A Radical Life

I'll let you in on a little secret— I've always idolized radical lives.  When I was a kid, my parents read me missionary biographies every night before bed.  I ate up stories of World War pilots and soldiers who risked everything, even some who sacrificed their lives for what they believed in.  I read Tom Clancy books when I was barely a teenager, and devoured Robinson Crusoe cover to cover at least 5 times.  My childhood hero Nate Saint tied this radical life in with my fascination for airplanes that I had as a child.

If you don't know his story, he was one of the four missionaries that accompanied Jim Elliot and was eventually martyred for his boldness, leaving behind a son and a wife and paving the way for a tribe of people to eventually hear the gospel.

Unfortunately enough, I think that modern day evangelicalism quietly pushes their stories away without much recognition.  Tragically, when I hear stories about modern evangelicals that lived radical lives for Jesus and were eventually killed for their boldness in proclaiming the gospel, the first words that come out of a Christian's mouth acknowledge their boldness, but in the same breath question their methods, suggesting that we Christians be more "prudent" in our approach.

That really pisses me off.

I can't help but to wonder if the disciples could have been more "prudent" in the way that they were martyred in sharing the faith.  And though I'm aware that there are many places to share the gospel that there is no risk, and there is certainly need there as well, unfortunately, our "prudence" has led to around a BILLION people on this earth who have never heard the gospel.  Never.  Not once.

Tears are clouding my eyes as I write this, and I can't ever think about the lost people in this world without my heart breaking for them.  I know what it's like to be enslaved to sin.  I am in no way more righteous than any one of them, but I grew up in a church with a family and community who pointed me constantly to Christ.  Despite this, still I rejected him at so many different moments through my life, spurning him for earthly pleasures and empty fantasies.

Yes, my heart breaks for those who have never heard the gospel.  Unfortunately, our "prudence" and our "political correctness" is daily allowing people to sink into an eternity apart from God, because we don't have the courage to GO and MAKE DISCIPLES of lost people.

Look at your own life.  Is your relationship with Christ worth sacrificing your life for?  Would you proclaim the gospel with your last breath, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun?  Would you go to a far away country, following the call of God to a place from which you might never return?

If the answer is no because God has called you to something else, then that's WONDERFUL.  Missionaries need support, prayer, and the gospel needs to be preached even in primarily Christian areas as well.

But if the answer is no because you're not "comfortable" with it, or it wouldn't be "prudent," then sorry for my anger, but I have no doubt that people who denied following God's call on their lives are the reason that thousands of people die every day without ever hearing the gospel.  And though God is sovereign, this is why I put the blame on the hands of people, and not upon his hands.

For whatever reason, God has chosen to work through the Church to accomplish his purposes on the earth.  Unfortunately, as I have seen so many times in my life, the Church is crippled by imperfection, a sin nature, and fallen human fragility.   But still, God uses it.  And perhaps because of the Church's partial ineptitude, the Gospel has failed to reach the world.

So what can we do to change it?  Or perhaps more importantly, how can God change that through and despite the broken mess that is me.

The answer that he has given me is this: a radical life.

A life without the human "prudence" that has led to the systematic paralyzation of the battle ready Church that is modeled in Scripture and in the Apostolic Church.  A life that does not cower back from enemies that rely upon human strength and false gods to receive their power.  A life that fights against the invisible, insidious and infectious disease that is complacency.

I will not seek out death for the gospel, but neither will I cower in the face of it, because my God is more powerful than any other power.  I will count my life on earth as nothing, because I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but he lives in me.

And this radical life starts on my knees in the morning.  It starts through reading Scripture and being conformed to the likeness of Christ slowly through the power of the Spirit.  It comes through the systematic diminishment of myself, and the inversely proportional and ever increasing presence of Jesus in my heart.   It comes from a life of humility, one that is not afraid to confess sin and failure and turn them in for the abounding and completely undeserved grace of a perfect, sacrificial, incarnate God who became sin for us so we could become his righteousness.  Righteousness we could never earn.

I don't pursue a radical life because it will get me to heaven or gain me favor with God.  I will from this day forth pursue a radical life dedicated to glorifying and lifting high Jesus' name because he first lived a radical life for me, sacrificing his heavenly throne to save a wretch like me.

I live for nothing less than knowing God and making him known to all.

Please if you have reached the end of this, lift me up in prayer, that I will seek God in every moment of my existence, conforming myself to his plan for me, no matter what the cost.  And pray for the people who have never heard.  Pray that they will be able to hold on until someone reaches them and shows them the beauty of a truth that saves.  Pray that more radical people would arise from the church, with no fear.  Pray that every Christian would someday come to the point where they could sacrifice their lives for a God who first sacrificed his life for them.

And listen for God's call on your life.  Pray he would make himself known to you more and more.

My Story: What Basketball Means to Me

A question that accompanies me wherever I go, and one that I admittedly often ask myself is, "Why do you play basketball?"  I mean, I play it a lot, I talk about it a lot (I certainly hope not too much!) and I think about it a lot.  Is it just something that I love doing more than anything else?

Well, yes, and no...  I think I will begin with why I PLAYED basketball, and the process it took to get me where I am today.

The summer I turned 12 I moved to Singapore with my family.  Before living there, I lived and breathed baseball.  I actually shot a basketball like one throws a baseball, cocked back precariously on one hand, balanced (barely), and wildly inaccurate.  A lot of kids at my elementary school played basketball, but I only remember once or twice actually joining in a game with them.  My dad would always ask me if I wanted to play "ball," to which I would joyfully agree!  I'd run to my room and get my glove and a baseball, run back out and have an awkward stare-off as he held a basketball in his hand, hoping that I would want to play basketball with him instead.

In so many ways as a child, baseball validated me.  I had the privilege of playing for one of the best little leagues in the country (we were second in the state of California the year I left.)   My dad faithfully came to almost all of my games, and sometimes caused a ruckus for the umpires, declaring that they needed optometric adjustments and other always clean, but often disgruntled "encouragements" to bolster their perceived lackluster performance.

And I was pretty good, too!  I threw a knuckleball when I pitched, and though I wasn't the fastest or the most accurate, I was probably one of the best for my age.  Baseball gave me an outlet from the bubble of my Christian school and church that I'm actually grateful for today, because I learned that there was a whole community in desperate need of a savior right outside my door.

Perhaps the reason that I delve so deeply into the backstory of baseball is to share one specific memory of a night that I desperately wanted to quit.  It was my first year in the Majors, the highest level of little league baseball.  I was a 9 year old playing with 12 year olds, and one of the kids on the team named Damian and I got in a disagreement.  He was a lot bigger and stronger than I was, and he ended up pushing me around quite a bit before the coaches got in between us.

I remember leaving practice that day with angry tears falling down my cheeks.  As I stepped into our silver Ford Escort, I told my dad that I was going to quit playing baseball.  Always insightful and perceiving, he asked me what had happened, and listened as I told him everything that had transpired.  In response, he said some words that I will never forget.  If I'm ever a father, I will use these words for my sons and daughters.  If I disciple someone, I will use these words.  And I use these words on myself today.  "Son, if you quit, you let him win.  If you quit, he beat you already."

Now, flash forward a few years to Singapore, and I joined basketball because it was the only sport that my middle school offered at the time.  I was already an athlete from my time playing baseball, so I actually fit in pretty well among the "B" under 14 team (you have to be pretty bad to make the B team in a class of 22 people, haha!)

But as time went on, I started losing my passion for baseball because people were so bad at it in Singapore!  The only league I could play in was over an hour away, and on a school night it was too far to go, though my dad was always faithful to take me out to practice.  I started to lost interest in a sport that wasn't played at as high a level as I was used to.

And as my love for baseball diminished, my love for basketball increased tenfold.  Starting in 8th grade, I would play basketball during my entire lunch period after snarfing down my food in about two minutes flat.  Once class was over at 3:00 until around 5:30, when I went home, I played basketball with my friends from school.  At the dinner table, I'd squirm and think about basketball until I could leave, and then I'd go and play basketball until the lights on the courts shut off at 10:00PM.  I would walk back from the courts, over a mile in the dark, dribbling the basketball over uneven sidewalks, drenched in sweat from the tropical heat, and absolutely reveling in every second of it.

This continued on through my freshman year of high school, and into my sophomore year.  By my junior year in high school, I had joined a couple of club teams and was playing against varying levels of skill and talent, from old men reliving glory days to competing with some semi-pro players, and absolutely loving every moment of it.

But I must admit, it consumed me.  Despite going to church every Sunday, going to Bible class every day in school, living under the same roof as a theologian, my God was becoming basketball.  Not cognitively, not consciously, but subversively, I began to worship it and dedicate my life to it.

In school, my identity was a tiny part Christian, a few parts friendly guy who loved everyone, and mostly basketball player.  Basketball made me feel good.  It was the most thrill and fulfillment that I had found yet in life (what a sorry existence that was!)  Because almost nobody else in Singapore dedicated as much time as I had to basketball, I became fairly good (not as good as I gave myself credit for, but still, pretty good.)  People came to our games; our small gym was absolutely packed with people for each one.  When I dived for a loose ball, I would end up in the arms of people cheering me on.  People I didn't know would come up to me and tell me I had a good game!

As glorifying as this was, and as "awesome" as it sounds, it left me so empty.  My junior year I got a new coach who I hated,  because I had become so prideful. Ironically enough, one of the only things that kept me from quitting was proving to him that I was a better player than he was coach.  During the summer between my junior and senior year I broke my leg twice, once with a college coach here in the US for a tryout.  The identity that I had built for myself came crashing down, and I was humbled.  But unfortunately I did not turn to Christ still.

I was able to play my senior year after my leg healed, and I had an awesome time finishing off the season with my brothers that I had on the team.  But as I prepared to come back to the US, because I had never grounded my identity in Christ, I struggled with finding fulfillment.

I want to point out to any of my readers that I WAS a Christian at this time, all throughout high school, middle school, I was a believer.  But I wasn't living my life for Christ, and I had a very incomplete understanding of what the gospel's implications were for MY life.

Unfortunately, I searched for fulfillment in things that were empty.  After I finally realized that basketball wasn't going to make me happy, I experimented briefly with substances, relationships and anything BUT Christ.  I still prayed every once in awhile, and I pulled my Bible out on Sundays with everyone else, but I didn't seek after Christ for myself.

Needless to say, my first year of basketball at Moody was AWFUL.  I dreaded going to practice every day, a cloud hung over my head constantly, and again, I promised myself there was no way that God was going to put me through another season of basketball.

Slowly, but surely, God was gaining a foothold in my life.

Towards the end of my freshman year at Moody, I started praying that God would change my heart, and give me wisdom and maturity that I enormously lacked.  I started seeking after God every morning, and he began changing my heart, convicting me of my sin and bringing me to the realization that my life was totally a mess because I had searched for fulfillment in giving all of my effort and attention to earthly things.  Theoretically, I knew that it was wrong to do that, but practically, I never realized that giving my life to God as a sacrifice, honoring Him and bringing Him glory were the things that would ultimately fulfill my purpose here on earth, and for eternity.

So, did that mean I stopped playing basketball?  FAR FROM IT!

What basketball means to me now has vastly changed from what it used to mean.  Basketball has proved an incredible bridge to share the gospel in many countries across the world.  Like music, sports transcend racial, cultural and social barriers in a way that other things simply can't.  They give a sense of mutual appreciation and respect.  Paul himself likened the Christian faith to an athletic event, something that speaks volumes to me or any other athlete across the world!

Sports have taught me the meaning of humility, hard work and giving God the glory in every situation, whether or not other people noticed.  My first year back in the US, continuing on to this day, I am repeatedly humbled for thinking that I'm a "good" basketball player.  The game of comparisons is one that we can never win, because there will always be someone better than us in certain aspects of life.

Now I know that I don't need to compare my play to anyone else if in front of God I have prepared to the best of my ability, as unto HIM, not as unto other people, or for my own glory.  I'm grateful that God chose to use me, prideful, selfish and wandering as I am.

And I must admit, it's still a spiritual warfare for me in maturity every day.  I don't like practice.  I hate being blown out by a team that's better than my team.  Some days, I think about the freedom I would have if just turned in my jersey and never set foot in a formal basketball team setting again.

But my father's words come back to me still, even to this day, over a decade later— "Son, if you quit, you let him win.  If you quit, he beat you already."  If I quit, I let the devil win.  If I quit now, I will quit later in life.  I struggle some days with the enormity of the commitment I made my freshman year.  I WANT time to be able to invest more with guys on my floor.  I selfishly want the time to get to know some of the cute girls I see on campus.  I want that time to work and earn money. I WANT I WANT I WANT.

But God has called me, at least for another year, to play basketball, through the good times, the awful times, the injuries, the sweat, blood and pain, for HIS glory, and not a moment for my own.  It's not easy... Sometimes it's harder now than it ever was playing for myself.  But I know that as God sends me forth and has a life and ministry in mind for my life, the only place I want to be is within his will.  If his plan leads me through the fire, then I'm gonna get my Shadrach on.  If he leads me to the bottom of the ocean, I know Jonah was already there and made it out alright!  If he leads me to the heavens, Enoch and Elijah did just fine!

Jokes aside, I'm grateful that despite my YEARS (and continued years) of selfishness in the way that I approached basketball and sports, God still pursued me, saved me and purifies my motives daily.  And I'm grateful that I can use my passion for something that I love to bring the only worthy One glory.  That's what basketball means to me.