I'm not asking you to leave your comfort zone

"Leaving your comfort zone" is a social virtue. Regardless of context (at home, at work, in your community of faith, in a social or hobby club), kudos abound for those who leave their comfort zone. Leaders often ask their groups to step out of their comfort zones in order to try something new and, perhaps, enjoy some kind of new benefit. When we do, then we high five each other and give attaboys. And then we return to our comfort zones.

A "comfort zone" is commonly described as that sphere that surrounds you - within that sphere is comfort, and outside that sphere is some level of discomfort, whether slight or severe or something in between. We, being creatures who gravitate toward comfort, spend a lot of time inside that sphere or "zone," and the common wisdom is that it's a good thing to leave that comfort zone on occasion. And then return.

I have been bugged by the concept of "comfort zone" on the simple basis that comfort should not be our primary ethic. Comfort should not be that controlling value by which most decisions are made. With this mindset, leaving our comfort zone can become something "heroic" in our own eyes because we dared to challenge this primary ethic. I tried sushi - how daring and brave!

So, I began to talk in terms of "expanding your comfort zone" instead of leaving it (and then returning). Wouldn't it be better if we just expanded that sphere so that we were more comfortable with more things (without compromising morals)? Going to a foreign country to help in an orphanage then is not the brave "leaving your comfort zone" but the humble "expanding your comfort zone." Rather than enduring uncomfortable things more often, we are more comfortable with more things. We actually grow - increasing the number of things we're comfortable doing and encountering is a kind of growth.

But that still didn't answer the issue in a satisfactory way for me.

Lately, I've been toying with the idea that it's not really a "comfort zone" at all. It's a "control zone." It's the sphere inside which I feel like I have enough control, and outside which I feel like I don't have enough control. The sense of "comfort," then, is a byproduct of how much control I feel. If this is the right view, then my primary ethic is not my arbitrary level of comfort, but a question of who's in charge.

If God is truly God, He is then truly sovereign, perfectly loving, and completely purposeful. Everything is within His "control zone." And if I am truly His child, then the sphere of my control is entirely subsumed by His. Now, leaving my control zone is to enter His. It is not this brave, temporary venture beyond my level of comfort, but a matter of trust. If I do not trust God to know what He's doing, I will not leave my control zone. If I do trust that His sovereign involvement is actual and not just theoretical, I can leave my control zone and enter into His.

As we talk about living more missional lives, I'm not asking you to leave your comfort zone. I'm asking you to leave your control zone. And to enter His.

I've Seen Scared Men

I've seen a man scared to die. I've looked in his eyes as they darted from my eyes to the ground to the ceiling, and then to some faraway, unreachable thought. I've heard the tremor in his voice as he used manly words to describe weakness and fear. He doesn't believe the rationalizations he speaks as he grasps for phantom answers. The clock didn't move any faster or slower for him - it marched steadily toward the moment that death may actually arrive.

I've seen a man scared to live. He slumped on the floor, a living pile of inertia. He wept, he swore, he hated me and was so glad I was there, he cursed those closest to him. He did everything but move. Or hope. He weighed the price it would cost to continue breathing as he would silver coins at the market, and wasn't convinced of the bargain. He would not be moved until he chose to, and I wasn't sure he would.

I've seen a man scared to fail. Frozen by unending "what ifs?", he dared not choose A or B. A could be ruinous, but B could be disastrous. C was certain chaos and so was never even discussed. People might be harmed, he might be fired, the company might make a mint - or spend one. He consumed more time trying to find who could make the decision for him than finding the solution. Anything to escape what he feared. At least the status quo was undisastrous.

I've seen a man scared to succeed. The accolades first brought pride, then satisfaction, and then fear. A little success is good, but now they might expect more. "If I do more, what if I succeed more? Can I handle it?" All he wanted to do is go places, and now it looks like he's going places, but he's not sure he still likes the destination. That place gets lot of attention (scrutiny); that place has a lot of responsibility (blame); that place elevates (a higher perch to fall from).

I know a Man scared of nothing. He was not scared to die, which then gave me life. He was not scared to live, and so He bore my sorrows and knew my temptations. He was not scared to fail, because He knew that He was on an infallible mission. He was not scared to succeed, even though everyone around Him thought it was a failure. I have looked in the eyes of those who fear, and I have seen life through fearful eyes. I can go forward not because I have enough courage, but because I know the Man scared of nothing.

Evangelism Introverted

I'm an introvert. Actually, I'm extremely introverted according to the Myers-Briggs personality assessment. Don't let the number of words I say fool you - I'm a turtle put up on a platform. That means that I process internally and that I recharge by being alone. I love people, but being around a lot of them gives energy to extroverts and wears out us introverts. When I was a software manager, we would work these two-day job fairs 3 or 4 times a year, interviewing dozens of people each day. By the end of each day, we introverts were exhausted and the extroverted HR folks were so revved up they wanted to go out clubbing. I just wanted to go home and say nuttin' to nobody for a week.

Extroverts don't understand introverts. They might intellectually understand what introversion means, but they don't really get us. No amount of explaining will make them see ... and besides, no introvert wants to do that much explaining!

And yet as believers, we are told we're supposed to be involved in this thing called evangelism. For extroverts, "Yahoo!!! Something else I get to talk about!" For introverts, "Please, God, no. Take it back. Tell me to come in before everyone else and set up the chairs or something, but not that."

As we've been talking over these weeks about discipleship and reaching out to others, perhaps my fellow introverts have been nodding in agreement in principle, but secretly determining that most of this stuff is for them. You know them - they're the ones talking to six people at once after the Sunday morning gathering. Apparently, sitting quietly and taking notes isn't good enough for some people. (What's wrong with them, anyway?)

One of the notes we've had in our planning documents from the very beginning is "Don't forget the introverts." That's pretty easy, since both Jimmy and I are introverted.

Rather than write a long article on this (and repeat some really good articles on the topic), I want to stick with just one point. The word evangelize is not Greek for "Talk a lot to a lot of people, and especially those you don't know." It is Greek for "To bring Good News." There's nothing in this definition that requires extroversion. The only thing that requires extroversion is how the church has typically taught evangelism (taught by extroverts who don't get how introverts can be truly introverted).

So, my fellow introverts, have you ever given good news to anyone about anything? News about sports, politics, technology, or even the right answer on an exam (truth is a form of good news)? Ever? Did you do this in writing? One-on-one? In response to someone else who started the conversation? (Did you die in the process?) Sharing the Good News of Christ doesn't have to be any different than other ways you've already introvertedly shared good news about other things.

Evangelize as an introvert if you're an introvert. Trying to evangelize as someone you're not is way too hard. Trust me - I do that every week.

By the way, introverts don't understand extroverts, either. So ... just stop trying to explain it to me. Seriously - just chill.

Grace and Human Effort

Point: Jesus says that apart from Him, we can do nothing (John 15:1-11). The consistent Christian message is that we cannot accomplish anything significant by our own effort: salvation, sanctification, holiness, converting others, and so on. A significant portion of the narratio Dei (the narrative of God) is demonstrating that man cannot repair the damage inflicted upon himself by his sin or reach the presence of God by his own devices.

Counterpoint: Diana Nyad, 64, swims from Cuba to Florida in 53 hours. Felix Baumgartner reaches Mach 1.25 jumping from a balloon at nearly 128,000 feet and lands safely. Men and women gather their collective abilities to launch rovers to land on Mars then explore and send back mountains of data. An international team collaborates to determine how to decode DNA. Man can do amazing things with or without calling upon God for any help.

Two of the many questions these observations bring to the surface are:

1. How can both be true?
2. Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom?

How can both be true? Do we have conflicting observations, or are they complementary? Can we or can we not do something significant on our own? There's no denying the amazing feats accomplished by believers and unbelievers alike - physical achievements, mental achievements, and even overcoming challenges to personal fortitude.

For both to be true, there must be one other observation: Making ourselves eternally significant is a feat more difficult than even the most amazing human accomplishment. Rather than downplay or deny the significance of what humans have accomplished "on their own," the magnitude of what we can do only shows just how impossibly difficult it is for us to even approach "good enough" by God's holy standard. In other words, Observation 2 (the greatness of man's accomplishments) demonstrates by comparison the height of Observation 1 (the greatness of God's accomplishment in us).

The greatest things we've done are still less than what Jesus accomplishes by meeting God's standard. And then, by grace through faith, He gives to us as a gift that kind of perfection! Not our own, but His accomplishment cloaked around us, crediting it to us as if we had accomplished it ourselves.

Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom? If even the greatest acts of the most amazing men and women cannot advance the Kingdom, then what good are all the acts of us less amazing people? If the strongest man can't push a rock into heaven, why should the rest of us push at boulders? And yet God effectively commands us to push at boulders ("make disciples," "exceed the righteousness of the Pharisees," "love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength").

In order for our Kingdom-minded actions to mean anything, there must be one other observation: God's commands are not for what we produce, but rather for what He produces in us. He commands us to push at boulders not because He wants us to move boulders without Him, but that He wants us to be the kind of people who push boulders. By putting our every effort into pushing boulders, God changes us into the kind of people He wants us to be. He wants us to be fully committed boulder-pushers, the kind of people who pour every ounce of sweat into His business, even though we can't push boulders into heaven.

He'll take care of moving the boulders. But He wants us to be fully engaged in His work, rather than a bunch of boulder-watchers who are disengaged from His work. He wants us to resemble Him by being as involved in His work as it takes to swim from Cuba to Florida.

Man's greatest feats and God's Word are not at odds - the weakness of our "greatness" demonstrates how necessary the Cross is, just like the magnitude of the universe only demonstrates how much more vast God must be.