Today, I had some time to walk around my old old stomping grounds. I went for a brief stroll around my old home on Fort Greene Place. That’s right, Brooklyn Tech, home of the Engineers (and Enginettes, yes, Enginettes) located in the heart of Downtown Brooklyn. I was intrigued to see all of the different businesses that have sprung up on that long walk from DeKalb station. There are trendy new stores, gourmet burger joints, and fancy places for my alma mater to blow their disposable income. Even the corner bodegas were shiny and new.

I was on my lunch break, and I went looking for my old favorite haunt. You Techies know what I’m talking about. Kennedy Fried Chicken, a.k.a Crown Fried Chicken, a.k.a. cute-brunch-place-for-middle-class-white-people?!

That’s right, everyone. A moment of silence for the establishment formerly known as Kennedy’s.

I remember discovering my love for cheap vinegar based hot sauce in that place. We would get 4 wings, or sometimes 10, then would douse them with that sweet biting hot sauce (usually 1 packet per wing). We’d shake the box up and eat for the whole train ride. It was our go-to and now it’s another victim to the rebirth of Brooklyn.

R.I.P. Kennedy Fried Chicken. Long live Gentri-fried Chicken.

I get distracted. This isn’t a rant about gentrification (besides, I’m not sure how much I mind a brunch place if it means that less Techies witness/receive beatings, robbings, or stabbings). This is a reflection on home. You see, I walked those Brooklyn Tech hallways and climbed those stairs (oh lawd, the stairs) almost ten years ago. This is my first time back since then and so many things have changed that I hardly recognize it anymore.

Long before those awkward high school days, I started going to my church on 165th st., on the outskirts of Flushing. This year is our 30 year anniversary and I realize that I have been with this church for almost 20 of those years. After all these year, the QTEC of today is the healthiest I’ve ever seen it, and it’s more exciting than I can ever remember it being. People are growing in their faith, learning to trust the God that I love. The church was in a bad way when I started coming at the start of this year, but the people are perseverant and their God is faithful.

If you’ve been around me lately, you know that this time of peace has got me a little bit restless. I’ve been wondering a lot about my future. After taking some steps to pursue my God, even down the rabbithole of seminary and full-time ministry, I’m curious about where to go next. With the hiring of a new full-time pastor at QTEC, I’m forced to think about if or how I fit into the future of this church. Will I end up serving here in my hometown, or will I go off elsewhere?

These thoughts swirl through my head as I walk through Brooklyn in search of dirty fried chicken.

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Later, I walked past a couple of guys without shoes, sitting on the floor on the corner of Fulton and Flatbush. I kept going like I always do. Then, like I always do, I stopped to think for a moment. Then I turned around and approach the guys. The interaction kind of went like this.

Me: “Hey guys, you guys eat lunch yet?”
Guy 2: “No”
Me: “Can I buy you guys lunch?”
Guy 2: “Yea, of course. We’ll take it.”
Guy 1: “We’re here on a mission for Christ.”
Me: “Oh dude! I’m buying you guys lunch on behalf of Jesus!”
Guy 1: “Praise God!”
Me: “What’s up, brothers!”

I went around giving handshakes and dap, and I realized they’re all holding bibles open as they sit on the pavement. Before I head to a restaurant around the corner to pick up some lunch, they insisted that I sit with them for a little bit, and I told them that I was about to ask them the same thing!

When I brought the food back, Guy 1 introduced himself as “I Cry.” He said he is a prophet from God and the two other guys with him are his disciples. I told him my name and he stumbled with it a bit before he got it.  Then he extended his hand and held mine as he prayed for the food and prayed for me. I was blessed by his prayer, I still am. It was a good one.

I Cry told me that he knew that I’m used to sharing the Word, but he’s going to try to bless me today, so I can just eat and listen. I’m stoked at this point, and I shut my trap and complied. I Cry began to take me on a journey through the first five Psalms as I sat on the concrete sidewalk on in Downtown Brooklyn with my bible open. The fried chicken I got wasn’t any good, but my brother I Cry is feeding me with some good old fashioned Word.

He might have started in Psalms but he kept going back to 1 Corinthians 3. In fact, the first thing he asked me when I sat down was “Do you not know that you are a temple for the Lord?” I nodded, and I didn’t talk about being made in God’s image–a topic I’ve been reading up on for the past few days.

1 Corinthians was the focus when I asked him about his mission–about why he’s out here. He talked about the church being beyond a building. People need the physical church building when they start out, but when they are ready for the solid food, they go out on a pilgrimage. Too many people rely on the comfort and protection of a physical building. They don’t know what it’s like to venture out. I Cry has been out on the streets for five years now, experiencing the provision and blessings of God beyond convention and safety.

In my mind, I was processing. I filtered out some of the random crazy talk, listened to him with an open mind, and focused when he quoted the Word. The Word is good, whoever the vessel and I’m catching a hint from God. Ministry isn’t about serving at a certain building, it’s about serving at the footstool of God. Obey Him, even if it takes you on a pilgrimage, even if you have to leave everything behind. I Cry quotes the parable of the rich young ruler, and I think I’m catching the hint.

As I sat, I thought of yesterday, when I was driving home with a seminary classmate and we were talking about a decision he made. In order to focus on seminary full-time, he had recently quit his day job. He is a good student and a diligent seminarian so it wasn’t a shock but I was curious about this step, given his circumstances.

He’s taking a step of faith, trusting God to provide for him, whether for this ATS tuition or his upcoming wedding. I appreciate and admire the courage it takes for him to do this, and I’m proud to know him and have him as a friend. I’m also encouraged to know that our God is faithful to my brother, even now, giving him a chance to leave his old company on good terms and share his testimony.

Eventually, I have to go (lunch breaks don’t last forever). I shook the hands of I Cry and his disciples and left with his blessing. I was mulling this conversation over in my head and wondering what God was getting at when I check my phone. I saw that I’ve been CC’ed in an email. A friend of mine has sent my resume to her pastor in regards to a Youth Pastor position.

Maybe these are coincidences and I shouldn’t be guessing at God’s plans. Or maybe God is beating me over the head with evidence.

What does a seminarian look like?

Every now and then, I go to seminary dressed like an undergraduate. I rock the sweats, the hoodie, and slippers. Not flip-flops, slippers. It’s because I’m gross and lazy and I want to extract myself from my work clothes as soon as possible. “What does a seminarian look like?” I think I prepared this question for any who would judge and condemn, but I’ve been met with love and acceptance instead. So that’s that.This post isn’t actually about clothes.

This semester, I’m taking my first big class. Reading the Old Testament with Dr. Cleotha Robertson takes place in a room that is full and warm (figuratively and literally). There, I have come to enjoy the fact that there is a truly diverse population at ATS. We are young and old, rich and poor, long-time pastors, doe-eyed kids. We are from every tribe and nation, from Barbados to Brooklyn.

Some of these folks are born theologians. You know them because they shift in their seats and chomp at the bit with every hot-button topic. Speaking in tongues? Chomp. Women in Ministry? Chomp Chomp. The Documentary Theory? CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP.

Some will be the pastors and counselors. They’re the ones who look tired, and sit with their friends, and are the last ones to come back from the class breaks. Some are the teachers, they ask their own questions in such a way that they can answer someone else’s question.I thank God for these gifted people and every other kind represented in our classrooms.

So, what does a seminarian look like?
Well, we look a lot like non-seminarians.

To be honest, half of the people here don’t need to be. A lot of us are going to come out with the same lens that we use to view the bible before we came. A lot are going to preach on the same things and teach in the same ways, but our presence here tells me that we know something that everyone should know. We are ALL called upon by God to do great things.

I think that’s the key. All Christians may believe that God has a unique and specific calling for our lives, but the people that fill the rooms of 2 Washington, and 1 South, are certain of this to the point of paying $550 U.S. Dollars a credit for the privilege to learn how to do it well.

My hope for my own church folk is that we would come to live and breathe with that same conviction my classmates enjoy. I hope we would realize that the variety of different giftings and talents represented on the 18th floor of 2 Washington is just a reflection of the ones that exist in 40-31 165th. The gifts in our pulpits are in our pews too.

Eight years ago, I sat in Edward Jones Dome with some 20,000+ mission-minded Christians listening to Brenda Salter-McNeil tell me that where I settle is where I’ll die. When I settle for the comforts of the places where God didn’t call me to be, I will suffer the consequences of unfulfilled calling, because He intends for me to move–to lift my feet and go. I haven’t rested, I can’t rest, and I will not rest because where I am is not where I want to die.

There was a time where I felt like I could die and that would be alright (s/o to semi-charmed life), but that was a long time ago and the memories of that time feel like dreams; vivid in my sleep, but murky when I’m awake. I’ve since been undone, and the process that began as a small nick has ended in complete upheaval. I’m ready to stay on the move, and I’m ready to to push forward.

There’s an impetus for me to take upon my shoulders the weight that those before me bore, and with my toil, honor their sacrifices in comfort, stability and safety. We must continue to press forward with conviction in the small and big things, from preaching on the rooftops to feeding the widows fairly. The nature of the gospel is in a truth that is timeless, but the practicum is in motion.

If you’ve ever sat with me as I’ve driven from place to place, or if you’ve ever caught me in one of my manic frenzies of labor, you know how I feel about momentum. It’s hard to push the ball off it’s settling place, so we have to keep it rolling. There will be a time for rest, but the inertia of this comfortable world, are enough to keep us in Harran until the end.

The past few weeks, I’ve become obsessed with cleaning up our church. Maybe it’s because I’m restless. Maybe because I have that feeling ingrained in me by my mother to clean up before having people over, and by the mission my Lord has given me, I do plan on having people over. There are the occasional resistances. Poor color choices. Things were fine the way they were. Time and money are better spent elsewhere. It’s not a permanent solution. The familiar trappings of gravity that drives our heels into the ground until they’re hard to lift again.

I don’t want to ever be callous to criticism. I hear a lot in seminary that pastors need thick skin. That’s not the pastor I want to be. I want the softest skin. I want to feel every stinging word. If I’m steering a ship, I need to be willing to change that direction at the drop of a hat if that’s what is necessary for my people.  But I will not relent. I will not stop fueling the engine that pushes us deeper in fellowship, stronger in the Word, broader in community engagement.

Small steps beget the big ones, but sometimes the small steps are scarier. Being big doesn’t make a step hard. Being first does. Today, I will keep pushing forward. I will not settle, I will not die here.

 

 

In this season of my life, it’s been tricky to figure out what to do with my time and hands. If you know me, you know that I like projects. Win, Lose, or Draw, I’m all about big and little ideas that have the power to change to atmosphere and structures in the places I am. Usually, there’s an issue to address and I find a creative way to take it on.

Fortunately, I suppose, everything is awesome. The people at QTEC are growing and making me proud every single week. People are making drastic huge changes in their lives to follow God because they’ve decided that His will is more important than theirs. Lives are being radically, and subtly changed by scripture and teaching. As individuals and as a group we are growing in how we reach out to our community, whether geographic, cultural or socially in the places we work, live and study. There was a while where we weren’t praying much, and now we’re praying crazy amounts and God is answering those prayers.

Which leads me to my dilemma. What does a soldier do in the peacetime? I’m accustomed to identifying threats, managing crises and running full bore into figurative fire fights, but now everything is awesome and I’m super proud of everyone and I don’t know what to do with myself.

I would use all the free time to do some writing, except I’m probably happier than I’ve been in a while and learning how to write out of discipline instead of necessity isn’t as exciting as drawing from my deep well of sadness.

The problem may be that Solomon taught me to enjoy the toil. Qoholeth, aka the Teacher, aka the Preacher, aka Solomon (maybe), tells me “there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.” I journeyed through a continent and a half to find the peace that comes from enjoying the toil. But what happens when the work is, at least for the time being, finished. I have steeled myself for a long winter of journeying under overcast skies through thorn-bushes, but I find myself in a spring meadow, basking in sunshine.

Maybe it’s a brief respite from the struggle, a port in a storm, and maybe by the time I post this, new challenges will be be rumbling on the horizon. But in any case, I might need to learn how to be me in peacetime. What a Sunroot looks like that isn’t running into battles. Who knows!? The end.

So I’m almost done with my first semester.

There’s a lot of scraping by, a lot of missing out on information for the sake of getting the work done. So, you know, usual school stuff. A couple of lessons before I talk about other stuff.

1. Acts 16 taught me not to forget the mission when you think you’re working towards the mission. Paul and Silas didn’t forget that they were there to save souls, including the jailer. So, even when God helped to break them out, they didn’t jump the gun at the cost of the jailer’s life. They fulfilled what they were there to do. I went to seminary to serve QTEC better, it’d be silly if seminary became a reason I couldn’t serve well there.

2. Mentorship is a beautiful thing. It doesn’t always come formally and with commitments. Sometimes it comes over coffee and having a cabinet of dudes you can count on for advice about different topics, but it’s a good thing. Awkward to start, but well worth it.

Anyways,

I’ve been thinking about being above reproach for a while. As I aspire to serve, counsel and lead people, I realize that it’s important for me to a measure of righteousness for both conservative and liberal peoples. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 9 outlines what I think has become my focus lately. He says that he becomes all things to all people, that he might win some. I think that may be what I’m trying to do. I may have to lay down my rights for the benefit of the people around me.

In the past few weeks, I’ve given up:
Cigar Smoking (hopefully temporarily)
Coffee Drinking (definitely temporarily)
Tattoo Getting (possibly permanently)

I give these up for numbers of reasons, most recently, my true love–coffee, because I want to be exemplary in self-control and discipline. (Also, so when I say “I can quit anytime,” I have a shred of credibility)

I know that some of the people reading this may look at this attitude of Paul and think, “there goes that oppressive religion again, stifling the individuality and freedoms of another person.” I think at times, I fear that oppression and crushing of my individual spirit. But most times, I feel excited. I feel excited for my liberation from silly needs and want. I am excited about living a life that isn’t just about me.

It sounds scary to modern people that I would suppress my right to advocacy and many other rights, but I believe in a kingdom whose systems are reversed–where those who put others first and themselves last shall be first too. Where putting aside myself can be the most honest expression of myself.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love me. In fact, I love me most, and my preferences and desires generally outweigh all others. But maybe I don’t need to fight old chinese people about tattoos and health-conscious people about cigars. I can spend my time loving them instead. And who knows, I might find more freedom than I gave up.

I’ve been in seminary a few weeks now. There have been a lot of things to talk about. I will get to them later.

The first thing I discovered about seminary is that nothing changes. Sure, I get busier, I learn things, I find new ways to study and techniques to interact with God, but in the end, I’m still me.

Seminary might help you know God better, but it won’t help you know God deeper. I’m still me. I still the guy who gets restless and wants to leave everything behind to drive across the country. I still sit and think that we’re running around chasing after the wind. I still get lonely and depressed and I ignore God for long stretches of time while I do what I assume He wants me to do. I’m still a prisoner to impure thoughts and constant distraction.

The past few weeks have been filled with the same sinking feeling and it continues to weigh heavier and heavier on me. I think God misses me. It feels like He’s almost nagging me. I miss him too. I miss him, but I’m distracting myself. Most of my waking moments are tuned to some kind of music, YouTube video or sports commentary, and I think it’s why the waning moments are void and alone. It’s strange how I can miss Him and still actively ignore Him.

I don’t think it is holy men that enter seminary and I don’t think that it is holy men that come out. As I skim a Tozer book to write a half-assed paper, I am reminded of a good thing. Tozer reminds me that before we can even think about pursuing God, He has first pursued us. I’m reminded of what that nagging feeling means. It means that God is chasing after me first. I don’t have a lot of answers, and I might not have them later either, but I know that my God is worthy to be pursued because He’s the kind of God who pursues first.

This is a cool journey, but it’s not different then the one I had before. It’s not different from the one I will have. It’s the same as all people, but it’s good. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and me and God have a lot to catch up on.