We can't defeat evil in the world without facing the evil in ourselves.
Published first in Christianity Today: October 15, 2008

I admit it: I am a total wimp when it comes to scary movies. My tolerance for things jumping out at me in the dark is nearly nonexistent. When I was a little girl, nothing terrified me more than the black-and-white movie Creature from the Black Lagoon.

I spent my childhood praying that the monsters wouldn't get me. Even now, I seldom watch horror movies because they still frighten me, but I braved watching Alien on TV a few years ago. I covered my face with my hands and peeked through my fingers, trying to make the monster tiny and less threatening. The most grotesque part of the movie is when the alien, which has inadvertently been swallowed by a character, bursts out of the man's belly, spewing blood and body fluids everywhere. I thought to myself, What could be worse than having one of those disgusting monsters actually growing inside of me?

Imagine my horror five years ago when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I realized that a real live thing had taken residence in my body—an "alien" that was trying to kill me. Thankfully, surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation brought a halt to the monster's plans. But as dreadful as that experience was, I've since come to believe that an even more malevolent creature grows unabated in my soul.

Earlier this year, an interviewer asked me what I believe about evil. I said that the Bible teaches we are inherently evil, with the capacity to do good when Christ reigns over our lives. She was amazed, thinking that people are basically good with some capacity for evil. The Bible says just the opposite.

"I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out" (Rom. 7:18).

The first time I visited Rwanda, I went looking for monsters, albeit a different category of monster—the kind that isn't relegated to B movies. I had heard about the 1994 genocide that had left one million people dead—tortured, raped, viciously murdered—and somehow I thought it would be easy to spot the perpetrators. I naïvely assumed I would be able to look men and women in the eyes and tell if they had been involved. I was full of self-righteous judgment.

What I found left me puzzled, confused, and ultimately frightened. Instead of finding leering, menacing creatures, I met men and women who looked and behaved a lot like me. They took care of their families, went to work, chatted with their neighbors, laughed, cried, prayed, and worshiped. Where were the monsters? Where were the evildoers capable of heinous acts? Slowly, with a deepening sense of dread, I understood the truth: There were no monsters in Rwanda, just people like you and me. The question I was forced to ask myself was, "Could I have done what they did?"

Before that trip, I can't tell you the number of times I reacted to evil I read about or witnessed by saying, "I would never do that!" But thousands of years of bloody human history prove differently. Fifty-four years of my own history prove differently. We are all proficient in our ability to conceive, plan, and execute evil. Of course, we don't call it evil when we're the ones involved. But it is. As French writer La Rochefoucauld observed, "There is hardly a man clever enough to recognize the full extent of the evil he does." You might as well face the shameful truth: You and I, put in the right situation, will do absolutely anything. Given the right circumstances, I am capable of any sin. I've grown more afraid of the monster lurking in the dark corners of my soul than of any monster lurking in the dark corners of my house.

The only hope for wretches like us is found in confession and forgiveness. It starts with a long, hard look in the mirror of God's Word. We would like to pretend that we're better than the "bad guys." We'd like to believe that we're more civilized, more mature, more refined, and more godly. We have to stop denying our enormous capacity for personal wickedness, and throw ourselves on God's enormous capacity for mercy. Proverbs 28:13 says, "He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy."

There is monstrous evil to be fought in our world, and it's up to Christ's followers to lead the way. But the fact is, we're all terminally broken on both the soul and behavioral levels. Until we are willing to deal with the internal monsters that always threaten to take us down, we're just kidding ourselves. We will go into battle as proud Pharisees breathing retribution and judgment, ready to fry the evildoers. Instead, let's go as wounded healers who have reaped the benefits of God's amazing grace and are more than ready to assist other broken folks in finding his mercy as well.

It took seeing seven-year-old prostitutes to jolt me out of my apathy.
Published first in Christianity Today: August 13, 2008

The person who invented the TV remote control deserves some kind of award. From my comfy recliner, I can cruise through a hundred channels in seconds.

See something unpleasant? Click. Change the channel. See a disturbing image on a newscast? Click. Change the channel. Avoiding any contact with suffering is as easy as touching a button. For a long time, I lived my life the way I watch TV: I ignored upsetting images by changing the channel. I rationalized my trigger finger on the remote control, thinking, It's just too painful to look at. But a shocking encounter with suffering jerked me out of my apathy, so that changing the channel was no longer an option.

Some friends and I were traveling in Cambodia and were told that we needed to visit a tiny area outside the city limits of Phnom Penh called Svey Pak. It's famous: all the cab and motorbike drivers know exactly how to get there. Without hesitation, they turn their vehicles toward "the Street of the Little Flowers." A street with such a sweet name surely held gardens, genteel folks sipping elegant libations, and children playing silly games while the adults smile indulgently.

Unfortunately, the lovely street name belied the wickedness that occurs there all day, 365 days a year. The dirt road was narrow, and only scraggly weeds and a few trees managed to survive the heat. We saw middle-aged Western men wearing sandals, oversized sunglasses, and ball caps sitting in the shade of small bars as they swilled beer after beer. Children were present, but they were locked behind large iron gates padlocked shut. The adults were smiling indulgently, but it was the self-indulgent smile of a predator waiting patiently for its prey.

This was a street where child prostitutes as young as seven or eight were peddled and sold in the thriving illegal sex trade. This was a place where depravity reigned. It took every bit of courage I had not to turn and run away. I wanted nothing more than to change the channel.

Long before televisions and remote controls, people responded to evil by turning a blind eye. Leviticus 20 tells of a bleak period in Israel's history, when they substituted worship of the true God for worship of the Ammonite fire god, Molech. Part of the pagan ritual was to kill and burn children as sacrifices to appease Molech. God's severe warnings to Israel were dire. He held those who knew of the evil and did nothing as responsible as those who actually practiced child sacrifice. Leviticus 20:4?5 says, "If the people of the land look the other way as if nothing had happened when that man gives his child to the god Molech and fail to kill him, I will resolutely reject that man and his family, and him and all who join him in prostituting themselves in the rituals of the god Molech I will cut off from their people" (The Message).

I came away from Svey Pak wounded by the pain of these young girls forced to act like grown women. Changing the channel could no longer be my response to evil in the world. My newfound knowledge made me ready to face it, hate it, and resist it. I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the moment when I joined the resistance.

History tells us that the fiercest fighters in any war are those in the resistance—those brave souls willing to pay the ultimate price so that evil doesn't win. Most of us don't see ourselves as "freedom fighters" or part of "the resistance." We're just ordinary people—grocery-store managers, accountants, teachers, pastors, and moms juggling strollers and sippy cups. Not exactly warrior material. But that's precisely what God has called us to be. Strapping on the spiritual armor he provides, we are to push back the encroaching darkness, raising our voices on behalf of those whom brutal evil has silenced.

As Christ-followers, let's lead the way in dismantling the brothels that cater to pedophiles, breaking down the iron doors that keep captive children enslaved, and bringing the evildoers to justice. God expects us to fight on behalf of these little ones—the least of the least—with the same fierce passion we would expend if these were our daughters, our granddaughters, our nieces, and our baby sisters. May God grant us the courage necessary to march boldly into enemy territory and set the captives free.

Getting our body in sync with our message.
Published first in Christianity Today: June 5, 2008

On a gray winter's day in Kiev (Kyiv), Ukraine, I walked the halls of a monastery-turned-hospital, its tile floors smoothed down by the footsteps of monks.

People newly diagnosed with HIV come to this hospital for further tests. In one room, a man sat aloof, barely acknowledging our presence. Another man angrily denounced his government's weak response to people with HIV. Anatoly, a local pastor, invited me to this hospital and we listened as the angry man talked about his two-year-old boy with HIV. (This means the mother in the family is almost certainly HIV-positive.) In silence, we grieved together over the uncertain future of this family.

In the next room, two young women sat on neatly made metal beds, apprehensive at our unannounced arrival. One pretty blonde, 23, told us she had been diagnosed for a month. To look at her, you would never know she was ill.

But the 20-year-old in the bed next to her was visibly very sick. Her emaciated body clearly communicated serious illness. My attention shifted to this woman's weeping mother sitting across from her. Mother and daughter had come to the big city from a rural area and were alone to face death. No family. No friends. Not even kind strangers.

That is, until Pastor Anatoly's passionate voice spoke—reassuring them that they were not alone. He promised he and the members of his church would be back to visit them and support them. In that moment, I saw faith become real.

I frequently hear criticism that evangelicals are more interested in talking about their faith than in actually doing anything tangible. Like all Christians, we often use our mouths more than our hands and feet. I too plead guilty.

But my recent trip to Ukraine underscored how Christians, far from American shores, combine faith and action. This inspires me and helps make my faith vibrant.

After visiting with Pastor Anatoly, my ministry team and I took a 16-hour overnight train ride southeast to Mariupol, a lovely, small city near the Sea of Azov adjacent to the Black Sea. Young children lined up to greet us exuberantly as we visited the Pilgrim Center that Pastor Gennady Mohnenko created.

Pastor Gennady resembles a swashbuckling movie hero—tall and handsome, with energetic hands he distributes bear hugs and high fives to children passing in the hallways.

These precious children once lived on the streets; their arms are scarred by needle tracks from drug addiction. Twenty percent are HIV-positive. Pastor Gennady is known for blatantly grabbing street kids from their hideouts. He offers them safety, detox, and nourishment for soul and body.

Late that day, I joined him in a surprise visit to a basement under a large apartment complex. He had heard that a street boy there was about to die. The entryway into the basement was a hazardous crawl, down a metal ladder hanging onto the wall by a few screws, into inky darkness. As I climbed down slowly, my eyes adjusted. I could see the exposed electrical wires, pipes dripping waste, empty syringes, discarded foil cards that held tramadol (their drug of choice), and dead rats.

The glimpse of wretchedness was enough to smash my heart yet again. In the middle of this, I caught a glimpse of another reality—a local church pastor being the hands and feet of Jesus to someone who perhaps had never personally experienced the love of Christ. Everyday Christians can take the commands of Christ seriously and make their faith real, not by words alone, but by active compassion.

But consider one more glimpse to get the full picture. At the basement entryway, an old woman stood at the top of the stairs, directed us down to the children, and watched us with a mixture of curiosity, anxiety, and concern. I wondered why she didn't do more. She knew there were homeless, drug-addicted youth living beneath her. Did she ever try to help them? Invite them in for a cookie? Or was she overwhelmed, fearful that if she showed kindness to one, all would swarm her?

I wonder how many times each of us stands at the top of the stairs, watching, not getting involved. We can use our words (as the old woman did) or we can use our hands and feet as well. But being the presence of Christ in forgotten places provides a two-fold blessing—one for the person in need and another for the believer. Let's put our body language in sync with our gospel message.

It’s good for the soul to fight the virus.
Published first in Christianity Today: April 28, 2008

Five years ago, I became a seriously disturbed woman. Through a single magazine article about AIDS in Africa, my attention was captured and a sense of shock, horror, and doom awoke within me.

How could there be more than 30 million people infected with a lethal virus, and I not know even one of them? How was it possible that there were 12 million children orphaned by this horrible virus, and I couldn’t name a single one? Those questions sent me on a search to discover God’s heart for people infected and affected by HIV/AIDS; within a very short time, I became seriously and permanently disturbed.

Once I became disturbed, I became passionate about ending AIDS in Rick’s and my lifetime. We are not content to merely manage AIDS, any more than we’re content to manage cancer, TB, or malaria. Our goal is to wipe it out.

So you may ask: Where’s the message of Jesus in all of this social gospel stuff? The answer lies in the life story of David Miller. Rick met him two and a half years ago at a conference in New York. After the meeting, this rough and tumble man who had served in the Marine Corps approached Rick and told him, “I’ve had AIDS for 20 years. I’m a member of ACT UP in New York, and have been arrested over 200 times protesting drug companies and the government’s response to AIDS. Where was the church when I needed help?”

Rick responded by asking for forgiveness, saying, “I’m sorry for all the hurt and pain that has ever been caused to you in the name of Christians or Christ.” David jumped backwards, shocked by the apology. That day, they spent hours together talking, and Rick invited David to our upcoming Global Summit on AIDS and the Church. Much to our surprise, David accepted.

At the summit, David accosted anyone who came near him with loud diatribes against the government, drug companies, and politicians. Near the summit’s end, he reluctantly joined other HIV-positive men and women on the stage to receive prayer. The next day, Rick and David met again, and David explained how it seemed impossible for him to ever stop hating those who had failed him.

Over the next year, we called and e-mailed David, and sent CDs that we thought would answer his questions. I visited his beloved Bronx neighborhood. He pointed out the crack houses, the junkies, the pimps and prostitutes. Tough as nails on the outside, David had a deep heartache for “his people.” He choked up as we walked those mean streets. He quietly murmured, “You came; I can’t believe you came here.”

There was a gradual softening in him—a tiny sprout of hope. One day he said to me, “I’m beginning to think that if you guys are real, and you love me, maybe God is real and loves me too.”

The following November, the 2006 Global Summit on AIDS and the Church took place. A less hostile, though still wary, David attended. On World AIDS Day after the summit, Rick had the joy of leading David to the Lover of his wounded soul, Jesus Christ. David’s world, AIDS, and his newfound faith finally collided. We laughed, cried, and celebrated together. Hope had sent roots into David’s life.

Soon David began to complain loudly that no one had showed him the fine print ahead of time. As only David with his Bronx accent could say, “Being a Christian is the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I can’t call the mayor of New York a Nazi anymore; he’s a human being that God made. I can’t hate my enemies. I have to love them!” The fragile sprout was turning into a seedling.

The 2007 Global Summit took David one step further. He stood in the pulpit at Saddleback and gave his testimony. The next day, World AIDS Day, Rick put a shaking, terrified David under the waters of baptism. David propelled himself out of the water and into Rick’s arms, sobbing with joy. Minutes later, a fellow Marine who had just heard David’s testimony asked David to baptize him on the spot. And so it was that David Miller, a man hardened by years of battling the system, came full circle. As a new creation in Christ, David assisted Rick in the baptism of another new creation in Christ.

Where’s the message of Jesus in all of this social gospel stuff? Ask a transformed David Miller. The thought that God cared about his body as well as his soul pierced his steel plates of defensiveness and allowed him to dare to believe that he was loved by God.

Our task is to make the invisible God visible. By opening our arms in acceptance, by being his hands and feet, we make him visible.

Let me ask you a very important question: What will be the measure of your life when you get to the end of your days?  What is the highest goal of your life? 

The Bible doesn’t say “let the pursuit of wealth be your highest goal” or “let decorating your house be your highest goal” or “Let being the best athlete be your highest goal”……it says in 1 Cor. 14:1 (NLT)

“Let love be your highest goal.”

Dangerously surrendered, seriously disturbed and gloriously ruined followers of Jesus Christ are willing to let loving sacrificially be their highest goal.

In the Old Testament, God gave a carefully prescribed sacrificial ritual that the Israelites had to follow to have their sins covered.  Animal sacrifices had to be offered on a daily basis.  After Jesus came and offered Himself as the perfect Lamb of God, there was no longer any need of animal sacrifices.  But God says there are still some sacrifices that mean something to Him – but they’re not what you might expect.          

Hebrews 13:16 (Msg) “Don’t take things for granted and go slack in working for the common good; share what you have with others.  God takes particular pleasure in these acts of worship – a different kind of “sacrifice” that takes place in kitchen and workplace and on the streets.”  

The kind of sacrifice that God is looking for now is the kind that happens in our daily routine. He is asking us to love sacrificially in the three domains of our lives:  in the kitchen, which represents our homes and our families.  In the workplace, where many of us spend a majority of our time, and on the streets – the hurting world all around us.

Are you willing to learn how to love in a way that costs you something at home…..at work….and in our world?

I’ve just returned from my sixth visit to beautiful, fascinating, complex Rwanda.  It was at the end of one of the 2 rainy seasons and every field, every tree, every mountain was verdant and lush.  The bananas were plentiful, handshakes and hugs were ours in abundance and it felt so good to be……home?

The local mayor of one of the rural areas keeps telling us that since we say we love Rwanda so much we should have a home there.  When he first made that suggestion last summer, we laughed and nodded our heads while thinking to ourselves, “Right!  I seriously doubt that will ever happen!” But he brought it up again when we were with him last week…..and this time we didn’t laugh quite so hard……or find the idea quite so absurd.

I mean, why wouldn’t we want to identify in a tangible way with the people we love so dearly?  And hey, if we’re going to have a simple house, we better start thinking about buying a couple of cows and perhaps a goat….and while we’re at it, maybe we could plant a few coffee trees! Part of me thinks it’s crazy to dream about such ideas…..but part of me is intrigued with the possibilities.

I always thought Rick and I would grow old together in Southern California where we’ve lived and ministered the majority of our lives.  What if God has something completely different in mind?  We’re not anywhere near retiring – are you kidding? – we’re just getting started! At the same time, my mind drifts to sights and sounds that are becoming familiar…….comfortable…… like home.

I can’t see beyond today, so I have absolutely no idea what God has planned for me in the future.  I need to be reminded that every “home” on earth is only temporary anyway; my true home is not in America or Rwanda.  I’m waiting for a far better country than either of these places……I’m waiting for Heaven.

God, until my true home is ready, I’ll go wherever you lead me…..

Hebrews 11:13-16 (MsgB)  “Each one of these people of faith died not yet having in hand what was promised, but still believing. How did they do it? They saw it way off in the distance, waved their greeting, and accepted the fact that they were transients in this world. People who live this way make it plain that they are looking for their true home. If they were homesick for the old country, they could have gone back any time they wanted. But they were after a far better country than that—heaven country. You can see why God is so proud of them, and has a City waiting for them."

Easter is an amazing time at Saddleback – this year we’re hosting 12 services, spread over 4 days (not including the video venues and 3 regional campuses).  A few years ago, our family gave up trying to fit Easter dinner in between all those services.  Now we gather on the Saturday before Easter for a leisurely brunch, with plenty of time to spare before the afternoon services.  It’s pretty standard holiday stuff:  a fabulous meal followed by the requisite Easter egg hunt.

 

Today, Kaylie(4 ½) and Cassidy(2 ½) lugged Easter baskets almost as big as they are through my sister-in-law’s backyard, while baby Caleb (7 months) watched from a blanket on the grass.  They shrieked with delight when they spotted the eggs other family members had “hidden” in plain sight.  The plastic eggs had jelly beans inside, and the girls stopped and inspected the contents – well, tasted is probably a better description.   They’re not candy gourmets yet – they haven’t graduated to the malted milk balls or marshmallow bunnies.  Jelly beans cause plenty of excitement!

 

I stood in the doorway, watching them run around the yard, and fondly remembered all the Easters I hunted for Easter eggs as a little girl.  One particular Easter – and a marshmallow bunny - flashed through my mind. I looked at my sister-in-law and said, “You’re not going to believe this – but it’s because of a marshmallow bunny that I became a Christian!  She laughed and said, “This is a story I’ve gotta hear!”

 

It’s a crystal clear memory to me. The Easter I was 8, my parents announced they were going to take a Sunday afternoon nap after church and left me strict warnings not to eat any more candy out of my Easter basket.  While they snoozed, I felt the irresistible call of a marshmallow bunny.  I ate it.  I had the guilt thing down pat, because the minute they woke up, I confessed my moment of weakness.  Somehow, though, in that moment of childish disobedience, I understood for the first time that what I had done was sinful.  Not that I was a vile criminal, but my sin was exactly the reason that Jesus had died on the Cross.  It dawned on me that I needed a Savior…..so I asked not only for my parents’ forgiveness, but for God’s forgiveness as well.  I became a Christian.

 

Hey!  Some people have conversion stories that involve embarrassing behavior surrounding drugs, alcohol, sex, shady business dealings, or heartrending stories of abuse or tragic accidents …….mine revolves around a marshmallow bunny.  I wish I could add some drama to the story – make it more remarkable, but the truth is, Easter candy brought me to Jesus.

 

What brought you to Jesus?  Love to hear your story!

 

Romans 10:9 (NLT)  "For if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved."

Wow…where does the time go?  My good intentions of posting a new blog entry every Friday keep disappearing in the tyranny of the urgent.  A few emergencies here, an unexpected deadline there, and before you know it, a whole week has zipped past me.  Sort of the way life itself has a way of moving faster than the speed of light…blink, and whole decades disappear.

Which makes me start thinking about mortality – mine in particular.  March is “Survivor Month” for me. I finished the treatments for breast cancer in March, 2004, so I count the years of survival from March to March each year.  It’s been 4 years!  I’ve been graced with four more years to live….to love……to serve.  I’m so grateful.

What’s so odd is that there are still many people around the world who think I’m dying!  Rick gave an interview in the fall of 2003 when I was just diagnosed and wasn’t doing too well.  Courtesy of the internet, this interview is still circulating….and causing a lot of confusion.  It seems like weekly I receive prayer shawls, cards, gifts, emails or phone calls from places as far away as Jordan and Russia, each wishing me good luck in my battle against terminal cancer.  Sometimes at speaking events, I am tentatively approached by a man or woman with a puzzled look on their faces – and I can instantly tell they’ve read THE EMAIL. I am so touched by the love and concern that is sent my way – in fact, don’t stop praying for me!  But what fun it is to send word back that I am in remission……cancer-free……fat and sassy as ever!

March might not be as significant a month for you as it is for me – there are no birthdays, anniversaries, or special events to look forward to - But it can be!  What if March is the month in which you decide to stop withholding some part of yourself from God?  What if March becomes the month you decide to get serious about your commitment to the poor, the widow, the orphan, the sick, and the marginalized?  What kind of celebration could you have if you finally said “yes” to God?  Let’s make March a month to remember!

Oh yeah….I’m surviving.  Best of all, I’m thriving….

Philippians 1:20-21(NIV)  “I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always, Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death.  For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

This may sound really cheesy, but it fills me with joy to know that God is using Dangerous Surrender to break people’s hearts.  It’s bizarre, I suppose, to celebrate another’s pain, but I am convinced that the discomfort many of you are feeling is so necessary……so critical to our mission of being his hands and feet in the world.  So as odd as it might seem, I meet your tears with a huge smile!  “YES!!!” I exclaim. “Another seriously disturbed man or woman has joined the battle against evil, injustice, darkness and brokenness!  Send more, God!”

I’m only half-joking. 

I guess I’m so pumped because I know something of the adventure that is ahead of you.  I don’t necessarily mean “adventure” like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, or that you’ll be borrowing a page from “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”  The adventure awaiting you COULD have some elements of a thrill ride (careening down a mountain road in Rwanda at over 110KPH around blind curves almost qualifies as a Disney feature), but what I’m most excited about is I KNOW you will bump into God along the way, and being in close contact with him will radically change you.  You can’t be intimate with God and not take on his heart and passion.

So here’s my prayer for you this week (a Franciscan blessing):

“May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths and superficial relationships so that you may live deep within your heart.  May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may wish for justice, freedom, and peace.  May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.”

Choose surrender.  Expose evil.  Do good in Jesus’ name!

A seriously disturbed woman,

Kay  

In December I had the opportunity to appear on several national news shows – both radio and television - to promote my book, Dangerous Surrender.   The debut show was Good Morning America, hosted by Robin Roberts.  I was so nervous!  I was keenly aware that everything I said would be scrutinized and evaluated by those watching. I was so afraid that my brain would freeze and I wouldn’t be able to think of a thing to say – or worse, I would say something stupid that would haunt me forever!  Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder than it looks!  The studio was freezing cold, making me shiver more than I already was. The lights were merciless and harsh, revealing every stray eyebrow hair, blemish, and wrinkle. The schedule was unforgiving – you MUST do what the technician tells you do at the second he points to you – no delays, no leisurely pauses to reflect on your thoughts, no second chances to adjust your skirt or hair ….or your words.  The pressure is intense.

 

Robin was lovely – even prettier in person than on the air.  I only had a few seconds to meet her off camera, get positioned in the guest chairs, and then BAM!  The cameras were rolling.  Robin asked me how I became an AIDS advocate.  Simple question.  But how do you condense a life-changing journey into 15 second sound bites?  I quickly told about reading the magazine article on AIDS in Africa – how I was stunned to realize that I didn’t know a single person infected with HIV …… horrified I couldn’t name one orphan.  I tried to give some of the back story – that up to the time I read the article I didn’t care at all about AIDS anywhere, thinking that it was a gay men’s disease and therefore I didn’t have to be concerned.  I said “I was ignorant and hardhearted.”  While embarrassing to admit, that was the truth about me in 2002.  But in the pressure and panic of my first national television appearance, as a million disconnected thoughts flew through my brain, I did it.  I left out a crucial part of my story.

 

What I didn’t say – that I ALWAYS say – is that I’ve discovered it doesn’t matter how a person gets infected. As I write in Dangerous Surrender, even if every person who is HIV+ is also gay, that shouldn’t affect our level of compassion.  If you search the New Testament, you’ll find Jesus never asked anyone how they became ill; his consistent response was “How can I help you?”   The Pharisees tried to ascertain how people became sick – what sin had they committed – but Jesus looked beneath the surface to see what sick people really need:  acceptance, love, touch, compassion.  Healing of both body and soul.  Other HIV/AIDS advocates and activists and I probably don’t see eye to eye on everything related to the pandemic, but one vital point of agreement is this:  it’s not a sin to be sick. 

 

A New Year gives me hope.  Hope that fewer people will become infected with HIV this year than last year.  Hope that more orphaned and vulnerable children will find a home than did last year.  Hope that the church of Jesus Christ will open her arms wide to those living on the margins, those who so desperately need to hear that they have not been forgotten or abandoned.  Hope for second chances to show a skeptical world that even ignorant, hardhearted women like me can change.  

 

Psalm 51:10 (Msg) "God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life."

I love the story of the Tabernacle in the Wilderness found in the Old Testament. “Tabernacle” simply means dwelling place, and I am fascinated by meaning in the details of this humble “tent” that housed the presence of God.  Symbolism abounds, and for a mystic like me, discovering profound spiritual significance about the coming Messiah hidden in fabrics, metals, measurements and craftsmanship is so much fun!

 

One of the things that made the nation of Israel distinct from surrounding nations was that Israel had a personal God – one who showed up.  His spirit led them through the wilderness with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.  No other nation could make that claim.  Once a year on the sacred Day of Atonement, the High Priest would sacrifice a lamb on the bronze altar, wash and purify himself at the bronze wash basin, enter through the door into the Holy Place where he prayed and ate the fresh manna by the light of the golden lamps, and then with great anticipation, he would part the thick veil to enter into the Holiest of places.  There, he sprinkled the lamb’s blood for his own sins and then the sins of the people.  He would quickly leave so as not to risk sinning in God’s presence. Because of the High Priest’s actions on behalf of the whole nation, God‘s presence filled the Holy of Holies and for another year, the relationship between God and man was made right.

 

Jesus’ coming into the world changed all of that.

 

Symbolism is replaced with concrete reality; the shadows reveal Messiah.  God now in flesh isn’t content to merely “tabernacle” in a building made with human hands – He seeks to “tabernacle” – to dwell – in the hearts of those He has made.  A cloud and a pillar of fire no longer adequately explain Him or sustain those who long to know Him.  Once a year intimacy on the Day of Atonement is replaced with moment by moment intimacy; God with us, God in us.

 

This, then, is our source of joy at Christmas.  The God of the universe, who visited us in the past with thunder, bushes that wouldn’t burn, voices from animals, clouds and pillars of fire – BIG, loud, awe-inspiring feats – finally appeared as a weak, powerless infant.  He came to be near to us, to embrace us, and to take up residence, not in a tent, but in our souls.

 

2 Corinthians 9:15 (NIV) “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!"

Another World AIDS Day, and no cure or vaccine in sight.  Twenty six years of a monstrous virus unleashed on our planet…millions infected….millions already dead….millions of orphans and vulnerable children left to find their way alone.  Where’s the hope?

 

This week at the 3^rd annual Global Summit on AIDS and the Church, we talked about the hope – it’s only found one place:  the Church!  If I wasn’t absolutely convinced that the church of Jesus Christ is the missing link in the fight against HIV, I would be in despair.  If I didn’t believe that Christian families around the globe are the answer to the 143 million orphans (due to all causes) who are growing up without the nurture and guidance of parents, I would just pull the covers up over my head and be done. 

 

But there is a bright spot in this pandemic.  It’s the dawning recognition in the church that we belong on the front lines, leading the race against HIV/AIDS….not against people, but against the virus that destroys the most vulnerable among us, one life at a time. 

 

As followers of Jesus – His church – each of us can offer acceptance, support, a willingness to suffer with those who suffer, our commitment to offer ourselves, and most of all – HOPE!  Hope for access to medication for all who need it. Hope for a cure.   Hope for healing of broken relationships. Hope for communities of safety and sanctuary where all are offered grace and new beginnings.  Hope for a better life beyond this life in the presence of our Savior.  Hope that one day AIDS will end.

 

Psalm 31:24 (NLT) “So be strong and take courage, all you who put your hope in the Lord!” 

This is the opening day of the third annual Global Summit on AIDS and the Church at Saddleback!  I eagerly look forward to this event each year – it’s the one place I go where every person I meet cares about HIV/AIDS.  The men and women who assemble from around the globe understand the devastation this virus causes to those impacted by it; they understand it so well that they have dedicated themselves to stopping AIDS.  Because we are united in our goal to find a way to halt the pandemic, every conversation is centered around prevention, care, treatment and support for the millions whose lives have been turned upside down by HIV.  Orphans are on the lips of the attendees as the church – Christ’s Body on earth – steps up to the plate and declares that every child deserves a family.  I’m exhausted from six months of preparations for this Summit – but filled with excitement to see what happens over the next 3 days….stay tuned! 

About an hour ago I finished giving an interview for a magazine.  The interviewer politely asked me how I live a normal life without feeling guilty after all the brokenness, evil and suffering I’ve witnessed in the last 5 years...  She wanted to know if that is a reasonable expectation – is it even possible?

 

It is. 

 

I am not wracked by guilt for living in a place where there are 100 varieties of peanut butter, even though billions will scrounge for their next meal today.  I am not in despair because I have 50 pairs of shoes while billions walk barefoot.  I don’t bow my head in embarrassment because I can get a same-day appointment for my cough as billions of sick people manage with only home remedies.

 

The God who is in charge allowed me to be born and raised when and where I was.  He ordered the steps of my life – making decisions for and about me that were beyond my control.  There is no guilt in that.

 

Guilt comes into the picture if I allow my world to be so narrowly focuses that what consumes me are my plans, my agenda, my dreams, my family, my work, my hobbies, largely ignoring those who live a very different existence.  There is plenty of guilt in being self-absorbed.  Guilt is a legitimate response to a hardened heart, apathy, greed and avoidance of those who hurt.  Soul-wrenching guilt is appropriate for those who give only a cursory thought to the least, the last and the lost.

 

But for those who are willing to engage, contentment and joy are possible, even as they weep over injustice, poverty and sickness. Joy in the “now,” knowing everything could change in a heartbeat, content in what is given or not given. At the exact same time, those committed to a better life for others remain intensely connected at a heart level – identifying, if you will – feeling the suffering. The only way to navigate through this emotional dichotomy?   I can do it all “through him who gives me strength.”

 

Philippians 4:11-13 (NIV) “..for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

The Southern California fires last week were a painful reminder of how fragile the balance is between “all is well” in our lives, and “all is terrible.”  Sitting in my office with my colleague Monday morning chatting about work, we didn’t have a clue that by nightfall we would be running through her neighborhood ahead of a wall of fire.

You all watched the news – you saw the devastation.  But being there is so much different than watching.  Choking smoke that makes breathing a struggle.   Eerie sound of trees, bushes, wood, and metal being consumed by voracious flames.  Feelings of complete helplessness, unable to stop the juggernaut of waves of orange and red as they encroach closer and closer to my friend’s home.  Unbelievably, my friend received a miracle; her house didn’t burn, although five feet from her backdoor the trees were incinerated and ash and smoke filled her home.  She and her family can easily fix those problems with time, money, energy and a little help from their friends. Really, all is well.  My heart aches for those who didn’t receive a miracle – for those living in “all is terrible” mode now.  Fixing the aftermath of the fires for them will take significantly more time, money, and energy…..and more than a little help from their friends.

I have a new awareness of how much we need each other –  how intertwined our lives really are. I saw folks prone to pulling into their garages without so much as a wave to the neighbors eagerly sharing their meager information about the fires, watering down each other’s roofs and yards to prevent a stray ember from settling in, standing shoulder to shoulder united in their attempts to save their neighborhood.  In other words, they got it….they knew they would live or die together. Community….koinonia…..fellowship.

As I pondered the mystery of why my friend’s house was spared but hundreds of others weren’t, I started to compare the brush fires with God’s work in my heart.  Fires devour and consume, leaving little behind.  Isn’t that exactly what God does in our lives?  The inferno that engulfed Southern California was a powerful visual image of what God desires to do in me; the Bible says our God is a consuming fire (Deut. 4:24).  But unlike physical fires that leave destruction and misery, his intent is not to destroy me, but to destroy all that is not of him in me. My puny attempts to control him are laughable; I have no more ability to change his plans than I had to change the directions of the flames.  As he sweeps through the dry places of my soul, he consumes the dead branches….the weeds….the plants gone to seed.  What looks like utter destruction actually leaves the ground ready to burst again with new growth…..new life.  So it is in me.

In an old journal from college days I find these words and pray them again.

Oh God, I long to be more used of Thee.
Oh burn away these feet of clay and let me be
Consumed by thy Great Fire – my one desire.
No more of useless self, just more of Thee.
Consume me with Thy fire, and from this day,
Light a torch in me to show the way.
Consume me with Thy Fire that I might be
A burning light to lead the lost to Thee.
Consume me with Thy fire!
(Unknown)

A few days ago I opened a cardboard box that held 28 copies of my new book.  It was surreal!  Twenty eight books with my face staring back at me.  On one hand, I wanted to jump up and down in excitement to celebrate the realization of a lifelong dream.  On the other, I wanted to be alone, quietly reflecting back on the life journey that had brought me to this moment of joy. 

I think the deepest emotion I am feeling is gratitude for all the people who have shared the journey with me through the years….all the family members and friends who poured themselves into me, helping to shape and form me.  In many ways writing a book is a solo effort, requiring massive amounts of solitary time; but the solo effort is only possible because of the investment of a myriad of others who gave love, encouragement and support along the way. 

Thinking of those who shaped me makes me miss my dad.  He believed in me when I was growing up, always telling me I should write a book.  He would be busting his buttons with pride if he could hold my first book in his hands.  My pleasure is tempered with the bittersweet knowledge that we didn’t get to share this fulfillment of a dream together.  What I wouldn’t give to see his face, bask in his smile, and receive one of his crushing bear hugs right now! 

I’m new to blogging so those of you who do this on a regular basis will have to help me out!  Check back in a week or so ….