Danny Gutierrez

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I was surprised when God showed up this Sunday. His strong presence came precisely where I expected it least and overwhelmed me to the point of tears while trying to transition our service from our worship set to the announcements.

I hate crying while public speaking. It’s awkward for everyone. But I couldn’t help it because I opened my eyes and was reminded again of a love so great, and a faithfulness so true. The immensity of my Father’s goodness could not be fought with.

You see, up until that precise moment that the tears started welling up and the fight for composure started, I had my eyes closed shut...tight. The week prior I found myself in a position of having to make an immediate critical decision for the church. The kind of big decision that has deep reprecussions, massive implications, and the very real potential to set back a lot of gains made over the last nine months.

Some call these moments sink-or-swim or make-it-or-break-it. It certainly felt like this.

The situation required someone to simply make abundantly clear that the status quo would no longer be an option. That even if the next step required great risk, that it would be worth taking if for no other reason than to make clear that our righteous cause would not be sidetracked by church politics, traditions, or dead-set attitudes.

It was sometime during the week that my eyes started to fade and shut. I began to withdraw into myself searching for a hope that I had enough… relational capital, leadership savy, moral high ground, persuasive skills, strategic reflex, sparkling smile, or whatever was needed to pull it off. It became about me. And the more I looked the less I found myself adequate. The more I took my eyes off the One calling the shots, the more I feared and the more I squeezed my eyes shut.

The ironic thing is we’re church planters. God has already steered my wife and I through some of the most harrowing situations, personally and ministerially. Our life story is ripe with unorthodox moves. We’ve already experienced the moments where we felt we were to steer our life ship straight into what seemed to be a wall…and then asked to pick up speed. And the closer we’d get to that obstacle the more we’d squint and hold our breath in anticipation. And a million questions and potential outcomes and images of eject buttons and irrational fears and freak outs would flash right in our mind’s eye….only to be silenced by the still small voice that would utter a simple question somewhere in our gut and heard in every corner of our spirits…

“Do you trust me?”

It’s the question our very faith is founded on. Can Jesus be trusted? Is he who he says he is? Can he be trusted with my salvation? Can he be trusted with my future? Do we trust Jesus? And we’ve come through storm and fiery furnace by his love, strength, faithfulness, and grace alone with the simplest response of faith on our lips…

“Yes, yes we do.”

But this Sunday was different. I kept saying the right things. I kept cheering. But I hadn’t yet uttered the simple response. I was somehow convinced it was the beginning of the end. I really thought the wall was real this time and that impact would be heard far and wide. So when I closed my physical eyes in worship on Sunday, the eyes of my spirit opened, and there he was…patient and kind, determined and strong.

This weekend with my eyes closed shut, my God, Jesus, made a way where there seemed to be none. Grace made a way of it’s own. And love prevailed.

“If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny who he is.” - 2 Timothy 2:13

 

 

I feel like I’m surrounded by Bible characters. Living breathing people whose stories of redemption and grace amaze me like the stories of old do.

I have some friends who just had a baby boy a few days ago. And that might sound routine and quite common if it weren’t for the backdrop of their incredible story of beauty from ashes. The story is theirs to tell, but suffice it to say that this was not how conventional wisdom would have wagered it would end.

This marvelous event has me thinking about the characters of old. And I wonder if they are watching from heaven. Here we are inspired by what God did in their lives, and there they are inspired by watching what God is doing in ours.

I used to think we’d get to heaven and find the “giants” of the faith sitting behind product tables like celebrities do at the mall’s media store, signing portraits of their Biblical feats for those who were new to the block.

But now I wonder if it will be more like a greeting of mutual delight, like a tweet-up where twitter friends get together for the first time. A reunion of friends who feel connected even though they’ve never met in person.

I wonder if they watch our lives like we watch suspense. Generous portions of butter popcorn in hand, watching attentively as you go through that low point in life, that disillusionment, that tragedy that kicked your teeth out.

Baited breath.

Nail Biting.

Urging us in soft whispers, “Hang in their buddy.” …”Don’t let go.”… “Just look up, He is right there.”

I wonder if they, too, throw their hands up in their air and cheer loudly when the night turns into dawn and they see the Liberator, the Savior, our Hero, Jesus revealed yet again, and his grace having been manifest as sufficient, his love being declared unending. I wonder if the most macho among them tries to hide the tears when a tough story ends in the arms of Life.

Perhaps they have better things to do, but then again we might say the same thing about us. But an inspiring story is a sticky thing and always hard to look away from.

And like I said, I feel like I’m surrounded by inspiring stories.

When my friends Mitch and Annie arrive in heaven, I wonder if they’ll be shocked. I wonder if they’ll get asked, “Will you sign my toga?”  by some of the greats of old.

“I was rooting for Jesus as I was cheering you on!”

“I caught a glimpse when no one on earth could see you – when you were tired, burnt-out, alone, and afraid. I saw when you found the strength to give up and allow him to become your champion, when you opened your heart up to Grace and began to believe in his love.”

And I wonder if, as my friends say, “I’ve been longing to meet you, Apostle Paul,” that they’ll be surprised when he says back, “The feeling is quite mutual.”

 

 

 

I said goodbye to my friend Bruce this morning at the Lima airport. He was wearing the same red jacket he wore most of his month long stay with my family.

Two nights ago we all went out to eat dinner with Bruce at a steakhouse. As we all enjoyed food (and it’s worth noting that Bruce has become quite proficient at enjoying food) we went around the table to share our favorite memory of Bruce’s visit. My dad started by speaking in some code language that Vietnam vets all recognize and they both busted out laughing. They both connected with their war stories and became good buds on the trip.

My mom remembered the time they went to buy flowers and plants to spruce up the backyard for a day long retreat we were hosting. Bruce picked out a spectacular selection and had a good time gardening. It was undeniable after he was done that his effort made everything more beautiful. My daughters had their memories of “Grandpa Bruce” and how he made them laugh and my wife, Stephanie, remembered the night we surprised him with a dinner in honor of his life.

And my favorite memory is frozen in this picture. Sitting at a restaurant by the ocean enjoying some excellent food with my friend Bruce. This was his fourth plate…and this coming from a person who says he doesn’t eat much! The moment was one of those insulated moments when nothing important was being said, but something near magical was happening.

I witnessed Bruce thoroughly enjoying his life.

All of this is significant to me because the reigning memory of Bruce for me prior to this one was him laying in a hospital bed. He had reach the end of a life-long struggle with alcoholism and was completely spent, disoriented, and pretty much gone. Doctors had him sign a non-resuscitate because his condition was that bad.

I remember a very thin man, deep sunken eyes, who seemed to be slipping away with each passing moment. I remember asking his family to leave the room. Then I crawled up into his bed, got three inches from his face, and told him this is not how it has to end.

His life was NOT spent.

His life was NOT worthless.

His life was valuable, and above all he was loved, by his family and by God. And though circumstance, and life, and his past, and his present, and religion, and his condition wanted to suggest that there was nothing left to salvage, the truth was that he was loved.

And a life that is loved, is a life that is worth living.

Bruce has been sober for over two years now. At one point, he had to walk around with a cane. In the last month I witnessed him carry heavy furniture down a steep flight of steps to help set up new children’s ministry classes. At one point, he was not able to do simple math, and on this trip I witnessed him outline and deliver two lessons to our children’s ministry. At one point, he was not able to do simple things, and now he is in transit flying home from an international destination.

Bruce is a hero, battle-tested on the fields of life, and almost left for dead by all but his loving and dedicated family.

I’ll always remember crawling up into his hospital bed to tell him there was more to life. But now, and far more vibrantly, I’ll always remember him crawling up into our life for a month to show us how true that really was.

Thank you, Bruce. Your life has enriched ours.

***

“No man is useless who has a friend, and if we are loved we are indispensable.” ~ Robert L. Stevenson

 

I was fully expecting to see bright smiling faces on the first Sunday after my return from being in the U.S. for a month. What I would have never expected is seeing Sergio’s smiling face while having a piece of his left ear bitten off. The combination of the human-mouth-sized chunk of his ear missing and his ear-to-ear grin was quite counterintuitive.

Sergio is one of our friends from church. He is one of the most faithful ushers you’ll find. He’s a big man who gives bear hugs and brings a lot of life to our church. A couple of weeks back, as he stepped in to defend a young gal who was being assaulted, he had his ear bitten off by one of the thieves.

But he was smiling… And yet his ear was missing…. But… he was smiling.

When I asked him what had happened he responded, “Oh pastor, that’s in the past now. All is okay. I have Jesus, so what can anyone take from me.”

I realize that what he said has the potential to sound like typical over-spiritualized Christianese that one hears in church lobbies. The kind of things said to infuse small talk with god-talk… BUT he was missing part of his ear! So his words had quite a different ring to them. They did not sound rehearsed, canned, nor hollow. Instead, they sounded very much like the words he clung to as he made his way to the hospital bleeding and disoriented.

***

 I keep thinking about Sergio’s ear, because this last week has been pretty tough for me. I wasn’t prepared for re-entry into life here in Peru. It’s felt like jumping into a moss-covered swamp when I was expecting to land on solid turf. It’s been a mix of small annoyances, big church issues, things breaking down, and the stuff of life that makes you just want to roll over and go back to bed, all strung together with perfect timing.

But I keep thinking about Sergio missing part of his ear, and the fact that he smiles. I have both of my ears and it’s been a week where I’ve had trouble grinning.

I know this may all seem like a clever way for me to minimize legitimate issues to trick my brain into snapping out of a funk and moving on. But isn’t that what inspiration does? Does it not put a new perspective on our current situation in light of something else?

Sergio’s smile from this past Sunday has inspired me. It has inspired me to make little out of the funk, and make much of what lies on the inside of me. The life of Christ.

“All that is in the past now. All is okay. I have Jesus, so what can anyone take from me.”

So now I’m choosing to smile.

 ***

“And I’m going to keep that celebration going because I know how it’s going to turn out. Through your faithful prayers and the generous response of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, everything he wants to do in and through me will be done. I can hardly wait to continue on my course. I don’t expect to be embarrassed in the least. On the contrary, everything happening to me in this jail only serves to make Christ more accurately known, regardless of whether I live or die. They didn’t shut me up; they gave me a pulpit! Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his bounty. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose.” – Paul in Phillippians 1:20-23 (MSG)

High fever.

Broken vehicle.

Retreat center that burst a water main.

The relative of our host that passed away.

And a church leader who split the church because he believes grace is heresy.

The saga was enough to fill months with clean up. And yet it all came together the week leading up to our first Grace Retreat. We knew the step to begin these retreats was going to be huge for our church, we just did not expect the amount of resistance we were up against.

The 19 people who joined us for the weekend spent 2 nights and 1 day at the top of a mountain without running water, and they came down having had an encounter with the simple, game-changing, empowering message of the Gospel. Our goal was for every person who came to have such a clear understanding of the first step God took to prove his love, that they could not but helplessly fall in love with Jesus.

It was meant to be a rendezvous with the Lover of their soul.

And for all the resistance leading up to and during the weekend, we were able to witness it happen. The crystal clear message of hope, grace, and salvation came alive.

Our first Grace Retreat has sparked something awesome in our church. And we are now excitedly planning the next one.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

- Jesus (in John 10:10)

For some reason I imagine this scene from Scripture having spotlights and a round stage, even though I’m certain it had neither. Yet, there is something so dramatic, impacting, and freeing about the words Jesus utters in this moment. Which, by the way, I somehow imagine him saying with a signature Clint Eastwood squint and the settling boom of James Earl Jones’ voice.

“Come and stand in front of everyone.”

That would make anyone feel self-conscious considering the backdrop, the setting, and the players in this moment. It’s all told about at the beginning of the third chapter of Mark. Jesus is in a synagogue, surrounded by a crowd, and among those present are a group of hyper-analytical Pharisees – the men who knew the law of Moses like the back of their hand and who weren’t afraid to use it. And in this instance, Mark refers to them as Jesus’ enemies.

But there among the crush of watching humanity was a man with a messed up hand. And it was to him that Jesus says,

“Come stand in front of everyone.”

The messed-up-hand guy, not the have-it-all-together guys.

Yet the moment is more poignant than most of us can sense because it was the Sabbath, the day the law of Moses demanded be guarded as a day of rest. Legally, people were not allowed to work. And the legal brood in the crowd had that card in their back pocket. Hands by their hips, they were ready to quick-draw if Jesus dared to “work” on the Sabbath.

It was a classic gotcha moment. Would he dare break the law?

{Room darkens, spotlights burst into a flood of light.}

“Come stand in front of everyone.”

“Hold out your hand.”

Imagine if that was you being asked to hold out precisely what you try to hide when you shake the hand of another. Imagine it was you caught in the middle of a conflict of culture-war proportions. Imagine Jesus made YOU the nexus of his next decision. Will he do something for you, or appease the strict religious elite?

But that is just it. Jesus did make every one of us the nexus of his most important decision, the cross.

Imagine you were in front of everyone and you realize that your pain, your weakness, your flaw, your inability, your defect, your very hand opens up in a miraculous surge of divine power!

That very moment becoming a booming declaration of God’s loving intent.

Jesus calls us all to stand before a watching world – the religious included –  and he redeems us right there on that stage. Not because the law of Moses endorses it, but because the love of God freely gives it to us. In fact, the law demands our hand be removed, that the moment be passed up, that we be ignored….because under it we are not, nor will we ever be, deserving, of Jesus doing anything for us. And yet he does.

What hurts?

What’s messed up?

What has you crippled?

What refuses to heal?

“Come stand in front of everyone and hold out your hand…”

(…your shame, pain, confusion, uncertainly, revenge, ugliness, rage, depression…)

And not because you deserve it, but because Jesus himself called you there precisely to do something about it.

***

Mark 3:1 Jesus went into the synagogue again and noticed a man with a deformed hand. 2 Since it was the Sabbath, Jesus’ enemies watched him closely. If he healed the man’s hand, they planned to accuse him of working on the Sabbath.

3 Jesus said to the man with the deformed hand, “Come and stand in front of everyone.” 4 Then he turned to his critics and asked, “Does the law permit good deeds on the Sabbath, or is it a day for doing evil? Is this a day to save life or to destroy it?”But they wouldn’t answer him.

5 He looked around at them angrily and was deeply saddened by their hard hearts. Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored! 6 At once the Pharisees went away and met with the supporters of Herod to plot how to kill Jesus.

 

Brother Jorge came to Bible Study on Monday evening, about 15 minutes early. My dad and I had set up the room to have chairs around a big table and a second row behind those chairs since more and more guys have been showing up.

Much to our surprise, Jorge sat in the second row quietly. Strange, since he is typically an easy conversationalist who is proactive about starting up chit-chat.

I quickly realized why he took the back row and chose silence instead of engaging us in conversation. Jorge didn’t come to church the day before and he felt terrible about it. When I asked him what he had done yesterday (not to interrogate him, but to start a conversation!) he quickly began to apologize about his abscence.

Alright…?…. but I was still interested in hearing how his Sunday went. He reluctantly began telling me how he had gone to see his daughter run in a city-wide marathon. He went to stand at the finish line cheering her on.

How cool is that!

He was a bit surprised by my reaction. And yet it fueled him to tell me a bit more about it, and to be open and authentic about how he really felt about the day. He was so very proud of his daughter. He was inspired by her determination, and the effort she put in to complete the 48 kilometer run she had started. And most significantly, he was so glad he got to be there to experience the moment with her, and stand on the other side of the finish line to celebrate the accomplishment.

He’s a good daddy. He loves his girl very much.

Well, Bible Study started and all of Jorge’s brothers began to give him a hard time.

“Where were you?”

“You must have snuck out the back door since I didn’t see you in church.”

“What’s your excuse? Too tired to come?”

I sat back and let the conversation run it’s course, all the while paying close attention to how Jorge’s shoulders began to slump, and how the condemnation he was feeling returned.

All he could manage to do was laugh nervously, looking into his folded hands in his lap. He never defended himself.

So I jumped in. I asked all the guys if they really were looking for answers, and if they really wanted to know where their brother was, or if they really were using the questions as clever rhetorical ways to be passive-aggressive.

I told Jorge to share where he was. I told him to share what he was doing. I told him to share how he felt.

And I asked all the rest of the guys a question. “How COOL is that?!” How cool is it to hear the story of a father who waits at the finish line cheering their child on? How cool to see that father’s face light up when he describes the overwhelming sense of pride in their child?

I told them I wasn’t advocating not gathering as the church or that we should now begin to neglect our assembling together. But I also assured them there would be the moments when days, and events, and milestones conflict with Sunday morning and a choice must be made.

I believe Jorge made the right choice. I believe being there for his daughter, who had spent so much time training, preparing, and visualizing that finish line, was the right thing to do. Because there is something so Gospel about the moment she experienced. There is something so Jesus-inspired about her dad, as the church, cheering her on.

***

We want our community to be active in church, for sure, but not at the expense of living a double-life where we feel we can’t be authentic and share moments or milestones in our personal lives because they happened to take place on the same day the pastor is preaching. We want our community to come because they love to come, not because they’ll be brow beat if they don’t. We want them to hunger for the unity and love they feel when they are with their brothers and sisters, and the joy they have sharing how their days and weeks went.

There is a tension here that we can’t ignore. And I believe empowering people with the New Testament reality that they are the church is what helps us maneuver the tension. Jorge gathers with the rest of his church on Sundays. He does so with frequency. But on this particular Sunday, behind that finish line, he did not stop being the church. In fact, he was the church to his family and represented the rest of our community well as he lifted his excited cheers high that morning.

Like I said, I saw in his daddy’s heart a reflection of the Daddy heart I know our Father has towards us.

He’s waiting at that finish line cheering us all on!