Indelible in my memory is my first visit to a most extraordinary place, a sacred space. My wife and I had just moved to Kerrville, a small resort town in the hills of Central Texas. She had always wanted to live in Kerrville and I was happy to live another Texas adventure.

From the moment we got here people began to tell us of this place about sixty miles west, about one family’s commitment and a grocery store. Of the three items the grocery store caught my fancy. Residents all spoke about a chain of grocery stores like they spoke about their favorite sports teams. With equal parts passion, gratitude and reverence people went on and on about a grocery store. I thought it was hilarious.

The people of Kerrville talked about the family who owned the grocery stores with great respect. There were no grand Texas tales about a larger than life family. No characters or black sheep stories were told. It was just a local family who worked hard, achieved success, and gave back to the community.

Perhaps all the extravagance was saved for the place. The stories seemed too good to be true. Everybody who talked to me about the place had a life changing story to tell. My skeptical mind was overwhelmed by my curiosity and the sincerity of the people sharing their stories of a camp in terms I interpreted as sacred.

One Sunday afternoon my wife and I drove out to the camp. We were told there was a roadside rest area that overlooked the place. When we parked and walked to the fence we found ourselves perched on a bluff hundreds of feet above a winding ribbon of river that disappeared behind some hills of in the distance. Ever since I was a teenager I talked about how I wanted to live in a place with hills trees and water. There before me lay the most spectacular combination of all three that I had ever seen.

A couple of months later I got a chance to visit the camp. It was for a workshop given by the Outdoor Educators of Texas. While there I learned the camp we were using was one of five camps on nearly two thousand acres that were part of the free camp program of the H. E. Butt Foundation. We were told how there were other camps on the property that weekend but we probably wouldn’t see any of the other campers as the individual camps were spread out along three miles of river. Also, we learned that the camps were available to qualified nonprofit groups and more than eighteen thousand campers per year used the facilities.

Before I left for the weekend at camp a new friend, Eddie, I had met at church, in Kerrville, invited me to visit Laity Lodge while I was  “in the canyon”, as he referred to the camp. Laity Lodge is a Christian retreat center run by Howard E. Butt, Jr. Since 1961 it has served the churches and individuals across Texas.

I never made it Laity Lodge that day. The road was the limestone riverbed and I told myself the only other time I was going to drive in the river was on my way home. So I saved the visit to the warm and welcoming casual elegance of Laity lodge for another day. I knew I’d be back.

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“You must not misuse the name of the LORD your God. The LORD will not let you go unpunished if you misuse his name.” — Exodus 20:1-17

After reading Mark's Daily Reflection last Thursday, it struck me how often and sometimes routinely we invoke God's name. When I take it a step further and apply that thought to my prayer life, it causes me to tremble. 

Fear of the Lord is the understanding that God is all-powerful and worthy of my full devotion. It's like when I’m watching TV and my wife comes into the room to talk to me. The polite thing to do (or really, the smart thing) is to turn off or at least mute the TV. Unfortunately, too often I try to multitask. I keep an eye and ear tuned to her and the other tuned to the TV.  Bad idea.  Her wrath starts slowly, and after building momentum, accelerates to a point of collision. If I'm dumb enough to try and defend my rudeness, the situation worsens. My wife deserves my complete attention, not a half-hearted acknowledgment of her presence. So does God.

The same sort of scenario plays out when we take God's name in vain. We can'’t think that God is pleased when we throw around pious catch-phrases or casually invoke the name of God. Using the name of God as a curse or expression of frustration is commonplace and offensive. We need to reserve the name of God for reverent use.

This includes our prayer life. Just as multitasking isn’t a good idea for conversation with my wife, it’s not appropriate for conversation with God either. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about only praying at special times where there is quiet and no distractions. Rather, when we pray or invoke God’s name, we need to focus. Be fully present in the moment when speaking to God. We can pause briefly and still be totally focused as we ask the Holy Spirit to guide our actions.

It’s like when my daughter is in a hurry and she says, “I’ll meet you in the car.” She doesn’t mean to offend me. She doesn’t realize that I hear, “Go wait for me. I’ll be there when I’m ready and then we have to leave right away"—as if I’m her chauffer whose job it is to be ready at a moment’s notice.

I fear my prayer life can be like that sometimes, as if I’m telling God how to handle things. Another danger is using God’s name as a good-luck charm. I pray for a desired outcome, an incantation for divine intervention on my behalf.

My wants distract me from my needs to the point where I’m no longer sure what my needs really are. I pray as if I know what’s best but casually toss in, “Your will be done.”

The arrogance of my prayer life is maddening. My mind wanders, and I feel that others are experiencing the same wandering. Then I project my struggles with prayer into the group in public prayer. How impressed is God with my less-than-focused petitions?

Talking to God takes focus and reverence. Listening to God takes silence and a willingness to let go. God is in charge.  I want to join him in his work. No matter how brief or how long, I want to be focused and reverent when approaching God.

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Frustration at work comes in many forms.  In workplaces, good ideas often get ignored. When a beneficial idea is just ignored, not on merit but on who’s delivering the idea, I tend to become frustrated and angry.  But some years ago, I learned another way to handle getting ideas heard.

When I was a young coach, I worked for a man who mistrusted me. He never realized how important loyalty was to me, so he never utilized my loyalty to his advantage. Instead, he would marginalize me and just dismiss anything I had to say.

For two seasons, I watched our players develop muscle cramps during games. (This was in the seventies when hydrating was not the science it is today.) I suggested we use an electrolyte replacement drink during games. This never reached the discussion phase. After two years, I realized if we were going to change, the idea couldn’t come from me.

Looking for a way to implement this change, I went to the defensive coordinator and told him about Gatorade and how we needed to be using it during games. He suggested I tell the head coach. Then I told him of my previous experiences. He reacted with disbelief. So I had to show him how it worked between the head coach and me.

When the coordinator saw how a simple request, unrelated to football, was dismissed, he was shocked, but now he understood the problem. Prior to the next game, he suggested we use Gatorade on the sideline. The head coach agreed. It helped our team, and from then on we had Gatorade at every game.

What I learned was to share my ideas with other coaches who had his trust.  This was a valuable lesson in getting things done. If you have a valuable idea that is being ignored, sell it to someone who is being listened to in the organization. There are always the fair-haired in every workplace. Sell them and let them sell the idea to the bosses. It’s a good test to see what’s more important—the idea or the ego.

In Matthew 6, Jesus tells us “your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” Jesus says this about giving, praying, and fasting throughout the chapter. It applies to our daily work as well.

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I've heard the "Compassionate Economics" question asked many different ways, but basically it comes down to this: Isn't socialism a more compassionate way than capitalism?

That's how the question gets framed, but even that is a confusion of terms. Capitalism is an economic theory. Socialism is a political theory. I've heard it explained with this SAT-style analogy. Capitalism is to communism as socialism is to democracy.

What seems to get lost in the argument among Christians is the brokenness of humanity. Left to our own designs, self-interest overrides humanity's desire for the good of all. There was only one perfect human, Jesus. The rest of us are a bundle of mixed motivations.

Reading Nick Bunker's Making Haste From Babylon really brought this sharply into focus for me. The book is a detailed account of events preceding the Mayflower voyage as well as the Pilgrims' struggles in their new colony, including the tremendous pressure on the Pilgrims to succeed financially. Their voyage was heavily financed, and those investors were looking for a return.

The land the Pilgrims settled was hostile and unforgiving. From the weather to the soil to the native inhabitants, there were challenges everywhere. To meet their obligations, a commune system of production was put in place. The motivation to succeed was high, but commercial success was fleeting. After two years, Governor William Bradford established private ownership of land and played to the base instincts of humanity, those who produced more, kept more. This decision was crucial to the survival of the colony.

Certainly, private ownership of land wasn't the only factor that insured the Pilgrims' success. But it was a key factor in motivating people by providing them better return for better work. Call it greed. Call it the brokenness of humanity. Call it practical. Equal sharing of goods may be noble, but humanity isn't noble.

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Like most people, I’ve had my share of encouragers, people who have seen something in me and encouraged me to pursue it. I’ve had mentors who’ve given me great guidance. But I’ve never come across anyone like John the Baptist.

He made one of the most extraordinary statements in the Bible. In John 3, John the Baptist says, “He must become greater; I must become less.” Now the Baptist was talking about Jesus, and we accept his statement as a simple thing. Of course, Jesus must become greater because Jesus is from the Father. It seems so obvious in the context of the story.

I just have one question. How does one do what John the Baptist said? By becoming less, John is suppressing his ego, surrendering his identity for the sake of another. It’s an extraordinary statement. I’ve known plenty of encouragers, but I’m not sure I know anyone who willingly decides to become less so another could become more.

Later in the story (13:37), Peter tells Jesus, “I will lay down my life for you.” In the next verse Jesus replies, “Will you really lay down your life for me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times!”

The exchange between Jesus and Peter highlights the extraordinary nature of John the Baptist’s statement. Peter said he would surrender his life, but he didn’t (at first).  John did so willingly. Further still in the story (15:13) Jesus says, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

Do you want a litmus test for following Jesus? Examine your life for the places where you’ve surrendered your ego for the sake of another. Become less so another can become more. I’ve examined my own life that way and come away realizing I have a long way to go.

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We’ve all experienced it, and most of us have participated in it. It comes to us from the Ancient Greeks and has reached an art form in our time. Spreading bull is so pervasive that we embrace it as entertainment. The pervasiveness of bull on talk radio and cable news shows demonstrates how willing we are to embrace bull. We even confuse bull with political discourse, although some people describe political discourse as bull.

The philosopher Harry G. Frankfurt wrote a wildly popular book (actually it’s an essay with a hard cover) On Bull****. He describes our growing propensity for untruth and suggests the word humbug (deceptive, misleading) may approximate the meaning of the more colorful and less socially acceptable title word which he chose. Even the word bull (talk or writing dismissed as foolish or inaccurate) is not quite strong enough to convey the meaning without its tailing companion.

In workplaces, the use of bull can be costly. A few years ago, an expert told us we needed to construct a wastewater treatment plant in our camp. It was total bull, but we would have spent millions of dollars and disrupted the natural setting to the point where we might question whether to keep the camps operating. Thankfully, knowledgeable people of authority stepped in and showed us different options to achieve the desired outcomes without causing undue financial burden or creating an environmental eyesore.

Don’t confuse hyperbole with bull. There’s a difference. Hyperbole overstates for effect, “I’ve told you a million times.” Bull overstates as fact. Like the sophist of ancient Greece, bull artists base their arguments on overstated and misrepresented facts to make their point.

Why are we so drawn to bull? I suspect it’s because we appreciate a well-stated argument even if we know it's bull. Why let a few facts get in the way of a good argument? We trust ourselves to be able to detect bull. The problem arises when the argument so stirs our passion that we embrace the bull without critical thinking. That’s how many of us engage politics. We allow bull to influence our decisions. Politicians know this and play to our emotions.

I take heart in Paul’s words to the Corinthians:

"Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God." (2 Corinthians 4:1-2)

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While going through my morning routine, a comment on one of our sites in the High Calling Blog network caught my eye. I’d like to share it with you.

A lost balloon turned out to be a great blessing during a difficult time in our life.

Several years ago, our youngest daughter lost her balloon in a HyVee grocery parking lot. It drifted high and fast, and she sobbed in her car seat as it floated away.

A couple years later, her grandpa died, and she told me: “Mommy, he’s got that balloon that I lost at the grocery store. It was waiting for him in heaven, and God gave it to him.”

That balloon gave her great comfort as she grieved his death.

Sometimes, it seems, the things we hold tight were meant to fly away for reasons we could never have understood when we first lost them.

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I first came to work here as the Associate Director of Laity Lodge Youth Camp. Every fall Frog Sullivan, Executive Director, and I would travel around Texas with the LLYC promotional film. We made a new film every three years. So by the end of a film's cycle, I could recite the lines.

Howard Butt made an appearance in each film and his remarks always began with, "At Laity Lodge Youth Camp, we're about relationships. First, our relationship with Christ and next, our relationships with each other."

At work, I often think about that statement. It rings so true for me that I take it for granted. How we relate to others around us at work affects everything else we do. One thing I've noticed, though, being relational looks different for each of us. For one person, being relational means speaking a greeting to everyone. Another person wants much more depth and cares about all the places where colleagues are hurting. For a third person, being relational means hanging out with someone.

Some people have friendships with scores of people, and that is the epitome of relational understanding. Others want deeply meaningful relationships with only a few people. Think of it as a linear continuum with two poles. There is no magic number of people we need to interact with in order to be relational. We are all different, so the key to being relational is not numbers.

The key to being relational is simple: agape. Jesus said, "My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you." This is agape (love).

Being relational means taking people seriously. Jesus went on to say, "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command" (John 15:13-14). And what did he command? "Love each other as I have loved you."

Treat people with respect. Dignify the individual. Take people seriously. All these are ways we bring agape into the workplace or anywhere we encounter people.

Think how dramatically our workplace could change if we listened to one another, intently striving to understand each other with loving hearts? If we really saw what Jesus saw in one another, how that would change all our relationships?

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According to Jayakumar Christian, poverty is not the lack of money, but the lack of ”linkages.” Having access to power alleviates poverty. Power is the means to get things done.

People fail to understand the influence surroundings have on life decisions and outcomes. I had a friend who was a star athlete at a highly respected university. After he graduated, he returned to his hometown and sold real estate. After several years, many of his university connections weren’t just coming to him to buy summer homes, they were buying ranches. Financially, my friend was doing quite well. Then the real estate market took a drastic turn. People weren’t buying homes, and certainly not ranches.

Money got very tight for my friend. He had no income for a couple of years. Still he was able to live in a large house and drive a luxury car. He didn’t own the house or the car, but friends loaned them to him. He had linkages. Although he had no money, my friend had linkages.

When I was growing up, the expectation in my neighborhood was to join a good union and work in a factory or trade. Many of us went to college anyway, but finding money and navigating the travails of college life were not things our parents helped us overcome. We found our own linkages to power so we could make it to graduation.

My daughter just graduated from college, and her experience was much different than mine. She was raised in an environment where college was the expectation not the exception. My wife and I helped our daughter navigate the college years more effectively. We had the linkages to power.

Just a few miles from my childhood home in a different neighborhood, the expectations were different still. Union work was not an expectation, but a dream. They didn’t have union connections. In their neighborhood, college was a dream beyond a dream. No one went to college except for the occasional, exceptional athlete. Power in that neighborhood was tied to physical abilities. Protection, intimidation, and violence dominated their neighborhood power linkages. 

Access to power is different depending on circumstances. Even the definition of power changes as the circumstances change.

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It’s appropriate to follow on the heels of yesterday’s post with a repeat of the central question. Andy Crouch asked it in his interview with Jayakumar Christian for Christianity Today.

Andy:  You seem to think about poverty less in terms of prosperity and more in terms of access.

Jayakumar:  The word we use is "linkages." Poverty is the absence of linkages, the absence of connections with others. So we look for opportunities to link powerless communities with people with good intentions, people with good hearts—government officials, health officials, panchayat presidents, headmasters in schools—who have an influence in the local area and who mean good. We work closely with them.

Jayakumar’s understanding of poverty is different from my own. In my experience with efforts to deal with poverty, I have seen an overwhelming trend. Those in need benefit from a donation from those who have means, but the people of means always control how the means are distributed. At least I know that’s how I give to organizations. I give to those whom I believe will distribute funds most effectively.

Occasionally, I show up at an event to lend a helping hand, painting, building, cleaning, or something similar. In these instances I show up, help some people out, and leave. 

When I was in high school, we had one of those food campaigns to help those less fortunate in our community. On the day of distribution, two people showed up, me and the bus driver. What made this grand gesture more difficult was pulling up to the house of a classmate and giving his family this box of food. I didn’t feel noble. I felt shame. My actions seemed to be more about making givers feel good about doing good for the poor. It did little for the recipients except to remind them that they were still poor.

It wasn’t long after that when I began to experience a different kind of poverty, workplace poverty. It’s something I’ve never consciously labeled before. Workplace poverty doesn't mean low wages or sweat-shop conditions. We already understand that as poverty. Workplace poverty means being cut-off from the linkages of power. Bosses who control workflow, decision-making, and how to do every task create a stifled and impoverished work environment. They crush incentive by over-valuing obedience and order.

When we experience workplace poverty, we long for access to power. From the time of the Israelite enslavement in Egypt up until today, concentrated power impoverishes people. Keeping people away from the linkages of power keeps them flourishing.

In the next post, we'll look at the power of expectations.

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