Making it Personal

"When people ask [about your faith], they don't want to hear merely about a great God.  They don't want to hear merely about redemptive history, an infallible book, or a covenant people who are a constant testimony to the real hand of God in history.  They want to know about what's happening to you, what's going on in your life.  You are saying, 'He is my fortress, he is my deliverer.'  So they're going to want to know when the last time he delivered you was.  What does deliverance mean?  How does this really work?  Sharing the good news is often about sharing the personal good news of your life in Christ and not the abstract and generalized good news.  They want to hear about your personal relationship to this personal God, who is the foundation of all of reality."

- Dallas Willard, The Allure of Gentleness, p. 144-145

A group of friends of mine and I have been reading Dallas Willard's most recent book together this summer.  It's a compilation of a few of his lectures about apologetics and evangelism, and for the most part, it's been a fun book to read and discuss.  The richness and depth, though, of our discussions hasn't always been about the book or it's subjects.  It's happened when we've told stories, shared personally, and tried to position Willard's teaching in a way that speaks to "normal" life.

I appreciate the fact that the church tradition I'm a part of embraces theological education.  I value greatly the education I was gifted at Fuller Seminary, and I think there's always something to be gained from studying the Bible and theology in-depth.  However, the shadow-side of any academic pursuit (or any pursuit in life, really) is that your project becomes your reality.  Everything about your life ebbs and flows and swirls around knowledge (which in itself isn't a bad thing), which then takes a front seat in a way that becomes unhealthy.  A lot of what I find challenging about ministry - and what I think has led us into troubled waters in mainline traditions in America - is an over-reliance on being able to walk and talk academically and not as much with a voice or posture which connects with people where they are.

Back to Willard.  His point, I think, is that people outside of faith in Christ need to hear what my faith in Christ actually looks like, smells like, tastes like, costs me daily to pursue.  It can't be all sunshine and rainbows, so what is it?

Well, this summer, it's been a great journey, not just as a preacher and leader and servant at FPC, but it's also been a great journey of discipleship.  My faith in Christ has allowed me to pull into the parking lot at church day after day, pause for a moment before I get out of my car, and admit to the Lord, "There's no way I can do this by myself.  Please empower your servant, your people, to do your work today, Lord."  In this special season of life and ministry, admitting that I'm not enough (and Jesus certainly is enough) has been critical, and I hope that continues into the future.  This Sunday, I'll share one of the most challenging leadership lessons I've learned this summer, and I hope you'll be there and be encouraged.

In Christ,

Travis

PS - Speaking of being encouraged, the photos above are from VBS two weeks ago.  Kids wrote lessons they'd learned about God on quilt squares.  Pretty amazing, huh?

The End of an Era

Running always involves a route.  It doesn’t always involve a plan, but it does – eventually – involve a route.  I have several routes I take from our house downtown through the neighborhoods, down to the riverfront trails, or up to various obstacles like the staircase at the hospital parking garage.  Usually, I don’t pick the route I’ll be running until I put my shoes on before the run.  This past week, I had a route in my mind when I woke up, and even though the opportunity presented itself to take a different route at various times, I kept to this simple path.

I wasn’t sure why the route I was taking was materializing in my mind.  It was just a simple run through downtown, across the 5^th St. bridge to the trails, a short jaunt back to the Botanical Gardens, then up 7^th back into downtown.  It was only when I got to the corner of 6^th and White that I realized why I was supposed to run that route, and it literally took my breath away.

The church I serve is 130 years old.  For most of our history, we were located at the corner of 6^th and White in downtown Grand Junction.  During the late 1980’s, it became increasingly apparent to a group of FPC’s leaders that our historic home – beautiful and unique as it was – would no longer serve the needs of our congregation for the future.  For one thing, there were 13 steps from the front door of the church down to the street, and those steps were increasingly difficult for our elderly and disabled members to navigate.  The building itself was starting to come apart at the seams, and the investment needed to make the structure sound again was more costly than moving to a new facility.

In 1991, First Presbyterian Church of Grand Junction made a very bold and risky move.  We sold our home at 6^th and White and built a new home in the far north side of town, between the end of most neighborhoods and the property line of the airport.  The building at 6^th and White became known as White Hall and served as a wedding and event venue for several years until it changed ownership again.  And again.  Twenty years after we sold the building, it was badly damaged by a significant fire.  Most of the sanctuary was destroyed, and since my family and I have lived in Grand Junction, that’s what we’ve seen when we’ve walked or driven or biked by 6^th and White – a sad reminder of what once was a great place of worship.

I stopped at 6^th and White this week on my run because the entire structure was finally coming down.  Because of issues with finances and ownership, the demolition took a long time to come together, but this week, it did.  White Hall is no more.  I put on my brakes and stood beside the lot, watching a single Bobcat bulldozer and one lonely digger pull down the last parts of the building.  Metal clanged, dust rose in the air, and white bricks and mortar rolled down into various pits and crevases in the earth.  I stopped and thanked God for the people who called 6th and White home.  I thanked God that gospel was proclaimed there, that people worshipped the Lord, taught kids about Jesus, and made the risky move to our current home many years ago.  It was a powerful moment for me, not just because of our history at that location, but because it was a good reminder me that the Lord is in control.  Our future belongs to Christ.  He knew how to lead His people from 6th and White to our location on 27 1/2 Road, and He will be faithful as we move forward together.

Solo Dei gloria,

Travis