jwestfall.com Blog

“To everything there is a season…” The ancient Bible texts said it- the Byrds sang it and we live it.

As I write this, there are five special friends in my life who are navigating the turbulent waters of cancer. All five were passionate, creative young adults in our ministry at University Presbyterian Church, twenty some years ago. They are real people living real lives: success, disappointments, families formed, friendships bonded, along with setbacks, heartaches and the usual assortments of losses along the way.

Then one day it all changes. A bump, a feeling, a tremor, an ache- something almost insignificant catches our attention, and without warning the terrain starts to change. In no time we are swimming in the deep end of the pool, just trying to keep our heads above water.

Now I’m not all that comfortable in medical settings. So I’m lucky that Eileen loves to visit and pray with folks going through health issues. But when its friends going through this ordeal I’m discovering some radical truths about life in this world and beyond.

The first lesson is that the most futile question to ask in the shadow of dis-ease is “Why?” Who cares why this is happening, even if we knew, it wouldn’t change things at all. Perhaps instead of trying to figure out ‘Why? Why me? Why this? Why now?”, let’s shift our energy and attention to asking, “Who?”… ‘Who am I now?’ Who matters to me’ ‘Who do I trust?’ ‘Who am I becoming?’ Nothing clears our thoughts, aligns our priorities, and and shines a light on all things superficial, like pain. We don’t want it, we don’t ask for it, nor do we deserve it. But we also can’t waste it. I’m proud of these courageous people who are staring down incredible pain and dis-ease with guts and holy boldness. They are real heroes.

A second truth I’m learning from my friends is the absolute shattering of any pretense that we are in control. The myth of control is one of the most prevalent lies in our world. The stark reality of illness is an undeniable reminder that we are not in control nor can we be. The Bible says, if anyone is sick they should call for people to lay hands on them and pray for their healing. This tells me when we are in pain, it is time to invite others to believe for us what we may not be able to believe for ourselves. Others faith can strengthen us to hope and heal.

It goes against my well developed control instincts, but in our dis-ease we are helped to relax our grip and begin to trust God and love people- “In sickness and in health, so help me- God.”

Ever since I grew up in West Africa, I dream of returning to the Cameroons and reconnecting with my childhood. My dad in his practical way, advised me to save money- “just go to Haiti. It looks feels and smells like Africa but it’s cheaper to visit.”

I took his advise and found myself surprisingly loving Haiti. Through the years I even half jokingly told people that “when Eileen kicks me out, I’ll probably go live in Haiti.” It has been a privelege to visit many times and I’m always struck by the beautiful/ugly, wonderful/terrible place, filled with amazing people who live their lives in the glare of poverty and corruption.

I learned to never ask the question, “What gives you hope?” Because there is no concept of hope to help form a response. The french colonists pillaged the lush forests of Jacaranda trees. The beautiful wood was harvested for export until Haiti was left a deforested, barren wasteland. Corrupt government leaders and dictators looted what was left of Haiti’s riches. They often bridged the Voodoo Cult and Drug Lords to maintain control and guarantee no help ever reaching the people of the land. Sex tours from Europe, Syria and the U.S. spread HIV/AIDS virus throughout the land killing thousands and ruining families.

Now it is all destroyed. The destruction of the earthquke was absolute and irrevocable. Picture the horrific ruin of 9/11. Now imagine not just two buildings but every office, home, store, hotel, hospital, school, government office, police headquarters, airport and even a palace all in shambles. Add to this the absence of medicine, water, food, rescue equipment, or trained leadership. The other night on the news, I saw small children scrape in the dry ground to dig holes in which they can bury their parents and friends. The futility is stunning.

I have struggled this week to find a spark of hope for my Haitian friends who understandably have none. It is only a tiny glimmer, but at least it is a start. In John 12, Jesus warned, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies- it will remain the same. But if it dies it will multiply. (my paraphrase)

Maybe Haiti can find new life, vitality, health and perhaps even hope, out of this horrific falling to the ground and dying. There can be no pretending that the old ways will rebuild the land. Without infrastructure and integrity of leadership it is probably hopeless. But God is in the business of making all things new, again. I pray this for the children of Haiti.

Let’s look and work for miracles of the new. Not slow, tedious progress, but radical grace, love, faith and hope. Years ago, I bought a tee shirt in Port-au-Prince, it was commemorating the overthrow and exile of ‘Baby Doc’ Duvalier. It stated in Creole, “Aiti Mon Cherie”. Haiti, my love. I wish I could dig it out and wear it today as a reminder of the power of hope.

A few weeks ago I was down on Aurora Blvd. getting a radio put in our car. Aurora is a stretch of strip malls that runs from Seatac airport in the south, all the way to Everett in the north. It could be described as a ‘working area’ since some of the men are working and there are lots of ‘working women’ on the street.

I had a few hours to kill while waiting for my car, so I walked down to a St. Vincent De Paul thrift store where I bought several low cost treasures and trinkets. I even got a first edition copy of Black Beauty for $5. Carrying my loot in several St. Vincent de Paul bags, I made my way up Aurora, until I saw Sunny’s Teryaki, where I went in for lunch.

Setting my bags on a table, I heard the owner yell at me, “No use bathroom, unless you buy something!” I assured him that I was there to eat lunch and I had the money to pay for it- no problem.

As I was sitting and beginning to eat my spicy chicken and rice with a nice side salad, the owner came out to see me and placed a long thin blue card on the table in front of my plate. Glancing at my thrift store bags, he said confidently, “This will help you with your problems!” I glanced at the card and it had a list of about a dozen AA groups that were meeting in the area.

Assuming it was just a good-natured misunderstanding, I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and continued eating my way too spicy chicken. By now I’m pretty sure my face is turning red and I’m sweating through my shirt from the hot peppers. About 10 minutes later he returned to my table. “You have girlfriend or wife?” He asked.

Yes, I assured him that I’ve been married to Eileen for several decades. Without pausing to listen, he quickly pointed to the bottom part of the blue card and said, “This will help her with her problems!” Glancing down to where he pointed, I saw the Narcotics Anonymous groups and their meeting times.

Smiling, I thanked him, then just to clarify I pointed out that despite my thrift store bags and the fact that I was walking along the street, I wasn’t an alcoholic and Eileen was definitely not a drug addict, though I did appreciate his attempts to be of help. He just rolled his eyes and said, “yeah, sure but this could really help you with your problems.” As he walked back into the kitchen.

Just then I thought of the church!
How often do we presume people’s needs without taking time to get to know them as people? Perhaps our evangelism is so impotent because we are giving answers to questions that are not being asked, while trying to fix problems that may not exist.

Now that I have been profiled and stereotyped and written off as a hopeless indigent, I regret that Sunny missed a chance to get to know me. Who knows he might have been able to help me with one of the many real problems I do have!

Sitting in the Pastor’s office at old First Church was a bit intimidating.  I was a college student seeking advise from the Pastor of my home church. I  had lots of energetic, pre-seminary, business management major, know-it-all enthusiasms.

Having just written a paper on “Management by Objectives” I dropped a few key phrases into the conversation then asked him about what goals and objectives he pursued for the church’s ministry.

He looked at me for a while, then with a patronizing smile that was probably practised over many years, he said, “Oh I don’t have any goals at all for the church.  In fact I see the church like a great cruise ship: while at sea it doesn’t matter what direction you head as long as there is lots of food and drink and everyone has a good time.”

My discomfort with his analogy stayed with me for the rest of my life.  I watched the once great First Church under his ‘leadership’ slide from over 4000 vibrant members to become an aging congregation of about 400 faithful saints.  When he finally retired there wasn’t much to commend his decades of pastoral care.

The church is not the Love Boat, and the Pastor is not Captain Stubbing.  No amount of food, drink and mediocre music can replace the passion of God’s people called together for a purpose greater than their own comfort.

When the passion to pursue God’s active agenda in our lives is replaced by the deadening addiction to personal peace and comfort, a death spiral begins from which few churches have reversed or survived.

Bob Dylan sang, “He who isn’t busy being born, is busy dying.” This applies to us individually and also as a church.

Being born takes work and time.  a young mom-to-be carries a new life for nine months before introducing the baby to the world.  Few would describe the birth process as effortless, painless or easy.  Why do we expect spiritual birthing to be any different?

I am too often impatient, preferring instantaneous results for any and all my efforts.  I also experience discouragement when life doesn’t happen according to my preconceived expectations.  I think I may have an inner clock that sounds an alarm in my head when something takes too long.

One of the many times Eileen and I were seeing a marriage counselor, the therapist gave us a gift: it was a clock for our home.  Around the clock face was the reminder: “God’s timing is perfect.”  A reminder that my internal alarms didn’t always line up with God’s life-giving timetable.

I think I’ll look for the joy instead of the quick results this time.

Looking out over the Puget Sound from our deck, I am continually captured by the beauty and the apparent peacefulness of the water.  That got me thinking that actually not a lot of life is both beautiful and peaceful.

While in Zambia exploring ministry partnerships to help AIDS orphans, we were invited to detour a couple of days for a safari experience.  Because I had not been back to Africa since living there as a child, I eagerly signed up.  Leaving our encampment at dawn we crossed a great river watching the sun rise over the water.  Then we bumped along in an old truck for a couple of hours while our guides pointed out wild life and helped us spot things like a herd of elephants in the distance.

Mid way through the experience we stopped at a remote watering hole where we could get out of the truck and stretch our legs while snacking on tea and cookies.  I ambled off by myself to the waters edge some distance from the truck and enjoyed the stillness and beauty of this rare ‘African’ moment.

Suddenly I heard a commotion from the vicinity of the truck and turned to see a guide waving his arms and yelling at me to get away from the water.  I waved back to him letting him know that I was fine and he didn’t need to concern himself with me.  Suddenly he ran to me and grabbed my arm pulling me back from the edge of the lake.  “What a nutcase”, I thought. What is the big deal anyway?

Then he pointed out the barely visible protrusions of two big crocodiles that had evidently quietly been approaching the spot where I had been standing only a minute ago. Then as if to emphasize that I was an idiot, he pointed to the hulking forms of hippos near the water’s edge.  Evidently they are even more dangerous than the crocs.  While all this was sinking in he then pointed out a huge mass floating in the lake, and told me it was the carcass of a hippo that had lost a fight with the others.  He of course mentioned that below the surface the crocs had been devouring the flesh… I didn’t want another cookie.

That is when I learned that not all beauty is peaceful.

Jesus said, “My peace I give to you, not as the world gives…”  I am starting to realize that much of my life I wanted the peace the world gives, rather than the gift our Lord brings.  Maybe that is why I don’t like fighting with crocodiles in church staff meetings, or anywhere else they may drift into shore.

How can we experience the peace of God in the midst of the dangers of living? Can we appreciate the beauty while being wise about the dangers lurking? Can we trust Christ knowing He gives us His peace in the midst of our calamities?

After Zambia, I think His peace is less about quiet alone time, and more about becoming our authentic true selves in this beautiful/dangerous world.

“When God wants to teach us something he takes us on a trip.” Bruce Larson taught me that many years ago and it still rings true today.  Speaking of today, I’m writing this from my little room in Guatemala, where I am studying Spanish, meeting folks from all over this little world of ours, and discovering how marvelous and wise and kind and faith filled are so many of the Guatemaltecos .

I came thinking I’d learn a language, but have found that in addition I’m learning about faith and life in unexpected ways.  Of course the ex pats from here, there and everywhere drift around like lost souls. The cliché is that that the locals are the mission field but in fact the foreign population is even more so.  Sitting in on conversations helps me appreciate Jesus’ observation that they are like sheep without a shepherd.  There seems to be an empty spot in people’s souls that keeps them looking but not really seeking, much less finding.  An almost abiding disrespect of anything Christian seems to permeate the air gringos breath, blinding them to the rich faith experienced and demonstrated by the locals.

Yet they move almost indifferent or blind to the every day men and women of this land who love the Lord, love their families, and are proud of their lives in a genuine open way.  Is it possible that so many of us who think we might be helping are actually missing out on friendships with people who are great folks to know?

I know, es la vida- it is still life.  There are frustrations and problems and opportunities. I think I may be the first guy to get sexually harassed by a group of Maya women, while walking down the street.  Of course with my language skill it took about a block and a half to figure out what they had said to me then another block think of a witty response.  But of course by then it was too late.  Looking back, I feel a little proud to be considered insultable at my advanced age.  So oh well. It made a great story around the dinner table, although it may have lost something in the translation.

Unexpectedly I have had the chance to reconnect with a couple of friends who live here, that I haven’t seen in many years.  What a gift to hear the story of their journeys and lives in these moments of reconnection.  I also met a new friend, who after a few hours together, mentioned that he lives in Edmonds, Washington (a few blocks from the Westfalls).  I guess it really is a small world after all.

I’m reminded of how it does come down to relationships or nothing.  That being the choice, I am going to take a chance with relationships:  scary, frustrating, energizing, angrifying (did I just make up that word?) Yep. But remember it is the same choice that the Lord made for us. And that makes all the difference.  Hasta luego, mis amigos!  Es la vida.

I usually think of New Year’s with a certain amount of indifference.  What is the big deal anyway? Isn’t it just an artificial time to pretend to be happy, and get in some time drinking and waiting for the magic moment when we start anew?

 But wait… how can I be cynical about any chance to celebrate a new beginning?  Isn’t that what we all need most of all?

Last week I got a note from a person whom at one time, I considered a good friend.  Our friendship ended over a disagreement about some issue in the church, and we haven’t contacted each other since then.  Suddenly, an email arrived expressing regret, asking for forgiveness and the chance of reconnecting as friends.  Perhaps this was startling to me because it seldom happens.

Why should I be surprised when Grace enters our lives?  Jesus said, “Behold, I am doing a new thing.” And he added, “I make all things new again.”  How easy it is for me to settle into the same old ruts and life with low expectations.  While all time the Lord wants to do something new in me and sometimes even through me.  

So maybe I need to rethink New Years.  We need a national holiday devoted to the celebration and recognition that God is doing a new thing!  “Like a shoot out of the dry ground.” This is what grace can be for our lives.  A surprise burst of new life, hope and joy where and when it is least expected.

So I wrote back to my friend and said, “Of Course! Let’s begin a new friendship.” 

After all it is New Years isn’t it?

It was about to be my first cold, wet winter.  We were prepared to leave our home in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, to move up to Seattle and begin a new ministry at the University Presbyterian Church.  Would we fit in? Would I be welcomed by the staff? Would I get along with the legendary Senior Pastor Bruce Larson?  I had only known him through books, though after about 20 books, I felt like I knew him a little bit.

Entering the crowded foyer of the church, we saw a crowd gathering around Bruce getting and giving hugs and words of greeting and encouragement.  Eileen and I stood to the side waiting nervously to meet the new Boss.  Suddenly he turned around, fixing his eyes on us, he smiled, reached out and in rich voice I would come to love, bellowed: “We’ve been waiting for you!”

That greeting, on that December day, twenty seven years ago, forever changed our lives and ministry.  In one little sentence he summed up what life in God’s Kingdom could become.  Up until then I had not thought of church as a welcoming, safe, healing place where God could unleash us as His vulnerable, wounded healers.   It was more a gathering of the trouble free, good looking folks with false smiles  and untested bravado, covered with a thin candy shell of pious phrases.

Bruce wouldn’t allow anything but truth in an atmosphere of love and acceptance.  From that day, I knew I was ruined for “business as usual church.”  His relentless affirmation broke through my veneer of personal achievement and self sufficiency.  His love of “the first annual…” challenged me to become more creative and risky.

He encouraged me to be an author when I thought that was for others.  When I froze up and told him I didn’t know how to write “Coloring Outside the Lines”, he responded, “No one knows how, just write it for me.”  So I did. When I was invited to be Senior Pastor at Walnut Creek Presbyterian Church,  I called him in a panic.  “I don’t know how to be a Senior Pastor, what if I mess up?” He paused and replied, “No one knows how to be a Senior Pastor. We are all just making it up as we go.”  Little did I know how right he was.

This week, Eileen, Damian and I gathered around his bed.  “I’m going to heaven,” he said. Then he grabbed Eileen’s hand and said, “I’m in heaven right now.”

When I get to heaven, I will be nervous, insecure and wondering if I even belong there, since I don’t know what to do or how I will be received.  I hope Bruce turns around, fixes his eyes on me, reaches out and says, “John, my friend, we’ve been waiting for you!”  I’ll know I belong.

Thanks Bruce, I love you.

“Who are you trying to reach with this new Harbor Church?”  I was sitting across from him at the 5-Spot cafe on Queen Anne Hill.  I was eating the ’special breakfast’ which had a weird blend of eggs, peppers and pulled pork (carnitas). “Are we going to target an age group, or life stage or what?”

I started to squirm a little inside, not wanting to limit who God might bring into our fellowship. At the same time I didn’t want to sound like we had no focus.  So I answered, “We are building a community of adventurous people who are discovering a real faith.” I stopped and thought, wait a minute, that could be part of our mission statement.

I want to go somewhere with a group of fellow travelers who have an adventurous spirit. That is what Jesus calls us to do.  “Come follow me,” he calls to us. Like the first disciples we wonder what is in store, what will we experience along the way, who will we  meet that will shape our lives in meaningful ways, what obstacles will we confront that require us to help each other as we overcome?

If we knew all the answers and had everything figured out, it wouldn’t be  an adventure, it would just be a commute!  Why are so many churches feeling like commuters: everyone in their own private vehicles, tuned out to what is going on in the lives of those all around them.  Creeping down the highway, in spiritual slow motion, frustrated and sometimes stewing about the inconvenience of having so many people ahead of them. sometimes they think that life would be better if the others weren’t here, but the monotony sets in and we end up just fitting in, going through the motions hoping nothing bad happens to us.  What a drag, no wonder most people can’t stand going to church.  It is no different than our boring efforts to get to work.
We need an adventure.  I want to feel the adrenalin kick in when God’s people gather to share real life and real faith. I want the satisfaction of being fed on God’s word, filled with the joy that comes from sharing deeply and caring deeply. I want to feel the tension of going beyond my comfort zones to take some risks in ministry beyond the security of my own control. I want a faith for the adventurous spirit!

That is the church for me and anyone else who wants to give up the commuter church for living the adventure.

I like the sound of that: “Real Faith- Real People”.  As a skinny teenager in San Diego, I was sick of playing church, playing games and pretending that life was different than it really was.  Imagine my surprise when I was introduced to the most real Christian I had ever met.  Jimmy Johnson was about 6’ 3”, 130 lbs. with a huge contagious laugh, and a silver hearse that he drove around in.  Pastor Jimmy demonstrated with humor, insight and love that it was possible to be a Christian and be a real person at the same time.  He challenged my thinking, my stereotypes and my assumptions about life and faith.

I decided then and there that I wanted to be that kind of man and minister.  I haven’t always succeeded though.  There is an insidious corruption that infects many of us in the church.  It is rooted in our pathological need to be liked by people around us, and it leads to the sin of ‘people pleasing.’  Now I don’t know if it is a sin or if it is merely an addiction.  But the result is the same: death.  We look into people’s eyes and try to figure out what they want from us, or what they want us to be for them.  Then we follow a path that leads away from becoming the men and women God meant for us to be when He first thought of us.  Christian maturity always is demonstrated by our being more unique, more creative and more different than anyone else.

What has gone wrong in the kingdom when followers of Christ line up and march together like robots in a computer graphic enhanced action movie?  I think what has gone wrong is essentially fear.  When we desperately want to be liked, than we hold back our opinions, ideas, passions, questions and gifts because it might seem out of place.  We slowly find ourselves becoming less: less of our true selves and less of what God intends for us.  In the Bible there is a warning against becoming a church where we are known and regarded for our position and accomplishments, but “You have lost your first love.”

What would happen if you and I just stopped trying to please people?  And accepted the reality that God is pleased with us?

I believe that little by little the pressures to be like everyone else will chip away.  We will experience a freedom to be authentic and vulnerable even if it disturbs those who are infected with the terminal disease of pretense and lies.

Little by little there will emerge real people with real faith following Jesus step by step through the difficulties and celebrations of life.  When we bump into each other on the sidewalk, or perhaps in church, we will discover the joy of returning to our first love.