western Academic World.

Obviously, my scholarship was not reinstated, but I think that's part of the lesson grace and truth. I needed to hear a word about taking my studies seriously, and I definitely needed to be reminded that my tenure at Calvin was made possible through God's grace (and now my four part-time jobs) and that I ought to respond properly with gratitude rather an excuses.

Over the years I have had many opportunities to speak grace and truth into another's life, and sometimes I have done that well, and often I have done that poorly. And when people have offered me a gentle correction, I have sometimes accepted the words well, and often accepted them poorly. But Christ calls us to this, so we must do it. We must offer the truth in grace, and learn to receive it as well. 

[Kristin vanEyk lives and writes in Kentwood, MI where she attends Encounter Church.]