Corby Stephens

Does anyone have a harmonica I can borrow?

First off, I want to say that this isn’t directed at anyone but myself. I may mention other people but it has nothing to do with them, I’m not blaming anyone for anything, they just happen to be players in the story.

I’ll be honest. Easter was flat. It just was. A number of people were gone for a variety of reasons. Who was gone or why isn’t the issue. How the number of people who were there (or not) effected me is what I’m interested in talking about. We were down to about two thirds of our normal family gathering. And when you aren’t that big to begin with it makes a big difference. “Here we go, another pastor talking about numbers wanting to build a mega church.” No, not quite. This is actually about the conversations God and I had on this Resurrection Sunday.

I started the service late, hoping some more people would show up. No one did. I was bummed. “God, where are the people who want you, who need you?” I asked. God promptly said back, “Don’t worry about who you don’t have in front of you. Take care of the ones you do have in front of you.” Crap. Fine. So we start the service. People have their coffee, I make some announcements, and Doug leads worship. During practice Doug and I realized that the chosen set as pretty mellow. There’s nothing wrong with mellow, but there really wasn’t anything celebratory, and it is Resurrections Sunday after all. Worship was good, but it just kind of carried over the funk that was already in my heart. Mellow. Flat.

I recently changed the way I use notes for my studies. I wanted something that made me more flexible in my speaking. I felt too tied down to my notes, afraid I would leave something out, so I was basically looking down the majority of the time. But now that I have this freedom to “riff” it lends to going longer. I went for 59 minutes. Sheesh! Shut up, Corby! And in my study prep I had hoped for and kind of planned on some visitors or non-believers. There weren’t any non-believers in the house. The phrase “preaching to the choir” comes to mind. But in this case, the choir is the only thing that showed up. It feels like the choir is all that ever shows up. I love the choir. I’m thankful for the choir, please don’t hear what I’m not saying. I am saying it would be nice to share the good new of new life in Jesus Christ with someone who needed to hear it right then and there. So far that hasn’t happened yet. Ever.

We got done, packed up, and went home. Some had family plans. We didn’t, and that’s no big deal for us. But the day ended just as flat as it began. I felt like there was no impact on the community. No change. (Again, these are just my feelings and may or may not reflect reality.) My heart is to reach out to this hurting and broken community. “But Corby, you are sewing. It takes time for the harvest.” I know this all too well. See, here’s the thing. For me, it feels like I have been sewing my entire Christian “career.” It feels like all I have ever done is sew. I have never seen direct fruit in my life. I have never led anyone to the Lord. I haven’t even ever prayed with someone to that end. I have seen much fruit from what I have sewn in others. A missionary to China. A youth pastor who leads a group of middle schoolers that is at least double the size of my church. Another youth pastor who is impacting kids. “One sews, another waters, another reaps.” I know that. I get that. But I want to reap! Is that wrong? Is that selfish?

The natural course of the thought process is to then ask, “What do I need to do to make this thing grow? What more do we need to be doing?” More advertising. Banners and posters. Cool artwork. Bring in bands that will draw. Buy a better projector so we can do cooler stuff on the screen. Try to be funnier (or funny, as the case may be). Something. As I was going through that list in my head, again, God showed up and gently said, “The only thing you and My church need to do more of is to give Me more of yourselves.” Again, crap.

So it was a humbling Easter. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to go visit family and act happy because I wasn’t. I was broken. I was humbled. Resurrection Sunday is about the resurrection. Duh. But it is also about how we are raised to life with Him. In order to experience more of that life we need to die to self. Daily. So it isn’t about who is there on any given Sunday and who isn’t. It’s about me. It’s about you. It’s about us right now.

I recently gave in and set myself up with a Facebook account. I must admit that I like it better than MySpace, but that isn’t the point of this entry. One thing Facebook does is automatically connect you with people you might know who are also in their system They do this via places you have worked, schools you went to, etc.

Not long after I clicked a few clicks did I see names and faces I recognized, one that goes back to preschool. As I clicked through their profiles I realized that I was getting a glimpse at a sampling of people, including myself, who all started out in essentially the same environment and have gone a variety of directions. Actually, you could divide it up into two directions; liberal and conservative, Christian and not.

Then I started to daydream (which I’m prone to do). What if I had the chance to sit down and chat with some of these people? Or, what if some of them showed up at my church? What would I say? How would I teach? Would it be different that how I do now? The reality is that these people are my peers, literally.

In high school I was friends with everyone and no one. I respected all and was respected by all. Jocks, stoners, smokers, nerds, artsy, pretty much everyone. At the same time I wasn’t really a part of any of them. I was (and am) in extroverted introvert. I was a compromised Christian. I was active in my youth group but went too far with the Christian girls I dated. I wasn’t an influence for Christ. I figured people would just notice. They didn’t. I was a nice kid, a good kid.

As I look through the profiles of my classmates the inevitable happens. I compare what they have done with their lives with what I have done with mine. Like beauty, influence and significance are in the eye of the beholder. Some people have been very public and aggressive (for lack of a better term) with their lives and passions. And successful.

On the one hand I don’t feel very influential, significant, or successful. On the other hand that can’t be true. As a youth pastor an intern I know I had something to do with those kids who are now all grown up and have served God all over the world. As a yoyo man I did some 1,500 shows for some 300,000 kids in 31 states and three foreign countries. I had to have had some kind of impact on some of them beyond entertaining them for 45 minutes. With almost two years of senior pastoring under my belt and video and audio files going out over the internet all over the world, I would hope and pray that someone is being built.

Does it sound like I’m having a pity party? I’m not really. I guess I’m just taking stock of things. I saw part of a biography about Chris Farley this morning. I’d seen it before. Like him I had a dream of being on Saturday Night Live. Had I given everything in my life over to doing that I might have made it. If nothing else, Chris made people laugh. He did much more than that of course. He was influential. It both came naturally and was a lot of work. He paid his dues.

If God is going to use me to be influential I have to do likewise. I have to give everything in my life over to doing that. I have to break out of my habit of if it isn’t easy I don’t do it. In school being noticed came easy to me. Music, drama, school-spirit awards. I didn’t have to work at it. Getting out of my high school bubble I quickly realized that I was once a big fish in a little pond. Now I’m a little fish in the ocean.

My flesh wants to live in a cave. My spirit wants to touch peoples hearts, lives, and minds. This is where that whole die to self and take up my cross thing comes into play. What am I going to do with all of this? Something. When I study and prepare to teach, I’m going to try and factor in, “What if Dustin, Kate, or Haly were to walk in today? What would I want them to hear? How would I want to come across? If this was their only chance to ever hear God’s word, what would they need to hear?”

Teach who you have, preach to who you don’t.

First off, it’s been a while since I’ve posted, and I do have a couple of things rolling around in my brain. But this one will be kind of a drive-by posting. Sorry for the abruptness.

The CDC is reporting that…

At least one in four teenage girls nationwide has a sexually transmitted disease, or more than 3 million teens, according to the first study of its kind in this age group.

Here’s an idea… STOP SCREWING AROUND!

Now, I do understand that there are boys involved in this so it obviously isn’t just the fault of the girls here. I’m not blaming just the girls. I also understand that there are times when this is the result of rape, incest, etc. I’m not that ignorant nor insensitive. But it seems rather obvious to me, having spent six years as a teen myself, that the vast majority of these cases is just kids having sex, “protected” or otherwise.

Why is it that we are afraid to or grossed out by drinking out of the same can or bottle of pop/beer/booze as someone else (at least when we are sober), but kids will give each other oral sex in the stair well at school or hook up at a party without thinking twice? “Make sure to wash your hands after going to the bathroom kids, and then get your penicillin shot.”

And people say that those who promote abstinence are stupid. Maybe God’s way is the best way. Heterosexual married sex. If everyone stuck to that, our sons and daughters wouldn’t have to worry about this. Ever.