... On Hearing Your Name.

Hearing Your Name
There you stand.

Shoulder to shoulder in a line against the brick wall as they pace in front of you, eyeing you up and down to try and appraise your worth before all the other sitting ducks to your right and left.  One word, just your name called, and it would all be over.  You would know your place.  You would know your worth.  Better not make eye contact with anyone.  Not with your selectors lest they may sense your insecurity and see how desperate you are inside to be chosen.  Not with your fellow prisoners as compassion may cost you your place in this microcosm of society.  You don't need to be called first, just don't be called last.  Everything hinged in one word, one name: yours.  And with eyes closed and squinted you listen...

This world, this Thunderdome, called... the sixth grade recess football draft.

Many a young man's worth was dictated by two 'captains,' two young men elected by their peers based on a social algorithm consisting mainly of how tall you were and how many pencil-thin hairs could be found gracing your upper lip.  Signs of burgeoning manhood equals power and authority on the recess football field.  These two would determine each boys worth.

Ok, maybe it wasn't that intense.  Maybe I'm being a little over dramatic.  But to a young sixth grade boy, few things meant more than finding acceptance within the pack.  And for us, that meant hearing your name called early in the daily draft of the pint-sized pigskin players.

Not Just Recess
Perhaps it wasn't outside at recess for you.  Maybe it was the lunch table.  Maybe it was in the bandhall or choir room or homeroom.  Maybe it was in your own living room, or maybe somewhere else entirely.  But somewhere in your world there was, and still is, a place you stood hoping that someone would notice you there and call out your name.

Today it could be the conference room or the Evite list, in the college acceptance letter, around the dinner table or in the number of your twitter followers. It could be from a group of people, or maybe just that one person you hope will let you know that you are noticed, you matter, that you exist and that it means something to someone.

"Just call out my name."

Just like being lined up against that brick wall, there are times in life when all you want is to hear your name called.

Just one word.  And, we hope, that would make everything a shade better.

It's in all of us in some way or the other.  We want to belong.

The truth is: It matters to us whether or not we matter to anyone else.

The Spectrum of Influence
So we find ourselves at some point along the cosmic spectrum of influence, a range of behaviors that are all rooted in our deep-seeded desire to mean something to someone.

The spectrum ranges from the paralysis of depression to the exhaustion of performance.  It goes from the depths of hopelessness in which somehow we are convinced that we either don't have anything to offer or that the one(s) we hope to impress are disinterested -  all the way to the obsessive nature many of us have to work with all our white-knuckled strength to prove our worth to someone, anyone.  On one end we can sink deep in the darkness of irrelevance, and on the other we can be excessively driven by the insecurity of never knowing where we stand so we push harder and harder to matter to people...

Matter to them...

Matter to him... or her.

All so that someone will call out one word.  Our name.

And the desperate need to hear that word can even drive us to do evil things just to hear it.  Just to feel what it's like to actually matter in some way.  That's how deep and twisted and rooted the need to matter is within us all.

And it can and will absolutely consume us.  It has the power to cause us to spiral out of control in a tailspin of depression, confusion, and pain.  Or it can cause us to sell our very lives to causes and passions we think will ultimately deliver us the satisfaction that we so desperately crave.

Who for You?
Can you remember a time in the past that you wanted so badly to hear your name called?

What are those times in your life right now?  Who or what are the ones that your life is position to impress?  Who is it that deep down you believe you need to be acknowledged by?

Friends?  Parents?  A relationship or spouse?  The Facebook or Twitter world?  A professor or employer?

Who is it that you want to call your name?
To think about you?
To tell you that you matter?
To prove to you your life counts?

The Only Voice that Matters
That is one of the inescapable beauties of the mystery of the cross of Jesus.

Not that the cross was primarily about us.
It was, and is, about Jesus bringing glory and honor to His Father.
But we are there in the story.
We are there because we matter.
We are there because we are loved.

Think on this statement:
The cross happened.

Think about that.
Jesus, God's Son, took the weight of the sin of the world on his body, soul and spirit.
It happened.
It happened because there was no other way (Matt. 26:39).

No other way for what?

God to have more glory?
Nope.
His glory is displayed, but never heightened or lessoned. (Ps. 96:3, Isaiah 40:5)
Regardless of the cross, God is God and worthy of all glory.

God to be good?
Nope.
His goodness, like his glory, never fluctuates.  (Ps. 25:7, Is. 63:7, Ps. 96:13)
Regardless of the event of the cross God would be forever and always good.
The same is true for the attributes of being holy, loving, faithful, pure, right, etc. (1 John 4:8)

Nope.  None of those.

No Other Way
Then no other way for what?

For you to be able to enjoy the greatest joy possible - belonging to God.
Being in the presence of pure goodness with no hindrance.
Seeing God for who he is and being wrapped up and lost in Him.
Hearing him call your name and responding with a resounding, "Here I am!" (Gen. 22:1, Ex. 3:4, 1 Sam. 3:4, Is. 6:8)  

Without the cross you wouldn't want Him. (Rom. 3:10-12)
The curse of sin and all it's effects, including a heart devoid of affection for your Father and Creator, was destroyed by the power of Jesus' substitution and full sacrificial payment in your place. (2 Cor. 5:21)
Justice and mercy intertwined and on display at the cross.

Now, not only is your name called by the only One who truly matters, but in Jesus and because of the cross you have a heart that wants to hear it. (2 Tim. 1:8-10)

Much more than a hairy sixth-grader, a parent or lover, but the very one who called you into existence is calling you into worth!

Truly Hearing Your Name for the First Time
You are worth it.
And the cross shows you just how much you are worth to God.
Worth leaving Heaven.
Worth wrapping His deity in humanity.
Worth the frailty of a body.
Worth rejection and humiliation.
Worth false accusations and unjust condemnation from people.
Worth torture at the hands of his people.
Worth being forsaken by His Father.
Worth death.
Worth taking Hell upon Himself.

Worth the greatest love the world has ever seen.
Worth taking on your sin and giving you His perfection.
Worth taking on your rejection and giving you His acceptance.

You are worth it, not because of what you are or what you've done, but simply because you are valuable to God - valuable enough for a rescue mission to bring you home.

The Name Above All Names (Phil.2:9, Eph. 1:21-22) is calling out your name through the cross.

And wants to give you a new life through His resurrection.

Jesus sees your poor little weak and defenseless self,  and with all your posturing and puffing yourself up aside He calls your name.
Hear it.
Hear him say it.
More sweet than a football game or afterwork party.
More meaningful than an engagement or wedding vow - the powerfully tender voice of God calling you and saying...

... you're accepted.  In Jesus you are accepted.

Let us quit lining up against the brick wall.

Let us run to the cross.

... on Not Being Jesus.

There is something magical that happens when a beach towel gets tied around your shoulders.

Almost every guy I know has pretended to be a super-hero at some point in their childhood.  Some still pretend to be even in their adulthood, but that's another blog for another time.  As a kid I can remember taking our bathroom towels, beach towels, sheets or whatever and tying it around my neck, letting it flap behind me as I ran through the house, fists extended, simulating flying through the skyscrapers of a major city. Imaginary damsels were rescued and phantom evil doers were no match for a 6-year-old with a ratty beach towel and an imagination.

I would bet that at some point everyone of us has dreamt of being the hero or the heroine, the superhero or the princess.  There's a part of us that longs to fulfill the role of not only doing something good in the world, but having the applause of a grateful audience as well.

And it doesn't stop as we age.  We do it all the time.  Subconsciously or intentionally.  When we watch movies or sports, reality television or read books or stories we often want to live vicariously through the hero of the moment.  I wish I was Superman.  I wish I was the American Idol.  I wish I was the beautiful Bachelorette.  I wish I was the one catching the winning touchdown.

I want to be the hero.  I want to be the beautiful one.

When I started working at Starbuck's a little over a year ago, I put on my invisible beach-towel cape and determined to be the best, kindest, most hard-working barista in the store.  I kept a good attitude, always did what I was asked and genuinely asked about the lives of the other baristas.  I thought that if I could only let the heart of Jesus shine through my life then I hoped that would win my new friends and fellow latte-makers over.  I would be Superman and hope they would be impressed.

The only problem was I couldn't keep it up.

I did for a few months. But then I begin to slip.
Eventually I said something I shouldn't have said.  Eventually I took a shortcut in my work chores.  Eventually I got frustrated and vented out-loud.
Eventually I didn't live up to the expectation of myself I had placed on my life.

Turns out Superman's cape was, in fact, only a towel.

That was when the Lord convicted me of something simple yet profound - at least for me.

I am not Jesus Christ.

I know, mind blowing.  But what it meant to me was that the best way to reach the people around me for Jesus wasn't by trying to be Him by myself, but to be exactly what He has made me.  I shouldn't try to be the savior they need, but should live as though I know the Savior who is.  The truth was I thought I was living a life of holiness that would lead people to Jesus, but in reality I was trying to impress people with myself and trying to win them over to me.

Let me repeat that.  Instead of connecting people to Jesus, I was trying to sell them on my life.

So rather then trying to live flawlessly before people at work and impress them into the Kingdom, maybe something better would have been to have simply worked well and cared for people, but be quick to acknowledge the grace that Jesus has given my life.  Perhaps instead of trying to impress them by my amazing behavior I should have focused on letting the amazing grace in my life speak for itself.  Maybe instead of trying to be the hero at the coffee shop I should have been more focused on letting Jesus be the hero of that store.

If I had it to do over again I would ask God to make me a barista of grace rather than a barista of excellence.  I would ask God to help me show Jesus as the hero.
And I would leave my cape at home.
And I would believe that "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness." (2 Cor. 12:9).

There is something magical that happens when you realize life is better when you untie the towel from your shoulders.