good friday

It's Friday morning. Good Friday morning. And that word "good' won't let me go.

"Good" is possibly one of the most important ideas to ever find its way into our theology.

In most cases, good is not as good as great. But today, I can't help but think that good is greater than great. Confused yet? Here's what I mean...

Anyone would assume that if there is a God, then He is great. By pure definition, He would have to be. If He is God, then He is immensely powerful, unrivaled in strength and might. To create and control all that we know, and have yet to discover, would require utter greatness.

That God is great is no surprise. Anyone would expect that. Even assume it.

But here is the surprise. Here is the 'better than you could have hoped for' revelation. Here is the twist in the plot that even the most optimistic and romantic among us would never dare to dream. God is more than great. God is good.

While limited power has corrupted the best of us, His purity of intention and motive only enhance His strength. His is a power that is not fueled by pride, but by humility. He demonstrates His might by mercy toward us. He moves with kindness and compassion. When our sin separated us from Him, His love launched a rescue mission to come and win us back. Setting aside His greatness, He became one of us. He embraced humility, and on this day on the cross, even humiliation.

He died, and took our sin with Him to the grave. He was raised back to life, and leads us into the new reality of resurrection.

Our selfish pride sealed our fate. His humble love changed the stars.

Yes, God is great! But, even more, He is good. He is full of mercy. He moves with kindness. He pursues us with forgiveness. He captivates us with grace. God is good.

the long road to yes

On the cover of last week’s Relevant Magazine was Pete Greig, founder of the worldwide 24-7 prayer movement. (Just don’t call him that to his face. He doesn’t seem to like it very much.)

Pete is cool for many reasons. Mainly because he’s British. Which means he has all sorts of cheeky sayings (like “cheers mate”) and he adds flavor and color to otherwise bland words by spelling them with the letter ‘u’ (flavour and colour, for example).

Pete came to Asbury last year to encourage our fledgling little campus house of prayer. Hearing him speak was an important experience for me. It stirred and provoked desires in me that weren’t really dormant, but had certainly been stealing a nap. I already read (mostly) his book Red Moon Rising, and resonated strongly with the story—a story of a truly significant move of God… the kind that starts small but swells so fast you can’t possibly keep up. You can try to stay ahead of it, but you just end up bent over, holding your side, huffing “Go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

I’ve always wanted to be part of something like that. Always. Since I was a kid, my favorite stories have always been about a small group of friends facing ridiculous odds. Their only hope is a fool’s hope. But they risk it, and somehow come out on the other side. Looking back, it seems like the end is inevitable. Meant to be. But in the thick of it, you have no clue how things are going to turn out for good. (Think Sam and ‘the stories that really mattered.’)

Seeing that cover immediately sparked a memory. Early last spring I spent a day with a mentor and a friend at the Abby of Gethsemane, tucked away in the Kentucky hillside. It was raining hard, and we were walking a trail surrounded by trees. I was wrestling with what to do after graduation, a months long struggle. Sarah and I were still unsure if planting a church was the right thing. There were so many unknowns, so much fear, so much potential for flat out failure.

That’s when I thought of Pete. And his story. How I had always wanted to be part of a story like that. Always. Was this that chance? Was it worth the risk of failure?

I knew then that my heart had taken another strong step toward Chapel Hill. And it wanted to drag me along.

I was so deep in thought I didn’t see it coming. But at that moment—exact moment—the trail led us out of the trees, a wide clearing opening up around us. The gray sky made the green field seem that much more vibrant and fresh.

The same thing happened in my heart. Something opened up. My will baptized beneath the first rain of spring. It wasn’t the moment, but it was a moment on the long road to yes.