This morning on the way to work I played a CD I made with a bunch of worship songs on it I like. It’s hard going without and Ipod or MP3 player, but I manage. Anyway, right after I passed the big guns on 95, Third Day’s “Communion” came on, and while I usually bellow along with whatever is playing, this time I just listened to the words.

This is the body
This is the blood
Broken and poured out
For all of us…

And I thought about what had been going through my head last weekend when we took communion. I could actually remember it. All I could think about was that I was hungry and we were going to get some dinner after church.

To add to that, since David is no longer in kindergarten, he comes to “big church” with Jenny and I. That same night, we decided not to allow him to partake, not until he really understands what it means, and what he’s doing.

And this morning I thought about whether or not I understand what it means.

This is something Jesus tells us to do, and why to do it.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Is that why I do it? Or do I do it because it’s part of the church service, like the sermon? Obviously, last weekend, my head and my heart were both somewhere other than the sanctuary.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Remember me, standing in an olive orchard and facing a squad of soldiers and a traitor.

Remember me, chained to a post and whipped to shreds.

Remember me, sentenced to a death that’s supposed to be yours.

Remember me, nailed to rough wood with my arms outstretched.

Remember me, dying on a lonely hill.

Remember me, loving you so much I would not do it any other way.

Remember me.

I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me it’s so easy to speed through church just like I do through work sometimes. I allow myself to forget why I go in the first place. It becomes almost like a job, rather than an act of worship, and a place to fellowship.

I set out the communion elements. I gather them up, and deposit the offering in the safe.

But why am I doing it?

This morning was a wakeup call.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Lord, forgive me my complacency. Help me to remember you when I set out the elements, when I consume them, and when I gather up what remains. Help me to do this in remembrance of you, from whom all blessings flow.

Depths of my heart

Sometimes, when I look into my heart, I see darkness.

Even today, knowing Christ, that is what I see. It’s true that I’m a new creation, but it doesn’t take much for me to fall into old thought patterns, belief patterns, and even sin patterns.

Because, at the innermost depths of my heart, I am not a good person. At least, that’s what I hear whispered in my ear every now and then. Seems mostly like when I think things are going pretty well.

But is that really true?

Am I a bad person?

What does God say about that? I know that when I made my decision for Christ I “put off the old man.” And was made a “new creation.” And even before that, I believed that God made me. Didn’t I? And isn’t it true?

So if God made me, and if I am a new creation, then if I think I am a bad person, isn’t that like saying God made me bad? And does God make bad people?

I think that maybe God makes people good, and for whatever their reasons are, people make bad decisions about their lives–I know I did, for a very long time.

So that being said, and with the knowledge that I’ve “put off the old man,” why is it so easy to remember the old man, the one with the heart of stone?

The one with darkness and ugliness at his depths.

Hard question to answer, but I think basically, because it’s hard to totally surrender to God. It’s easy to remember the old me–and to feel like him.


because I know Jesus is there, there really isn’t any darkness. In Him there is no darkness at all.

I am in Him.

And there is no darkness–even if it feels that way every once in a while.

I think of the Chris Tomlin song “Indescribable,” and the lyric that sums up Christ’s love for us, his beloved Children.

For me.

“You see the depths of my heart, and you love me the same.”

He loves us the same, even if when we look at ourselves we see darkness. He loves us the same, even if when we look at ourselves, we see ugliness.

He loves us the same.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.

Identity Crisis

There’s a scene in the movie “The Breakfast Club” where the character Brian, played by Anthony Michael Hall, is trying to begin writing the paper assigned by the study hall “teacher.” He’s thinking, and talking to himself a little, and ultimately ends up sticking his pencil eraser up his nose while asking himself “who are you?”

Who are you?

I think this question is at the root of a great many problems. People talk all the time about having identity crises, and I think they’re absolutely right—it can be a crisis. It’s a little hard to lead your life—any life—if you don’t know who you are.

And here’s another question. What if you can’t be the person you think you are? What if something is holding you back, whether it be work, or inhibition, or simply life in all its complicated madness?

What then?

How can a person really answer that question? You can give your name, but are the two or three words on your driver’s license who you really are? Aren’t they just words?

Who are we, then? And who do we think we are?

I think much of our self-identification stems from our natural affinities, our giftings, or our jobs. I’m a carpenter, or a cook, or a plumber, or a writer, or a singer. And I think one of the most commonly asked questions in social situations where people don’t know each other well is “What do you do?” in reference to a person’s job.

Is that how we’re defined? By how we make money? Where we spend 8+ hours of our time every day?

I’m a fry cook. Or a lawyer. Or a concierge. Or a pastor. Or stay-at-home mom. Or brother, sister, husband, or wife.

How can that be all there is?

Is that who I am? My name is Tom, and I’m an Engineering Technician EG2B, brother four times, and husband of Jennifer, father of David and John.

Something is lost here.

Who am I?

What is my primary identity? Do I even have one?

Is it any of those things I just mentioned? If it is, I think we’re missing a very big step.

I know that when I was at my absolute worst, before I knew Jesus, it would be a very fair statement to say I had no idea at all who I was. I went through several jobs trying to find one that suited me. I had several relationships where I barely scratched the surface of who the people were I was involved with, and I learned to medicate myself heavily with both food and alcohol because it made it so I didn’t have to think about who I was, or who I wasn’t.

But after the night I met Jesus, things became new, and different, and a little strange. I thought about Him (or tried to) before I did most things, or made big decisions.


Because, when I invited Him to be the Lord of my life, I became new. Born again, as they say.
I was a son, His son. Child of a father that loved me above all else. Child of a father that died a horrible death, for me.

My identity became Him.

I, Tom, the Engineering Technician EG2B, am a child of God.

That’s my identity, that’s who I am. That’s who I became when Jesus entered my life and my heart.
I think about that now, and it makes a lot of my past transgressions clearer, or at least what I felt to be the reasons behind them. It’s a lot easier to sin when you have no center, no compass. When all you have to define your reason for being is a vague sense of moral relativism.

And lately, the struggle has been one of time. I know who I am, and I think I know who I’m supposed to be.

But there’s no time.

There’s work, and church, and kids, and not much time for anything else. Right? Life gets so busy.

And even now, when I sin (which happens all too frequently), the reason for it is that for the moment, I’ve forgotten who I am, and who my father is. My father on earth is Melvin L Wilkins. But my father in an eternal sense is Jesus, and none other.

But sometimes I still forget. The difference now, though, is that I’m aware of the opportunity to repent. To turn away from my sin and toward Jesus. I just have to make time to do it. I have to dig deeply into the time I do have, and I have to set my priorities.

If I want to be the example to my kids and my wife I know I should be, I have to take care of some things before I can take care of them. I need to put on my armor every day. And study, and pray, and seek wisdom.

Only then can I be the father, and husband, and friend that God has in mind for me to be.

Because like it or not, my kids will look to me to see who they should be. And I don’t want them to see simply Tom.

I was born in San Diego, but in a very real sense, I was also born on a dock over a small, very calm tributary of the Colorado River. Or reborn, I suppose.

That’s actually at the root of one of my most profound experiences during my time with CVCF Healing Prayer, which I have never mentioned to anyone save the three others who were there, not even my wife until now.

I remember struggling to hear from Jesus during my prayer session, and finally, literally, asking Jesus if it would have been better had I not even been born. I was, after all, an accident. After that, I closed my eyes and fell on my face, weeping.

And what I saw was the river where I’d met Jesus that first time. I saw the man that had been myself kneeling, crying in the same way I was crying during the prayer session.

Then I felt a comforting hand on the back of my neck. A strong hand—the hand of a carpenter. And heard a voice speak into my heart “this is where you were born. And I meant you to be here.”

So here I am today.

Who am I? My name is Tom, and I am a child of my Abba.

That’s my primary identity. Before husband, or father, or brother, or anything else.

And I submit that if you’re a follower of Jesus and you don’t yet know what your primary identity is, you will never reach the fulfillment in Christ that can be reached once you do.

So ask yourself once more, who am I? And if you feel lost, or set apart from who you feel you are supposed to be, what will you do to find that person again?