It is said that behind every great man is a greater woman. Though I claim no greatness, by my side for 32 years now has been this woman, named Gwen. Our relationship began when Gwen announced at a Christmas party that she had just broken an engagement. That was my clue to stand up; pursue the woman and right then and there on that frosty Christmas night, I knew I would indeed marry her. I did two years later. For me, it was love at first sight. For her, it took two years for love to spring forth. That's life, they say. Gwen has been my true companion for 32 years. Together, we have pastored four churches, planted two and founded an international ministry called, Potter’s Inn. No church I served; no church I planted; no book I ever wrote and no souls I ever healed could have happened without this woman. I truly owe all to her. Her beginning in this life was from the dark clay of Ethiopia, born to missionary parents who raised this blue eyed, blond girl in the rough terrain of a primitive country. There, she stood on crates and watched men and women being operated on and in that dungy surgical suite, she came to the early conclusion at five years of age, that she would become a nurse. She did and served several years in foreign countries and in major medical centers in the US. Her parents, somehow sent, Gwen to a missionary boarding school—a decision we process now, years after the fact. Was it right? Was it wrong? In those long years without a mother to hold her and a daddy to comfort her, she resolved some things in that boarding school and made some promises that we now unpack with great care, tenderness and mercy. Those years left scars in the heart and gaps in the mind to comprehend being left on the front steps of a boarding school so your parents could go work for God. Unfortunately, she would re-live this chapter with me, as I have written about in my books. But scars—they do breed passion and that scar of being left would be a vow she would make to always be present for her four men children that she bore. Her passion to this day is about her men children. In my dark days of obsessing about my work and the call of God on my own life, Gwen remained true to pastor these boys into men with hearts of gold and spines of steel. I often confess when speaking to leaders around the world, “I gave the best of my life to the church and the left-overs to my wife and kids.” It’s something I am not proud of today and help people to not make the mistake I made. Thankfully, God has mercy and that mercy has sealed gaps in my absence but mostly because Gwen stood in the gaps I created. She is that kind of woman. 
I married this woman on October 18, 1980 at 11am. Tomorrow, October 18 is our anniversary! The organ played joyfully, “When morning guilds the skies, my heart awakening cries, may Jesus Christ be praised.” She processed and I broke. When she walked down the aisle, I broke down and cried like a baby. I was ravished by such a sight of splendor and beauty and I still am today. These days, I often stare at her without anyone looking, including Gwen. Her hair in the sunlight. Her smile in the morning reaching for coffee. Her laughs in the bed and her giggles when we are in private. No one gets her like I get her. She has lived that vow out and I am the better for it. Her faithfulness is a blanket of comfort. I told her several years ago when my travel was picking up and I confessed how much I didn’t like travelling by myself-- that I felt I was being set up for failure by these trips and that there was no joy in being a talking head for God or for anyone. She said she would start going with me. So we tried that and both experienced the sober reality of what too much travel does to ones rhythm—to our couple rhythm. So now, we are turning the tables again to vow to travel less and live the life we want to live—together. Years ago, Gwen went to seminary to study to become what she has become today, a spiritual director and a lover of souls. Somehow, she intuitively knows when enough is enough and the joy of an afternoon cup of coffee and a bite of very dark chocolate. Any one she is a director for benefits only in part of what I benefit from every day of the year. We know have three daughters, for three of our four men children have chosen wives. I study in amazement Gwen’s great, great care and respect for these three chosen daughters for us. When I would press and blow the doors off in a conversation that perhaps, they weren’t ready to have---Gwen somehow knows the great value of silence and just loves them without words, correction and with grace and I see it. I wish I could love like she does. 
Her greatest joy these days is with our new grandson, Caleb. One of the benefits of technology is being sent videos of Caleb. While I’ll watch them once, I’ll notice Gwen repeating and repeating viewing them…squealing with utter joy at Caleb’s smile on screen or now his cute chuckles. How she delights in him and through this one relationship, I now understand the parental heart of God so much better when we are told that God delighted in Jesus at his baptism and again shortly before he died. It’s like living in a painting to watch her watch the videos. I know now that all of our grandchildren to come are so very fortunate to have her as the new “Nina”. They—our future grandchildren will find comfort in her arms and against her heart as I have for these many years. It is my great joy to watch Gwen age. We laugh a lot about it. She is going to be a radiant old woman. She will be that kind of woman who wears her hair in a bun and her face will wrinkle with wisdom lines that she already possesses. Those she loves will eagerly sit at her feet on by her side sipping tea from Blue Danube cups and with every cup, a piece of dark chocolate. I am the better man for having this woman say yes to me, many years ago. I am the most fortunate of all. So I tell you now in public what I tell you in secret, “You have outdone every woman I know and you are the desire of my heart and the delight of my soul. Your beauty is not in your doing but in your essence. Your soul is exquisite and your heart huge!" I wish for you that I could have been more tender; had more of a soft hand than a firm one. I wish for you that I could re-live all the years I gave to meaningless deacon’s meetings and Team Meetings. They robbed us of the greatest commodity of our lives…time. I hope in what years I have left to give you the best and not the left overs. I wish for you the time to be the grandmother, your heart is calling you to be and I will give you that time. It will be a way we can both pay back our mistakes in investing in organizations that honor the organs of the heart and soul. I wish for you great health with long walks on the hills of our retreat. I wish for you Aspen Gold to match your hair and clefts to sit in to ponder and to pray. Thank you that you pray for me. That you alone pastor me. That you alone direct me to move in the ways I want to move. Thank you that you know Jesus and that you value your relationship with him so much. Thank you that you are a lover of solitude and that you have mentored me so well here in this much needed school. 
I look forward to aging with you. Soon we will cross over to the downhill side and it will be a much too quick journey for us. If I should die before you, I will want you to carry on---to try to fulfill our shared dream here at Potter’s Inn. But if it is too much and too lonely for you, then I release you from this burden to live the life you so want to live. Buy you an RV and roam from son to son and shore to shore with Laz or your Petunia, (the fantasized old English bull dog that you covet). And if I will carry you to your grave first, then I will dress you in white—the white of your wedding dress and say, “You were pure and kind to me all the days of your life and I will always honor you and love you for loving me so well. Because, I am the weaker one, I hope I will pass first because we both know, you are far, far stronger than me. I will not fair well. But that is not for us to choose. In the days ahead, let us lift high the chalice of our lives and drink to the goodness of God. For He has been good and he has been faithful. Happy Anniversary! Do not kill me for sharing such public things about our love and your beauty. We all will call you "Blessed!"
The Church That Jesus Imagined
by Stephen W. Smith After 25 years of serving the church and now having 10 years under my belt of serving the church’s leaders across the world, I feel like I’m going to upset the apple cart and cause many people devoted to the work of the church distress in stating the obvious and giving some reflection to the fact that Jesus said the word “church” only twice in his entire life and both of those times are recorded by only one of the four Gospel writers—Matthew in 16:17 and 18:17. He never told us to plant churches. He never instructed us to join churches. He never told us much at all about the church he envisioned.My point here is not to solve the many questions that this blog will raise but to allow some honest discussion. I''m an insider to the church and my aim is not to throw stones but to actually invigorate a discussion whose time has come. One blog on this is not enough so I’m planning more and would invite your feedback, discussion and questions—as long as you use the “comment” space on the blog provided.Jesus spoke more about prayer, money, forgiveness, love and friendship than he did church. Have we missed something here by ignoring this reality? With all of the church’s efforts to build itself up and to grow itself, expand itself and propagate itself, one needs to stop and ask oneself: What is the church that Jesus imagined?As I recently walked up to one of the nation’s largest mega-churches hosting a sanctuary that cost over $100 million dollars, my companion who was walking beside me pointed to the megapolis that we were about to enter, and asked quietly “Steve, do you think Jesus had this (meaning thee huge church campus) in mind while he ministered here on earth?”What do you think?How are you answering that question these days? Think for a moment of all the strategy meetings you have sat through; the deacons and elder’s meetings; the woman’s meetings and the men’s pancake breakfasts; all of the terms that come up every three or four years to help us re-envision church like missional, the purpose driven church and so forth. Are these mere words to help us have to re-think what Jesus may have never wanted us to think about anyway?The truth is simply this. Jesus spoke more about the gathering of two or three and the mystery of experiencing his presence than he did planting churches, growing churches and managing churches. For Jesus, it was simple. When he spoke the word, “church” he meant the ones called out to form a new sort of community—a new way of doing relationships. His intent was basic and fundamental. In Jesus’ way of doing church, people would simply recognize his presence in their midst and have assurance of the fact that they were truly no longer alone—but that in this new community—God was surely with them. Here, they would love and be loved; help and be helped, celebrate and be celebrated; serve and be served. They would then share that Sacred Presence inviting the outsider to become the insider. Church was sharing the experience of God in our midst. Together, we would do what one could not do alone. We would offer the cup of cold water. We would extend the incarnation of Jesus by sharing this message and experience. We would offer hope. We would experience forgiveness and we would practice accepting each other just as Christ accepted us—with our flaws, failures and fissures. Love would be our goal. Praise would be our song.I have often experienced this same phenomenon when I have lunch with my friend and we break bread together at lunch time. We talk about the beautiful and the brutal in our lives. We do far more than “catching up.” We share our lives, our hopes and fears as we share the bread on the table. We bow and give thanks for the food we are about to receive—knowing that our true food is the Host in our midst. Our hearts are warmed by the togetherness we are experiencing. And as I do this, I often feel as if I am—right then and there experiencing the church that Jesus imagined. It feels holy, sacred and –yes, it feels like church to me.In my work with leaders in the church, I find few happy with their work. Most are lamenting. Many are afraid of the slippery slope, not of theology but of the church we find ourselves on. Where are we headed? Is the American church doomed? Why are churches in other cultures (Latin America, Africa and The East) thriving while the American church is waning (All statistics confirm this). All admit that there is trouble in the camp and life seems about rising above the trouble and enduring a calling that at times seems hopeless against the cultural tides that are sweeping against us in this present hour.When I look and examine the life of the Apostle Paul, I find great encouragement in the very final verse of the book of Acts, where Paul is imprisoned and facing the end of his life of having planted churches throughout the then known world. What Paul does is staggering in his final description of his remaining days of his life. He does not organize mission teams to go plant more churches. He does not give edicts or advice about strategy. And he certainly does not convene a Leadership Summit to problem solve his demise. No, Luke gives us an important clue into Paul’s heart and his belief the church that Jesus imagined. Luke says this about Paul’s remaining days and his philosophy about what was really important: “For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ” (Acts 28 :30-31). I have to admit, I yearn for that kind of church today. Paul did two things in his final years that we need to embrace today--now in this very time. He talked about the Kingdom of God—that pivotal relationship where there is a King who is all about living in new ways with new ethics and new values that match the King’s heart. Secondly, he simply taught them about Jesus. That seems so simple yet so strangely profound. Something really does happen when we teach people about Jesus—his ways, his practices, his insights into human nature and his stories about authentic transformation. It's like Jesus said, when he is lifted up, he will draw people unto himself. Paul settled on two things and for the last two years of his life focused on this two prong approach to life. It was not about the church. It was not about buildings. It was not about programs. It was about Kingdom living and the King, himself.This being so, then we must ask ourselves why church growth has replaced the very practice of Paul. Why is the message of the missional church replacing the message about Jesus? What if the church has hijacked the very teaching of Jesus and now we can't hear the message cause the preachers and teachers are more concerned about other things than what Paul was concerned about?I admit it. I am weary of all of this hype about the church that is happening now. Tell me about the Kingdom. Remind me of the values I should align my heart to. Tell me the stories of Jesus. Often, when I am with a church leader, I will share those final verses in Acts with my friends and without exception, I will always hear, “I never knew that was in the Bible.” And we sit in stunned silence--together as a tiny micro-church confessing our wayward ways and sensing that Presence again invading our space to become his presence.Why all the emphasis on mega? It's more American than Biblical. Why not then celebrate the micro? The small seed, the grain of wheat, the lone sheep and the micro-church---it just might be the church home you’ve been waiting for—the church that Jesus really imagined for us to enjoy.Let me be clear. I am a member of a mega-church. We are 6,000 strong or struggling which ever way you look at it. But it is not in my worship there; it is not in my attendance but it is in the moments in my Sunday School class where we sit around circled tables that I gain this perspective I need. There at the table sit my fellow pilgrims who come as tossed about life’s storms as I am and we share and we read a passage about Jesus and we unfold our insights for others to feast on. And it is that moment that I know where I am. I am in the church that Jesus imagined. I really don’t think (pardon me, please) that Jesus envisioned choirs in robes, silver offering plates and sermons lasting forty minutes. George Barna and Frank Viola have shown us conclusively that many of our practices in church are really drawn from pagan ideals and cultural shifts. (See their book, Pagan Christianity.) Think of our “Praise Band” or now the struggle over traditional or contemporary worship. At one church recently that I was invited to speak on “the Power of solitude and silence in the believer’s life” all the music was rap with a light show and even smoke—not incense but smoke from machines that blew it far into the reaches of the windowless auditorium. It was windowless to reveal the power of technology—not the glory of God in the skies. 
Some churches seem more like they are re-arranging the chairs on the deck of their own Titanic. They speak of surviving not thriving. They are lacking the youth—who once were called, “the future of the church” and now they are leaving by the boat loads-- disillusioned with yet one more attempt to be the church that Jesus imagined.Tables at Starbucks now resemble more of the church Jesus imagined than our sanctuaries. There, over java, people are connecting, talking and perhaps even praying with eyes wide open in search of the church that Jesus imagined. Perhaps they are in it---actually experiencing it. I kick myself when I enter Starbuks today and read their new fall promotion. Fall Rhythm? We need a winter, spring and summer rhythm as well. Will the church help me or abandon me to the busy world without prophetically calling me to live another way... a way in rhythm, not balance.Questions I want to walk into here are these: What hope is there for the existing church? Where did we go wrong? How do we reclaim the intent of Jesus in our church? Why establishing community may be more important than planting churches! What is the role of missions today? Why does the church shoot the wounded? If this bores you, pardon me while I try to voice some things that have been stirring in my heart for quite a time now.
This Holy Place
Two Saturday's ago, I was sitting in a beautiful day retreat with John Blase. It was a day of reading poetry and writing poetry. For some strange reason, I've been drawn to poems. The brevity instead of prose makes me drawn to shorter expressions, brief insights into the world and into my soul. For the last 10 years, this window has been open to me and I've found myself very glad. This week, I got Mary Oliver's brand new book of poetry (A Thousand Mornings) and on this rainy and cold Saturday morning, I've sat here reading and being drawn into Oliver's insights and I'm the better for it.John Blase encouraged us to take 30 minutes and write a poem--or start one based on a word or phrase we found in a book he gave us to peruse. So, I took my book and went outside at our retreat and sat in a rocking chair basking in the morning Colorado Sun. Then it happened. I found on a page, a phrase which stopped me... it was simply this...."This Holy Place."In my work with so many church leaders, I often hear the laments of the broken church. Some hate it now. Some are leaving it. Some are sick and tired of it. I have my own struggles. And in that rocking chair, I was able to give words to my own thoughts about my church.I"ll share my new poem with you here. It somehow brought my feelings out into the open and gave me a way to express this holy place called church--at least my church that I am discovering. The high priest I refer to are the poets that have most inspired me, motivated me, transformed me and mentor me. This Holy Placeby Stephen W. Smith There are no stained glass windows here.Only the gold of the Aspens and the cathartic blue of heaven's skies.Yet, this is a holy space.And in my heart, I am bowing. The high priests swing their incense,And it is the words that sway me--that slay me.No candle burns here but my heart alone.and I feel ignited. I am burning--finally burning. The open book is my Eucharist.The wafer offered me by Oliver, Frost and Whyte.My cup is the poem of words that draw blood.Words that wound. Words that heal. This place--this moment is my churchand I belong. I am free. And I am at rest.The words--they do baptize my wondering heartto come home. To finally know this place as church.