peace be still (mark 4:35-41)

though the wind and waves pound

and resound

too much for the groaning mast

and the fraying lines

pushed so close to the brink of collapse

though this sorry excuse for a boat

wasn’t built for this

rocking and swaying

reeling and shaking

the boom wildly swinging and banging

though every tolerance is tested

the seal on the verge of breaking

the sound of hull joints cracking

the waves slapping

the wind invading

the water seeping

encroaching

unrelenting

and oh that deadly chill-

peace

be still.

you think you’ll never get to dry ground

you think in a moment you'll be drowning

in the dark waters of the unknown

but even so

breathe

for now

and know

the Pilot 

has it under control.

peace

be still.

Hold On: song written Sept 11, 2001

This weekend there will be services all over the country in stark remembrance of the shattering moment that ripped apart our sense of security and well-being exactly ten years ago.  

I've been asked to sing at my parents' church service on Sunday.  I'll sing Hold On, a song I wrote as events were unfolding with ferocity on the day of September 11, 2001.  The words started forming as startling footage was being played on every station, and all planes nationwide were grounded (which explains the line, "despite the awkward silence in the air").  It was indeed an awkward silence and we all felt it.  In the vacuum that brought New York, and all of us, to our knees, gasping for breath, the question arose in the throats of many of us, "where does God fit into all this?" This song was my way of dealing with it.


Since then, I've revisited these lyrics when earthquakes have buried thousands, tsunamis have swallowed entire islands, and wars have stolen so many of our best and brightest. I've revisited them when cancer took one of my best friends from childhood, and diseases stolen the mobility and well-being of friends and beloved family members. When I read or listen to the song, it holds up for me, because it reminds me of all that, deep down, I know to be true.


hold on


despite the devastation now
beyond the things I'll never understand
God I'm reaching for Your hand
beyond the questions hanging here
despite the awkward silence in the air
I believe that You're still there

and I'll hold on to the Voice that calls my name
hold on to the Heart that feels the pain
hold on to the promise that remains
hold on

and I'll hold on to the Hand that gently guides
hold on to the strength that's left inside
the shreds of belief that just won't die
hold on

the gift of one more day begins
the act of breathing out and breathing in
the will to start again
one more day to serve, to give
to reach beyond the wreckage and to live
to respect the sacred gift

hold on though the world is not the same
hold on to the God who'll never change
hold on to the fragments of your faith
hold on

hold on and believe the Holy One
and know that His justice will be done
hold on to the Kingdom yet to come
hold on

and just hold on for the world is turning still
despite every tremor we will feel
hold on for eternal life is real
hold on

and just hold on though the mountains fall apart
the pieces of hope left in our hearts
will hold us until the healing starts
hold on

just hold on.
--
Link to recording of "Hold On"
Hold On ©2001 Greg Ferguson.  

Mama Maggie of Cairo

From my perspective, the Global Leadership Summit is always a wild adventure. Every year God moves, stirs and shakes things up, and our hope as creatives is to stay alert and attuned to His activity, whenever and wherever it reveals itself. One compelling evidence of this stirring of God’s Spirit is the presence of Mama Maggie of Cairo in Session 5.

She is a unique, disarming leader with a deep soul and a resounding mission.  Her roots run deep in the Coptic Christian tradition.  Born into a family of doctors in the upper echelon of Egyptian society,  she became a professor at American University, the most prestigious university in Egypt.  She knew everybody who was anybody in the glitterati of Cairo.  She had wealth, status, influence and elegance. 

And she let go of it all because her heart was pulled by God into an entirely other world.

She found her heart broken by Mokattam, Garbage City, where Cairo's refuse and rubbish is dumped, processed, harvested, recycled, and repurposed by a community that ekes out a meager livelihood.  The children often walk barefoot among the trash and filth that lines the street and fills the yards.

When she toured Garbage City, Mama Maggie saw past the smell and the mountains of trash and saw the children.  She saw Christ in their eyes, and their infinite potential.  She began to visit them regularly in their shack homes, befriending them and their families.  She listened to them, engaged them, and came to care about them deeply.  Their need for help was so pervasive, she began to enlist others to come alongside her to share in her labor of love. 

As a result, this ministry, which she calls Stephen’s Children, has grown into a dynamo of transformation.  For the past 25 years, she has led a growing army of  home visitors, teachers and helpers, numbering almost 1500 now, most of them young Christ-followers, who agree to give at least two years to this mission. Some of them stay much longer.  She inspires them and develops them into compassionate Christ-centered leaders.   They devote themselves to educating these children, spiritually mentoring them, caring for their medical needs, teaching them about hope, and preparing them for a future in a world full of new options.   Last year, more than 30,000 children were impacted deeply by this ongoing ministry.

It’s a compelling story when a woman of elegance, means and high position throws it all away and becomes a Mother Teresa.  

Mama Maggie’s decision to say no to the values of the prevailing social-climbing culture, and yes to the downward pull of the poorest of the poor, has given the families of Mokattam, and now other areas of Egypt as well, a dignity of soul that God has seen in them all along.  She and her team have given themselves fully to revealing and nurturing that bright promise, and lifting the entire community--one child, one family at a time. 

Mama Maggie will grace our stage during Session 5, Friday morning.

We’d love it if you would pray not only for her, but for the entire Summit event.  God continues to stir and move and shape and surprise. 

And we want to be ready. 

The Global Leadership Summit happens this Thursday and Friday, August 11-12, broadcast from Willow Creek Community Church in South Barrington, IL.   There are satellite-linked sites near most major cities in the U.S.  It will then be experienced on a delayed basis in the next several months in countries around the globe.

Ramping up to The Global Leadership Summit 2011!

Revving up the engines. Wondering what wondrous surprises the Great Creator has in mind.


I'll be back up to speed here on this blog after the Summit push is complete.  In the meantime, I so hope some of you get to experience the event!  Watch for Mama Maggie, Session 5, Friday morning. That session will contain a lot of Soul.  :-)


Pray for us, if you will!  For the teams, for tech to go well, for sync to sites all over North America, for our faculty, for our interviewers, for presence of mind, physical energy, organizational fluidity and tuned-in spirits.  God will move... I just know it.  

scribbling

...Jesus declared, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.”

“How can a man be born when he is old?” Nicodemus asked. “Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother’s womb to be born!” (John 3:3-4)

I see how important it is to become like a child to enter the Kingdom of God, to approach Him.  How do we with our sophistication, our learnings, our language,  our history, our ingrained patterns, do this?  We can’t go back in time... How can I do it?  Do I study harder?  Focus harder?  Do I make myself be quiet for long stretches of time? Assume a certain posture?

Maybe we need to purposefully, intentionally let go of our jaded adulthood.  Not going back in time, but… beyond time. 

I know too much, I've learned too much.  And I get too cerebral and earthbound.  I default to automatic responses...autopilot.  In so doing I numb out, and drift too far away from the God I want to really love.  To become childlike in the sense I think God is hoping for, I have to purposefully forget stuff.  Forget my preconceptions, my culture, my history... even my style of praying.  So..

I experimented...I started writing letters to God… purposefully stream of consciousness.


Praying freestyle on the page.  Breaking the rules of composition. Keeping the pen moving, without punctuation or forethought or editing very few capitals or even rules of grammar.  at times I just let it fly unlearning UNLEARNING every buzz phrase I ever learned every church word spiritual word knowing nothing nothing except God except my shepherd who knows me and every brain wave and every pain and every hope and every dream unlearning and stopping the reasoning and worry lists and ever infringing sense of rights and responsibilities going right brain and letting it flow..

I think you get the idea. 

The other day I stumbled across one of my first experiments in this practice—a letter I scrawled to God back in 1998.  

At the time I believe I was on a beach (that always helps) …I had a small pad of paper (sunscreen smudges and all) and I just wanted to let go of all effort and preconceptions and keep the pen moving from right to left on the page, without thinking, without crafting, without forethought - directing my thoughts and feelings Godward as best I could. 

Not great literature.  Not even close.  But it's written prayer from the gut--doing an end run around my mind.  That's what had to happen.  That's what makes it an effective practice for me.

Here’s what I scrawled out, freestyle, back then:

scribbling

move in motion

move in steps

move where you lead

i will go

i have no reason

to resist

i have no mind

turned on now

i want just to

see your smile

i hope you will

love this love

i hope you will

love this hope

baby steps

toward your heart

i could be your

flowing blood

i could swim

into your flood

of living water

this is true

and clear and pure

and visceral

this is hope

in raw form

this is peace

a child in your arms

i try not to try

just alone in love

alone in floating

closer to your heart

short phrases

can say so much

prayers don’t have

to be so long

i could be a man of fewer words

i could be a servant

in your temple

reading the signs

moving slow

resting simple

in a heart

that is let go

i feel the rhythm

i find the things

that are real

inside me

looking for the passageway

from me to you

from you to me

jacob’s ladder

where angels ascend

and descend

from heaven to earth

i am looking for the passageway

i will tread carefully

not wanting to be misled

by any other

only led by you

don’t let me be led astray

i want only your heart

only your heart

only your mind

i want to connect

only to the vine

--

Maybe this is a practice you'd want to try--praying freestyle onto the page..  It's easier than you think.  Baby steps.  And it can be liberating.  And maybe, like me, you'll see its potential as you look for a useful way to move your heart and soul closer to God.
I'd love to hear your thoughts...

Spirit

A few weeks ago, my nephew Josh took part in a 20-mile Wisconsin trail run, most of it in the dark, a lot of it alone, lit only by a headlamp. Dangerous. Amazing. He called it a deeply spiritual experience... His adventure got my mind going, pondering the countless wild untamed mysteries of God's Spirit:

Spirit

native scouts and hunters

stood by these waters and soaked You in

felt Your soul in the brisk wind

calling forth echoes in the dawn

echoes in the sunset

running the trails

marked off by crackling campfires

the cry of wolves 

and unknown animal eyes reflecting

Spirit.

deep calling to Deep, and Deep echoing back

in a voice we can barely make out

and have not yet unraveled.

such a wild wind, the Pneuma.

You soar across the prairie

and the atmosphere swirls the dry dust in reply.

You speak a saving grace

and the skies turn loose sheets of wild water

releasing life, reviving the land.

so little we know.

so little we understand.

in our better moments we make an honest try of it.

You walk through the prairie and it shivers

and we the poets and painters scramble

to capture what we can

before we miss it.

You quicken the artist's mind and steady her hand,

free flow shape sharp brush angle and balance color

proportion, precision -

all this is only the whisper of a hint.

meanwhile you rustle the forests

unsettle the wetlands

You glide dark through deep oceans

stirring seismic dances in caves and underground canyons

the globe spins and sings

altering its orbit at the sound of Your song.

furious joy, love that breaks open rock

feeds lakes

and plants seeds in the forest

seeds in the minds of poets and engineers

architects and inventors.

the mighty gale blows and recedes.

in its wake the soft breeze heals,

a salve, a balm, a redemption,

a second chance singing through the branches of late summer.

so little we know.

we go

about our hummings and doings and goings and comings

and barely take notice of the little cataclysms -

the shift in the air pressure

the upper storms, the night dreams 

the cry of car horns and the weeping of sirens

the percussion of tires on small buckles of pavement

the Great Whisper

the Song, the sun glow

the Dance, and the Eye upon us,

the rhythm of the sails

the patter of the early rain

the pattern of the night campfires

as seen from the high cliffs

smoke rising into thin air

still

be alert

eyes and ears open

attentive

like the dawn and dusk ritual

of ancient tribal scouts by the lake watching

some century ago

right here

attending, silent

to the rustle of the Great Soul

the Word almost imperceptible - hear it?

I AM

--

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.   -Psalm 139:6     (also...see Job chapters 32-40)

what a day it will be

I lost one of my best friends over the weekend, to cancer.  Pastor Mark Steele was a man who absolutely poured his life into loving God and shepherding people.  We will miss him beyond words.  Corinne's and my heart are with his family and his church.  I'm posting this lyric from a song I wrote years ago, as a tribute to Mark, as he moves from life to Life, and as a reminder to all of us of the hope we can hold. 


...I'll miss you, Cap'n.  


what a day it will be


what a day it's gonna be
when as last your captive heart beats free
and all that is within you sings
in heaven's own harmony
sweet release from all your darkest fears
the sound of laughter that's been lost for years
you'll never cry another lonely tear
as your sad heart finally
finally sings

hallelujah
what a day it will be

all those angels that you've never seen
watching over you behind the scenes
will at last have reached their goal
presenting you restored and whole
just watch the Father laugh and smile
lifting up His joyful child
and hear the host of heaven sing
in a sweet and soulful angel choir singing

hallelujah

what a day it will be

hallelujah

what a day it will be

even now in the in between
we could write it off as an impossible dream
but it's more than a dream to me
'cause even now i can see
enough to believe

coffee shop prayer

Sitting in a coffee shop this morning, getting re-centered and recalibrated, scrawling out a prayer to the One who can soothe me, steer me, and draw my unsettled soul back home.

Lord 

Teacher

Healer

endpoint of my longing

hear my silent secret cries

heart to heart

deep to deep

wordlessly, longingly

without You who am I

chaos in flesh and bone

scrambling in all directions

accelerated heartbeat with no point

no direction

no substance

but this morning You call 

and with Your help

I focus on Your voice

and at last 

I come 

like a puppy

wanting to please You

wanting to bring that smile

and to stop the running for long enough

to land and settle

in Your broad joy

and laughing approval

to rest content 

and feel Your heartpulse

following You

listening and responding

linked by soul

a holy artery

I sense the steering inside

and wait

for the next command

pliable

and at peace

it's IN me

For prophets, poets, artists, and anyone with a voice that needs to be heard... it IS in you, isn't it.

 

But if I say, “I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.

         Jeremiah 20:9

it’s IN me

it’s IN me

can’t help it

God gave it

woe be to me if I don't proclaim it

I’ll bang it out on a drum

take away my drumsticks

  I’ll pluck it on a guitar

take away the guitar

  I’ll plunk it on a keyboard

take away the keyboard

  I’ll click it on a keypad

take away the keypad

  I’ll scrawl it out in pen and ink

take away the pen

  I have a voice, I’ll sing it out

stop up my voice

  I’ll dance it out with my feet

trip up my feet

  I’ll make signs with my hands

bind my hands

  it’ll shine in my eyes

shut my eyes

  you can’t shut my soul

so give it up

and let it go

woe be to me if I don't express it

God gave it

can’t help it

it’s IN me

and it's got to come out

kept

Hey friends.. sorry I haven't posted for a while... I've been working intensively on arts content for the Leadership Summit... and also absorbed with this situation, always on the back burner of my mind:


I have a friend who's in a physical battle for his health and his life.  A network of good friends are praying intensively for his body.  This prayer, imagined from God's point of view, is for his spirit.  


(maybe it's for you, too, or someone you know)....


kept

Keep your mind 

on what you know 

to be true

Keep your soul

held whole

in this place 

in this peace

where none can break down the door

I am your Father

I am your family

I will hold you

warm under my wings

in this space

No matter where you must go

hold this home in your heart

I will keep your secrets holy

your dreams intact

until you can pick them up again

I will keep you together

give you the reason to rise tomorrow

secured in this warmth

and this truth

Look into my invisible eyes 

hold my gaze now 

and know

I will enclose your beating soul

in this inner protection 

the hint of which you now feel

know it is solid 

forever 

and real

Let go of you

into my hands

Give over your heart

Release what you think you need

into the arms of your perfect Provider

I will see to it 

and see to you

The life is in letting go

You find your life in the letting go

song lyric: enough

I wrote this song as a way to communicate trust in God--right when it seems that there's not enough of anything.


enough

what You give me is enough
i'm empty now but nothing is beyond You
You feed thousands easily
and You'll move mountains if i believe
You'll move mountains if i believe

how You made me is enough
there's no point in being a pretender
to play the role of someone else
it's enough just to be myself
You invite me to be myself

how You use me is enough
i don't need a greater reputation
i will harvest gratefully
the plot of land You gave to me
the plot of land You gave to me

my best is all You ask of me
i don't need more than You provide for me
i'll do the best i can
with what i have
and what i have
will be enough for me.

good friday: broken and blessed

O how broken this world
that it would take God's
impalement to redeem it.

O how stunning that God
would submit to that death
to heal it
rather than walking
away and letting it spin to its own
extinction, destroying itself
with every revolution, choking
on its own pride.

God's deep love was too strong
and could not
let it die...
even now His love prevails
over all His reasons to
walk
away.

Blessed be the name of the 
LORD.

one last meal

I tried to envision being in the room, in a corner, like a reporter, taking down notes and impressions during Jesus' last meal with his inner circle. I wrote this as part of a theater piece staged for a Good Friday service.  The stage was lit with what seemed like a thousand candles. But now imagine a lamplit Middle Eastern room from two millenia past, looking nothing like we in the West have imagined. Imagine being there in that moment, and reflecting on what you were seeing and hearing.

one last meal

with the noise of the throng
still pulsing in your brain
you pulled together your people
your inner circle
and took them
away

away from the melee and the white hot spotlight
away from the conspiracies in dark corners
the plots to kill
the intrigue the betrayal

away

away to breathe
to gather around a simple table
as brothers
as friends
for one
last
meal

as the night closed in
you bent down
and poured water over their feet
washed them clean
broke open bread and poured out wine

you blew their minds

your words rang so cryptic in their ears
they could hardly hear
through their fear

look at me--

look at me
keep your focus, you said
it will get dark
darker than this
darker than the blackest night
but trust what i've said
in the light

you know far more than you think you do
you are not abandoned
i will come for you
stay together
do not cave to fear
there is so much more here than meets the eye
your gasping pain will turn to joy

look at me
focus
stay as one
don't split up, don't scatter
when it all comes down
one thing matters

one thing you must remember

when my blood spills

when my body's cracked in two...

it's for you