Sorted Magazine

Tag: Jeff Lucas

  • Opinion: “Faithfulness is a fruit of the Spirit, excitement is not”

    I looked around. I was the guest speaker in a large, successful church, and the service was hopping – literally. The congregation were well into the songs, and a gaggle of enthusiastic teens had rushed to the front of the auditorium to the edge of the stage, where they were dancing to the high energy tunes. On stage, the worship team were technically brilliant, the graphics on the huge screen behind them stunning. Each member of the band (there were about ten of them) looked like they had stepped out of a fashion magazine. Fabulous teeth that facilitated gleaming smiles, the ladies all young and beautiful, and the chaps all appeared to be sporting six-pack abs and fruit-of-many-workouts biceps. (I wondered if slightly overweight, average-looking folks were banned from the platform, but surely the ‘ugly’ quota would be more than fulfilled once I got up to preach.)

    Everything looked great, but inwardly, something still wasn’t right with me. I often feel like that in church. Everyone else seems totally caught up in the holy moment, and I catch myself fretting; distracted; questioning; anxious. I feel more like a refugee than a local. Perhaps you know the feeling.

    What’s wrong? I asked myself. This church had grown from a fledgling plant to a thriving congregation of 2,000 people in ten years, and had planted other congregations in that fruitful decade. I didn’t know the pastor well, but he came across as an authentic leader and a brilliant communicator. So what was up?

    I wondered if I was struggling because this was the third service of the morning. I had sat through all the songs, announcements, the ‘spontaneous’ witty asides twice already, and perhaps this was just beginning to feel a little redundant.

    But that was not it. My home church has three Sunday morning services, which means that I get to hear myself three times over when I preach. I’m used to repetition. And then I identified the source of my vague disquiet. These are great people. The music is wonderful.

    And, beneath the surface, they are truly committed to the gospel – the financial giving of the church shows that they mean business and are willing to sacrifice to full their mission. It’s all good … but … it’s all just too exciting. I couldn’t attend this church regularly, because I can’t be that thrilled about being a Christian that regularly. Being ecstatic about being a follower of Jesus on a weekly basis is just beyond me.

    As the thought registered, the worship leader stepped up a gear in terms of exhortation, yelled that Jesus was awesome, and with a hint of rebuke in his voice, commanded the now sweaty congregation to dance more, shout louder, clap together, because Jesus was worth it. Inwardly, I groaned.

    Now don’t misunderstand me. Despite my 61 years, I can shout and clap and even bop with the best of them, even if my dancing does look a little uncoordinated and people have been known to want to call for medical assistance when I break into my jerky, frenetic moves. I love to see a congregation giving their best when they praise the Lord. Sullen, spectator churches depress me.

    But I worry when church has to always be exciting. When every service has to be a breakthrough, when every gathering has to result in an eye-popping, life-altering encounter with God, and when we have to be excited all the time, surely some unhealthy traits emerge.

    First off, life isn’t always exciting. On the contrary, I recently spoke to a young widow whose 35-year-old husband had just passed away following a brave, five-year battle with multiple brain tumours. She’s trusting all right, but she’s far from excited. There’s the danger that we reduce faith to having excited feelings, and then when those feelings fail to appear, we wonder where God has gone.

    And then there’s the problem that looms if every service has to be awesome. Quite simply, we can end up faking it, over-egging what happens because we’re desperate for a result.

    Surely sometimes church can be predictable. We get together, sing our songs, pray our prayers, open the great Book, ponder its meaning, affirm our faith, and go home. No mountaintop transfiguration experience required, just the people of God huddling together and reminding each other that they are the people of God, and that Jesus is still alive.

    Surely we should make allowances for church to be rather ‘boring’ sometimes? The Early Church must have had at least a few services where they weren’t dancing on the tables. Some of their gatherings were punctuated by deep disagreements. And on one glorious occasion, the apostle Paul droned on for so long that a hapless young chap fell asleep and tumbled out of a window. OK, so they raised him up (that bit was exciting) and the slumber was explained by the lulling warmth of oil lamps burning rather than the apostle being tedious, but it happened nonetheless.

    Boredom is part of tenacious relationships. Not every conversation with a trusted friend will necessarily be exhilarating. Marriage isn’t scintillating every day. Can’t the same be true of the collective relationships that we call church?

    Recently, there’s been a call for worship songs that more accurately reflect the different seasons of life. There’s been a dearth of ‘songs of lament’ that can be used to express struggle, doubt and pain.

    While I think such songs would be challenging to write (‘Let’s all stand together and sing number 47: I’m naffed off, how about you?’), surely there should be some songs that are appropriate for when a national disaster is announced, or that can express uncertainty, fear, or despair.

    The great songbook of the Bible, the book of Psalms, contains plenty of these statements; frequently the psalmist asks, why, how long, and even “God, where have you gone?” Can we not create songs that express the full texture of life here on this broken planet?

    Perhaps I should start a new organisation called the International Federation of Occasionally Boring and Predictable Churches. That’s silly, I know. Nobody would join. But we could at least give each other permission to truthfully say that life is not an endless hop, skip and jump, and that, at times, although we’re still trying to follow Jesus, we’re dragging our feet as we do so. Weekly exuberance is therefore not always required. Faithfulness is a fruit of the Spirit; excitement is not.

    This is an extract from Staying in the Boat by Jeff Lucas. It is published by CWR and available here:

    All Photo Credits: Getty images

  • The Last Laugh: “Warm, authentic, rich in wisdom”

    Extract from the Foreword of The Last Laugh by Steve Legg: It was one of those “Is this God speaking to me?” moments that many followers of Jesus experience. A thought surfaces, seemingly from nowhere, and its persistent luminosity makes us wonder if the Holy Spirit is broadcasting on our personal wavelength. Some believers insist their lives are punctuated with daily, even hourly, revelations. I haven’t found God to be quite so chatty. So when I do sense his nudge, I usually dash into crisis mode. Is this thought racing around my mind just my wishful thinking, is it truly the divine voice, or is it merely the aftereffects of last night’s chicken tikka masala? I wish God would speak with a louder, clearer voice, but perhaps he whispers because he wants us to draw closer, that we might hear.

    Back to my inner nudge. Halfway through a Sunday morning service, I was just about to preach when the thought surfaced again: “Take a look at my beautiful people.” So I did. I looked around at the sea of faces that was our congregation, and recalled some of their stories. Over there was John, who married after desperately longing for a soulmate for decades, only to lose his darling in a drunk driver-caused crash. Towards the back was Sally, who had poured her heart out on a lonely mission field. Not many responded to her life of kingdom service, but she stayed the course until retirement. Now she feels somewhat lost, surplus to requirements. I look her way but she is unaware, for her eyes are shut tight, her hands raised in worship. Beautiful indeed.

    And the whisper confirmed the truth that God who flings stars into being with a word, daubs drab skies with rainbows and paints deep sea fishes in stunning colours that no human eye will ever see – this God of ours finds the greatest delight when he sees hearts that trust him through mystery. In recent months, I have pondered yet another dazzling sight. Our dear friend Steve has been given a terminal cancer diagnosis. A tearful oncologist delivered the dreaded news that he had just months to live. There are hopeful possibilities with some radical treatment options, but he, Bekah and the whole family are treading a bewildering path: the remote possibility of a medical solution and their belief in a miracle-working God who can heal in a moment, all entwined with a visit to a hospice to discuss end-of-life care. But Steve and Bekah have decided. Even when life is threatened, it still goes on.

    The weekend after the dark diagnosis, Steve, a brilliant evangelist who uses comedy in his Tricks and Laughs presentations, performed at four outreach events. He is also the publisher of Sorted, an outstanding Christian magazine for men. Bekah continues to lead Restored, a non-profit dedicated to helping victims of domestic abuse. Recently, during a transatlantic phone chat, Bekah spoke of some of the good things they are celebrating, even as they pass through the valley of the shadow. “There is so much beauty to be seen, even in this horrible season,” she said. “We don’t want to miss the lovely things that God is surely doing.” That’s when we had to pause for tears because, in celebrating treasure that can be found even in darkness, Bekah and Steve have themselves become quite beautiful in their persistent faith and faithfulness. In the intense and unwelcome roller-coaster ride that suffering brings, they are clinging to God through the white-knuckle ride. They are, in short, a stunning sight.

    Often we focus on what’s wrong with the world and with the Church. Fixated on the failures of high-profile Christian leaders, we sink into despair. Preoccupied with the picky pettiness that breaks out when someone suggests moving the pews, we wonder if there’s any future for a people so resistant to change. But all around us today, there are quiet yet glorious examples of tenacious dedication. If you’re one of them, know this: your love for Christ surely turns his head.

    In this warm, authentic book that is rich in wisdom and void of cliché, you will find hope and inspiration. As you trace Steve’s journey, you’ll peer into the shadowland of suffering and discover that the light of Jesus shines brightly there. As you read, please say a prayer for Steve and Bekah, and their lovely family. And if you’re preoccupied with ugliness – in yourself, in others, in our broken world and imperfect Church – then know this: there’s beauty to be found in the most surprising places. Go on. Turn the page, and look again.

    The Last Laugh launches on December 1st 2023 and is available for pre-order here: The Last Laugh – Son Christian Media Ltd (square.site)

    Main Photo Credit: Courtesy of SCM

  • Faith: Planks and splinters

    Faith: Planks and splinters

    Too much self-criticism is unhealthy, but being completely blinkered where our own actions are concerned won’t win us any friends.

    The restaurant was a welcome oasis; we sat down at the outside table with a sigh of relief. Jerusalem’s suk, the bazaar, was a bustling mass of humanity. Shoppers scurried around like ants, hunting for a bargain one of them uselessly haggling about items that cost less than a pound. Street traders hurried through the labyrinth of cobbled streets, huge trays of fresh bread and bagels impossibly balanced atop their heads. The exotic smell of spices hung fragrant in the air.

    But there was an added element to the atmosphere – religion. A wailing summons to worship blared out from a speaker atop a mosque, an insistent cry to the faithful. And, as a group of Christian pilgrims, we had found inspiration in seeing the old, old story come to life. We had been moved by the old olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane, their twisted limbs a prophetic picture of the agony and struggle that Jesus experienced there. Galilee’s rural simplicity had been a tonic, and the beach at Tabgha is always a joy. It was there that Jesus cooked breakfast for His weary friends, an unusual act after beating the powers of death and hell in His resurrection but a beautiful example of His relentless care.

    We were hungry for our lunch and a smiling waiter had welcomed us and offered menus. Suddenly, a group of Christians plonked themselves down at the table next to us. Their t-shirts loudly announced that they were believers: “I follow a Jewish carpenter” said one. Another had “Faithbook: Add Jesus as a friend”, which either suggested that the wearer was (a) into social media or (b) wrestling with a lisp, or both. Incredibly, a third proclaimed that: “The world is a battlefield, God is my weapon. The Bible is my ammo.” What? God is my weapon? The Bible is ammo? Ammunition is used to kill people. Apparently, this group had all shopped at hideousreligioustshirts.com for their attire.

    But their fashion choices were just the beginning of sorrows. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that sitting in a food establishment usually means ordering from the menu they opened their bags and tucked into the sandwiches that they’d brought with them. One of them eve produced a Thermos flask with hot drinks. And of course, no eating began before a lengthy prayer of grace was shared, asking the Lord to bless the food. The restaurant owner was probably not greatly blessed himself, but smiled patiently. I wondered how many times he, an orthodox Jew, witnessed this kind of thing. I shot him a look, but there was no hint of frustration. This must have been a regular event that he’d grown used to: Christians behaving badly.

    Something similar happened when Kay and I attended a large national prayer event. A hug queue of people lined up patiently to get in. The presence of the President of the the United Sates meant that security was high, and creating a secure environment takes time. Suddenly a leader and his entourage rudely pushed their way to the front. I informed the queue-jumpers that they should take their place at the back of the line: “That’s where we were just now” one of them glowered, somewhat menacingly, “And now we’re here.” And there they stood, bustling for first place, into a prayer meeting. I contemplated further action, but a punch-up prior to a period of intercession would be quite unseemly. The incongruity of pushing in to pray apparently didn’t occur. Christians behaving badly.

    Jesus warns us against allowing a dab of piety to blind us to obvious realities. Being picky about gnats but swallowing camels whole is a dangerous tendency among those who are spiritually keen. The Pharisees were white-hot on rules for eating, but equally fervent about whipping up a conspiracy to condemn an innocent man to death. Faith should bring focus to our lives, offering a faithful reflection in a mirror-mirror-on-the-wall, who’s-the-fairest-of-them-all culture. But sometimes a bit of religious devotion can blind us to the reality of us. We ignore what is obviously wrong in our lives, justifying ourselves by what is ‘right’ in our lives. Able to spot the faults of others from a great distance, we’re keen to help them remove the tiniest specks from their eyes, while ignoring the great logs that protrude from our own.

    I recently chatted with a man whose work ethic is shocking. (If there was a Guinness World Record for low productivity and taking time off, he’d win by a country mile.)

    He spent most of our conversation complaining about his boss who, he says, is lazy and unproductive. There’s that log again.

    So, asking God to show us what we don’t currently see about ourselves is surely a healthy prayer to pray. And this is vital. Some people don’t become followers of Jesus because they don’t know any Christians. And some people don’t turn to Christ precisely because the do know some of His crowd.

    Their meal over the t-shirted snackers moved on, eager for the next epiphany. I hope they didn’t leave their paper bags and soiled cups behind for the server to clear away. But who knows? Perhaps they did. After all, they were in a restaurant.

    This is an extract from Staying in the Boat by Jeff Lucas published by CWR available here.

    Main Photo Credit: Jason Abdilla via Unsplash