Reflection for the Week-- June 29, 2008
Friendships and Forewords
This is the final part of our three part series highlighting my new book, When God Disappears. Thank you for your patience and indulgence as I shared bits and pieces of the book with you.
Sure, many may think I am just trying to sell copies of the book. And, of course, there is some truth in that. But, not for what might appear as the obvious reason.
When God Disappears is not the book I longed to write. The project that meant the most to me is A Positive Life, a more autobiographical account of my life and the lessons the journey has taught me.
But, Regal Books (to whom I am so grateful) took a special interest in the proposal that would become When God Disappears. At first, I was surprised. But, after finishing the manuscript, woven through my recovery from heart surgery and a host of other issues in my life, I realized God's great wisdom in allowing this book to be published first.
When God Disappears is deeply personal, and not just because of the words on a page. The effort (yes, that is the best description) in writing the manuscript, recounting the stories and deciphering the angles of God's message, proved one of the most significant experiences of my life.
The project also afforded me connections to some of the finest, Christian brothers and sisters. My emails with Len Sweet were invaluable for broaden my understanding of God's plan. Vivan Berryhill reminded me of the simple, powerful grace of God for changing the world-- beginning in our own backyards. Reconnecting and reliving the stories of so many friends and heroes revived my deep passion for Jesus and for Jesus' people.
And, what can I say about Deanna Favre? I read Deanna's book shortly after it was released. It is a wonderful, candid testament of her journey with Brett, as a single mom, and as a cancer survivor. She is truly a remarkable and dear friend in Christ.
I was humbled when Deanna agreed to write the foreword to When God Disappears. But, I was overwhelmed when her words in the foreword returned with such grace and beauty.
Sure, I was thankful for the compliments Deanna shared about me and the book, but I was amazed at her recounting and praise for God in the midst of the work. More than encouraging me (which she did), Deanna found the encouragement of God's loving touch and shared it (as she always has) so that those "to whom love and peace are strangers, will find a home in Christ".
And, so, please indulge me again-- and sit back and take a few moments to read Deanna's foreword. Please look past the references to me (really!) and see the heart of a God who has not disappeared--- for we are never alone!
Foreword by Deanna Favre
Author, Don't Bet Against Me
"When God Disappears" is an amazing book that will, no doubt, touch the lives of all its readers. It teaches of God's love and patience for us. It represents one of the most unique writing experiences that I have ever encountered. It will give you the hope you have so desperately been searching to find. It will change your life!
Shane Stanford's life is an example for all to follow. Living with hemophilia, Hepatitis C, and HIV is associated with repression and discrimination, rejection by family and friends, and fear of the unknown, yet he has sustained an unwavering faith. Many people would have turned away from God, would have given up hope, and lost faith. Shane continues to see God's grace and teach others about a loving God who never gives up on his children. He is unbelievably talented. He has a unique way of writing that touches the very soul of the reader. I have gained strength from his words. God had a hand in our paths crossing. I am a better person for meeting Shane and reading his book. I feel blessed by our encounter.
Without a doubt, there are times in the lives of every individual that the giants seem too big, the trees too high to climb and the rocks too plentiful for those who wish to throw them. Shane goes straight to the heart of everyone, because all of us have experienced burdens such as rejection, pain, loss, failure and sorrow. These are the times that deepen our faith.
The sting of death has touched all of us. Shane reminds us that it is our faith and trust in God that soothes our wounded spirit in these painful moments of life. Death cast a lonely darkness that can only be illuminated by the hand of God. Shane's words walk us gently to the foot of the cross where acceptance always lives, where death and illness cannot exist, trust is never lost, promises are never broken, and everyone is always welcome.
We have all been guilty of betrayal at some point in our lives. How are we to react when someone betrays us? We have all been a victim of this. Someone chooses to momentarily look away from our friendship and deceive us. Thank you Shane for showing us that forgiveness is the only path to restoration.
Shane helps us to repair the bridge of our lives. Many times, as humans do, we forget to include God in our lives and decision making. We only turn to God during the trying times, the times when we are going through trials and tribulations. This is when we decide to reach out to God. When things are great in our lives, we forget to praise God and include him in our decisions. Most of these decisions made without the help of God are remorseful. God should be in our lives daily, not just during the trying times.
I am so grateful that Shane has allowed me to be a part of his journey. By writing this book, he will help so many get to the place they need to be in their walk with our Savior. I pray that you too, will be ministered to and touched by Shane's amazing words. What will you do with the insight that you gain from this book? It is for you to decide. However, it is my hope that you will choose to live a life in honor of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is truly amazing!
Thank you, Deanna.
Be Salt and Light-- You Matter!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Reflection for the Week-- June 22, 2008
Blessed are those who mourn---
Since I was a student pastor at Justice Heights UMC in Laurel, Mississippi, I have recorded Meet the Press hosted by Tim Russert. With a handful of exceptions, I have watched faithfully for the past seventeen years. Although I did not get the chance to watch the program as it aired on Sunday mornings (due to Sunday services), I watched by VHS tape, TiVO and, now, DVR. In fact, I first learned to record from VCR because of Meet the Press. I still couldn't set the clock mind you, but the program taped just fine.
Losing Tim Russert last week to a heart attack was like losing a member of our family. Last year, during my recovery from heart surgery, and subsequent five week absence from church, my wife and I spent our Sunday mornings watching Meet the Press, Charles Stanley, Paula Deen and Sports Center. (Oh, and, yes, I watched my favorite show-- The United Methodist Hour).
I never met Tim Russert, but I had great respect for his work ethic, probing intellect, fierce love for his family, and devotion to his faith. He and his family remain in our thoughts and prayers. His loss is significant for our nation and for how we process critical information. I have spent the past several days wondering how, and if, this election cycle can proceed without Tim Russert explaining for all of us the details. Of course, it will, but--- well, you know what I mean.
Loss does that-- It causes us to ask the "what if" questions and leaves us searching to make sense of sudden and unexplainable events.
Several years ago, I wrote a devotion on mourning after my grandmother passed away from a difficult bout with cancer. The devotion eventually became part of my book, The Eight Blessings. My grandmother's favorite Scripture was from Matthew 5, the Beatitudes. During her final days, she kept five translations of the passage near her bedside.
After her funeral, I took those translations and spent the next year reading from them each day. Needless to say, it changed my life. The following is from the Second Blessing, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Comfort from Sorrow
Matthew translates Jesus' Aramaic word for mourning into the strongest Greek equivalent possible. The image is of one who endures the loss of that which is most dear. It is an almost paralyzing form of grief whose effect is life numbing, stopping the mourner dead in their tracks. The use of such a word drags from each us the profoundest of memories and reminds us of the depth and sting death has upon our world. But, when one delves further, death is not the only culprit that causes this form of grief.
The Second Blessing also speaks to the general suffering of the world--the plight of others so long victims of injustice and despair. And, from this, Jesus goes further by implicating our personal grief, the result of too many bad life decisions and unreconciled mistakes. No, the grief of which Jesus speaks broadens the picture of mourning from the vivid scenes of a tomb to the deep recesses of life's poorest choices or circumstances. It is a personal view of grief from which no one is immune, for Jesus knows we have all lost someone or something, and, as a result, our lives are less than whole.
But with such an expression of mourning comes an equally powerful view of God's comfort. Jesus approaches the vulnerability of life honestly and gives us a glimpse of why loving and living, even with the prospect of such pain, is the only means for experiencing real comfort. And, this is not a cheap comfort, feelings spoken as mere clichés, but a sincere embrace of life's deepest emotions through which loving unconditionally serves as the primary source.
Jesus encourages us to love with real openness and honesty that we might see the deeper side of living, but such love also brings great vulnerability. I know what you are asking, What happens when one loves to the point of such great risk? Do they avoid the pain and struggle of this world? Quite the contrary, Jesus tells his disciples that in this world "they will have trouble", but there is also potential for great joy as Jesus assures them to "take heart for I have overcome the world". Sure the risk of grief or mourning can be overwhelming, but God promises a life-changing joy if we are willing to take the chance.
The life that risks love to the point of real vulnerability shifts the tone of the world's expectations. By risking our own grief, we see the possibility of genuine relationship and community, of sincere faith and spiritual connection-as God intended from the beginning. We should not miss the declarative tone of Jesus' second blessing-Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Certainly, Jesus affirms the presence of mourning in this world, and the risk of love that often leads to such emotions, but equally affirming, is the promise of spectacular comfort born from the heart of God. God does not call us to risk ourselves for the mere possibility of comfort, but in the certainty of it.
We see this time and again as Jesus confronts the mourning of this world, whether in the death of a friend (Lazarus) or in the grief of a people's discontent (weeping over Jerusalem). It is even present in Jesus' discourse about his own suffering and death. In Matthew 9 and John 16, he teaches his disciples about suffering from a very personal perspective referring to a time when he will no longer be with them. Jesus insists they will experience an almost palpable form of suffering, where their faith will be tested and strained (Matthew 9). However, in this most difficult period for the disciples, Jesus promises that their mourning will turn to comfort--an unimaginable joy that the world will not understand (John 16).
Many cannot or will not experience this kind of comfort and joy, not because God does offer it, but because we have opted for a safer or easier path complete with little risk or a quick fix; missing, through either, what God can unveil to us on the other side and, unfortunately, setting up a false sense of security. One may think they can prevent the risk of grief by refusing to love completely, but ultimately this mourning takes the form of a more profound grief-loneliness and unfulfillment. No, the joy of which I speak is born only from the risk of possibly losing it. However, the life, death and resurrection of Jesus bridges the distance between mourning and comfort, sorrow and joy, calling only that we see the path and then be willing to courageously walk down it.
Be Salt and Light-- You Matter!
Shane
Blessed are those who mourn---
Since I was a student pastor at Justice Heights UMC in Laurel, Mississippi, I have recorded Meet the Press hosted by Tim Russert. With a handful of exceptions, I have watched faithfully for the past seventeen years. Although I did not get the chance to watch the program as it aired on Sunday mornings (due to Sunday services), I watched by VHS tape, TiVO and, now, DVR. In fact, I first learned to record from VCR because of Meet the Press. I still couldn't set the clock mind you, but the program taped just fine.
Losing Tim Russert last week to a heart attack was like losing a member of our family. Last year, during my recovery from heart surgery, and subsequent five week absence from church, my wife and I spent our Sunday mornings watching Meet the Press, Charles Stanley, Paula Deen and Sports Center. (Oh, and, yes, I watched my favorite show-- The United Methodist Hour).
I never met Tim Russert, but I had great respect for his work ethic, probing intellect, fierce love for his family, and devotion to his faith. He and his family remain in our thoughts and prayers. His loss is significant for our nation and for how we process critical information. I have spent the past several days wondering how, and if, this election cycle can proceed without Tim Russert explaining for all of us the details. Of course, it will, but--- well, you know what I mean.
Loss does that-- It causes us to ask the "what if" questions and leaves us searching to make sense of sudden and unexplainable events.
Several years ago, I wrote a devotion on mourning after my grandmother passed away from a difficult bout with cancer. The devotion eventually became part of my book, The Eight Blessings. My grandmother's favorite Scripture was from Matthew 5, the Beatitudes. During her final days, she kept five translations of the passage near her bedside.
After her funeral, I took those translations and spent the next year reading from them each day. Needless to say, it changed my life. The following is from the Second Blessing, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Comfort from Sorrow
Matthew translates Jesus' Aramaic word for mourning into the strongest Greek equivalent possible. The image is of one who endures the loss of that which is most dear. It is an almost paralyzing form of grief whose effect is life numbing, stopping the mourner dead in their tracks. The use of such a word drags from each us the profoundest of memories and reminds us of the depth and sting death has upon our world. But, when one delves further, death is not the only culprit that causes this form of grief.
The Second Blessing also speaks to the general suffering of the world--the plight of others so long victims of injustice and despair. And, from this, Jesus goes further by implicating our personal grief, the result of too many bad life decisions and unreconciled mistakes. No, the grief of which Jesus speaks broadens the picture of mourning from the vivid scenes of a tomb to the deep recesses of life's poorest choices or circumstances. It is a personal view of grief from which no one is immune, for Jesus knows we have all lost someone or something, and, as a result, our lives are less than whole.
But with such an expression of mourning comes an equally powerful view of God's comfort. Jesus approaches the vulnerability of life honestly and gives us a glimpse of why loving and living, even with the prospect of such pain, is the only means for experiencing real comfort. And, this is not a cheap comfort, feelings spoken as mere clichés, but a sincere embrace of life's deepest emotions through which loving unconditionally serves as the primary source.
Jesus encourages us to love with real openness and honesty that we might see the deeper side of living, but such love also brings great vulnerability. I know what you are asking, What happens when one loves to the point of such great risk? Do they avoid the pain and struggle of this world? Quite the contrary, Jesus tells his disciples that in this world "they will have trouble", but there is also potential for great joy as Jesus assures them to "take heart for I have overcome the world". Sure the risk of grief or mourning can be overwhelming, but God promises a life-changing joy if we are willing to take the chance.
The life that risks love to the point of real vulnerability shifts the tone of the world's expectations. By risking our own grief, we see the possibility of genuine relationship and community, of sincere faith and spiritual connection-as God intended from the beginning. We should not miss the declarative tone of Jesus' second blessing-Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Certainly, Jesus affirms the presence of mourning in this world, and the risk of love that often leads to such emotions, but equally affirming, is the promise of spectacular comfort born from the heart of God. God does not call us to risk ourselves for the mere possibility of comfort, but in the certainty of it.
We see this time and again as Jesus confronts the mourning of this world, whether in the death of a friend (Lazarus) or in the grief of a people's discontent (weeping over Jerusalem). It is even present in Jesus' discourse about his own suffering and death. In Matthew 9 and John 16, he teaches his disciples about suffering from a very personal perspective referring to a time when he will no longer be with them. Jesus insists they will experience an almost palpable form of suffering, where their faith will be tested and strained (Matthew 9). However, in this most difficult period for the disciples, Jesus promises that their mourning will turn to comfort--an unimaginable joy that the world will not understand (John 16).
Many cannot or will not experience this kind of comfort and joy, not because God does offer it, but because we have opted for a safer or easier path complete with little risk or a quick fix; missing, through either, what God can unveil to us on the other side and, unfortunately, setting up a false sense of security. One may think they can prevent the risk of grief by refusing to love completely, but ultimately this mourning takes the form of a more profound grief-loneliness and unfulfillment. No, the joy of which I speak is born only from the risk of possibly losing it. However, the life, death and resurrection of Jesus bridges the distance between mourning and comfort, sorrow and joy, calling only that we see the path and then be willing to courageously walk down it.
Be Salt and Light-- You Matter!
Shane
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Reflection for the Week-- June 15, 2008
The following is the second of three excerpts from When God Disappears, a new book by Shane Stanford. Release Date: August 1, 2008.
A Child Who Sleeps in Miseri
By 2010, it is estimated that there will be upward of 40 million AIDS orphans in sub-Saharan Africa. This is a stunning figure-one that is almost impossible to fathom. To comprehend the worldwide effects of this pandemic is to lose the ability to stay neutral or even objective. HIV/AIDS is the global Pandora's Box that has already been opened and will eventually affect everyone on the planet in one way or another. It already impacts our national security as well as the global economy.
Recently I watched as one commentator spoke of the incredible difficulty of effectively confronting this disease. For every step forward we take in the fight against HIV/AIDS, two more hurdles appear. We provide medicines for 800,000 new patients, only to discover that 3 million new infections have been reported.
Yes, when we ponder the nature of this disease, it is overwhelming and invariably begs the question, What, if anything, can solve such a seemingly impossible problem?
Not long ago, at the invitation of Rick and Kay Warren, I spoke at the 2006 Global AIDS Summit held at Saddleback Community Church in Orange County, California. Amid the amazing array of speakers, professionals and experts, I determined that the Church, both local and global, is our most potent weapon against the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The Church possesses the greatest mobilization, distribution and motivation potential of any institution on earth. The idea of 1 billion-plus Christians reaching together into the abyss of this unbelievable struggle captivated my imagination.
But as I reflected further, I became convinced that it is more than the organizational possibilities of the Church that makes the Body of Christ so vital in this fight. As with confronting any impossible problem, the answer for how effectively we fight and how well we succeed lies deeper than just the sound principles that are the basis of any well-run institution. No, such answers begin in simple-and many times, overlooked-places.
A friend of mine recently traveled to Kenya to visit a day orphanage for children who have lost parents to the HIV/AIDS crisis. In Kenya, as in other nations in sub-Saharan Africa, the needs created by the pandemic have overrun the institutional services, especially those that serve children. Day orphanages exist as a means of providing basic necessities to those little ones who would otherwise have nothing-truly a last resort for these "least of these" among us.
Arriving at the orphanage, my friend met two workers carrying a small girl. Her body was frail and clearly malnourished, but her face wore the most beautiful smile. Whereas her body revealed every sign of what is most disturbing and troubling about the plight of those in her situation, her face revealed a spirit that was anything but hopeless.
As these contrasting images collided in my friend's mind, she greeted the young child with the help of an interpreter. My friend learned that the child's father had died just after she was born; her mother died when she was three. She lived with an aunt who was also sick and who could not provide much in the way of care. In fact, the child told my friend that she cared for her aunt at night, trying to provide her with as much comfort as possible. Like so many in similar circumstances, this child's was a long, lonely existence.
However, every morning, the workers arrived in a "goat cart" and took her to the day orphanage. Here she found not only food and an occasional change of clothes, but also friends and others with whom she could talk and play. Sure, the toys were few, the meals meager and the clothes second hand, but this place in the daylight seemed worlds away from her home at night, and it provided what previously appeared impossible: glimpses of hope.
My friend listened intently as the workers and the little girl described her daily routine. "We pick her up" they said in their broken English, "and bring her here so that she might find a little food, some clothes and some schooling. It is not much, but it is more than she has when she returns to Miseri
"Where?" my friend asked, not sure that she had heard right.
"Miseri" the worker replied. "It is the name of her settlement. The word comes from the Swahili for 'Egypt.' "
My friend realized that although she had only faintly heard our English word "misery," it certainly conveyed the right meaning. Misery was more than appropriate to describe the child's life. After all, what hope did she have? She most likely would not grow up to finish school, train for a job, have a family, or for that matter, enjoy an abundant childhood like the kids my friend knew in the States. No, the chances of her having a future were those same impossible odds the disease brings to everyone who suffers from it-but now, for my friend, these obstacles were all the more tragic because now they had a face.
Standing there, my friend was lost in thought, musing on how impossible it all seemed for this little girl. Where was God? Where was hope? What could effectively confront the wake of this disease, not only for this child but also for all children? What could possibly fill the void left by such desolation of not only a child's present but also her future? She paused a moment, lost in the realization of such sorrow. But then, as she looked up, she again saw the child's smile and the embrace of the workers, their love and care for this little one. Above all, she saw that in spite of the obvious struggles, this picture seemed full of possibilities, not because the circumstances she had encountered weren't daunting, but because there was something tangibly hopeful about the scene. Surrounded by so much sorrow and despair, my friend saw something amazing-and she found the answer to her questions.
Her answer was right in front of her, resting in what she had almost missed. My friend realized that despite the disease and the impossible circumstances intended for this child, nothing was set in stone. No. Why? Because of these people who loved like Jesus, touched like Jesus, cared like Jesus-who had become Jesus to her-misery was not all she would know.
Be Salt and Light... You Matter!
Shane
The following is the second of three excerpts from When God Disappears, a new book by Shane Stanford. Release Date: August 1, 2008.
A Child Who Sleeps in Miseri
By 2010, it is estimated that there will be upward of 40 million AIDS orphans in sub-Saharan Africa. This is a stunning figure-one that is almost impossible to fathom. To comprehend the worldwide effects of this pandemic is to lose the ability to stay neutral or even objective. HIV/AIDS is the global Pandora's Box that has already been opened and will eventually affect everyone on the planet in one way or another. It already impacts our national security as well as the global economy.
Recently I watched as one commentator spoke of the incredible difficulty of effectively confronting this disease. For every step forward we take in the fight against HIV/AIDS, two more hurdles appear. We provide medicines for 800,000 new patients, only to discover that 3 million new infections have been reported.
Yes, when we ponder the nature of this disease, it is overwhelming and invariably begs the question, What, if anything, can solve such a seemingly impossible problem?
Not long ago, at the invitation of Rick and Kay Warren, I spoke at the 2006 Global AIDS Summit held at Saddleback Community Church in Orange County, California. Amid the amazing array of speakers, professionals and experts, I determined that the Church, both local and global, is our most potent weapon against the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The Church possesses the greatest mobilization, distribution and motivation potential of any institution on earth. The idea of 1 billion-plus Christians reaching together into the abyss of this unbelievable struggle captivated my imagination.
But as I reflected further, I became convinced that it is more than the organizational possibilities of the Church that makes the Body of Christ so vital in this fight. As with confronting any impossible problem, the answer for how effectively we fight and how well we succeed lies deeper than just the sound principles that are the basis of any well-run institution. No, such answers begin in simple-and many times, overlooked-places.
A friend of mine recently traveled to Kenya to visit a day orphanage for children who have lost parents to the HIV/AIDS crisis. In Kenya, as in other nations in sub-Saharan Africa, the needs created by the pandemic have overrun the institutional services, especially those that serve children. Day orphanages exist as a means of providing basic necessities to those little ones who would otherwise have nothing-truly a last resort for these "least of these" among us.
Arriving at the orphanage, my friend met two workers carrying a small girl. Her body was frail and clearly malnourished, but her face wore the most beautiful smile. Whereas her body revealed every sign of what is most disturbing and troubling about the plight of those in her situation, her face revealed a spirit that was anything but hopeless.
As these contrasting images collided in my friend's mind, she greeted the young child with the help of an interpreter. My friend learned that the child's father had died just after she was born; her mother died when she was three. She lived with an aunt who was also sick and who could not provide much in the way of care. In fact, the child told my friend that she cared for her aunt at night, trying to provide her with as much comfort as possible. Like so many in similar circumstances, this child's was a long, lonely existence.
However, every morning, the workers arrived in a "goat cart" and took her to the day orphanage. Here she found not only food and an occasional change of clothes, but also friends and others with whom she could talk and play. Sure, the toys were few, the meals meager and the clothes second hand, but this place in the daylight seemed worlds away from her home at night, and it provided what previously appeared impossible: glimpses of hope.
My friend listened intently as the workers and the little girl described her daily routine. "We pick her up" they said in their broken English, "and bring her here so that she might find a little food, some clothes and some schooling. It is not much, but it is more than she has when she returns to Miseri
"Where?" my friend asked, not sure that she had heard right.
"Miseri" the worker replied. "It is the name of her settlement. The word comes from the Swahili for 'Egypt.' "
My friend realized that although she had only faintly heard our English word "misery," it certainly conveyed the right meaning. Misery was more than appropriate to describe the child's life. After all, what hope did she have? She most likely would not grow up to finish school, train for a job, have a family, or for that matter, enjoy an abundant childhood like the kids my friend knew in the States. No, the chances of her having a future were those same impossible odds the disease brings to everyone who suffers from it-but now, for my friend, these obstacles were all the more tragic because now they had a face.
Standing there, my friend was lost in thought, musing on how impossible it all seemed for this little girl. Where was God? Where was hope? What could effectively confront the wake of this disease, not only for this child but also for all children? What could possibly fill the void left by such desolation of not only a child's present but also her future? She paused a moment, lost in the realization of such sorrow. But then, as she looked up, she again saw the child's smile and the embrace of the workers, their love and care for this little one. Above all, she saw that in spite of the obvious struggles, this picture seemed full of possibilities, not because the circumstances she had encountered weren't daunting, but because there was something tangibly hopeful about the scene. Surrounded by so much sorrow and despair, my friend saw something amazing-and she found the answer to her questions.
Her answer was right in front of her, resting in what she had almost missed. My friend realized that despite the disease and the impossible circumstances intended for this child, nothing was set in stone. No. Why? Because of these people who loved like Jesus, touched like Jesus, cared like Jesus-who had become Jesus to her-misery was not all she would know.
Be Salt and Light... You Matter!
Shane
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