Step up to the Microphone

This morning I accidentally made myself puke in the front row at church. Brent was standing by my side during worship band rehearsal, practicing his electric guitar. The piano I was sitting at was a tall Yamaha upright grand piano (it's beautiful). While my back faces the church congregation, I can see a reflection of the entire room in the piano. I've always used this as a "rear view mirror" of sorts.

This particular morning, a special reflection caught my eye during rehearsal. In the very back of the room (in the nursery window), I saw my mom, girlfriend, and a little girl playing in the nursery ...

My voice isn't the greatest at 9am. In fact, it's quite pathetic. Since the girls in the back could hear every mistake through the nursery room speakers, I decided to have a little fun. I started hacking and coughing into the microphone ... attempting to stir some sort of reaction from the back.

Then it backfired. Literally. The one cup of coffee I had that morning began to backfire. I slowly raised my right hand and motioned to Brent to stop. He couldn't believe it.

Still tasted (and smelled) like Coffee.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure it has one.

What a privilege

Somewhere along the way, I forgot the privilege. I got tired. I was burnt out, worn, and exhausted. I let the holy-passion that once burned inside of me become a routine. Not only a routine, but a burdensome, religious chore. It sounds like this:

Pick the songs. Arrange them in a fresh “flowing” order, all-the-while being mindful of the song’s key and lyrical theme. Pray (because I’m supposed to, you know). Research appropriate scripture. Type the lyrics. Rehearse every chord. Print 8 copies for the band. Printer out of ink. Drive to store. Buy ink. Look at watch. Complain about having to do all this. Return home. Clear the printer’s queue. Re-print. Paperclip. Stack.

Re-type the lyrics into Powerpoint (yuch), MediaShout, or Keynote. Computer crashes. Re-re-type the lyrics. Grab guitar and rehearse with slides. Make sure they’re in the right order …

Sound equipment: Looks like I need a _____. (guitar string, pick, AA battery, mic cable, insert missing-piece-of-equipment here). Call a friend. Drive to friend’s house. Borrow the equipment.

Rehearsal. Email the band. Find a time that works. Discover that “no time” works, of course. Do the best we can with who can come. But now, where? Where will we rehearse? Call a church. Acquire a key. Figure out the church’s sound system. Screeching feedback. Loud noises. I don’t know what we’re yelling about.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot the privilege. I let the holy-passion that once burned inside of me become a routine. Tonight, the holy passion returned. Thank you, Jesus.

This is not a routine. This is not a burdensome chore. This is an ongoing conversation. It is a continuous dialog between my spirit, your spirit, and the Maker of the entire universe. In this very moment, we have the privilege of communicating, adoring, worshipping, proclaiming the glory, falling down in complete awe before, and singing at the top of our lungs to the One who made us.
For “all the earth bows down to you: they sing praise to you, they sing praise to your name.” (ps 66:4)

This is for glory. What a privilege, Jesus. Father, forgive me for making this about me.

Today- When I feel like I don't need Jesus, it's because I'm way too self-righteous. I trick myself into thinking that somehow I deserve all this ...

... that somehow I've earned this life.

The truth is, I need Jesus not because I am good but because I am very, very sick. Because He's seen my filth at the very core of my being and genuinely wants to spend time in my dirt.

He does this because He and I have no other choice - He, because I am His created child and He loves me unconditionally. And I, because there is this God-shaped hole in my heart that can only be filled by Him.

Thank God that He came to seek and save the lost (me).

You can learn (a lot) from my mistakes ...

A couple days ago I fed this homeless man named Eugene. He was sitting behind Avanti's starving, and I brought him a gondola. As soon as he received it, he began to devour it. Once finished, he did not acknowledge me. No eye contact. Not even a "thank you".

My roommates were around when I got home, so naturally I began to discuss this tragedy with them. "Can you believe the guy didn't say thanks? I bought him food and he couldn't even offer a simple 'Thank You'?"

My mistake. I forgot that my worship doesn't begin with me. It begins and ends with Jesus -- who said this:

Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them ... when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do ... that they may be praised by others.

But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

Jesus in Matthew 6 (ESV)

Learn from my mistake. Give freely today to the needy. But don't tell anyone. And don't require thanks. Just give.