If I were to lose this pink notebook, I would lose a part of me – and ALL THE THINGS wouldn’t happen. A bit dramatic, but feels accurate. 

This small, worn-out, cloth-bound, collection of paper is a representation of the mental load I carry each day. When a to-do list item comes to mind, it’s a new page. As I write things down, a weight gets lifted. And as I cross things off — “ahhh” — a sigh of relief. If I don’t complete the list, however, my inner auditor files a complaint to my nervous system and my stomach tightens up or I might get a twitch in my eye under all the surface pressure. 

The concept of mental load didn’t become real until we had our first child. All of a sudden, I’m not only thinking about my needs and life’s demands but also thinking about the needs of my daughter. Enter our second daughter and those needs have now doubled. Does Addy have mittens for this winter? Eloise is getting long, I need to take out our 9-month clothing bin. Do I have time to pump before this next meeting? What is the plan for dinner this week? Has Kurt reached out to our tax advisor? I need to get a birthday gift for our nephew. Will there be time to do a quick workout before work? Do we need more bananas? What’s troubling is how disconnected all of these thoughts are, yet my brain happily jumps from one to the next as if they are all close cousins. 

I long for the day when I’ll be able to sit on my couch with my feet up and read a good book without my mind racing to the next thing. The lie that I tend to believe is that I will experience rest and satisfaction when my list is complete and when my mental load no longer feels like a burden or heavy weight I’m carrying. This is not what we’re promised though. In this life, there will always be a list.

We’re all weighed down with a burden that is too great for us to carry. The reason lists feel heavy is that we think they’re a reflection of who we are and the value we bring to the world. We carry around an unseen series of do’s and don’ts that we think grant us standing before others and ultimately God. 

This reminds me of two different stories in scripture that, relatedly, pierce the soul. One is the story of the Rich Young Ruler, who approaches Jesus and asks him, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” He then proceeds to list all the reasons why he should be permitted to enter God’s presence. 

The other story is about two sisters, Martha and Mary. Jesus was coming to stay at their place and while Martha was preparing for his stay, Mary chose to sit in the presence of Jesus and be with him. But then it says, “But Martha was distracted by her many tasks..” 

Martha and the rich young ruler were worried about completing the lists and having everything just right. The narrative they believe, just like me, is that freedom is found in completing all the things. 

Like Martha, I have turned to Jesus in moments of frustration and said, “Isn’t what I’m doing important? Don’t you care?” I’m doing all that I can do to serve and support my family, to find acceptance in my community, to make sure the needs of those I love are met. In those moments of angst, I want Jesus to tell me, “You’re right. I will stand up for you and the work you’re doing.” But instead of cheering on my list-keeping, he brings a more compassionate, better word.

In the story, he moves toward Martha, puts his hand on her shoulder, and says in a calm, gentle voice, “Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one.” 

This is the only time Jesus corrects himself in the Gospel accounts, as he narrows down a list of requirements to point out that actually only one thing is needed – himself. To sit with him. To let him do what only he can do. 

He doesn’t desire our lists, but us. How does he ultimately demonstrate this? Instead of etching a list for us to keep in tablets of stone, he invites us to place our finger into his scars. Far from keeping tabs, he wants us to be mindful of his wounds, his own box-checking, and his love. And love keeps no record of unfinished chores.

The post The Lists We Keep appeared first on Red Tree.

We talked for a while about these feelings. I’m a pastor, and so it served as a pretty easy entry point into sharing with him about Jesus — most notably about how Jesus isn’t interested in us impressing him, but instead how love covers a multitude of sins. But, like so many conversations and relationships in life, this one “tilted the mirror” toward me and I found myself staring right back at my own image, that is, my own insecurity about having something to prove. I want to believe I haven’t felt that angst since I stood in his teenage shoes, but here we are. 

The good news of the gospel is about what Jesus has done for me, and not what I do. I find that really freeing. But, if I’m honest, it creates tension in me. I’m a doer. I have a Coach Carter kind of work ethic. And, that’s nothing to applaud, because it comes out of a desire to prove I deserve to be a starter. It comes out of a desire to hear my mom say she is proud of me. At the age of 10, I remember busting my behind to clean the house at my mom’s request. Sweeping was the litmus test. I thought I rocked it, but she came home and said, “There is still dirt on the floor. I can feel it under my feet.” Despite the floor being spotless by my account. I was determined, hell-bent even, to prove her wrong next time.

And this is where things get projected onto my relationship with God. Even if I don’t think (at my core) that he’s that type of taskmaster, my first instinct most days is to depend on my floor-sweeping efforts, so to speak. I often still want to prove I’m unique. Instead of proving to coaches, parents, or other people that I deserve their affirmation of me, I now find myself working for God’s affirmation of me.

What we do is relentlessly connected to who we are. However, here is the tension: What if there is one who did everything I needed to do in order to be accepted and affirmed?

That’s the better word of the gospel. I no longer have anything to prove. Through Jesus, I have a spot on the “team.” The work has been accomplished by God himself. He did what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do (Rom 8:3), so that now I see that I am accepted by grace, on account of love, not performance.

What do I do then if what the gospel says of me is true? Absolutely nothing.

That’s the most freeing news in the universe in a time in my life where I feel like I have to do (and be) a lot of things, when I’m spinning the plates of being a husband, a father of 4 kids, a friend, and a pastor of a one-year-old church plant.

What at first looks like a tension within me, is actually my very undoing. My need to prove myself is being brought to an end, which brings with it surprising relief and renewal. I need it. It changes how I relate to God and the way I relate to people.

When Jesus was carrying the cross up the hill of judgment, he wasn’t just carrying the weight of my sins. He was carrying the weight of my insufficient work. He was carrying my inability to do enough to please the Father. And, through Jesus’ own hell-bent efforts on the cross, affirmation was both purchased and displayed. He was “showing love” (Rom 5:8), through work, rather than demanding work from us.

So, do I really do nothing when I rest in what the gospel says of me?

Of course not. But I need not do anything, and this is the most freeing part of it all. I am free to approach life differently. To approach things and people with less selfish ambition and conceit. I feel as though I’m finally able to truly live without the incessant worry of needing to prove myself. Take your performance out of the equation, and you might even find yourself at times even doing more, but with less anxiety and fear attached to it. And much more smiles and laughter, even at your own expense.

The post Nothing to Prove appeared first on Red Tree.

We are experiencing a labor shortage, but our shortage is not due to a lack of jobs. On the contrary, the number of available jobs exceeds the rate of the unemployed and then some. So, why is this happening? 

The research is unambiguous: we don’t know why. And we may not for some time, but we do know the shortage is indiscriminate on who it affects. Not even the size of your company can offer immunity as concerns continue to mount surrounding what the long term impacts these shortages will have on our communities. Simply put, the structural well-being of our entire economy is suffering due to a lack of workers. 

We live in a cause-and-effect world and our economy is conditional: labor interrupted, economy harmed. No workers, no burritos. 

This principle might seem obvious, but this is only because our everyday lives are built on the assumption of conditionality. We get out what we put in. This-for-that thinking isn’t just underneath what makes us show up for work (though it is, regardless of the amount of passion we have for the job), but it’s also built into the fabric of our relationships. Our critique of our coworker is based on some standard we hold that they’re not meeting. We’re more likely to invest in people when they are affirming us and meeting our needs, and we’re quick to hold back in order to protect ourselves from getting hurt.

Not even the church is immune to succumbing to conditionality. Without question, God has a Supreme List of Conditions which plays a significant role in the story of the Bible. But just like the presence of two trees in the garden, this law is of a different substance than the gospel. When we marry the two together, we end up telling the wrong story. Good news becomes a job description, ‘it is finished’ becomes ‘do this and live’, and the church exists to tell you how to keep the divine boss happy with your performance. Regardless of denomination, implicitly or explicitly, the message comes through in no uncertain terms: you can and should step up your game for God. Can you see the “now hiring” sign written in celestial letters in the front lawn?

But relief is found in rediscovering the one and only place conditionality doesn’t reign supreme: the kingdom of heaven. The economy of God does not operate within our same standards of cause and effect. Labor supply and the structural makeup of the kingdom of God do not go hand in hand like they do at Starbucks. God’s ways are not our ways, God’s economics are not our economics. 

Many are familiar with Jesus’ famous words about the harvest being plentiful, but the workers being few. What we’re less likely to recall is the preceding verses that illustrate the shape of this work:

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. (Mt 9:35-37)

We’re not the shepherds or laborers in Jesus’ metaphors, but the helpless crowd — the spiritually blind, sick, and deaf. Unable to walk to him, unable to find him, let alone where to look. We all have an infirmity that Jesus, the only healthy human being, came to heal.

God is not hiring workers, he’s healing and saving the sick and sending them out to tell the story of the wounded healer. God isn’t in the business of training employees for the kingdom but adding sheep to his flock. his kingdom is not built on our labors. If anything, it’s built on our ceasing from work. God doesn’t pay a wage but gives freely to those who haven’t earned a thing: the lazy, out of work, or unqualified. 

Next time you see a now hiring sign, consider grace, the currency of God’s economy inviting you to rest in a completed work. Then tell your inner accountant you are going on strike from laboring for God to earn or maintain his approval. God is not hiring, but he’s always open for business.

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