Posts by: Brian Dolleman

I read this story today—it comes from Craig Groeschel’s book Weird (Because Normal Isn’t Working)…

May it inspire you to never become like Virgil.
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Early in my ministry as an associate pastor, I would often fill in for other preachers. One week, my friend Paul invited me to speak at his church while he was on vacation.

Sporting my best (and only) suit, with my shirt ironed and shoes polished to complete the first impression, I arrived plenty early and was immediately greeted at the side door by Lora, the church secretary.

“I’ve got great news!” she said, beaming. “We’re having a visitor at church today-so you better preach great!”

Now, I’m all for getting excited when visitors come to church, but it was evident from Lora’s over-the-top enthusiasm that they were rare commodities at this small, aging church on the south side of town. As the community had suffered decline, the church kept pace with it, and Paul had confided more that once he feared the doors might not stay open forever.

Curious I asked Lora how she knew that the guest would be joining us. She said that a woman had called the church that morning and asked for directions. The caller explained that she had fallen on hard times and wanted to give church a try. Lora prayed with the caller and said she’d be sure to look for her in service. Armed with a little extra motivation, I too prayed and asked God to use me to minister to this hurting lady who would be visiting the church for the first time.

Just before the service started, Lora stationed me by the church’s big wooden front doors alongside another pillar from the congregation, an older man named Virgil.

Within moments, I could tell Virgil loved his church and took his post at the big wooden doors seriously. In between greeting the few dozen members trickling into the building, he started ranting about the problems with today’s generation. “They’re rebellious!” Virgil barked, complaining that young people aren’t respectful of God and His church.

In the middle of Virgil’s rant, I saw her—the visitor—drive up in a beat-up older car so dirty that I couldn’t tell if it was light gray or faded blue. Its balding tires, low in air pressure, squeaked as she turned into a parking spot. Getting out, she revealed a very dented driver-side door. Saying that she stood out is an understatement.

While everyone else entering the church that morning wore suits (dated as they were) or dresses (most ankle length), our visitor closed her car door with a cigarette in her hand and displayed an ensemble of tight blue jeans and a slightly tighter sleeveless shirt, which-forgive me for noticing—definitely revealed much more that the apparel of the average female Sunday school teacher. She might have been attractive if life had been kinder to her. Without judging her, I found my mind pinballing with possibilities: Abusive boyfriend? Drug addiction? Unemployment? Depression? Abandonment? All of these and more?

As she walked toward the church, she took a deep breath and titled her head slightly, looking up at Virgil and me. I prayed again, asking God to give to give me the words to say that might encourage her with His hope.
My silent prayer was interrupted as Virgil hurled his welcome grenade at the young woman. “We wear our best clothes for God at this church. Is that the best outfit you own? Or do you just not care what God thinks?”

“Nooooo!” I desperately wanted to shout. Time collapsed into slow motion, as if I were suddenly caught up in an action-suspense movie and Virgil had just pressed the detonation button for the bomb beneath us all.

My mind scrambled for the best was to undo Virgil’s assault. I considered smiling and yelling out, “Don’t mind old Virgil here—he’s a little…” and making some cuckoo gesture. Then I thought about laughing really loud and saying, “I think we got her—she thinks you’re serious! Come on in Miss. Uncle Virgil’s just been watching too much Punk’d!”

The darkest part of me, though, wanted to assume the Jason Bourne role and launch myself at Virgil with a punch so hard that he’d meet God face-to-face. (I realize this would not exactly honor Christ or offer the visitor a better reason to stick around). Instead I just stood there, frozen in place by my own outrage and uncertainty.

As if on cue, the visitor simply turned, walked back to her clunker of a car, and drove away.

Virgil mumbled, “Rebellious.”

Something happened in my heart at that moment. Before God, I made several promises that I would vow to keep for the rest of my life. I committed to resist judging someone who doesn’t know God. I promised never to turn anyone away from church because of the way they look. I vowed never to become like Virgil.

Silently I turned my back to him and walked back into the secretary’s office, overcome with emotion. As strange as it sounds, I seemed to feel God’s pain. The hurt I experienced seemed bigger than my own. Lora asked me what happened, and fighting back my tears, I told her how Virgil turned away the hurting visitor. She teared up too and asked if she could pray for me.

I don’t remember all that she said, but I’ll never forget one thing. She asked God to use this experience to help my heart break forever for those who don’t know Christ.

Confession: I hate the statement, “It is what it is.”

Sure, there’s the WHAT IS…

In our world, the WHAT IS— is the broken, hurting, dysfunctional, stained, and scarred.

We can see it, talk about it, photograph it, calculate it, evaluate it, critique it, and complain about it.

It’s on the nightly news, it’s standing on the street corner, and it’s in our neighborhoods and schools.

But what about WHAT CAN BE?

This can’t be photographed, calculated, or evaluated.

Only a few are able to see it and talk about it.

Can there really be hope, healing, and restoration?

Can the WHAT IS actually be turned around?

I believe how we respond to the WHAT IS shapes the outcome of the WHAT CAN BE.

So, I’m wondering how do we respond to the WHAT IS?

Do we look away? Are we afraid of it? Do we isolate ourselves from it?

And how does God respond to the WHAT IS?

In Luke chapter 6, Jesus said: “God blesses the poor, the hungry, the tearful, and the mistreated.” (verses 20-23)

God responds to the WHAT IS with blessing.

He blesses the poor. He blesses the hurting. He blesses the marginalized. He blesses the lonely.

As far as I’m concerned, we’re either responding with blessing or we’re contributing to the ongoing condition of the WHAT IS.

Our actions—how we respond to the WHAT IS, shapes the outcome of the WHAT CAN BE.

We already know about the WHAT IS.

But think about the WHAT CAN BE if we…

Love. Welcome. Serve. Give. Accept. Smile. Care. Forgive. Invest. Share. Bless.

Have you ever been the team captain?

How did you make your picks? Big, fast, and strong? Experience? Ability?

And did you ever make a mercy selection?

You know—choosing the smallest guy early so he doesn’t end up getting picked last.

Did you ever have someone question your selection, “Why’d you pick THAT GUY?”

I want you to know something about Jesus: his picks are surprising.

He chooses unlikely characters.

Luke chapter 6 lists the names of Jesus’ team (the 12 disciples).

One of them: Levi, A.K.A. Matthew. He was a tax collector—a Jewish guy who worked for the Roman government.

Back then, the Jews really hated tax collectors—they counted them as crooks, white-collar criminals.

Tax collectors worked for the “enemy’ – the Roman government.

Yes, Jesus picked THAT GUY.

Another Jesus pick: Simon the Zealot.

Zealots were fanatical Jewish Nationalists. They were crazed with hatred for the Romans. Zealots bitterly opposed anyone who partnered with Rome (like Jewish tax collectors working for the Roman government). They carried knives, ready for an opportunity to shank the enemy…

Yikes, that’s quite a team!

Levi and Simon should be enemies, but Jesus brought them together.

Somehow, Jesus saw beyond the exterior—the labels, stereotypes, and political bumper stickers.

He saw more than what was. He saw potential. He recognized what could be.

Jesus still chooses unlikely characters—people like you and me.

THAT GUY, and THAT GIRL.

The misfits.

“Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of ‘the brightest and the best’ among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these nobodies…” (1 Corinthians 1.26-28 MSG)

Yup, He chooses some unlikely characters!

In most things, I tend to be pretty modern and progressive.

I’m quick to change, adapt, and embrace the new.

However, there is one thing I get all traditional about…

I’m talking about my family’s Christmas traditions.

I look forward to them and I don’t want anybody messing with ‘em.

It makes me irritable when someone (not gonna name names here) suggests we change up how we exchange Christmas gifts. SHARI.

I always fight to protect and preserve our family Christmas traditions.

Last year, something happened—we broke tradition.

We didn’t celebrate Christmas at my parents house and my mom didn’t cook the Christmas dinner.

Instead, we celebrated Christmas in a conference room…

At the hospital.

You see, my mom was fighting for her life. Her kidneys had failed. The doctors were trying to figure out what was going on and why. She was in the hospital for weeks—and she had to be there on Christmas day.

So we did something different. We had our family Christmas gathering in a hospital conference room.

And it was nice.

Nobody complained.

Not even me—Mr. Defender of our family Christmas tradition.

Why?

Because we cared more about my mom than what we’re “supposed to be doing” on Christmas.

Because people are more important than our traditions.

In Luke chapter 6, the religious leaders got upset with Jesus because he violated their traditions…

Jesus and his disciples were hungry, so they harvested some grain to eat on the Sabbath.

On another Sabbath day, Jesus healed a man in the synagogue.

This made the religious leaders mad. Furious actually.

Both of these actions were considered “work” by them.

And working on the Sabbath was against the rules.

It violated their traditions.

The religious leaders cared more about their traditions than they did about people.

That’s just cold and ridiculous. Can you imagine me yelling at my mom for ruining my special Christmas traditions?

I hope not.

If I ever did something like that, someone should slap me.

People are more important than our traditions!

Maybe you’re like me in some areas—modern and progressive.

But maybe you’re also like me in other areas, all traditional—you feel like fighting to protect and preserve your favorite traditions.

Sometimes, people do this in church life…

“Everyone must wear their Sunday best. We need to sing more hymns. No hats in the sanctuary.”

These are traditions—and some of us love ‘em.

But people should always be more important to us.

We are fascinated with the “somebodies” in our culture.

We watch TV shows about them.

We read magazine articles about them.

And we collect trivia about them…

What they drive.

What they wear.

What their opinion is about this and that.

What’s going on in their relationships.

What’s up with their kids.

With all this information we’ve collected, we can talk about them like we know them.

But we’re not nearly as interested in the “nobodies” of our culture, are we?

We don’t really want to know anything about them.

We tend to drive by, look away, and ignore…

Which brings me to this point:

We were all a bunch of nobodies until Somebody intervened.

“Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of ‘the brightest and the best’ among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families.

Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these ‘nobodies’ to expose the hollow pretensions of the ‘somebodies’?

Everything that we have—a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 1.26-31 MSG)

I love this. God deliberately chooses the nobodies.

And I want to be like that.

In a culture that overlooks, exploits, and abuses the “nobodies,” I want to see them…

I want to know them.

I want to know things about them.

I want to actually care. I want to be interested and invested.

I want to love the nobodies.

I want to be a “nobodies” magnet—a misfit magnet.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and just say it…

You need some flava in your life.

Spice.

Variety.

Not so homogenized.

Less of the same and more of the different.

Specifically, I’m saying you need some misfit friends.

Yes—you need some flava in your life.

New voices.

Different backgrounds.

Varied experiences.

Culture.

Flava.

Jesus said, “The next time you put on a dinner, don’t just invite your friends and family and rich neighbors, the kind of people who will return the favor. Invite some people who never get invited out, the misfits from the wrong side of the tracks. You’ll be—and experience—a blessing.” (Luke 14.12-14 MSG)

Check your cell phone…

Recent calls.

Text messages.

Are they homogenized? More of the same?

C’mon! It’s time for you to start mixing things up.

Break out of the mold and get some flava in your life.

You will be a blessing—and you will experience a blessing.

I’ve had a number of experiences that helped push me to get over myself…

Like serving hot meals to people living on Skid Row in Los Angeles.

Like holding AIDS babies in a government hospital in Swaziland.

Like praying for a couple of prostitutes in drug-infested MacArthur Park—immediately after saying “amen,” one of the prostitutes put her arms around me and gave me a big hug.

In circumstances like these, I had to decide what’s more important—my comfort or real compassion.

To be honest, my brain offers me some less-than-compassionate thoughts, like…

“Ewwwwww!”

“Something smells and I don’t want to get it on me.”

“What about germs, diseases and cooties?”

I’m embarrassed and ashamed that my brain reacts that way. I know that’s not real compassion…

So I get over myself. And cooties.

The issue isn’t really about me or cooties—it’s about hurting, lonely, broken, scarred people.

I love the straight-forward language of this verse:

“Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don’t be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand.” (Philippians 2.3, 4 MSG)

There’s a story in Luke chapter 5 about a man with an “advanced case” of leprosy. He comes to Jesus and begs for healing. Jesus could’ve prayed for the man from a distance—but he didn’t.

He reached out and touched the man.

He touched the leper BEFORE he healed him.

He touched him even though he was unclean and contagious.

There’s a significant take-away here:

When we find ourselves at the crossroads between our comfort and real compassion…

We must get over ourselves. And cooties.

We must choose compassion.

One day, the King of the misfits showed up on the scene to make an announcement…

He declared His purpose—He shared His mission statement—He revealed His agenda.

He unrolled the scroll and read the misfit magnet manifesto:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring Good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free, and that the time of the Lord’s favor has come.”

Jesus rolled up the scroll, handed it back to the attendant, and sat down.

The room was silent. Every eye was on him.

Then He said, “The Scripture you’ve just heard has been fulfilled this very day!” (Luke 4.17-21)

Notice WHO He came for—the poor, the captive, the blind, and the oppressed…

The misfits.

He didn’t come to host pep rallies for the whole, but to bring healing and hope for the hurting.

He came to announce this is the time of God’s favor for the broken ones.

Can you find yourself in His misfit magnet manifesto?

Have you read Brennan Manning’s book The Ragamuffin Gospel?

It’s sooooo good.

Here’s a little excerpt:

“On a sweltering summer night in New Orleans, sixteen recovering alcoholics and drug addicts gather for their weekly AA meeting. Although several members attend other meetings during the week, this is their home group.

For one small hour, the high and the mighty descend and the lowly rise. The result is fellowship.”

This line really hits me: THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY DESCEND AND THE LOWLY RISE.

This is the beauty of our church—whether we’ve got things “together” or not, someone stoops to help—and another is given courage. The high and the mighty descend and the lowly rise.

Yes, we’re a beautiful collection of misfits…

And we are greatly loved by the King of the misfits.