Faith: Risk with Direction

Listen: “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine

How many of you love New Year’s resolutions? How many of you hate New Year’s resolutions? As we press into 2024, what new faith adventures will unfold for us? I know. Some of you dislike risk and adventure, but it’s actually impossible to live without it. The riskiest thing you do most every day is to get in your car and drive.

I had a spiritual mentor (John Wimber) in the 90’s who often said: “Faith is spelled R-I-S-K.” He was focusing on the adventure dynamics of faith. The word “faith” can mean different things. We can talk about faith traditions like Christianity or Buddhism, which focuses on belief systems. Faith can also mean “trust.” Trust in God. Trust in people. Trust in ourselves. And sometimes faith is closely related to “hope.” We take a risk and hope for a good outcome. A well-known passage in the Bible says: “Faith is the evidence of things hoped for, and the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:6).

I like to think of my spiritual journey through life as a faith adventure. I’ve always loved outdoor adventure, and I enjoy taking risks which relate to desired outcomes. You can’t grow spiritually without taking risks. You can’t grow a business or an organization without taking risks. A faith adventure always involves a potential for failure which is why many people are risk averse.

Several years ago (2018), I was attending a pastor conference. Pastors tend to talk shop, church shop, so I usually ask pastors what they do for fun. It gets the conversation off church, and I learn more about the person. On this particular occasion, I was having dinner with a pastor from Ireland (Andy Masters). When I asked him what he did for fun, he said: “I love to rock climb.” I was so excited. I have asked hundreds of pastors this question around the world for a few decades, and this was the first pastor who told me they liked rock climbing. I have been rock climbing since my late teens.

We talked rock climbing for the next hour, and then I asked him about his family. He said his wife was a singer. I asked what kind of singing, and he said: “She’s a jazz singer and tours with Van Morrison.” His wife, Dana Masters, is an African-American jazz singer whom he met in Los Angeles one year. They married and built their home in Ireland together, and Dana was recruited by Van when he heard her sing one night in Ireland. I was so surprised.

Andy had always dreamed of rock climbing in Colorado, so in the summer of 2018 we took his whole family to Colorado for a rock climbing adventure. Dana’s mother came along to watch the kids, and she shared her experiences of marching with Martin Luther King, Jr. So amazing!

Prior to traveling to Colorado with the Master’s family, I was on a vacation in Ireland with my sisters, and I met up with Andy in Ireland. I wanted to mountain bike and rock climb in Ireland. Andy set me up with one of his young friends who was a mountain bike pro in Ireland. His friend found an Irish mountain bike for me and before we began the ride, he said: “Oh, by the way, Irish mountain bikes are different than American mountain bikes. The brakes are reversed.” I’m glad he told me, but I didn’t think much of it. We hopped on the mountain bikes and started climbing up a mountain. It took us over an hour to climb up the mountain and then came the fast bomb down the mountain. He’s flying down the mountain, and I’m trying to keep up.

We come to the first big drop off a rock ledge, and I push the bike out in front of me to get behind my seat so I can land the drop on my rear wheel. For years I have used my right rear brake to control the rear wheel when it hits the ground. I do it automatically without thinking.

The problem this time is that I am hitting my right brake which in Ireland is my front brake. I unintentionally locked up my front wheel, and when it hit the ground it launched me over my handlebars. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to tuck and roll out of it. I’m flying through the air like Superman, and I’m thinking: “This is going to hurt.” I arched back so I wouldn’t face plant, but I landed in rocks and tore myself up. I was bleeding from my elbows, chest, and knees. Nothing was broken, so I got back on the bike and finished the ride. But I was more mindful of my brakes for the rest of the ride. Tough lesson.

Some risks don’t turn out well—a new relationship, a new job, a new company, a new adventure. Some risks can be very foolish. Some risks can be a little edgy, not foolish, but on the edge. But all of us take risks, even if it's driving our car to the grocery store. Faith adventures always involve risks, and nothing we do in life is risk free (except maybe watching television in your comfy chair but I knew a guy who died of a heart attack in his comfy chair).

So how do we navigate the risks inherent in this world in which we live? My whole life I have been very driven to accomplish goals. I have always had a 3–5-year plan, and I worked the plan year after year. I have failed many times, and I have succeeded many times. I loved being a visionary leader and leading my church to exciting growth year after year for almost three decades. Always taking calculated risks that usually paid off well.

Suddenly, while I was pastoring one of the fastest growing churches in America, not riding an Irish mountain bike, I crashed and burned spiritually. I found out I couldn’t fly and tore myself up emotionally and spiritually. I went through a massive meltdown and lost most everything—my career, my community, my marriage, and even my faith was shattered.

Everything went dark. Loss on top of loss. Darkness like I have never experienced. The only passage in the Bible to which I related was the one Jesus quoted from the cross: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me” (Psalm 22:1-2).

I had lost most everything, and I needed a safe place to fall apart. The recovery community was that safe place for me. In the midst of my darkness, I had no vision, no 3–5-year plan, no direction, no sense of guidance.

In fact, I didn’t care if I lived or died. But I was still breathing. Barely alive. Without any vision, my only mission was survival—One Day at A Time. I was talking to Brian McLaren processing some of my grief, and he said: “Sometimes survival is underrated.” Just survive and recover—One Day at A Time. That was never one of my ideas of a faith adventure, but in my case, that’s all I had in me—survival.

As I started stringing some days together just surviving, I started thinking about the rest of my life. I still have breath. I’m still alive. How do I want to live the rest of my life? I had no great vision, but how do I heal and move forward?

I started focusing on the kind of person I want to become. As I was questioning everything, even God’s existence, I thought: “Even if there is no God, there is love in the world. There is beauty in the world. There is creativity in the world. There is flourishing in the world along side darkness, suffering, destruction, and evil.” So, I decided I wanted to give myself to what is lovely and beautiful while focusing on becoming the kind of person who helps advance love and beauty in the world.

I boiled everything down to a few core values with the intention of becoming a more loving human being. For me, I latched onto some core values in the recovery community—rigorous honesty, vulnerability, humility, and gratitude—all of which are enveloped in love. I decided to be rigorously honest and vulnerable about who I am and what I am going through with a safe and loving group of people.

This was a new faith adventure of sorts—risk with direction. Could I trust God even in the darkness? Could I trust people again? Could I find a safe community in which I could fall apart and rebuild? Was I willing to take the risk with a clear focus on becoming, instead of my typical 3–5-year plan? I could crash and burn all over again. I knew I couldn’t fly. Already tried that.

Perhaps, if you don’t like making new year resolutions, maybe you can just focus on becoming. What’s interesting for me is after a few years of focusing on becoming, my vision is starting to percolate again. I guess I haven’t ventured too far from my roots. As I conclude this blog, I am reminded of one of the Apostle Paul’s most famous quotes from the love chapter: “Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2024