Mercy, and Not Sacrifice

I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.

This text I wrote on my arm as I prepared to work.  I wanted to carry it with me, to meditate on it as I cleaned and served.  It drove into my mind like a wedge into a log, laying me bare and split open.  I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.

Laid bare is the Pharisee’s heart.  Our Lord quotes Hosea 6, one of my favorite sections of the Old Testament.  It has been for several years now.  It speaks of a wayward Israel, to whom Hosea offers a call to repentance.  Come, let us return to the Lord.  It speaks of a knowledge of the Lord and yet an absence of it.  Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord.  And it speaks of Immanuel, God with us.  He will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.

Then Hosea laments the hardness of Judah’s heart, i’s fickle nature, its proclivity to wander and dissipate like the dew in the morning of a summer day in Charleston.  And God, through Hosea, rebukes Judah.  He says, I desire steadfast love, or mercy, and not sacrifice; the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.

From this quotes Jesus, the Lord, to the leaders of His people.

The Christ discards religion.  He sets aside all pretense and lifeless routine.  He fells any tower of hypocrisy; any spirit of hierarchy and division he tears in two, from top to bottom.  He, the Lord, desires mercy, not sacrifice.

I often seek to serve the Lord by sacrifice.  And this, I believe, is often valid worship.  The woman who gives her two pennies, Mary and the bottle of perfume, the disciples and their very lives.  There is no faith, no love, no worship without sacrifice.

And yet the Lord of our hearts desires not the offering of things only, but love.  He desires not the discipline of duty, but the joyful obedience of true worship.  He desires relationship, far and away higher than moral impeccability.

This is a dreadful and at once a wonderful truth.  For it removes any bid for an earned salvation.  It rejects any attempt at self-achievement or religious attainment, even the offering of our very lives is not enough.  The Lord does not desire our sacrifices, but mercy, a mercy, a heart transformed by mercy that He pours out on us.  Many translations say ‘steadfast love’, in place of ‘mercy’ in Hosea 6:6, which holds even more true!  Our love is so often like Judah’s, so often like Ephraim’s, quick to be distracted, quick to fade away.  Yet the Lord still desires love.  And still the Lord comes to us as the rains, as we return to Him.

I remember a time exploring islands with my childhood best friend.  We heard the thunder beginning to roll in the distance.  First we dismissed it as a train, or a plane, but as it grew closer we hurried to the aluminum boat.  As we shoved off into the creek, we could see the storm front pressing towards us, the sheets of rain blurring the marsh just half a mile away.  We raced to his dock, afraid but exhilarated, and full of life.  We pulled the boat onto it’s platform and raced into his garage just as the rain washed over his yard.  The spring rains came, strong, convicting, sovereign.  So comes the Lord, in a moment, when the Spirit breathes new life into a man.

I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.

So often I calculate the position of my relationship with the Lord by the completion of my devotions.  Have I done all that I must do, read all that I must read, prayed all that I must pray, listened for a significant portion of time, worshipped, written all that I must write?  The greater the amount of disciplines achieved, the greater I deem my relationship with the Lord.

And these are all things I am called to do by the Lord.  Obedience to them is part of a measure of my love (if you love me, you will obey my commands).  Yet their foundation cannot be duty, a forced march of ‘should’s and ‘ought to’s.  We pursue the Lord out of love, because He binds us up, because he comes to us, because he desires that we live before Him.  Setting our hearts firmly here before entering into the disciplines allows us to meet with the God of grace, instead of fall short before an idol of achievement.  We cannot sacrifice enough to merit our adoption; such a sacrifice has already been offered.  We must remind ourselves of it, meditate on it, abide in it, be transformed by it, and so be brought from a system of sacrificial debt to merciful abundance in grace.

Go and learn what this means:  ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’

Responsibility and Freedom, a Tidbit

Here's a little tidbit I wrote a bit ago.  I'm not sure if it's finished, but there's an elegance to it that I want to share.
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The Christian holds a unique responsibility.  For, while being concerned with the struggle and hardship of those around us, in Christ we become less and less concerned with our own.  I do not mean that we ignore pain and trials, but instead that, in light of a greater covenant and a greater kingdom, the brokenness and weariness of hardship dwindles.  And, with the hope that we have, that we see, our darkness has less long-term effect.  While we feed the five thousand, we fast, and know that we do not live by bread alone.  While we raise our friends from the dead, we go the grave willingly, peacefully.  We carry an easy load and yet share in the burdens of others.  We, most free and chosen, press forward into struggle and work.  In this our purpose and calling is realized.  We find that responsibility and freedom, which we had once pitted against each other, now form equal parts of a greater good, a greater calling.  That of love, received and given.  And in this way we conform further into the image of Christ, a savior made perfect through sufferring  (Hebrews 2:10).

Vision, Submission, and Arrogance

I have found myself arrogant once again.   When I am anxiously frustrated, smoldering, I need to start asking to see my pride (Psalm 139:24)- usually that’s the foundation of my struggle.

Proverbs 13:12

I have great dreams of what community should be, visions of what would be beautiful.  A community that does not shut down over the summer, but instead re-centers on their DNA, on the narrative of scripture with the twin themes of covenant and kingdom.  I dream of a group of people charged to serve the body and the world through the empowered gifts of the Spirit, discipling and being discipled.

I hope for a worship night that is fundamentally grounded in listening for the Spirit, a playground of following Him that teaches us how to listen, hear, and act in real life.

I hope for evangelism rocking Charleston, for hundreds and thousands of people meeting Jesus in the next few years.  I want to see house churches/communities doubling and multiplying through discipleship, not just through borrowing other people already following the Lord.

But I get very frustrated when my vision is not what I see happening.  Because, frankly, I love my vision.  I love what could be.  And I’m affirmed often as a leader, as having wisdom, as discipling well, encouraging others, leading worship, in humility.  And so I begin to believe that my desires mirror those of God, and that any other plan or vision is obviously flawed.  And many are, yes, but so are mine, I am sure.  And I dream without practice, you see.  I can plan all day, but when landing craft hits the beach the Lord’s vision is often played much differently than it is on the drawing board.

Which leaves me needing to do a few things:

1) Confess my arrogance, and apologise.  My vision is not perfect.  I am not perfect.  The Lord is perfect.

2) Repent of Arrogance.  Namely, apologize to leaders that I have rebelled under, or been arrogantly smoldering under, and seek to live more humbly in submission to them.

3) Cherish the dream.  Don’t toss the dream just because I am a lousy messenger at times.  Pray about it, think about it, develop it with the guidance of wiser, older people.  Look for ways to pursue it.

4) Listen for timing.  Wait on the Lord’s timing.  It may be your vision is just to speak about and plan, and will not be fulfilled in your lifetime (David, building the temple).  Or maybe it will come to fruition much later in my life (Zachariah seeing baby Jesus).  Or, maybe it’ll come next fall.  Don't worry about it.

And in the meantime, walk in faithfulness to what I know and what I have.  I do not have to be a part of a perfect community, and certainly not a community developed on my cision.  But I am called to love God and man well, according the faith and gifts He has given me.  And to cherish the vision that I have.  How?  Still figuring that out.

Why I'm Single

Lately there has been much discussion over my relationship status.  A lot of folks have talked about setting me up on blind dates or with friends.  People have asked who I'm interested in, why I don't ask girls on dates, what kind of girl I'm looking for.

Here's the problem:  I'm not looking.

In high school, a buddy and I would stay up late, listing all the girls we were interested in in alphabetical order, A-Z.  We always fell asleep before reaching Z.  In college I crushed frequently.  Many girls stole my focus, sometimes even my hopes and dreams.  A lot of energy was expended waiting for the right one, wishing, waiting.  Even dating.

But for some reason, this year has been different.  Since the end of the summer, I really have not felt any kind of leaning towards dating.  I have no interest in it.  I definitely still notice cute girls.  I enjoy friendship with girls, and chatting, and I love the idea of creative dating.  But I honestly feel called too many other directions.

And, for the first time in a long time, I'm absolutely satisfied with that.  I'm not concerned.  I realize that not dating and not looking means that you may not get married.   Frankly, that's fine with me.  I want that intimacy, commitment, physicality.  Yet, my position as a son of God provides more intimacy and commitment than any relationship.  And physicality- that I can give up.  I'm not worried about being alone, because I'm not.  And I'm not preoccupied with finding the one, because I know that I don't need to.  And, to be honest, serious relationships seriously hamper what I can do.  A married man can't pour all His effort into a small group of younger guys.  He can't hop a plane and serve elsewhere for months.  It becomes much more difficult to live a life of radical simplicity.  I understand Paul when he says that marriage divides the devotion of a man.  That does not mean that marriage is wrong, or that singleness is better.  It simply means that you have more time and less responsibility as a single man.  Which mean, when a friends wants to skate at 11 at night, I can.  When I'm asked to pick up an extra shift at work, or lead worship for a new worship night, I can.  I can work 30 hour workweeks and pay rent and spend the rest of the time pursuing community and pastoring those around me.  There's freedom there.

Now, a relationship offers some pretty incredible things.  Constant communal decision making.  Complete vulnerability.  Extreme sharing and encouraging.  Exponentially more work can be done with two people.  So I'm not writing marriage off.  But I have no interest in pursuing it because it's what you do at my age, and I have no interest in pursuing it out of loneliness or a need to fill.  Let Christ fill my loneliness, His body on earth my needs.  Neither loneliness or needs are voices easily quelled, even as we seek to pursue Christ.  But ultimately, neither voice ought be followed as the determinate of our actions.  Instead, we should be seeking the voice of the Lord, in prayer, fasting, reading, community.  And, since I have no compulsion to seek, and no sense of calling to get married, I'm pouring my effort elsewhere.  Into Kudu, into my Impact guys, into the church.  Until I feel lead otherwise, I will remain single.  Eyes open, ears listening.  But not looking.

Writing a Feather

I sometimes don't write a blog post simply because I don't feel like I have anything worth writing.  Yet, to be obedient in exercising gifts, I will write.  I feel nothing heavy-  yet perhaps, to accurately monitor my life, I must occasionally write a feather, and seek to follow the Spirit in it.

I've fancied fireflies for a long time.  I never thought to crushed them, to paint with their bio-luminescing smear.  I trapped them, yes, and many died in my grandmother's mason jars.  But I didn't mean to-  usually I just forgot that they were there.  Which, I think, is quite apt in illuminating their importance to me in the past year.  In the midst of doubt and anxiety and fear, fireflies often brought me great comfort.  When I doubted my desire for simple beauty, when I feared I had lost all ability to find goodness, much less desire it, fireflies reminded me of truth.  I could look at them and remember joy, almost taste it.  I'd sit outside trying to pray, trying to feel anything, looking for something heavy, something tangible, something weighty, and would be feeling nothing.  Which often feels like doubt, or worse, abandonment. And then, outside of Parkwest, over the wild blackberries and behind the volleyball courts, a single firefly.  Or two, or a half dozen.  In the peak, maybe thirty at a time.  Flashing, blinking like eyes in the branches of the pine trees.

And now they have returned, flashing in the loblollies arching over my grandmother's driveway.  I don't catch them now, at least, not to keep.  Mostly I turn off my headlights and try to follow the deep ruts of Mimi's chalky driveway, looking up, waiting for them to reveal themselves.

Questions on my mind:

I am wrestling with community and leadership, what does it mean to be filled and to pour out?  Can they happen simultaneously?  Do they require different communities, one in which to receive and one in which to give? 

And seeking housing for next year.  Is it wrong to live more residents to a house than the law allows?  It's a silly brothel law, outdated and ignored.  Yet it still stands, with authority and right to punish.

Maturity:  What makes one ready to disciple others?

Disciples:  how do you call them in an environment in which no one is looking?

How can God use a program-centric church to His glory, blessing them profoundly, while still seemingly leading us back to a desperate reliance on the Spirit?

Why have no muskmellon's sprouted in my garden?

Some spontaneous poetry:

Don't look away.  The end is not yet here; I will show you more.
For the depths of relationship come in the looking, staring into anothers' eyes,
much more than staring at their hands or their feet,
and certainly more than staring at yours.
There is a dancing in the eyes that we cannot free into our words,
into our motions and movements.
The eyes cannot be measured or followed,
or challenged, or analyzed.
You can find in them no literature,
no lists or memorable quips.
They speak of very little certainty,
but of one looking back,
and there is hope.
Don't look away, for I see you,
and you are not far from me.

A Letter to Myself, or, the End of a Year in Review

Last summer I interned with a great group of folks up in Greenville, SC, at Radius, a sweet church up thataway.  At the end of our time together, we were asked to write ourselves letter, to be received one year in the future.  I believe the prompt was, 'what would God like your future self to read?' or something like that.  I got my letter last week, and figured I'd share, particularly after the past two posts.  It encouraged me a bunch.  I say some of this to myself regularly, but had forgotten much of the beauty of what God had done.

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Gosh, Drew.  Writing you a letter.  This is hard, kind of awkward.

1- Remember how Cortney told you that God loves you so much.  Remember when Caroline rejoiced over where God was bringing you?  Remember how Blake cried, saying God was heartbroken about my struggle to rejoice in Him?
2- Remember how much you loved reading about the Israelites in the desert?  Remember how the psalms rang out to the depths of your soul?  How often Deuteronomy mentions holding fast, and clinging to God?
3-Remember how much pride you had, lust after evil?  Remember how close you were to running?
Remember the glories of God in creation?  How they drew you back.  How the fireflies were too beautiful, sunrise and sunset, the mountains.   Girls, their beauty.
Remember all the flashcards you made of God's faithfulness?  Of the many times he directly revealed his love for you?  Healing your knee, using you to love others, freeing you from guilt.  Could anything good really come from you?
Remember how you were affirmed as a pastor?  How many times you loved strangely?  When you walked over and gave so-and-so a fro-yo, or when you organized the group thing for that person?  or when you spoke into that guy's pursuit of you?
Remember when you rejoiced in the glory of God, in his plan?  Remember when you chose to be obedient in Baptism? Remember when you cried over God's love for you in middle school?  Remember all the times you have screwed up relationships?  Remember that God forgives you from that?
Remember how much you love people that love Jesus?  How much you long for eternity, and perfect relationship?
Remember how Israel turned away, and how God broke them?  And brought them back?  Remember how freedom and the promised land are not the same?

Remember when you sat in a garden in SA and asked God if you were called to be a pastor, and you felt him say "Dumb questions"?  Smile.  Remember when he said Amazing Grace, and then David Sadd played it?  Remember walking with Sally, sharing that you struggled to hear God, and finding joy in her companionship in that?
Remember the times I have been told to be grateful for anything at all?  Remember how gracious, generous God is?  Remember that walking with him is often normal, not crazy,
Remember how much freedom is in believing that God loves you?  He loves you.  He really does.  All of this proves it.  You know this.  God. loves. you.  Preach it to yourself.  He protects you.  He guides you.  He speaks all that He needs to, in many ways.  You have to believe this.  Because it's true.  All facts point to this.  Your emotions are a gift from God, often.  But they do not define you.  Be strong and courageous, like Joshua.  Repent, like Paul and David.  Tell your soul to hope in God.  You will again praise Him.


Jesus died for you.  Died.  And I know it can be hard to believe.  But the Spirit is in you.  You are ok.  you are loved.  You don't have to have the perfect ministry.  You can lead worship for a big church.  OR you can be a janitor who loves kids.  It doesn't matter.  God.  saved. you.  Even in your imperfect ministry.  Relationships.  Faith.


You just ran laps around the garden.  You spent yesterday yelling, at the top of your lungs, about God's love for you, and his voice in His church.  You are intimidated by a year without a plan, without a set community, without Radius.  But you just saw a firefly.  God loves you.  He will provide.


Love.  Worship.  Rejoice.  Hope in God.  He loves you, and everything is shouting it.  Including me.  You.  Listen.  Oh God loves you!  He does.    -Drew  Miller

'Jerusalem', a Poem*, and the Analysis of a Surgery

Oh Jerusalem,
The town that calls for signs and murders the prophets;
I have called you home.

And my name has not left these stones, even as I would tear them down;
I will build them up.
And my name has not left your lips, fouled and chapped with tasting dust and soil;
I will soften them, I will soothe them.

Open your mouth, and I will fill it, says the Lord,
an eagle to her chick;
Open your mouth and hunger no more.

And so I opened my mouth, and felt no food, but swallowed and was made strong.
And so I opened my mouth, and remembered having been made strong, and swallowed,
and again, I found my strength.

And so I opened my mouth to praise, and was filled.
And I opened my mouth to pray, and was filled.
I opened my mouth to speak, and was filled.
I opened my mouth and was silenced, and was met.

I have met you.

I have seen you in a thousand drifting whirligigs in a forest of lob-lolly pine, and at the beach.
I have heard you in scripture, in a call for my rest, for my sleep.
I have seen you in the wisdom of defining love, and in the wisdom of beauty and purpose.
I have heard you in the voice of friends, and community, and those that love.
I have seen you in pouring out, in serving and bowing.
I have heard you in the music of a thousand artists.
I have seen you in familial reconciliation, in healing, in new life unmistakable.
I have heard you in my own prayers, in my own waiting, in my silence.
I have seen you in my love.
I have heard you in my writing.

In repentance and rest has been my strength,
In quietness and trust has been my salvation;
I have turned to what I believed, and walked again,
I have slept when I could have feared, rested when I could have panicked.
I have spent many days in quietness, and offered many fears in trust.
I have called my fears as though a bluff, and have found hope to be a path to travel
rather than a destination.

You have moved me, for friends and family,
for regulars and the sons of prostitutes.
I have repented of seeking emotion as a sign,
and you have given me emotion again.
I have opened my mouth, empty and hollow,
empty of praises and strength,
and have found my full in His provision,
and not in my perfection.

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Even as I sat down to write, and prepared to write, I was flooded with anxiety.  Today was a good day, no reason for these emotions now.  I talked about some hard things, but nothing worthy of anxiety.  And so I find myself trying to dissect it, trying to cut it out, and finding my hands shaking, ineffective.

And I think this is where my lines have fallen, where God has brought me.  I have arrived at a place in which most of the anxiety or doubt that crops up holds no merit.  It simply is present.  Be it the continued influence of a broken flesh, a broken heart, or be it attack of the Enemy- it is present.  A lingering suspicion that I have got it all wrong, that I am not loving at all, that I am failing.  Be it tied to times when my love has been challenged in the past, or if it's the repercussions of trying to open my mind further, I do not know.  It is present.

Yet, I do not need to.   And there lies the knockout gas in the surgery room, or the IV drip that puts you under.  I do not need to know why.

This year the Lord has taught me that I cannot fix my own problems.  Which, of course, I should have known.  I might have known.  A dirty knife cleaning a dirty wound does no good- it will likely even do harm.  Still, my fleshly pride persists; in anxiety, surely I must find the root. I must find the seed that has grown into fear.  For, what if it has validity?  What if it reveals something lacking in myself?  In my perception of God?  In God Himself?

This, then, is how I have lived.  In fear, and in self-diagnosis.  And this year, God has taught me to instead offer my anxieties to Him.  Allow Him to root them out, to heal them.  He is the Great Physician, I believe.  His diagnosis are true, and his scalpel perfectly disinfected.

In many ways, this year has simply been a process of choosing to believe what I have seen, and looking to them more resolutely, with more disciplined regularity.  Yes, I have sought more signs, more direction, more intimacy.  But time and time again I have return to Sabbath, the day in which we rely on yesterday's manna, and have find what He has done to be enough, conclusive, decisive and directive.  Day to day I still don't know much of what I'm doing**.  But I am clinging to God with lesser and lesser degrees of fear, with more and more degrees of love and certainty.

And in that believing and looking (repenting and believing, one might say), I have been led to rest again and again, to Scripture, again and again, and to the transforming power of the love of God.  Even as I find anxiety within me now, I speak against it, as David did.  Why are you downcast, oh my soul?  Hope in God- I will again praise Him.

And so this year has left me praising.  Struggling, absolutely, but in a different way.  A healthy way.  I now struggle in being quick to apply the Gospel, the love and strength of God, to the moment.  I fight with grace instead of my understanding or emotions.  And that is a much more powerful sword, I'll tell you.  A much sharper scalpel, indeed.

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*I think, to best describe where the Lord has brought me in the past year, a poem would suit.  A poem I will call 'Jerusalem'.  Often my prayers and poems overlap, as do my songs.  Sometimes form God to me, sometimes me to God, sometimes (rarely, though), you're even involved.

**I think I may have been in sin yesterday when I took the mulberry cuttings without asking permission.  I felt like I maybe should have, but it was dark and I didn't want to awkwardly knock at 9pm.  Hard for me to figure out if I'm in sin sometimes.  Blessedly enough, I don't have to understand it all.  Grace abounds, and I can try again tomorrow.  Refer to the previous paragraphs.