Beyond The Risk - Erik Cooper

When I was a kid I was terrified to go to sleep at night. The blue-green light of my clock radio cast just enough eerie shadows on the walls to bring my vivid imagination to life.

(You remember that rash outbreak of Russian thugs that broke into the bedrooms of 10 year old suburban kids back in the mid-80′s, right? Stupid Cold War.)

So I developed a little habit.

Every night I situated the blankets and pillows on my bed in such a way that my face was securely insulated in its own private hideout. An impenetrable fortress of cotton sheets and down stuffing with just enough opening for my nostrils to suck in the cool night air. No malcontent Soviets were breaking through this blockade.

As irrational as it was, somehow it made me feel…

…safe.

Fast forward a quarter century.

Just last night, I awoke submerged in a hideout of bed linens like Ebeneezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve. Flashback to 1986! And even though I’m old enough to know KGB spies aren’t repelling down our aluminum siding to steal my Facebook login, it reawakened that childhood sense of covering and security I felt being buried beneath a layer of blankets and pillows.

Ridiculous right?

No one really believes that a few thin layers of bedding would act as valid protection from Kremlin assassins. But my little self-made fictional fortress helped me create the illusion (at least in my mind).

I’m still really good at building “hideouts.”

Controlling environments.

Avoiding conflicts.

Sidestepping uncomfortable conversations.

Pushing off the difficult decisions.

(FYI: “I’m praying about it” is always a good one if you’re looking for a “spiritual sounding” cover up).

And just like my pointless shelter of pillows and blankets, these “strongholds” are just false illusions of security.

Every time I hole up in my own man-made sentinel, I trade in the opportunity to be truly hidden away.  I choose self-protection over God’s protection. What an absurd exchange.  After all, do I really need protecting if I’m not even out there where it’s actually dangerous?

“Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.” (Psalm 17:8)

But getting there requires the courage to throw off the covers and risk the threat of those imaginary Russian spies. Let’s face it, sometimes it feels riskier to trade in our fake protection for the real thing. We run from harmless shadows instead of finding true refuge in the shadow of the Almighty.

Maybe it’s time to come out from under the covers?

I jotted these sketches in my journal the other day.  What do they stir up in you?  Are they right?  Or do I just need more art classes?

Where do my dreams fit into the journey of becoming a true follower of Jesus Christ?

The way I think many see faith:

The way I think many treat the ministry:

The true calling of The Gospel:

Talk to me.  What do you think?

How do you judge the quality of your day?

Light traffic on the drive into work?

A fresh pot of Verona when you hit the Starbucks drive through?

All you can eat shrimp at the Old Country Buffet?

Sipping iced tea on the Mediterranean? (Yep, that’s the Mediterranean. And those are my ridiculously white feet).

Multiple re-tweets of that pithy little quote you threw out on the social networks?

Avoidance of conflict?

A sweet Magnum P.I. marathon on Spike TV? (Man, that dude had a killer ‘stache)

Confession. I usually judge the “stellar-ness quotient” of my day by the quality of what I receive.  What I get to experience.  Collect.  Ingest.  And none of that’s difficult to understand.  What can I say, I’m human (and that means “I love me some me”… thank you, Terrell Owens, for giving voice to our condition).

But what if I messed with the formula?

What if I judged the goodness of this little 24 hour gift in time by the beauty I created, instead of the quantity I consumed? By the value I gave to others, rather than what they did or didn’t give to me?  By the worth I added verses the profit I gained?

Maybe there’s a new scale? A different paradigm?  A more accurate way to assess value?

Or maybe it’s just the one Jesus showed us already?

This weekend, we (and when I say we, I mostly mean my wife and sister inlaw) started helping my parents prep for their first move in 32 years. We stumbled across some fascinating stuff tucked in dark closets and old desk drawers.

Stuff that belonged to me.

Ticket stubs from Michael W. Smith concerts almost two decades old.  A tic-tac box autographed by Toby Mac (what can I say, we single handed-ly kept CCM in business during the early 90′s).  Senior pictures that look a little bit like two people I know (I heard the camera adds 10 inches to the top of your head, I don’t know).

Memorabilia.  Keepsakes.

Our lives are full of memorabilia. Some trigger beautiful memories.  Some conjure up nightmares.  Some we can’t bear to throw away.  Others we’d like to incinerate (hairspray is flammable…ask my wife).

Good or bad, it’s stuff we hold onto.

Siphoning through all this old memorabilia reminded me of something disturbing Jesus said:

“If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.” (Luke 9:34 NLT)

Not all “memorabilia” fills old jewelry boxes or long-forgotten bureau drawers. What am I hanging onto in my life that’s keeping me from having real life?

You?

I’ve noticed an interesting, little phenomenon through the last year of consistent blogging:  people respond when I post my thoughts on the dysfunction, systematization, or abuses of the organized Church (and when I use words like “suck” in my blog titles).

That’s not difficult to unwind.

The Church is often deserving of criticism. And those of us longing to emerge from a predominantly cultural acceptance of Christ into a more vital, life-breathing relationship with Him, have had to take a long and honest look at what we’ve truly embraced.

We’ve had to point at it.  Name it.  Call it what it was. And often times distance ourselves from it.

It’s true.  The Church can be:

hypocritical

manipulative

money-hungry

behavior driven

backward

controlling

institutional

stale

abusive

self-serving

self-righteous

(fill in your favorite missing adjective)

And I don’t think pointing at the truth is unwarranted.

The Old Testament prophets violently confronted poor spiritual leadership.  Jesus Himself had more than passive insults to throw at the religious hierarchy of His day.

But it’s so easy to chuck stones at the institution. To critique the caricature.  To cynically slam the fundamentalist control-mongers.

(and let’s be honest, it’s a lot of fun, too)

It’s much scarier to take a hard look at ourselves.

Here’s the deal:  I am the church. And so are you if you claim to follow Jesus Christ.  So perhaps we should focus first on embracing our personal responsibility to the Kingdom rather than just gleefully pointing at the Emperor with his pants around his ankles.  Maybe we should repent of our own dysfunction, hypocrisy, and control issues. Remove the “plank” from our eye so we can see clearly to help The Church at large.

Let’s continue to wrestle. To challenge.  To embrace the tension.  To call the spades what they are.  (I plan on it).

Let’s just always be willing to start with the me before we take on the we.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself locked in conversation with a number of people asking themselves the quintessential Christian question:

What does God want me to do?

And because processing these crossroads with others is often the best way to wrestle with them yourself, I’ve been looking back on ways God has directed me over the course of my life. How does God lead?  For me, every time has been a little different.

I’ve walked through seasons of calculated and detailed direction: “I want you to do exactly this.“  Where the steps were clear and the commands convicting.  Specific.

But the older I get and the longer I live in consistent connection to the Lord, the more often I seem to hear Him say:  “I know you.  You know me.  I trust you.  Make the call.”

This is a tricky conversation. The Bible is very clear we’re to “submit to the Lord” (2 Chr. 30:8) and “obey His commands” (1 John 2:3).  We’re followers. But I also think we make a serious error in always assuming God’s plan for our lives is some skinny little tight rope we’re destined to tumble from into the deadly abyss of disobedience.

Let’s face it.  Sometimes our fear of “missing God” is really just our fear of making a decision.

Always inquire of the Lord.  Always listen for His direction.  Always submit to His desire and instruction.  Make obedience the posture of your life. But I don’t think God is vying to become your puppet master.  He wants a relationship, not the marionette strings.

The more He comes alive in me, the less He seems to have to tell me exactly what to do. The more our motives and desires become one. The more I hear Him say, “Hey Erik…I’m in you.  You make the call.”

So perhaps our pursuit should be less about what God wants us to do, and more about how much we truly know Him? Maybe always asking for direction is really just a cheap cop-out on cultivating a relationship.  Maybe God wants to be more than our cosmic MapQuest.  Our genie in a bottle.  The magic eight ball.  Maybe.

What do you think?  How have you seen God shape the trajectory of your life?

Her name is Jasmine and she lives in a Honduran slum.  We met her on our first CityCom overseas adventure this past June.  She captured all of us (especially Mike).

Perhaps unexpectedly.

Not accidentally.

Jasmine is developmentally challenged. She can’t walk or speak.  And to complicate matters, her parents are mute (they can hear but not talk).  Getting an accurate understanding of her challenges was difficult, to say the least.

Through scribbled shards of paper and animated charade-like gesturing, Jasmine’s family was desperately asking for help.  And our compassionate American-Christian spirit immediately kicked into action.

We had translators on the phone with doctors.  Businessmen brainstorming potential funding for therapy.  Logistical minds coordinating transportation.

It was beautiful in so many ways.

And terribly sad in another.

The conviction of the Holy Spirit flattened me in the comfort of our hotel room later that night.  In all our rightly-motivated desire to live out compassion for this beautiful little girl, I failed.

Miserably.

As a leader, I never stopped the flurry of godly activity to do the most important thing.

Pray that God would heal her.

I was raised pentecostal (I know, there’s a support group for that).  And even though I think our particular church was pretty well balanced, I still grew up around a lot of “hyper-charismatics” (if I grew up around you don’t worry, I’m definitely referring to those other people).  People who wielded the Holy Spirit as a manipulation tool or to empower their own insecurity (hey, we keep it real here).  I mean really, how do you ever present a counterpoint to someone who starts every sentence with “God told me?”

Over the years, I began to subconsciously distance myself from this unhealthy expression. And somewhere in the mix I also seemed to lose my belief in the mysterious, supernatural, and biblical way God longs to interact with our lives.

I stopped praying for healing and started praying for doctors.

I overcorrected.

Which actually made me incorrect.

I’m glad our team mobilized in a tangible expression of love for this precious little girl. It was the right thing to do.  I believe God works through medicine, and I know He equips us with the ingenuity and creativity to respond to practical needs.  That is His Spirit at work.

But I also believe in the miraculous.  And sometimes we simply reason Him out of the equation.

I want faith that embraces mystery.  That risks the unknown.  That expects God to intervene.

Do I have that kind of faith? Or will my faith only ever be big enough to pray for doctors?

Fifteen years ago today, I woke up early and went for a jog.  I’m not a runner (and wasn’t then either), but it seemed to be the most logical way to unload some of the nervous energy pulsating through my veins.  After all, I was getting married in a few short hours.

It wasn’t the anxiety of losing my manly independence, or the question of whether I was committing my life to the right woman. In retrospect, I think I feared my ability to become the man she needed me to be. A husband.

I don’t know that I’ve arrived, but I do know one thing:  If I had it all to do over again, I would still choose her.

We’re far from perfect. We disagree, irritate each other, communicate poorly, act like broken humans.  All the things other married couples do.  But love is where we’ve made our home. And love miraculously devours a multitude of dysfunction and self-centeredness.

And from that love, the most beautiful things have emerged. A life, a home, three beautiful children, (a handful of irritating little dogs), and a willingness to follow the voice of God on some of the strangest and most risk-filled adventures.

After 15 years, I couldn’t love her more. Her wisdom and ingenuity.  Her faith in God (and somehow in me).  Her willingness to sit through bad action movies and (sometimes) even pretend she likes them.  Her commitment to our children.  Her ability to give up security for the sake of obedience to God’s voice.

But most of all, I’m grateful that every morning when I wake up, she still chooses to be there.

I’m the luckiest man alive.

Not just because we made it 15 years.  Because these first 15 are just a small sign of what’s yet to come.

I love you Mandy.  If I could do it all over again, I’d still choose you.

Happy anniversary.

Every two years my in-laws plan a huge family vacation. Their unmatched generosity, combined with my mother-inlaws 400,000 frequent flier miles (she travels for a living) made it possible for 11 of us to fly to Los Angeles last week for a summer getaway.

Two and half years ago my wife and I made that same cross-country flight.

Just the two of us.

In the spring of 2008, Mandy and I spent a few days at a marriage conference just north of LA, and the rest of the week exploring Hollywood, Santa Monica, Malibu, Burbank, and just enjoying one another. We ate at trendy restaurants, drove up the picturesque hills to the Griffith Observatory, even saw a taping of the Tonight Show. It was an experience we’ll never forget.

In fact, we brought those very memories with us on the plane last week (they’re one of the few things the airlines hasn’t figured out how to charge you to carry on). And for the first few days, I think we subconsciously tried to relive them. (Let’s hit that same restaurant. Do you remember that little shop? We have to go here!)

Only problem? This adventure was completely different. We stayed in Anaheim. Our kids were with us. We were a party of 11. Nothing but a few tourist stops and that circus otherwise known as Los Angeles International Airport looked anywhere near the same.

I began to realize how much of my life is spent simply trying to recreate meaningful past experiences. To regain a feeling. Recapture an emotion. Relive a memory.

It never works.

I was embodying the spirit of that old church lady that’s only willing to sing songs from the hymnal (yeah, I went there).

That’s the danger of event-driven living. We spend so much energy trying to reclaim past moments that we miss out on the new ones waiting to be created, even in the seemingly ordinary moments of everyday life. We’re oblivious to the now. Facing backwards. The future happens to us, rather than being painted with vibrant and anticipatory colors.

LA was great (thanks Dave & Candy). Both times. And this most recent visit solidified my commitment to spend my days creating new memories, not simply longing to relive past ones.

A guy emailed me this week to ask my opinion on a well-known Christian leader.  Prophet or a heretic? It was a valid question.  A discussion I’ve seen floating around emails, blogs, and internet chat rooms for years.

But as I was preparing my (obviously brilliant and insightful) answer, I paused.  Were this guy’s assumptions formulated on first hand knowledge or was he simply regurgitating the thoughts and opinions of others?  Better yet, was the answer I was preparing to fire off with reckless abandon founded on my personal convictions or a conglomeration of things I had heard others say?

The reality?  I had no idea what I was talking about.

I had never read a book, listened to a message, even viewed a tweet post of the leader in question.  Yet I was about to wax eloquence on his character and calling. The validity of His message.  I was preparing to vomit a bunch of other people’s opinions that supported my preconceived notions and validated my worldview.  Even if I had been factually right, I think I would have been terribly wrong.

The Bible is very clear in its warning to test what we hear:

“My dear friends, don’t believe everything you hear. Carefully weigh and examine what people tell you. Not everyone who talks about God comes from God. There are a lot of lying preachers loose in the world.”
-1 John 4:1 (MSG)

But I wonder how many times I’ve abdicated that responsibility?

I’m not condoning a lone-ranger lifestyle.  We need the correction and accountability that comes from solid community. I’ve had the revelations of others open my mind to incredible insights I would have never seen on my own.  But many of us are too quick to blindly adapt to a position handed to us by someone else.  Usually someone who can talk faster, think quicker, or has a nice looking blog.

Have we lost the ability to wrestle for the truth? Or maybe just the desire?  Are we afraid?  Weak?  Just give me the answer (or better yet,  post it on Facebook.  That’s more efficient).

For some, faith itself is cheap.  Lazy.  A faded copy of an old picture someone else handed to you.

I don’t want to live that way.  To lead that way.  A collection of Twitter re-tweets and Facebook shares.  I want my own encounter with the Creator of the Universe.  I want to hear Him whisper my name.  To speak to the deep places of my heart.  To know His voice.  To live with His conviction.

But don’t take my word for it.  Let Him tell you Himself.