Hi friends. As you may know, I am currently on sabbatical and we’ll be out until August 11th. Throughout my time off we have a couple new episodes that I recorded prior to leaving that are related to my sabbatical journey. We will also rerun a couple of previous episodes that are connected to the ongoing theme of transformation and best of all.
Throughout the time I’m gone, I have asked a few good friends to share with you their stories of transformation. So you’ll hear some of those as well. All beautiful stories from people who influenced my life and make this world more loving. I hope you will enjoy it all. I hope you enjoy this time and I hope that during this time you will also prayerfully consider your own transformation stories.
My guest today is Quinton Peoples. Quinton is a screenwriter out in Los Angeles, but I know him from church. We were part of a church plant together and before that, we were at the same church and he was working at that church. And he was the first lay person I knew who had full-time ministry in a church, who wasn’t a priest or a deacon, who was giving himself to the church in this particular way, even though he wasn’t an ordained person.
Since then, I’ve met plenty of others. There are a lot of folks that do that work. We’ve got some wonderful people like that here at Church of the Redeemer as well, but Quinton was the first. And Quinton taught me so much about spiritual formation in our time together. I could say a lot about his writing, about his cleverness.
You’ll see some of that in what he has to share today. But for me, Quinton is a brother. He is a dear friend. He is a person who helped me understand that we are always being formed spiritually. And that it’s just up to us whether or not we’d like to participate in the formation of our own spiritual lives, of our own souls.
Quinton is a person who takes part. In the formation of his own soul, and he helps others to do that beautifully. He lives with love. He lives with grace, and he preaches it consistently and without fail. I’m so grateful Quinton is speaking today, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.
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It’s not a very glamorous story. And to be honest, it doesn’t reflect well on me. But I’ll tell it anyway.
About fifteen years ago, while working on being a more loving husband, (which, by the way, should be on the list of Official Spiritual Disciplines) I acted very impulsively and asked my wife how she would like to be loved. What could I do that would make her feel, really and truly appreciated?
“Unload the dishwasher. Every day. I hate doing it, so if you could, that would make me feel loved.”
I foolishly believed she was going to ask for flowers. Or maybe a bracelet. Do women wear bracelets anymore? That’s how out of touch I was (am). But, fine. The dishwasher thing was good. Simple, too. Not a problem.
So, for the first two weeks I unloaded the dishwasher without hesitation. Feeling really good about this. But then I noticed something. My wife never said, “Thank you.” Not once. So, Week Three, maybe I wasn’t as quick to get it done. Week Four, I huffed and puffed a little. Week Five, I think I slammed the dishwasher door down so hard that the knives and forks rattled.
Still no word of thanks. No, “Hey, what an awesome husband you are for keeping a simple commitment that you asked to take on. You’re the picture of living love.” Nope. None of that.
Week Six I was slamming drawers and cabinet doors and running a seriously self-righteous interior monologue one night while putting away a mixing bowl when I heard the voice of Jesus.
Yeah. Record scratch. Not the kind of thing that happens to me on a regular basis. Or ever, actually.
But it was Him. And I knew it in my bones. Because this is what He said – “You’re not doing it for her. You’re doing it for me.”
Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Probably not the reaction Jesus intended, but nonetheless that’s what happened. Because in that moment, my heart was revealed to me. That small, needy, quid-pro-quo addict that only does nice things if he thinks someone will give him a gold star.
That was just the beginning.
Here’s the thing about transformation, even the loving kind – it’s slow. The catalyst that begins the change may happen in a flash, but the restoration, reformation, renewal, and renovation required to become the person we want to be takes patience. It’s a good thing we have all eternity to work it out.
Because the dishwasher is always full. Someone is always loading it up. Every day.
You’ve got your own dishwasher. It may not look like mine, but I think if you put your mind to it, you’ll see that there is an area in your life that needs a little attention. A place where you’re not being entirely honest with yourself about how it’s functioning. If you’re having trouble recognizing it, here’s a hint – if resentment is building up around it: that’s your dishwasher. If the activity is making you a less loving person, that’s your dishwasher. If you get a sense of spiritual superiority while doing it – that’s your dishwasher.
Don’t make Jesus turn the car around. Because as powerful an experience as that was, it didn’t feel good. The truth is ruthless like that. It doesn’t care how you feel about it. Even when spoken in love, as it was in this instance, it shakes you. Sometimes that level of reset is necessary, but if I’m being honest, there were lots of opportunities to change preceding this one.
Little nudges. Little red flags. I knew I didn’t have a servant’s heart, and that’s why I entered this practice of trying to be a more loving husband in the first place. Jesus had been nudging me, whispering in my ear here and there, and I was going along with it –
Until I turned a good thing into a bad one by letting my small self-centered ego take over.
But Jesus wasn’t about to let me off the hook, so He had to step in and use his Outside Voice. And I’m glad He did, because I made a promise to unload the dishwasher, and that wasn’t going to go away just because I was struggling. So how was I going to manage it? And if I was having trouble there, where else was this showing up?
The massive value of that kitchen revelation was that my approach to being a servant to others needed renovation in all parts of my life, not just around dishwashing liquid. So what was I going to do about it?
Once I had clarity, I knew I needed grace and a practice around this issue. If I was going to be honest about myself and improve, then I needed a method and some supernatural power. In addition to the dishwasher, I began to perform acts of service in secret. This is a spiritual discipline that yielded significant results. It breaks the quid-pro-quo addiction at the center of my former self, and it blesses others enormously. It’s all upside. But, in order to do it and stick with it, I need God’s grace, his activity in my life doing things I cannot do under my own power.
Those two elements combined, the discipline and the grace, keep me at it with a light heart and a positive attitude. It’s not always perfect, but I don’t slam drawers or rattle the crockery anymore.
And thank God for that.
