A Genuine Faith

2011-12-21T11:51:00.000-06:00

For those who may not know

Dr. Scot McKnight is blogging on Spirituality According to Paul. Here's the link to his fourth post:Paul’s Spiritual Vision 4

I'm grateful to God for Scot's generous review of my work. And, I think he's raising some good points for discussion.

As I've mentioned before, Scot's blog, Jesus Creed, is one of the few blogs I read every day (another is by Mark Roberts: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/markdroberts/).

What makes the Jesus Creed blog so unique is the gracious manner in which he engages a variety of topics--it especially shows up in the comments section. Here's a first-class NT scholar dialoguing with all kinds of posters, engaging arguments in a non-threatening way. Honestly, sometimes I marvel over his patience--especially when a poster takes advantage of Scot's graciousness by dismissing substantive dialogue with nonchalence. All kinds of voices show up at this "round table," and I've found many of Scot's posters to be very insightful.Imagine, a blog where persons don't shout past one another but actually talk to each other with respect and dignity. Is this what some people mean by "virtual Church"?

2011-12-12T08:41:00.003-06:00

A Bloody Christmas

There are so many add-ons to the Christmas story, it's hard to tell what's real and what's make-believe. I'm not talking about Santa, Frosty, or Rudolf. Rather, I'm referring to the ways we have spiced up the story of Jesus' birth, as if it were a rather boring story without our embellishments.

Of course, there are the obvious fictive parts that everyone recognizes, like there was no drummer boy, talking donkey, or even "three kings" from the orient. Other additions sneak in without our noticing: there was no stable, no inn keeper, no angels singing (they chant), no magi visiting the baby in the manger (every year, when my wife would bring out the nativity scenes, my children would hear their father rattle on and on about how "wrong" the ideallic scene really is). But, what really bothers me are the parts we ignore, especially Matthew's version of the Christmas story, where he relates the story of how Joseph and Mary became refugees because a paranoid King ordered genocide for Bethlehem.

I've never seen that scene recreated during a Christmas play. Can you imagine? Herodian soldiers enter stage right, bearing swords, and slaughtering all the two-years on the Bethlehem stage. Parents would shriek in horror, "Don't look, Johnny. I don't know what they're trying to do up there. Never seen the like."

But, there it is in Matthew's story. In all of its glory. And, we turn our eyes away from the tragedy because everyone knows Christmas is about warm feelings, nostalgic recollections, and serenity in the midst of chaos (often a chaos of our own creation).

And yet, somehow I find myself drawn to Matthew's story. Not because I have some peculiar desire for dwelling on the macabre realities of life. No, somehow I find hope knowing that, even when Jesus was born, there were people in Bethlehem screaming, "Where is God?" Rachel mourning for her children.

Mary probably grieved over the news down in Egypt. After all, these women were a part of their little community; friends who shared stories and daily chores. Their children played together. Such news may have even compelled Mary to ask the same question in the face of such human suffering, "God, where are you?"

He's a vulnerable baby, hiding out in Egypt, waiting for a wicked king to die.

For some reason, I love that part of the story that nobody tells.

2011-10-20T10:10:00.003-06:00

Bridging the Gap

Darryl, Ben, and Matt have asked some very good questions that all seem to revolve around one issue: the nasty problem of interpreting the Bible as God's Word. I say, "nasty" because it is not only a difficult issue, but it also creates difficulties between us.

To answer the question, let me say at the outset that this problem is not unique to the free church tradition (although you'd think that churches taking a more magisterial approach would not have to deal with such problems--hardly, members of the RCC or the Anglican communion have members who do not share the interpretation of their leaders).

At the risk of over simplification, I think the solution is recognizing that interpretation of the Bible belongs to the community of faith (both now and then, both clergy and laity). John writes that his church should "test the spirits" to see if interpretations are true. Peter writes that no Scripture/prophecy can be interpreted by one person. In other words, if the Spirit is responsible for leading us to understand the Scriptures, and since no single person (or group) controls the Spirit, then the only way we can understand the Scriptures is to interpret them together (Ben's suggestion is relevant here).

So, what happens if we disagree? Are some interpretations more important than others?

What I think would help our discussions is to categorize which doctrines are primary, secondary, tertiary, and quadriary. I know that sounds risky to some; it makes it appear that we think some Scriptures are more important than others. That's not what I'm saying. Rather, since all doctrine is of human invention, then we are merely recognizing some of our interpretations are more important than others.

Here's how I would break it down: primary doctrines are of eternal significance, secondary doctrines are of temporal significance, tertiary doctrines are of cultural significance, quadriary doctrines are of personal significance.

Honestly, most scholarly work is done on the second and third levels. Most lay people don't think beyond the first (I think that's what Matt is getting at) and the fourth levels. Therefore, a discussion that acknowledges a rubric like this I think would help us get beyond the ivory tower work of scholars and clergy, and the isolationist/obscurantist views of the laity.

What do you think?

2011-10-19T08:36:00.002-06:00

Questions?

I'd like to take a different direction for this blog for a while.

Honestly, I run out of ideas to talk about. I struggle over whether to post something simply because it passes through the gray matter between my ears. There's a lot of chatter going on and I'm not sure I have the time or the energy to keep up with it.

I think I'm turning into an old man.

So, since I love questions (more than answers), I'd like to open up this blog to anyone who'd like to post a question for us to consider.

Ask and you shall receive (at least one man's opinion, as well as those who weigh in with their responses).

2011-10-10T14:11:00.002-06:00

I Need God

I know it's too simple to write about it. But, I can't help but say it, "I need God." Don't we all?

We need Him to see life.
We need Him to feel death.
We need Him to know love.
We need Him to spoil hate.
We need Him to sleep.
We need Him to stay awake.
We need Him to eat.
We need Him to share.
We need Him to hurt.
We need Him to care.
We need Him to give.
We need Him to take.
We need a merciful God who relentlessly gives grace to those of us who know we don't deserve one little crumb that falls from His table of sacrifice.

Oh how I need God.

2011-10-07T08:01:00.002-06:00

Steve Jobs, The American Messiah

I've been fascinated by the veneration of Jobs since his recent death. But, even before he died, I began to notice how he was worshiped as divine.

It goes back to an incident at the Apple Store in Hawaii. My family and I were on vacation when some of us dropped into the Apple Store to check out the brand new invention: the iPhone. Dozens of people were huddled around the display table, trying to get their hands on the new device. We were waiting our turn, watching over the shoulders of customers playing with the iPhone and marveling over the miraculous (something as simple as shifting the position of the phone, from vertical to horizontal, to make the screen move from "portrait" to "landscape" mode was astonishing--remember?). Then, in the exuberance of collective gasps and "oh my, look at this," a young man shouted (to no one in particular), "Steve Jobs is a god!", at which point the enthusiastic crowd offered audible affirmations of approval.

Postmortem, Steve Jobs has been enshrined as an American god--much like the Caesars of old. The veneration of the technology genius continues to rise ever higher every day. And, as they recount his accomplishments, his story begins to sound more and more messianic: a fatherless boy born to a young single woman, he grows up believing he's meant to change the world. He bucks the establishment and takes on the imperial domination of the computer world (and therefore, our world): Caesar IBM and its Herodian servant, Microsoft. His loyal disciples follow his every move, longing for the times he takes the stage and performs the miraculous (remember when he pulled the first-generation Nano out of his pocket and the crowd roared with approval?). He wasn't formally educated but still spoke wisdom to this generation, challenging "dogma" and established religion. He garnered the devotion of the masses because he brought heaven to earth (no, he didn't heal anyone. But, to the American consumer, having entertainment at your fingertips--at a reasonable cost, with very little know-how required to operate the latest, greatest device--now, that is heaven on earth). He defied death--even in the face of a terrible disease (pancreatic cancer is a death sentence)--by refusing to fear it, but lived his dream and modeled for everyone what it takes to do the same: listen to the inner voice (his version of the Holy Spirit?) within all of us.

Now, of course, he didn't rise from the dead. But, at least he achieved immortality--especially if you believe what the pundits say. Steve Jobs single-handledly changed the world (well, not counting all the geniuses he hired to do the work). He made our life better (without Pixar, where would the movies be today?). He will always be with us (I have my iPod playing right now). He has devoted followers who will carry on his kingdom work regardless of what anyone says (dare to question the infallibility of Jobs and see what happens). At least he's done something tangible, something you can hold in your hands, something you can experience with your eyes (that's better than most Messiahs, especially the Jewish one who live two-thousand years ago).

So, let the accolades ring through the ages. There's never been anyone like him. He is one-of-a-kind. He is the perfect version of the American dream, from orphan boy to corporate wunderkind. We must worship him, for this is the kind of Messiah we want, we need--one who makes our lives better and only requires a little money in return.

2011-10-06T08:13:00.003-06:00

It's Here!

Yesterday I received complimentary copies of my new book, Spirituality According to Paul: Imitating the Apostle of Christ (IVP). So, it should be available soon via ivpress.com, amazon.com, et al. I want to say here how much the senior academic editor for IVP, Dr. Dan Reid, helped me with this project. It was such a rewarding experience working with him and IVP. And, to be quite honest, I hope the book does well for their sake more than mine. Publishing is a far riskier business these days. Publishers like IVP have hundreds of proposals from brilliant authors to consider, not only to make a living but just as importantly to encourage the Body of Christ for Christ's kingdom.

So, if you pick up a copy, pray that God will bless publishers like IVP. And, please join me in praying that God will encourage all of us to imitate Christ like Paul did.

2011-10-05T14:19:00.002-06:00

The Personified Kingdom

When Jesus tried to get his disciples to see the kingdom of God in terms that they could understand, he finally put a child in front of them and said: "This is it." I sense a little frustration in Jesus' approach. He'd tried to teach them, over and over again, that God doesn't do power like the world does. Talked a lot about becoming least, last, and lost. Told parables to change their minds about the reign of God. Even dressed like a slave once to get them to see how they were supposed to "rule" the world--by giving up rights and serving each other. To put a child before them, the most undesirable station in life, was the same as requiring downward mobility to realize the kingdom. To us, to become a child again, sounds romantic. To them, it sounded like going backwards, even a death wish (especially since most persons died as children; only one out of five made it to 30). To Jesus, a child was an ideal disciple for his kingdom.

We still don't get the message. Many of us think the way God's kingdom comes to earth is by wielding power: power politics, power action groups, power personalities, etc. But, Christ has shown us the only way to do power in his kingdom is to give it away, be vulnerable, love enemies.

I wonder what kind of person he would put before us--perhaps in frustration--to get us to see the kingdom personified? A homeless man begging for money at the intersection? A Muslim woman who is jeered whenever she wears her burqa in public?

I think he would put a boy with Downs Syndrome in front of us and say, "This is it." To him, I think, the childlike innocence of a Downs Syndrome boy would picture beautifully the same lesson--the ideal disciple for his kingdom. Indeed, I wish I had the loving heart of a boy or girl with Downs Syndrome.

2011-10-03T09:24:00.002-06:00

Aspergers Soteriology

My wife and I are fans of the sitcom "Big Bang Theory." Our favorite character is "Sheldon," a science genius who was obviously patterned after someone who has Aspergers disease. Since my wife is a Speech Pathologist who provides therapy for children and adults with Aspergers, I enjoy the benefit of her expertise as we watch the show. She'll often say, "That's exactly what an aspie [the nickname those with the disease call themselves] would say," or "I have a patient who does the same thing as Sheldon." Then, she'll give me a private tutorial about the behavior and thought-processes of those who have Aspergers. For example, many aspies cannot make sense of metaphor. Most have a hard time putting together a narrative in order to tell a story. Many have what we would call a rather ego-centric worldview--if it doesn't pertain to them, then what difference does it make? They also have a high sense of infallibility. And on and on.

All of this got me to thinking: can someone with Aspergers "be saved"?

Now, before I explain what I mean by asking such a provocative question, let me say I'm convinced that there must be many Christians who have Aspergers disease.

What I'm getting at is this: if a person can't make sense of metaphor, if narratives are confusing to them, if a person believes they are infallible [read: they are NOT sinners]--all of which most evangelicals would think are constitutive of the gospel--then how can they come to a "saving knowledge" of Jesus Christ? Or, another way of putting the question, is our typical doctrine of salvation too narrowly defined? Have we established a soteriology that accounts only for people like us, i.e., people who think like us?

Of course, most evangelicals already have an inclusive soteriology, e.g., children, mentally handicapped, perhaps even pagans who have never heard the gospel. Yet, what we typically mean by "hearing the gospel" is based on our understanding of the gospel. So, what if someone can't "understand" the gospel like we do, does it mean they don't believe?

2011-09-30T07:42:00.002-06:00

Life by Default

I'm a window-starer-outer. Sometimes my mind is whirling through all kinds of problems, ideas, narratives. I find myself drawn to the window in order to think, not paying attention to what I'm seeing. Then it hits me; it's like my eyes finally force my mind to take in what I'm staring at. "What a beautiful day." Whether it's raining or sunshine, trees in full leaf or hugged by snow blankets, I can't help but say to myself, "Look at what you're missing!"

This kind of suspended animation also happens when I'm driving great distances. One minute I'm leaving Springfield headed east to see my daughter in Tennessee. The next minute I'm two hours down the road. "How did I get here?"

Sleep walking through life, making our way through daily routines without noticing the sensational (and I mean that literally, sensations like goose bumps or shiny reflections or rustling leaves), we leave behind the full opportunities to take in all that there is out there. My default mode--carrying on like nothing is happening--is stealing moments of pure joy. Instead, we're made to relish every divine gift.

When I "come to my senses," it's almost as if God Himself were saying to me, "Wake Up! Wake Up! Don't you see the glory?"

"Yes, Lord. I will for a while. But then I'll return to default mode."

Now, what was I thinking about?

2011-09-28T07:48:00.002-06:00

Common Art

I was reminded yesterday of Jeremiah's unusual approach to discovering what God had to say. Most of the time, God simply spoke to the prophet, "Go say this . . ." But one day, God said, "Go watch a potter to hear my word." That's an amazing approach to divination that is rarely appreciated by today's prophets.

Need a word from God? Want to know what God thinks? Go watch someone make something useful, something beautiful, then you'll see what's on the very heart of God.

I love that idea. We tend to separate art as an aesthetic opportunity, something we simply stare at and take in (of course, it can be that. Don't we all love to take in the beauty of what others see?). And, to be sure, watching the artistry of throwing pots must have inspired Jeremiah. But, this potter was not making "art" for "art's" sake. Indeed, the potter's artistry was necessary for life. God's word is embedded in the every-day art of living.

So, even though God speaks reliably through "conventional methods" (thus saith the Lord), every now and then He surprises us with beautiful, practical truth.

Want to hear God's voice? Go find a potter.

2011-09-27T07:36:00.002-06:00

Paul's Offense

Every time we work through Galatians, I marvel over my students' response to Paul's idea that the law is not an ethical standard for his gentile converts. The harder Paul pushes for a law-free gospel, the more my students push back (well, they really don't push back too hard--honestly, they're in shock). It just doesn't seem right to their ears. I think their resistance is attributable to two sources: their religious upbringing and American culture (which of course are intrinsically linked).

They've been taught their whole lives that law is the benchmark for right behavior, whether at home or in church. Sin, therefore, is defined as breaking the law. Now, that makes sense for unbelievers; but for those of us who have been set free from the law of sin and death, it should be quite apparent what (or more accurately who) sets the standard for righteousness: Jesus Christ. To obey him is right, to disobey him is sin. It's as simple as that, which is why Paul believed the only way to live righteously is to "walk" in the power of Christ's Spirit, the Holy Spirit. What the law could not do--effect righteousness--God did through Christ. Our obedience has nothing to do with law (Paul insists our obedience is based on faith).

The other mental block to Paul's law-free gospel comes from growing up in America, where righteousness/justice is defined by law. Indeed, to the ears of American Christians, law-free sounds like an invitation to anarchy. Besides, to the American way of thinking, our justice is supposed to be a God-given gift (not only to us but to the whole world). Imagine how difficult Paul's new standard of righteousness sounded to his Jewish kinsmen, who rightfully believed their law came from God.

No wonder Paul got in trouble, then and now.

2011-09-23T07:53:00.002-06:00

Wearing out Hospitality

When it comes to Christ believers, we should never be concerned that we would ever "wear out our welcome" with one another. If Christ defines hospitality, and he always welcomes sinners and enemies, then the Body of Christ should do the same.

One of the clearest places where we should find eternal hospitality is at the Lord's table, a banquet memorial where we proclaim the Lord's death till he comes. The reason we come is that we are hungry--hungry for mercy, hungry for friendship, hungry for help, hungry for hope. There is no place for the self-righteous, the insiders who think they belong there. Jesus came to help those who are sick, and as in the days of old, there's a bunch of sick people in the world.

What is sad to me is how we've turned the table of our Lord into a exclusive club, where only certain people have the right to participate. How did this happen? It's completely backwards to what Jesus tried to do, what he intended. He was famous (or notorious) for eating with sinners. Therefore, if there were ever a time when sinners (regardless of who we are) should be welcome, it's at communion--where God dines with humanity, the ultimate act of hospitality.

When I come to his table, I imagine Christ saying to me, a sinner who holds his broken body in my hands, "Here again?" And I say, "Yes Lord. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm wearing out my welcome." To which he fictitiously replies, "On the contrary, I've been expecting you--and so have they."

"Oh, every who's thirsty. Come to the waters. He who has no money, come, buy and eat."

2011-09-21T08:29:00.002-06:00

Killer Death

As summer gives way to autumn around here, I can't help but think about death. As the earth in all its glory dies, green will turn to brown, blue will turn gray, and light will no longer rule the heavens--even the sun dies a little every day. One might get the impression (as in the days of old) that death reigns from the autumnal to the vernal equinox. Not so.

If Jesus' cross changed everything (turning shame into honor, injustice to justification, evil into good, death to life), then the "new creation" reign of God's kingdom shows up even now. It's easy to see the kingdom of God when all is life, green and blue, and the sun never seems to set. But, we believe Christ rules death, that the kingdom shows up just as well in brown and gray, and that dark skies are a sign of divine favor.

So, let the trees lose their leaves. Let the frost kill the grass. Let the night rule the day. And, we will declare the glory of Christ.

2011-09-19T07:49:00.002-06:00

The Power of Impious Prayers

I was painting the dining room in our house over the weekend when my "trusty right hand" let me down. I was cutting in the wall and I accidentally slathered paint on the ceiling, at which point I used the Christian curse, "Dad gummit." That got me to thinking, "Does God grant our requests, even those masked in piety or delivered in outright anger? When some of us pray, 'Dad gummit' or 'God damn it,' does He answer our request and deliver a divine curse?"

If He were a fertility god, a power that was easily manipulated for our purposes, then the God of Israel would have to do what we say, bringing curses down upon a variety of persons, objects, and circumstances. Imagine how many times the God of heaven hears the prayer coming from Americans? One wonders (a la "Bruce Almighty") if the simple request, "God damn it," is the most common prayer He hears, more than "Grant us peace" or "Forgive us" or even "Help me." Indeed, if we were to believe that God is our personal Lord who answers our every prayer according to our expectations, then we might be led to infer that the damned world is a result of our impious prayers.

Then again, I'm grateful the God of Israel is not a fertility god, that He ignores our impetuous requests, and that He would rather hear the heartfelt cry of an abandoned soul who screams impiously, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?"

2011-09-16T07:46:00.002-06:00

Where is the Kingdom of God?

The old arguments--is the kingdom a realm or reign?--place the issue of God's kingdom within a false dichotomy, as if we have to decide whether we are the means or the ends of the kingdom work. Those who emphasize that Jesus came to reign tend to place the locus of that reign within Christians, spiritualizing the kingdom. Those who say that Jesus was talking about the kingdom as a certain place (realm) often reduce the kingdom to societal/political efforts--as if we must establish structures (or counter-measures) to build the kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. In other words, we want to know "how" to effect the kingdom, and the methods seem to depend upon whether we argue for reign or realm.

But, I'm beginning to wonder if we're missing the reality of the kingdom because it is indivisible. That is to say, the kingdom cannot be a reign without a realm, or a realm without a reign. Or, to put it another way, the kingdom of God is relational (much like the Trinity). That 's what I see when I try to have ears to hear Jesus' parables. He was doing more than "explaining" the kingdom, he was inaugurating the kingdom (through word and deed)--through words by creating worlds of meaning, through deeds by giving meaning to the world.

So, how do we become/do the kingdom? Here are a few ideas.

1. Give power away
2. Forgive debts (yes, even economic ones)
3. Eat with sinners
4. Believe in Jesus Christ
5. Worship the God of Israel
6. Heal the sick
7. Raise the dead
8. Serve the marginalized
9. Bless the cursed
10. Listen to the Spirit

What would you add?

Whenever we do/become these things, we see the kingdom come.

2011-09-14T14:32:00.002-06:00

The Benefit of Doubt

If there were ever a group of people who should second guess their impulsive judgments about others it should be Christ followers. We know what forgiveness is. We know we are not enemies. We know all of us have something to learn. We know all of us are flawed. We know the "ideal self" is myth. We know none of us sees things clearly. We know everyone is a critic and everyone has a critic. We know people love to talk about everyone's failures but their own. We know pride is nothing more than an elaborate cover-up for our insecurities. We know evil runs through every single one of us. We know God will finish what He started. And, most of all, we know Christ.

Of course, it's hard to extend the benefit of the doubt when you're licking your wounds. I'd rather operate with the assurance that I know what I saw, I know what I heard, I know what I felt. It's hard to argue with me when I'm talking about myself. But, then, I think of him. And, how he said, "father forgive them, they don't know what they're doing." The ultimate benefit of the doubt.

Maybe next time I'll say to myself, "he didn't mean it, and, even if he did, I don't know." Sure will save me a lot of grief. Rummaging through past hurts and sorting out possible motives only contributes to my delusion of certainty. Instead, I should live with the benefit of doubt.

2011-09-13T07:33:00.003-06:00

Nude

There's a song on Radiohead's "In Rainbows" that explores the naked vulnerability between a man and a woman--a theme as old as Adam and Eve. And, it got me to thinking: in the resurrection, we won't be wearing any clothes. Think about it: if sin and death brought shame and suffering to humanity (and clothes are desperate attempts to hide our shame), then when we share in the complete honor of Christ, all shame is erased. We'll have nothing to hide. No more pretentious fashion statements to hide our insecurities. No more beauty contests (we are lovely in Him). No more impoverished rags. No more "look at me." No more "us versus them." We will be dressed in his glory and that will be enough for eternity. We will be naked and not ashamed. In fact, after having "put on" Christ's resurrection body, we will look back at this time and consider it odd that we would have considered nakedness shameful. Heaven come to earth will be one, big nudist colony.

This thought had never occurred to me until I heard Radiohead. Who would have thought their music would be such an inspiring source of theological contemplation? I do have big ideas; they are going to happen.

Can't wait to be nude on the last day, naked before the One who clothed me in his brilliance.

2011-09-12T07:36:00.002-06:00

Sneaky peeky

Here's a little preview (on Google) of my book on Paul's Spirituality that's coming out soon (beginning of November). Thanks for spreading the word.

Let me know what you think.

http://books.google.com/books?id=mCm-BW2NAxIC&printsec=frontcover&dq=spirituality+according+to+paul&hl=en&ei=bgxuTpTYI-Tn0QGf4tCQBQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CCoQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q&f=false

2011-09-09T09:14:00.001-06:00

A Sermon for Grace (circa January 1997)

This evening I have a rare opportunity to speak as a pastor and a father during the dedication of our daughter to the Lord. I know that my comments tonight are no more unusual than those that would be offered by any father who could speak his thoughts before this congregation. Yet, I am compelled to speak not simply because I am your pastor, but more importantly to me, because I am Grace’s father. And, if there were ever a time that I would want to offer a sermon just for her, it would be now, before she hears too much. For the world is filled with opinions, competing voices that masquerade as friends with good advice. Since Grace is only two months old, the only voices that seem to matter to her now are her mother’s, brother’s, sister’s, and father’s. When I enter her room, she turns her head to look for me, as if I’m the only one she hears. I like it when she looks at me. But recently, the joy of her steady gaze has brought to my mind the weighty responsibility that I will be a voice that she will count on when she makes her way into the noisy world. As she grows up, I don’t expect to drown out the sound of other’s with my opinion—even when I shout in a heated argument over a boy friend, or school work, or career choices, or life decisions. But I don’t want to be ignored, either. It’s too much to expect that she will always hear the voice of God in my words; she will not always heed my advice and I will not always speak the words of God. Nevertheless, I’m hoping and praying that, tonight, as we entrust the care of our children to Our Heavenly Father, my daughter will stand one day before a congregation of believers, dedicating her daughter to the Lord with the same anxious desires, trusting that God will do for her child what He has done for my child. This sermon is for Grace.

I’ve been spending some time recently in the book of Job. Grace, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. The timing of your arrival, the third child in our family, has nothing to do with my interest in Job’s story. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how vulnerable we are as humans—how risky life is. Many of us would like to think that life comes with a promise of satisfaction guaranteed. But that is not the case. None of us knows what will happen tomorrow. Uncertainty leads to anxiety because every day we read in the papers, hear in news reports, that someone else has fallen—knocked down by the unsuspecting blows of evil and suffering. We wonder if it will ever happen to us, if the difficulties of life will fall upon our family, robbing us of the joy of living. That’s why we are all drawn to the story of Job. As a book of Wisdom, I’ve been searching its pages looking for clues, knowing that his story could be my story, your story, our story.

Job is every man. His desire to protect his children from the result of their sin illustrates very well the paternal impulse of every father. From the moment that your mother and I were told that you would be born, I’ve had this powerful urge to do everything I can to protect you. Sometimes, I feel like its my responsibility to keep you from harm, to ward off any possibility that you could be hurt, to protect your welfare. As parents, we all fall into the trap of thinking that we can create a utopia for our children, a garden of Eden, where life will always be as pleasant as taking a walk in the coolness of a summer night, and where the effort of your hands will always produce crops without weeds. But then we remember that we don’t live in Eden, that we have welcomed you into a world filled with thorns and thistles, and (the most sobering thought of all) that we are not creators—we are creatures of God’s hand just like you, just like Job. That’s the lesson, ultimately, that Job learned: that he is not God. It sounds too simple to be profound. You would think that, as human beings, we would never get our roles mixed up with God’s. But we do. Made in His Image, we are able to protect sometimes, create sometimes, rule sometimes, will our will sometimes. We have just enough success to foster this grand idea that we can control our destinies, that we have the power to create the future, that we can protect, defend, insure our own welfare as well as the welfare of our children. But then life reminds us, just as He reminded Job, that the world is fragile, time is uncertain, and that we are not our own.
Grace, I can be your father; I cannot be your God. Many things are out of my hands, beyond my control. I have to trust God that He cares for you more than your mother and I do. That He has your best interests at heart, that He will watch over you when I cannot, that He will guide you when I am gone, that He will be your God.

To be sure, I’ve made the mistake (perhaps like Job) of trying to be all things for my family. Although God has given me the privilege of experiencing the joy of fathering children, He will not share the exclusive right of being The Provider for all children. He reminds me of that often. When we brought your brother home from the hospital, like most first-time parents, neither your mother nor I could sleep that first night. Both of us kept waking up, putting our hands on his little body to make sure that he was still breathing. After surviving a few nights at home, we began to gain the confidence that we could do this—that we could watch over our child and protect him from harm. But things got progressively worse. As Andrew grew, life got riskier. At first, he was a one-dimensional creature. We put him on the blanket, he stayed on the blanket. We could even leave the room, return, and still find him where we left him. But then, he developed into a two-dimensional creature. He starting crawling around, moving to and fro. We found that we could no longer leave him in a room for any length of time. Evidently, all those times he looked liked he was innocently entertaining himself, looking around the room unable to go anywhere, he was secretly planning his strategy, taking inventory of everything he wanted to get his hands on when he could crawl. Not to be outdone by a six-month old, your mother and I secured the premises, trying to make our home child-proof. Just when we thought we had everything under control, Andrew graduated to three-dimensional status. He joined the world of the vertical. He learned to walk. At first, I tried to go everywhere he went, anticipating every fall, removing every obstacle. But that didn’t last long. Bumps and bruises are the prices paid for experimenting with the laws of gravity. I found that I was better at damage control than creating the optimum environment where a baby could learn to walk without the risk of falling. To pick him up when he fell, to doctor a scrape on his knee, to assure him that everything would be all right, this seemed to be my predestined role as father.

It’s hard breaking the news to your child that the world can be a harsh place. That bad things happen to good people, that good people can be cruel sometimes, that we all sin and fall short of what God hopes for us. That we all die. We want to keep that part a secret as long as we can. Adults don’t like talking about death; who looks forward to telling their children the truth? Last week your sister asked your mother about death. We were all in the car, driving past a cemetery, when Emma said, “Mom, is that the place where ghosts live?” Your mother delicately tried to tell her that cemeteries are for people. She couldn’t conceive of such a thing. As your mother tried to explain to a five-year-old girl about the reality of life and death, my heart died inside. I remember the first time it happened, when Andrew asked me a question about death and dying as we were driving down the road. I didn’t want to tell him the truth. I wanted to make something up, or assure him that he didn’t need to think about such things. But I told him the truth, for his own good.

Why does birth make us think of death? Why do those at the end of their lives seem to delight more than the rest of us at the sight of a baby? Why do we recall with vivid detail the birthday of our children and the death day of our parents, and much of life in between is a vague memory? Why do flowers greet the arrival and mark the departure of human life? Why did we cry tears of joy and sorrow? Because life is unpredictably desirable. Despite the risk, the disappointments, the sadness, we dare to hope that life is good because God is. Which brings me to the verse, Grace, that I want to share with you tonight. It is an incredibly honest verse. In the middle of his search for wisdom, Job exclaims, “Though He slay me, I will hope in Him. Nevertheless, I will argue my ways before Him” (Job. 13:15). I’m sure that you will find many passages in God’s Word that will help you find your way. I offer this one to you knowing that, to many, Job 13:15 may not sound like a very appropriate verse for the dedication of a two-month old baby girl. Nevertheless, I hope that you will add it to your list of favorite verses of the Bible, because I think the entire story of Job (and our story, too) is boiled down to this one truth: when it is all said and done, from the beginning to the end, God is our hope.

It means something to me that a man like Job would say something like this. He had come to the point where he knew hope would die if he could not believe. Even though he says God had been cruel to him (30:21), Job would rather hope in a God who does not explain himself than give up hope altogether. What I like about Job’s conclusion to life’s dilemma is not just that he is unwilling to stop believing, but that he refuses to stop talking. The fact that he is willing to take his case to God, “arguing his ways before Him,” tells me more about God than it does about Job. Although Job reminds me of Jacob, who refuses to let go of God until he is blessed (and has a life of pain to show for it), the one I admire most in the story is God. God lets Job talk. He lets him work it out, to talk it out, to take his case to God. Job questions the justice of God and heaven is silent. Job claims that there is no benefit to living a pious life, and no judgment comes. Job dares God to kill him with the truth, and no fire falls from the sky. Why is God so patient, so tolerant, so merciful? Because He knows that Job doesn’t know the whole story. We know the whole story, we’ve read chapters 1 and 2. We know why Job suffers, although Job doesn’t understand. We know why God doesn’t answer, although Job can’t hear. We know why God is merciful, although Job can’t see it. We know because we’ve read the Bible.

Do you see, little one? This is good news. God will be merciful to us, too, because Job’s story is our story. There will come a time in your life when you find yourself questioning the purposes of God. You will experience heartaches that will leave you disappointed with God. You will tell Him what you really think, how you are really upset, how you are so confused, and He will listen. He will listen to every word because He loves you more than any of us do, because He knows the whole story, because He knows that He is our only hope.

Which is why we are here tonight. He is the reason your mother brought you before this congregation of believers. He is the reason your brother and sister listened patiently as they watched you being dedicated to God. He is the reason your father speaks to you now. We hope in a God who gives Grace.

2011-09-08T08:00:00.002-06:00

The trivial world of superlatives

Perhaps it's stating the obvious, but in a world where those who scream the loudest, behave the most bizarre, claim the most ridiculous get noticed, superlatives have lost their purpose. Take any adjective that ends in -est and you'll typically find in the midst of social discourse the most banal, irrelevant, trivial claim. It especially shows up in sports, during a game, or when two "experts" square off in a debate.

Is it possible for a sports announcer to talk about a game (A GAME!) without using expressions like, "absolutely," or "without a doubt," or "no doubt about it" after his/her partner has made some trivial point about the world of sports? Why would we talk about such subjective things--gray areas to be sure--in such absolute terms? It used to be that absolutes were rare, reserved for the sublime, life-and-death issues that pertain to everyone. Absolutes were supposed to be universal.

But, today, they're ubiquitous--everyone uses them for everything (absolutely!). As a result, superlatives have the opposite effect on me. When I hear them, I think to myself, "They're talking about nothing."

Perhaps that should give Christians a new strategy for sharing our faith. Understatement may be the most substantive way to put the things that matter most.

Absolutely.

2011-09-07T08:43:00.003-06:00

The Dialectic of Being a Disciple

Part of my frustration (expressed in yesterday's post) derives from a troubling trend. There seems to be an inverse proportion of theological education and anti-intellectualism in Baptist life. In other words, the more educated some of us become the less interested many of us are in the intellectual pursuit of our faith. The gap between clergy and laity widens despite our current age of "global information." Or, to put it bluntly, lay people seem satisfied with stupid answers (I realize such a statement is crass, elitist, arrogant, and perhaps downright unChristian).

Then I read today on Scot McKnight's blog a similar sentiment, as he reviews a new book by Mark Noll: http://www.patheos.com/community/jesuscreed/2011/09/07/christ-of-the-academic-road-1/

The premise? A free church tradition that celebrates "the bible is our creed" invites (even celebrates?) anti-intellectualism.

Then, I sift through these sentiments as I think about how Jesus thanked God that eggheads in his day didn't get what he was trying to do. Rather, he celebrated the fact that the simple, the "babes", the commoners were drawn to him and his kingdom work.

But, they still had to "learn" (the root idea in the word "disciple"). So, I guess I'm wondering: are these ideas mutually exclusive, learning and simplicity?

2011-09-06T09:39:00.003-06:00

The Great Divorce

I just breezed through a recent academic catalog by one of the major publishers. Within its pages, there are descriptions of several soon-to-be-released books written by brilliant Christian men and women. As I read through the titles and the blurbs, I couldn't help but wonder, "Why so many?" Of course, new books are the result of new research, and scholars are doing more than their fair share of advancing their disciplines for the cause of Christ. Some skeptics might accuse the academy of self-promotion: the guild needs to write, publishers need to print. And, every time I work through these catalogs, my book budget grows beyond my resources. I think, "I must read this. I must have this. I must know this."

But then I think of the Church and how many Christians will never read any of these rich resources, these gold mines of knowledge, these warehouses of spiritual help. In truth, I don't meet very many non-specialists (read, "average Christians") who read much of any of this stuff that helps me so much. Oh, they'll listen to preachers. They'll watch t.v. They'll listen to radio and music. But, to read serious, deep, theological reflections on the essence of our faith? Not many takers.

But, that doesn't stop scholars from writing. Thus, the ever-widening gap between scholarship and every-day Christianity makes me wonder whether scholars are making a difference in the Church at all.

2011-09-02T08:35:00.002-06:00

St. Paul's Cathedral?

Given what we know from Paul's letters (and even Acts--thanks for the reminder, JR!), I think the apostle would have a hard time planting a church in America. Some of you might say, "He wouldn't even try" and you would be right. Paul was a pioneer; he didn't like "building on another man's foundation," i.e., he preferred to work new territory. But even if he broke his own rule and came to America, I think Paul would be repelled by the notion of starting a church here for several reasons:

1. Paul thought weakness was a good thing.
2. Paul thought divisions were a bad thing (denominations?).
3. Paul thought the rights of individuals should be sacrificed for the church.
4. Paul didn't believe in free speech.
5. Paul thought singles were more devoted to Christ than married couples.
6. Paul thought the poor should give money to help others.
7. Paul preferred for preachers to have blue-collar jobs.

Some of these ideas probably wouldn't land him in prison (like they did in his day). Rather, I think he would be dismissed as a nut job, ignored by the masses. He wouldn't be able to start a church here; therefore there would be no churches named "St. Paul's Methodist" or "St. Paul's Episcopal." And, I think he would prefer it that way.

2011-08-31T14:05:00.002-06:00

Would St. Paul be an evangelical?

Considering several things that Paul never mentions, would we dismiss him as "irrelevant" because he didn't preach "our gospel"?

1. He never tells his converts to evangelize or "share their faith" with outsiders.
2. He never mentions hell.
3. He never mentions the virgin birth of Jesus.
4. He never mentions heaven as a reward for believers.
5. He never tells pagans they must "repent."

Even though we got our "four spiritual laws" and the "Roman Road" from Paul, given these lacunae could we still call him an evangelical?

2011-08-30T07:47:00.003-06:00

How many gospels are there?

Paul couldn't countenance a gospel different from the one he preached/lived. You can see his frustration in Galatians 1 as he takes on the problems that "another gospel" has created for his converts, "which is really not another" gospel--for he believed there was only one gospel, his.

I wonder what St. Paul would say today, what with all the different versions of the gospel we see and hear every day. Some of these gospels are familiar to us because of the labels we use to categorize them, e.g., the "health and wealth" gospel or the "social gospel." But, for all the labels, I think there are only three gospels in America:

1. the spiritual gospel, i.e., the essence of what Jesus came to do was save us from eternal death. The down side of this gospel is that Jesus is Lord only in heaven and not on earth.
2. the political gospel, i.e., the essence of what Jesus came to do was make the world a better place. The down side of this gospel is that it ignores the problem of hell.
3. the therapeutic gospel, i.e., the essence of what Jesus came to do was make me a better person. The down side of this gospel is that it is anthropocentric.

Can you think of "another gospel" other than these? And, considering the question we all assume has already been answered, what is the "real" gospel, in this case, the gospel St. Paul would recognize as the one he preached/lived?

2011-08-26T14:16:00.002-06:00

A Messy Thing

When pride and impatience collide, it can get pretty ugly. For example, when I'm arguing over what I think is right and my "opponent" doesn't understand, I rush to the conclusion that they were being stubborn.

But then I sleep on it.

And the next day I realize that, just maybe, they weren't being stubborn. It could be that I was being impatient. Or, even worse, that my pride got in the way ("Why can't everyone think like me?").

When will I learn that listening requires patience and humility?

God help my arrogant soul.

2011-08-23T08:21:00.002-06:00

Black-letter Christians

Sometime ago, it became rather fashionable to identify oneself as a "red-letter" Christian. The implication was that the words of Jesus should give us the clearest direction when it comes to being his disciple. (Often times the designation was used as a foil against those who mindlessly follow Paul's instructions, ["I am of Christ, You are of Paul,"] as if Paul and Jesus were not on the same page--which is another topic altogether.)

To be sure, Jesus said some amazingly challenging, provocative, and transformational things (the parables!). But, merely parroting what he said (we eventually discover) seems to do more harm than good. We can argue over the Sermon on the Mount (did he really teach that we shouldn't defend ourselves?), quoting the "red-letter words" back to one another like weapons, as if the war of words will settle the matter. Fighting over "what Jesus really meant" seems to be our holy occupation, especially in the blogsphere.

But, the more I think about it, the more I want to become a "black-letter" Christian, known by what I do more than what I say. Indeed, the way Mark saw it, the black letters (works of Jesus) were more important to his gospel story. And, I hope the "black letters" of my life are more important to the gospel story too.

In other words, pay no attention to these words.

2011-08-22T08:53:00.003-06:00

*Sigh*

I've been thinking a lot about the power of nonverbal communication (see? Being a speech major has helped!)--especially the way we interpret a sigh. Nonverbal communication often trumps verbal. Yet, some nonverbal responses are difficult to make sense of. When someone sighs, what does it mean? Exasperation? Weariness? Impatience?

In her debut CD, Audrey Assad lets out this big sigh at the end of one of her songs, "Everything is Yours." Every time I hear it, my heart leaps, my throat tightens, and I nearly get all choked up. In the song, she's talking about the struggle of how we claim God is the source of all things, and yet we have this propensity to act like possessors. The song also reminds me of two poignant moments in Mark's gospel when Jesus sighs: just before he heals the deaf man (7:34) and after the Pharisees ask him for a sign (8:11).

I've always wondered why Mark included (uniquely!) these nonverbal cues and why Jesus sighed. Both instances certainly are filled with drama; the fact that Jesus sighs speaks volumes. And yet, I don't know what they mean (*sigh*). Nevertheless, the fact that Jesus sighed inspires me somehow.

What do you think? Why did Jesus sigh? What does his nonverbal response indicate? And, why did Mark include this detail in two stories that nearly butt up against each other?

2011-08-19T07:48:00.004-06:00

Corporate Temptations/Tests

In my new book on Paul's Spirituality (published by IVP, coming out soon), I was struck by Paul's application of his theology of the cross, especially when it came to the things Paul sacrificed as a demonstration of his faith. For example, Paul sacrificed his ethnicity/nationality for the sake of following Christ. Now, at this point I don't want to get into why Paul felt it necessary to do so (I cover that in the book--it can be a rather lengthy topic to banter about). Rather, for the purposes of this blog, I'd like to ask us the simple question: have we sacrificed our ethnicity/nationality for the sake of knowing Christ, especially as it relates to being "crucified with Christ"? What American privileges have you given up in order to share in the "sufferings of Christ."

Or, to turn the question the other way around, to what extent have we given into American obsessions (what I would call a corporate temptation/test) rather than discover the loss that comes by Jesus' cross?

2011-08-16T08:15:00.003-06:00

What happens when we fail the test/temptation?

The temptation/test of Christ by Satan in the wilderness gives us great insight into how to overcome the enemy. Countless lessons can be learned by his example. Indeed, especially according to Luke's version, Jesus (the second Adam) succeeded where the first Adam failed every test: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. Many times I have tried to learn from the Master, refusing to give in to my fleshly desires (life is more than eating!), to the delight of my eyes ("can't buy me love, no"), and to the pride of life (God plays no favorites).

But, here's the strange part: when I say "not my will but thine" and refuse to give into temptation, nothing sensational happens. I don't have a sense of accomplishment, I don't feel proud of myself. There's no euphoria, "Wow. I showed the enemy!" In fact, oftentimes these "victories" are accompanied by a sense of loss, of emptiness, indeed, as if God is not present at all--like I've missed out on something.

And yet, what happens when I fail the test, give into temptation, let God down, is an altogether different experience.

First, I beat myself up. "Come on, Rodney, you know better than this. How many times are you going to go down the same path?"

Next, I turn to God in frustration, "What's wrong with me, God?"

Sometimes I make the futile promise, "I'll never sin again!"

Then, I confess (one more time; really? One more time?) that I have sinned, that I need God's forgiveness, that I need the Spirit's power, that I'm tired of this, that I need healing.

Sometimes I remember that Jesus overcame Satan--not only in the desert, but also in the Garden. And, because he overcame the test/temptation, we have the cleansing, the forgiveness, the hope, the power, the salvation of our Lord.

Then, I sense the presence of the Lord, what I've gained through Christ (He's saved me!), that God won't give up on me, or any one of us.

In other words, I'm beginning to see more and more that God loves to "show up" in the midst of our failures. The cross of Jesus Christ proves it. So, how can Satan win, when the cross was supposed to be his final blow against humanity, the ultimate test, the last temptation of Christ?

2011-08-15T08:09:00.003-06:00

Lead us not into testing

This always surprises Greek students. A word often translated as "temptation" can also be translated as "test." The word is peirosmos, and it shows up in some famous passages (Lord's Prayer, James' teaching about "pure joy," promise to the Philadelphia church). The difficulty, of course, is sorting out the difference. When does peirosmos mean "temptation" and when does it mean "testing"?

Imagine how strange some familiar verses would sound if we inverted the conventional translations:

"Lead us not into testing, but deliver us from the evil one." "Count it all joy when you fall into various temptations." "Let no one say, 'I am being tested by God,' for God cannot be tested by evil and he himself tests no one." "No testing has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength."

How can these things be? How could one word carry both connotations? Perhaps the answer is found in the role of Satan. He started out as a divine servant, charged with the job of testing the faithfulness of humanity. But, Adam couldn't handle the challenge; testing resulted in temptation. Maybe Satan went too far in his zeal for "proof." (After all, the "bad cop" always lies to catch the accused in their guilt.) Indeed, this is Satan's modus operandi: The father of lies tries to turn every test into a temptation--the opportunity for sin.

So, this is our lot. Embedded in every test is a temptation; and every temptation is a test. But, sorting out who's to blame (is this a test from God or a temptation from Satan?) is a difficult as translating peirosmos. Maybe it's our response that reveals the difference.

2011-08-09T09:24:00.002-06:00

The Devil is in the details

One of the shocking discoveries for biblical studies majors is the ever-changing role of Satan in the Bible. In Job, he appears as one of God's helpers. In the royal histories, he convinces king David to levy taxes against Israel. In Zechariah he stands ready to do his work, accusing the priest of his sins before God. Then, by the time we get to the New Testament, he appears as God's opponent, ready to "tempt/test" Jesus in the desert, eventually "falling from heaven" as Jesus expands the kingdom of God on earth via the exorcising work of the twelve.

To what extent do you think our view of evil and suffering is informed by our demonology?

I think most Christians operate with a rather static view of Satan--what he is now is what he has always been. But, a more careful reading of the biblical narrative reveals that is not the case. Satan has changed over the years. At first, he did God's work (Job); now he's out to spoil God's work (Jesus). Could that dialectic help us make sense of the problem of evil?

What do you think?

2011-08-08T08:47:00.003-06:00

Does God test us with bad things?

Too often we'll hear someone say (after going through a horrific ordeal): "Well, I guess the Lord was testing me." The more sensitive types will respond, "There's no way God would want you to go through (fill in the blank: bankruptcy, rape, divorce, disease). Doesn't James say God doesn't tempt anyone with evil?" Then the God-is-sovereign types will speak of Job and the Akedah (Gen. 22) and then say, "God doesn't cause evil. But He certainly allows it."

Of course, I'm not expecting us to solve the problem of evil and suffering, but I would like to change the way we talk about it. Shouldn't our theology of the cross help us make sense of this dilemma? Should we blame God for "allowing" evil things to happen to us? How do you talk about God's role in the testing of our faith?

2011-08-04T14:32:00.002-06:00

Does God get Angry?

Okay, so I'll try this again. The reason Ro. 2:2 leaped out at me (and I winced) was the surprising thought, "Wait. Did Paul mean that?" In other words, in light of his comments about the wrath of God in Rom. 1 as well as his propitiatory language in Rom. 3:25, did Paul believe that God actively punishes sinners in this life (setting aside the implications for hell).

Do you believe that God actively punishes sinners in this life? And, if you do, how does that square with the death of Jesus as a "wrath averting" (one meaning of "propitiation") sacrifice?

2011-08-03T09:33:00.002-06:00

Did Paul say this?

"We know that the judgment of God rightly falls upon those who practice such things" (Ro. 2:2).

According to the NASB, it looks like Paul said it. According to the NRSV, it looks like Paul's imaginary opponent said it.

What do you think? Does this represent Paul's position on the "righteousness/justification" of God?

2011-08-02T08:40:00.003-06:00

Snobs

All of us are snobs about something. Coffee. Art. Theology. Cars. Philosophy. Animals. Wine. Fashion. Music. Fitness. Film.

Of course, what makes us a snob is insider information. We know more about this or that, join forces with the like-minded, and sneer at the ignorance of the masses. These exclusive clubs claim members but no membership, barriers without walls, an identity without prejudice, a cause but no agenda.

The pretense of our snobbery sanctions ridicule--yet holds in contempt any who would disagree. I see this as self-help therapy; acting like snobs makes us feel better ourselves--at least we are right about something.

I can't help but wonder if the ever-rising need to be a snob is partly due to the lack of moorings--what, for lack of a better word, is commonly called "tradition." If I know who I am (and whose I am), then I've got very little to prove.

So, here I go: I drink canned coffee. We have one picture of Thomas Kincade's "art" in our home. I listen to pop music. And, wait for it . . . (here's my cardinal sin) I don't care for most indy films.

I'm ready to take your abuse, you snobs.

2011-08-01T09:04:00.002-06:00

Sarcasm

Many of us brainy types enjoy sarcasm. In fact, it could be said it comes easy to our tribe. Indeed, it comes so easy many of us see it as a gift; but, I'm beginning to think sarcasm is another form of laziness. Rather than work hard at dealing with an issue--trying to be clearer, more patient--we flippantly throw out a sarcastic zinger and call it a victory. It may make us feel better, but does little good.

Sarcasm comes from a Greek word, sarx. NT students immediately recognize the danger. "Sarx" is a loaded term used by Paul; literally it means "flesh," but Paul also used sarx to characterize a way of life that works against the Spirit. So, sarcasm is of the flesh. Literally, "sarcasm" is a saying that tears the flesh, bites the victim, rips at the meat of a wo/man. In Paul's day, sarcasm wouldn't be seen as something desirable, especially for a Christ believer.

Contrast our culture, where sarcasm is a virtue. Our "pop" philosophers (a.k.a. comedians) use these fleshly sayings with great skill. But, I'm beginning to think sarcasm works against my desire to "walk in the Spirit." A sarcastic word may be funny, but I wonder whether it helps at all.

This is going to be a hard habit to break. I love sarcasm--maybe too much. And, that should be a warning too.

"This I say: walk in the Spirit and you will not fulfill the desires of the flesh."

2011-07-29T08:29:00.002-06:00

Father

Jesus knew what he was doing when he referred to God as "Father," the best description for his (and our) relationship.

This post by Mark Roberts is a touching memorial to the power of God as Father as seen through the eyes of a grateful son.

http://www.patheos.com/community/markdroberts/

In a world where male-bashing is common (and, sadly enough, sometimes deserved), I need to hear words like this. Thanks, Mark, for sharing your heart.

2011-07-28T08:30:00.002-06:00

One Problem

At times I think much of our problem as Christians derives from one, simple issue: we take ourselves way too seriously. Perhaps that says more about me than the rest of us. But, I think I see why Christians have lost our voice in the public square. We think every idea of ours will save the world.

Could we ever preface our opinion with the phrase "I could be wrong" and really mean it? That might be a refreshing change in the midst of heated battles over ideologies.

Then again, I could be wrong.

2011-07-27T09:04:00.002-06:00

Where have all the prophets gone?

I need a prophetic voice to wake me up from my comfortable slumber. But, where can I go to hear it?

With so many voices competing for our attention, I wonder about our ability to hear the clarion call of God despite the cacophony. There are so many people talking about so many things. The noise is deafening. And yet, despite all the chatter, I think it's getting easier to surround ourselves within the cocoon of our preferences, finding voices that are merely parroting our prejudices.

For example, it's amazing to me how quickly people line up on this or that question simply because of their political allegiances. Or, how a "theological hero" makes a claim about this or that book and all their devoted followers fall in line to bash the author.

Given the rancor that dominates social discourse, I can't help but wonder if we'll ever hear a prophet say, "Thus saith the Lord," and we'll have ears to hear it. To me, it seems like the days of John the Baptizer all over again.

2011-07-26T08:51:00.002-06:00

Tradition

I'm finally at peace with the idea that has been troubling me for quite some time. I'm Baptist because I was raised Baptist.

I used to like to think that I'm Baptist by choice. And, I guess, it still holds true: I continue in the Baptist tradition by choice. But, then again, I don't think I could ever leave the Baptist tradition--for a variety of reasons: comfort of familiarity, job security, theological identity.

At the same time, there are many things about other Christian traditions that are attractive to me, like the exuberance of the Pentecostals, the mystery of Catholicism, the community of Anglicanism, the confidence of Calvinism, etc. In other words, I think I would be Catholic if I were raised Catholic. I would be Anglican if I were brought up by Anglican parents. I would be Presbyterian if my parents had belonged to a Presbyterian Church.

Of course, this doesn't necessarily apply to all people; there are many Christians who grew up in a nonChristian home. Which makes me wonder: if I had been born to atheists, would I be an atheist? I don't think so because the sacred heart of Christ draws me to him, regardless of my tradition.

2011-07-25T09:55:00.002-06:00

I need Beauty

The older I get the more I'm driven outside to take in the beauty of what God has made. I simply need to sit and soak in the glory of God. Thus, to a certain extent, I can see why some people would rather worship God "in nature" than go to "church" on Sundays.

I'm reminded of something Brother Lawrence wrote in "Practicing the Presence of Christ"": something to the effect that "I find it difficult to think about God when I pray; but when I wash dishes I think about Him all the time." Indeed, I find myself thinking about God far more often when I'm outside fishing than when I'm inside a building singing.

Why do these observations ring true?

2011-07-21T07:47:00.002-06:00

Make up your minds

Since Christians seem to support nearly every kind of political option in America, what does that say about our faith?

You would think that, since we share the same faith, live the same gospel, operate with the same symbolic universe ("kingdom of God"), then we'd all line up under one political movement. But we don't.

Does that say more about us or about politics?

2011-07-20T08:04:00.002-06:00

What ever happened to Avarice?

Greed is hard to recognize. I'm not sure we see it anymore. I can't remember the last time I heard someone give a talk about the pitfalls of avarice. Why? Because it is the grand assumption of our culture. Wanting more is always better. Indeed, our economy couldn't survive without it. Think of what would happen if all of us decided to confess our sin of avarice and not live greedy lives.

I rarely think about my greedy problem. How about you? What do you do to keep from being greedy?

2011-07-19T08:40:00.002-06:00

Social Justice versus Moral Purity

Why is it that those who emphasize the importance of social justice tend to downplay the necessity of moral purity? And, why is it that those who emphasize moral purity tend to absolve themselves of being involved in social justice?

In the evangelical world, Christians who preach "no sex" tend to find little use for helping the poor. And, Christians who rally support for the marginalized often set aside strict requirements for sexual behavior.

Have you seen the same tendencies? And, if so, why do these approaches to "what's important" in our faith appear to be mutually exclusive?

2011-07-18T10:27:00.002-06:00

Romance and Christ

The more I think about it, the more I realize we've been sold a bill of goods. There's much money to be made by propping up the elusive idea of romantic love. Will I ever find "the one." When will love call my name? How will I know when I'm in love?

And, I think the Church has been just as guilty dangling this elusive idol in front of our eyes as our American culture.

Don't take this as "romance bashing." I think I can be as romantic as the next guy. But, when will we learn that the ultimate love, the perfect love, the love that eclipses all love is Christ?

And, when we will believe that the Body of Christ is where we should experience that true love.

Sorry. No questions today. Except, why can't we see this?

2011-07-15T08:38:00.002-06:00

Who's sub?

I'm beginning to grow weary of the presumption that new "communities" (the word preferred these days rather than "church") are absent of cultural proclivities. That is, we easily spot the barriers of a certain Christian "sub-culture," decide to jettison the distinctions, then form a community that supposedly is raked clean of such weeds. In other words, despite all the efforts of the emergents (you know who they are) and the post-emergents (you may know who they are), we're still creating "sub-cultures" within our Christian faith.

Rather than deny the distinctives of our particular community, shouldn't we celebrate them? And, if so, how do we do that NOT at the expense of the "other"?

2011-07-14T08:41:00.002-06:00

Time for a change

I really haven't figured out the purpose of blogging (even though I read somewhat regularly a few blogs).

So, I'm going to switch things up here. Rather than try to hammer out an idea every once in a while, I'd like to throw out some random observations (daily?) and see what happens.

Here goes: why does it seem to happen so often that when a romantic relationship sours the victim(s) appears to question his/her faith in God? "My girlfriend broke off the engagement, now I don't believe in God anymore." Over the years, I've seen this happen over and over again.

At the risk of sounding unsympathetic, why?

2011-07-13T09:29:00.002-06:00

Boys and Girls

In his magnum opus--a twenty-five minute song!--Sufjan Stevens ends his musical apocalypse with a vision of the end: the quest of the impossible soul. After wrestling with the failure of love, the sinfulness of humanity, the prison of loneliness, the sickness of pain, the sorrow of misunderstanding, the last song takes on the problem of evil and suffering. In the end, the only claim Stevens can make is this: we can't do life without each other. With all of its messy, incongruous lines of us/them, evil/good, hope/despair, truth/lies, life affords a realism that defies any silly, utopian ideas of pure beauty. Everything and everyone is marred. Hints of the way things should be lie latent in the most difficult things. We talk about love, about truth, about righteousness, about meaning, about purpose, about direction, about resolution, about being whole. But, then life compels us to look in the mirror and say, "I can't lie to you. I can't tell you everything's going to be all right. You know better."

But wait. Someone's standing right beside me. She's looking in the mirror too. She's saying "it's okay. It's just the way life is. We're not meant to do this all by ourselves. We can do this together." This is no temptress. No serpent whispering in my ear. She is the second Eve, the new woman, the helpmate God intended all along. There is no feigned romanticism in her voice. She admits life is messy. She knows love goes wrong. This is no Eden. The ground yields thorns. Fig leaves must be sewn. Hide and seek will never end. She lives with an impossible soul too.

But that doesn't mean we can't dance. Hear the music? It's inviting us to find rhythm in the midst of chaos, to recover movement in spite of the static, to recover a lyrical life while death reigns, to find rest in the restless night, to believe the impossible.

Whenever I hear Sufjan's apocalyptic vision of the end of the world, I want to get up and dance.

Eve, where are you?

2011-06-01T10:15:00.000-06:00

“I want to be well” says the Volcano

Evil. It’s hard to pin down, difficult to figure out.

We know it when we see it, especially in others. We say, “he’s the devil” or “she’s wicked.” Locating evil is the only way to comprehend the incomprehensible, take in the unimaginable. “Why would he do something like that? How could she do such a thing?” Sometimes we attribute such atrocity, such horrific behavior to madness. Crazy people do crazy things. But, that doesn’t settle the issue; we know he was “normal.” She was “fine.” But then, everything changed. He’s not the same guy; she’s not acting like she used to. We know we haven’t changed; we’re the same person. We saw things clearly. We know what’s right and what’s not. But what about them? How do we make sense of their bizarre behavior, their destructive bent, their calloused heart? Evil. We blame evil. Evil took control. Poisoned their soul. Ruined a perfectly good human being. Evil showed up and spoiled everything. Evil becomes our scapegoat.

But what happens when we discover that evil lies within us, too? That our fiery passion can erupt and destroy others? When the molten lava of our selfish inclinations explodes and reveals what was inside us all along? What do we do when evil is no longer “other” but “us”?

This seems to be Sufjan’s struggle. Accepting that evil is our fault (not “his” or “her”) makes the landscape of our souls seem so much more messy, the terrain of our social world more chaotic. Broken relationships are sickness; death is a social disease. Why does life have to be so hard, especially when all of us want to be well? The default mode, the pseudo-response to this broken down world is to say “it’s your fault.” But, the truth of the matter is: the murdering ghost lives in all of us. Islands are formed from volcanoes. “I want it all for myself” is such a lonely life.

“Oh, wretched man that I am, who will save me from this impossible soul?”

2011-04-01T13:55:00.003-06:00

Get Real, Get Right with Me

Everyone is looking for authenticity. The presumption of our quest is we want to know what is real (isn't that telling? Nobody takes things at "face value" anymore--hey, what's really going on here?). We will not suffer from illusions. We will not tolerate lies. We need to see what is real to know what is right, what is true, what is genuine. The problem is we're all troubled by what we see. One man's trouble is another woman's misperception. One woman's reality is another man's nightmare. What is evident to one is obscure to another. What passes for humor is tragic to someone else. So, we'll argue over what is right, what is real, what is wrong, what is false--all the while assuming perceptions are universally shared.

In this social tug-of-war, the underlying assumption of all arguments is to get the "other" to see things like you do. In fact, that is the immediate reaction of those who are perpetually frustrated by "bad communication." When they don't get it, we can't help but wonder: what's wrong with them? Why don't they understand? Why are they being so stubborn? Getting your opponent to see things like you do is half the battle for truth. Deciding who is right, however, is a completely different war.

We all want to believe God is on our side. Even more than that, we all want to believe God agrees with us, thinks like us, sees the world like we do. After all, God is always on the side of right. Yet, Sufjan seems to have a sneaky suspicion that such a divine perspective fools no one but the fool who believes it. A prophet may shout: "it's time to get real and get right with the Lord." But, no one listens to him. What he says may be true--don't we all need to get real and get right? The problem is we can't stand hearing the message, knowing it comes from a mad man whose volcanic eruptions look more like evil than good.

But, are we fooling ourselves just the same? "That can't be the voice of God because I know He wouldn't sound like that." Then, we erupt with our own frustrations of a world gone mad, an injustice that knows no bounds, a love that grows cold, a faithfulness that never endures. The fires that burn within our souls may even lead to paths of destruction, where we win the war of words but still have this aching doubt: who is right? Maybe it's not as simple as "who's right and who's wrong," who wins and who loses.

In the war of truth, maybe we're our worst enemy.

Vesuvius.

2011-03-15T14:00:00.002-06:00

I walked with regrets

There's no such thing as closure--even though we know we can't bear to live with regrets. It's the constant dialectic, the endless dilemma of having to live with our mistakes even as we find ways to blame others. This is especially true when love is spurned, when lovers part, when two who were supposed to be one flesh have been torn apart. The end of love makes everyone question beginnings: were we really in love? Did she care only for herself? Didn't he cherish me once? Who's right and who's wrong? Did we fail love or did love fail us?

Love is not singular; it only exists when it is shared. So, the lover says, "I loved because I was loved." But, should it be that way? When a lover walks away, does love perish with him/her? Doesn't true love persist even when love is spurned? Who is the one who gets to decide when love is dead? The departed or the spurned?

Looking back on it all, Sufjan Stevens struggles with the failure of love "now that he's older." Youthful exuberance must give way to mature reflection. Time is supposed to be the gift that makes love stronger. Instead, it makes things worse. The more we try to sort out the past, the harder it is to make sense of what happened, to find closure, to put away regrets. Seems like we don't get very far; the older we get the more things remain the same.

So, what do we do when we realize time doesn't heal all wounds--especially the stigmata of love? What happens next, especially when time marches on, even though the end of love feels like the end of the world?

It's time to get real and get right.

2011-02-14T14:10:00.005-06:00

The age of confusion

How do you get a prophet to take his own advice? You can't use words; those are the weapons of his craft. Just try to shout down a prophet and all you get are more words--two persons shouting past each other. Even in that battle, the person with the biggest weapons doesn't win: hurtful words shouted through a megaphone are no more effective than whispers of apathy. Indeed, when it comes to a prophet, words are futile devices.

And yet, prophets can be so annoying, what with all their talk about the wrath of God and the end of the world. So, how do you warn a prophet? How do you say, "you've gone too far" or "you're simply a madman"--especially when all prophets (even those whose prophecies came true) are mad. Even that word is fascinating to me: "mad" used to mean "crazy" but now it means "angry." In fact, that's the picture most of us have of prophets: angry men who say crazy words. It is madness that drives some men insane.

But, what is sanity? One man's madness is another man's passion. In fact, even prophets speak of love and faithfulness and truth. Sometimes we hear sane people talk about love, but its quite apparent even they don't know what they're talking about: to them love is twisted, selfish, destructive, myopic, painful, vain. Love under the guise of encomium leaves us confused and dazed, wondering where truth can be found.

This is what I hear in Sufjan Steven's apocalyptic world of Adz. The dualism of the age is not between love and hate, faithfulness and betrayal, truth and lies, life and death. All of these things overlap in the age of Adz. Instead, the constant struggle, the eternal dialectic, is between clarity and confusion. We're all looking for moments of clarity, even from a madman. And, those who say "they understand" often admit they're troubled and confused. So, in a world where perspective is reality, does anyone have eyes to see and ears to hear?

It depends upon not what you say but where you walk.

2011-01-14T08:45:00.002-06:00

There's too much riding on love

In a simplified version of biblical apocalypticism, there is a thoroughgoing dualism--a struggle, a conflict, a fight--between two forces. Typically, it is the final battle between good and evil, between God and Satan, between order and chaos. Apocalyptic prophets see the battle in vivid panoramic terms, most often visualized as war. In this cosmic fight, the world is a mess because evil seems to run amok. The determinism of a world filled with death and injustice robs humanity of the dignity of hope. Nothing ever seems to change. But, the seer knows it won't always be this way. The warning goes forth (even though no one seems to want to hear it): God is going to invade the cosmos, riding in like a man on a white horse--guns blazing. Then evil will finally be put down. The wicked will get their just desserts. It will take a lot of death to pull it off, a lot of violent conflict, a lot of chaotic warfare to bring order. But, this is the way it must be: it must get worse before it gets better. In the meantime, in the face of such pessimistic determinism, the weapon of the righteous is faithfulness. The prophet's message is: hold on, grit your apocalyptic teeth, and warn the world with words.

In the face of this apocalypticism, the prophet Sufjan challenges the idea of faithfulness as the only recourse of the righteous. Instead, he wants to believe in the power of love. Indeed, the open-endedness of love is our only chance of overcoming such a mechanical view of the world. Rather than give in to the machinery--the pretense of pessimism--the Seer claims that love conquers all. But, there is a problem. What is true love? Mere words will never suffice. Intimate knowledge is an illusion. We all are screwed up people. How can we love without truth, without a prophet to tell us what is true? So, A new dualism of perpetual struggle is born: the final conflict is not between good and evil, love and hatred, order and chaos.

It is the age of Adz.

2010-12-20T11:03:00.003-06:00

Sufjan Eschatology

I am amazed by Sufjan Steven's latest, "The Age of Adz." I'm still taking in all of the complexities and intricacies of this incredibly rich work. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to part from my usual ways on this blog and offer a theological response to this cd.

I'll start with the title. Given the "end times" motif of the record, I'm pretty sure "Adz" means "in the year of our Lord Z." A.D., of course, comes from the Latin phrase, "anno domini," which means, "in the year of our Lord." Since we don't know the last number (they are infinite, after all), I think Stevens used the last letter of our alphabet to signal the last day. Where infinity seems to run forever, the end is still in sight: thus, we "rot" and experience "eternal living" (two themes Stevens mashes together in the title track). Like most of his work, Stevens loves to explore the paradox of our faith.

Gloria and Victoria.

More theological ramblings (mine and his?) to come.

2010-12-10T09:47:00.002-06:00

For Buck

I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately, and I don’t know why.

You died last May. It still hurts to think about it. When you were on your death bed—just a few days before you died—I called you and told you that you were one of the best Christians I’ve ever known; I wanted to say more. But, you were tired, and I could tell, in your usual humble way, you didn’t want to hear it. You simply said, “That’s very nice,” and then asked me how I was doing. I said I was fine and that I had been thinking a lot about you, that many of your friends had been praying for you—that God would heal you from the cancer that eventually took your life. You told me how much your friends had helped you in your last days, how your sweet wife, Pam, was there for you, that you appreciated every thing. You didn’t know it, but I was weeping uncontrollably. I said, “You’re almost there.” Then you said, “Yes. But I still have a ways to go.”

When you died I felt lonely. That’s because I always thought of you as the one Christian I could count on to be all about the Kingdom. That was you—the man who was all about the Kingdom. Of course, many knew you as a fine surgeon—the guy who single-handedly brought “laproscopy” (did I spell it right? You’d probably laugh that I asked) to Mongolia. You and Pam were always on one of your mission trips—to Africa, to Mongolia. You both loved the Mongolian people, and they loved you, too. To others, you were the guy who started the “In His Steps” ministry on the poor side of town (but you wouldn’t like it that I called it that). But that’s what it was—these were people who had little. You taught the Bible and shared your life with them. To them you weren’t “Dr. Rusher.” They called you “Buck” and “my Bible study teacher.” They loved you, too.

I miss you, Buck. I know I’m not the only one. Your lovely wife, daughter and son, son-in-law and daughter-in-law—and especially your grandchildren—they miss you more. I know once I moved to Bolivar we didn’t have much time to talk. You invited me several times to come down and duck hunt with you. I wish now I would have come every time you offered. I’ll miss your emails, too. Whenever you’d ask questions about the Bible, it reminded of the times we’d talk about our faith—your insatiable desire to know the Word of God was so refreshing. Many Christians don’t know the Bible; when I try to inspire them to read it more, their eyes glaze over, like I’m boring them to tears. But you couldn’t get enough. I loved that about you.

There’s so much more I want to say. When I think about you now—enjoying the things we wondered about—I feel better. But, I still miss you. I guess I’m still grieving. I just had to tell you these things.

I feel like I should say,”Merry Christmas!” But, that doesn’t sound right. So, instead I’ll say, “Glory to God in the Highest!” (I think you’d like that better anyway.)

2010-11-30T08:07:00.002-06:00

A Christmas Story

The Word became flesh and lived among us. Words embodied. Ideas becoming reality. Poetry in motion. Truth seen. Mystery felt. Verbal and nonverbal. Thought and action. Axis and praxis. A metaphor that tastes good.

Unto you a child is born. Predictions fulfilled. God becoming a baby. Heaven on earth. Singing stars. Wise guys. Common folk. Sorrow and joy. Good news and bad news. Dreams and visions. A story that never gets old.

Jesus is the reason for the season. Economies stimulated. Christians becoming defensive. Living in America. Worn out cliches. Trivial pursuits. Carols and cars. Glitter and gold. Food and drink. A holiday that takes more than it gives.

2010-11-05T13:10:00.004-06:00

My secret heresy

I'm color blind. I don't think about it much except during this time of year in the Ozarks. Many times I hear, "aren't the colors wonderful this time of year." I know what they mean; they're talking about the reds and oranges and yellows (and variations of the same?) that color the fall foliage. Most of the time I simply say, "yes. It's beautiful." But what I really mean is: "I don't agree with you because I don't see the world like you do."

I dread what usually happens when others find out I'm color blind. It's the endless, "what color is this? . . . and this? . . . and this?" Sometimes they laugh, amused by my answers. Others (the more sensitive types) empathize, or speculate, "I wonder what it would be like to see the world through your eyes." My children once mused, "Maybe Dad is the only one to see colors as they really are, and we're the ones who are confused . . . . Nah!"

I used to make comments about the colors of the world. (For example, when our folks visited us in the U.K. years ago, we took them to Scotland during winter. I made the comment, "Aren't the green hills beautiful?" Later, my family confessed they said to each other [under their breath], "poor guy. He doesn't see that everything's dead and brown."

I can't tell the difference between blue and purple, green and brown, pink and grey, red and brown. I'm told my "rods" are misproportioned--we see color through the triangularization of the RGB color scheme--each rod (Red, Green, and Blue) must be equal length to see color "correctly"). Some of my "rods" are shorter than others. So my color vision is imperfect, slightly eschewed, off color--if you will.

I've recently wondered whether my color "world view" has colored my theological "world view." That is to say, I seem to have the same feelings when I hear others speak rather confidently about the inherent beauty of certain theological ideas. Sometimes I say, "Yes. It is wonderful." But most of the time I feel like saying, "I don't agree because I don't see the world like you do."

I'm rediscovering a simple idea: there are many things about God that I don't want to believe about Him; but I do anyway. Like, I don't want to believe in a God who said, "Kill the Amalekites." But, I do. I don't want to believe in a God who didn't spare His own Son from the horrendous evil of crucifixion. But, I do. I don't want to believe in a God who shows mercy to my enemies. But, I do. I don't want to believe in a God who made imperfect "rods" so as not to see the "natural" beauty of what has been made. But, I do. I don't want to believe in a God who gives sight to some and not others. But, I do.

Perhaps it's because I can't see things "as they really are." But, I do.

2010-10-28T10:43:00.002-06:00

Why I am not a cynic

“All the world’s a stage, and we are merely the actors.” The genius of Shakespeare is that he knew there was more to life than meets the eye. His plays about life would tell a story even better than life, enticing his audience to live vicariously through the actors. He used the invisible wall of the theater as a window through which an audience could play God for a day. To see everything that happens, hearing all private conversations, knowing all intimate thoughts, to look upon a world of movement, watching a plot unfold toward its inevitable conclusion, essentially, to be omniscient was to any audience a divine ability reserved only for deity. That invisible wall, however, was more than a window gaining access to a world full of actors. Shakespeare knew the wall was a mirror, making the audience take in the full reflection of their own image—the undeniable weakness of humanity, the perpetual problem of the human condition, the complicated web of human relationships, lies masked by flattery, deception concealed by mock friendships, ulterior motives, feigned sincerity. In an unforgettable scene from Hamlet, the prince hopes to prove his theory that his uncle murdered his father in order to get the crown as well as the queen. He hires a theatrical troop to perform his hastily written play that frames the new king. Before the play is performed for the benefit of Hamlet’s mother and her new husband, the prince gives last minute advice to the actors:

“Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so o’erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it makes the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve, the censure of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh a whole theater of others.”

Shakespeare revealed to all—with eyes to see and ears to hear—that the world really is a great stage of players.

“What’s going on here?” Alarming revelations wake us up to the reality that what you see is not necessarily what you get. Most of us move to the steady drum of daily routines, comfortable habits, weekly schedules that lull us to sleep. We carry on without suspicions, mostly taking things as they come. Then, something terrible happens. A crime has been committed. A good person has done a bad thing. Embarrassing details reveal the difference between a man and his reputation. Shocked and disappointed, the majority opinion is repeated over and over again, “I never would have suspected him of doing something like that,” trying to come to terms with the unacceptable. Conspiratorialists rush in with their complicated theories of sinister forces and the underworld. Alarmists jump to the conclusion of widespread abuse. The intelligentsia debate whither and whence. The naïve refuse to believe that life can really be that bad. The cynics laugh from a distance, chuckling to themselves, “we told you so.”

So, in the play called life, what part are we playing? Well, who likes the choices? The sleepy masses, the rabid conspirator, the chicken little prophet, the pretentious pundit, the naïve fool, the self-righteous cynic—these modern-day Shakespearean parts are not very appealing. We may all, at one time or another, belong to the sleepy masses—but who wants to admit it? Conspiracies reveal more about the theorist than the real world. Prophets of doom are predictable. Pundits speak as if everyone values their opinions (but who’s listening?). Everyone knows that ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away. The only part that seems to have any actors competing for the same role these days is the one played by the cynic. To rise above the rest, never taken in by surprise, untouched by tragic twists in the plot of life, never to be fooled by duplicity—to play the cynic—this seems to be the favorite role of many today. And, I can see why, since it is easier to be against something than for something else.

The world is filled with injustice, the problem of evil and suffering persists, and no one seems to have any answers. But, does it mean that we have to accept things as they are? Aren’t we supposed to make the world a better place? We know we must live with tragedy, but do we have to put up with evil run amok? Who will save us from this hour? Enter stage right: the problem solvers of our world—politicians, scientists, educators, preachers. Politicians appeal to the noble desire of “everyman” for the public good to encourage citizens to service the needs of the community. Scientists harness the power of nature using technological advances in their germ warfare against sickness, disease, and death. Educators seek to silence prejudice, bigotry, hatred, and intolerance fueled by ignorance by reminding all of us of what we know. Preachers persist in announcing “good news” from their pulpits, with sermons about the love of God, the faith of believers, and hope for the world.

Enter stage left: the cynic. With his diatribe, the cynic mocks humanity’s futile attempt to change the world. He delights in reminding us that heroes rarely live up to the expectations of their admirers. Crusaders eventually reveal selfish motives in their campaign for change. Power always corrupts. Notoriety drives discovery. Knowledge breeds arrogance. There is no cure for the common cold much less for what ails the world. Viruses mutate, anti-bodies become impotent. Death rules over life. There will always be wars and rumors of wars. History rarely teaches us anything. Personal ambition always takes precedence over the greatest good. And, in a world that cannot be saved, faith looks more like hype, and hope is the great pretender. The cynic won’t let anyone be fooled by the pretense of those who say they have the answer. No man is sovereign. No woman controls her own destiny. There is no Savior. This may all sound pretty dark, but the cynic claims that he’s the only honest person who has the courage to tell the truth, to unmask the hypocrisy of the human heart. It’s time to wake up and smell the coffee.

There’s a famous story about Diogenes, the cynic philosopher of the 4th century B.C., and his brief encounter with Alexander the Great that sounds more like the modern tale of the urban male. It is said that Alexander once approached Diogenes, who was basking in the rays of the sun, with the offer, “Ask any favor you wish.” Diogenes simply replied, “Get out of my sunlight.” For the most part, we act the same way. The people we used to look up to are now only standing in our way. We don’t believe anymore in the virtue of public service. Parents don’t want their kids to grow up to be president. The Church has lost touch with the real world. Preachers are passed off as a bad parody of themselves. Institutions of higher learning have turned into big business, where students are treated like consumers and educators are dismissed as bureaucrats of knowledge. Like Diogenes, we prefer to heckle those who stand over us, those who think they have real answers for real problems. We’ve been disappointed too many times to be taken in by these professional hucksters. Too many leaders have fallen, too many scandals have rocked our world, too many gullible people have fallen prey to the manipulation of the masses. Cynical of life, it’s our job to bring them back to reality; never believe the hype; always look for the loop hole; challenge the status quo; never play follow the leader; and above all else, keep our hands clean when “the play” goes wrong. Then, when the world falls apart again, we can say we weren’t surprised, we can say we are not to blame, we can shout from the balcony the words we long to say, “we told you so.”

But, we are Christians; we believe God came down from the balcony and became an actor, part of the human drama. Never missing a cue, delivering the role of a Savior to perfection, God-in-human-flesh showed us all how we are to live, what we are supposed to do. He knew the purpose of the play, the meaning of life. He revealed to us the most excellent way. His heart was pure; His aim was true. He set the standard. Yet, Jesus was everyman. He understands how hard it is down here. He was fully acquainted with our grief. He bore our sorrows. He was pierced through for our transgressions. He corrected our mistakes. “The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed.” We believe God made a difference—that we are not left to ourselves to figure things out. Shouts from the balcony won’t do. We needed to see God.

That’s why I am not a cynic. I believe the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. I believe that God so loved the world that He sent His only Son to die for our sins. The cross proves that God doesn’t turn His back on injustice. The cross proves that He understands what hatred feels like. The cross proves that He won’t let evil run amok. The cross proves that God loves. And, he calls every single one of us—those who have ears to hear and eyes to see—to carry that cross, all the way to the end of the play.

2010-10-18T08:41:00.002-06:00

Subverting the Cynics
(or, why I didn't hear about faithfulness, salvation,
and the Spirit)

I heard most of what John Caputo and Peter Rollins had to say last Friday evening during an event called "Subverting the Norm," held on the campus of Drury University. Caputo is a philosopher from Syracuse University who wrote (among other things) "What Would Jesus Deconstruct?," and Rollins is an "emergent" leader from Northern Ireland who wrote (among other things) "The Orthodox Heretic." Several speakers were featured during the weekend gabfest, where those disenchanted with traditional forms of Christianity gathered to find encouragement.

Caputo used Hegel's dialectical determinism to make sense of the inexplicable essence of our faith (what Caputo called "the event"), where true hope is found in hopelessness, true forgiveness is only offered when the offense is unforgivable, and faith is grounded in doubt. The binary context of Caputo's symbolic world almost compelled me to offer my profound appreciation for his talk by saying, "I truly understand what you're saying because I misunderstand this event"). But, that would be disingenuous because I think I understand "the event" called "Subverting the Norm."

It dawned on me as I began to take in Rollins' remarks (who spoke after Caputo). There, in large letters projected on the flat screen monitor, was the theme for the gathering, "Subverting the Norm." I thought, "That would be an apt description of the cynics of the first-century, their raison d'etre, the banner for their movement. In fact, if they were to have had a meeting [but they wouldn't--they're cynics after all!] they probably would have given it the same title." Then, Rollins began to sermonize about the failure of traditional Christianity, and the reason his community of faith (called "Eikon") in N. Ireland explored ways of reclaiming Christian faith for the wounded, the doubters, the rebels, the disenfranchised, the hopeless. (By the way, several times--in the midst of Caputo's and Rollins' talk--I almost shouted, "Amen.")

Their's is an impossible task (something both Caputo and Rollins recognize). They're fighting a war on two fronts, taking on two ideological worlds that are worlds apart: the strident atheists and the dogmatic theists. To the power-hungry atheists, ready to disabuse all of us poor souls of our silly notions of God and Spirit, these post-post modern prophets declare hope. And, to the obscurantist Christians, convinced that complexities have no place in genuine faith, these neo-dogmaticians prescribe angst. In other words, sometimes Caputo and Rollins sounded like champions of the disenchanted. And, at other times, they sounded like priests of a new institution.

It's easier to be against something than for something. Reacting against what's wrong (the cynic critic) almost comes naturally to those of us who think we have something to say. And yet, trying to be for something without becoming the very thing you despise (agenda!) is the natural consequence of the human condition. I saw that when Rollins showed pictures of his community back home--the trademarked "Eikon," worship as theatre, the outsiders becoming insiders (and vice versa--"down with those pesky fundamentalists!"). And, I heard it in Caputo's voice, when he spelled out what "the event" must look like: "if it doesn't address issues of justice and inclusion, it's not genuine." Hope and judgment--these ideas are hard to hold onto when you're not trying to sound like something you are.

In other words, they were talking about "faithfulness" and the need for "salvation" and the work of the "Spirit." But, seemed afraid to say so.

2010-10-14T09:04:00.002-06:00

A Misunderstood Man

Now that I've finished working through Paul's Spirituality (the MS is in the editor's hands now), I've come to a rather predictable (yet at the same time) startling conclusion: next to Jesus, Paul is one of the most misunderstood persons in Christian history.

I think he gets a bad rap for many things, accused of being a misogynist, intransigent theologian, impulsive missionary, pretentious apostle, incoherent thinker, and aimless rebel. (Those who think so have missed the essence of the man.)

Indeed, the more I think about him, the more I've come to the conclusion that Paul may have been the best example of what it means to follow Jesus than anyone else. And, the irony is, of course, that he never followed the historical Jesus. Amazing man. I wish we had someone today who took their faith as seriously as our St. Paul. I would love to see what that looks like.

Here's one Gentile who wants to say: "Thanks, Paul, for showing us what a life compelled by the love of Christ should look like--even today. I'm glad you're our apostle. I'll be standing behind you, with millions of your children in Christ, the day you present us to our Lord (1 Thess. 2:19)."

2010-10-08T09:56:00.001-06:00

Prayer is defiance (one last tidbit from my work on Paul's Spirituality)

Because Paul wore Christ’s resurrection like body armor, the apostle was expecting a fight. He wasn’t surprised when he encountered resistance to the gospel (3:10-12). In fact, the armor of God explains why Paul kept returning to the same places where he was nearly killed. When you know you’re going to be raised from the dead on the last day, then no one or nothing can stop the proclamation of the gospel. To march in the army of Christ’s resurrection is an act of war against the devil. This is why Paul kept asking his converts to pray for him and for one another while he was in prison (Eph 6:18-20; Phil 1:3-11; 4:6; Col 4:2-4). It wasn’t simply a matter of asking for divine protection in the face of suffering and death. Paul knew Satan wouldn’t give up the battle. If the devil couldn’t threaten Christ believers with fear of suffering and death, then he would use other “schemes” to try to subvert the work of Christ. If he couldn’t win the fight using a frontal assault (worry, fear, suffering, and death cannot penetrate the armor of Christ), then he would get Christ believers to fight one another, stabbing each other in the back. That’s when the devil shows up in Paul’s letters. Paul accused Satan of trying to sneak into the churches as an “angel of light” and create dissension (2 Cor 11:13-15). Paul warned the Corinthians that Satan would exploit the unforgiving spirit of the house churches when a repentant member was excommunicated (2 Cor 2:5-11). Paul told the Ephesians not to “make room for the devil” by lying, cheating, and talking bad about one another (Eph 4:25-29). Embittered and angry, the Ephesians were grieving the Holy Spirit because they weren’t being “kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ has forgiven you” (vv. 30-32).

This is why Paul kept reminding his converts to pray; Christ believers overcome Satan through prayer (1 Cor 7:5; 2 Thess 3:1-3). Prayer is confidence, an act of defiance against evil and suffering in a fallen world (2 Thess 1:5-12; Eph 3:8-21). Prayer is a memorial, an act of remembering what God has done (1 Thess 1:2-3; Phil 1:3-5). Prayer is perseverance, an act of thanksgiving knowing God will always be on our side (Eph 6:18-20; Col 4:2-4). When we pray for one another, we’re claiming God’s power is supreme. When we pray for one another, we remember our battle is not against “flesh and blood,” but against the powers of darkness. When we pray, we remind each other that we’re living between the “already” and “not yet” of Christ’s resurrection. When we pray, we contend for what is right. When we pray, we are telling the world we have nothing to fear. When we pray, we prove that we’re still fighting. When we pray, we find peace with God because He “is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine” (Eph 3:20). When we pray, we are taking on the powers. The fact that we are able to fight proves that we have already won the battle.

2010-09-24T08:24:00.002-06:00

Jesus as a middle-aged man?

I wonder what Jesus would have been like as a man in his 40s? Of course, most men didn't even make it to the age of 30 in his day (disease and war insured a high mortality rate--70 was the far end of living). But, I can't help but wonder if Jesus would have calmed down a bit, been a little less driven, a little more withdrawn if he had lived another 10 to 20 years. Would he have ever gotten to the point where he said, "Ah, the heck with it," and decided to go home and live out his years in peace and quiet?

Here's a heads-up for all of you 20-somethings (then again, I'm sure you've already noticed): the older you get, the less your zeal for "making a difference" in the world. As a matter of fact, the older I get, the more I don't care about the world, with all of its cultural trappings. I think I'm turning into an old codger. There's so much "buzz" in our culture I don't hear anymore. All the hype that goes along with the superficiality of what is "hot" has almost become annoying to me. I've been thinking lately about all the programs I don't watch, all of the cultural memes that are irrelevant to my life (it especially shows up during commercials--the idiocy is breathtaking). It's caused me to doubt whether I am a true American, thoroughly soaked in the American way of life: can you be a true American and never have watched a WWF match (or any other pay-per-view sports event), or been to a NASCAR race, or bought anything from the shopping channels, or watched a single reality-tv show all the way through?

There are so many things that are evidently very popular that I've never done. I think I'm turning into a hermit, an old man who prefers to sit on his front porch, stare at the beauty of simple things--grass, cows, trees, birds--and proudly come to the conclusion that the world has passed me by.

WWJD?

2010-09-09T12:55:00.001-06:00

The State Religion of America (excerpt from book on Paul's Spirituality)

A few years ago our youngest daughter, Grace, was trying to explain how she negotiated the daily drama of her social world at middle school. One student was giving his female classmates fits, but Grace was able to dismiss the boy’s antics; she claimed he never got to her because she was able to size him up. “He’s a telepathic liar,” she said confidently. Grinning from ear to ear, Grace’s older brother and sister almost said simultaneously, “You mean, ‘pathological liar.’” But before Grace could agree, I wanted to enjoy her unintentional pun: “You know, I think she’s right. Maybe he is a telepathic liar. He may look like he’s telling the truth. But, Grace knows different: she’s reading his mind.” Then, turning to my thirteen-year-old daughter I said, “Grace. I hope you’re able to keep that ability. It will come in handy when you get older and have to deal with boys on a regular basis,” at which point our son (who majored in philosophy) and our oldest daughter (who majored in biology) playfully began to debate the metaphysical question, “what is real?”, by correlating gender issues and the differences between pathology and telepathy. Comments like, “men are pigs” and “women are trappers,” were bantered about as each combatant relied upon science and reason to score points in the battle of the sexes.

Nature (“men are pigs”) versus nurture (“women are trappers”) is the common dialectic by which we make sense of human behavior. We rely upon science to tell us why certain persons do certain things. Social scientists argue that context is key; individuals are conditioned to respond in certain ways due to the sum of their past experiences. Biological scientists maintain that we’re all hard-wired to behave a particular way; our genetic makeup predetermines how we will respond to different situations. In either case, the presumption of our quest—explaining why “men are pigs” or why “women are trappers”—is that science holds all the answers. In fact, it may be safe to say that science is the state religion in the west. Geneticists are prophets who predict our future; physicians are priests who serve in the temple of health. When they are unable to answer our questions, “why did this happen?” or “what is the prognosis?” or “what is the remedy?”, we fall into despair, troubled by the uncertainty of life. We want—we crave—certainty. So, a new “Calvinism” has been developed to make us feel better about our lot. Its theology is biology, where faith is the gift of reason and the doctrine of predestination is sorted out in the lab. We believe because test results are determinative.

What I find most puzzling is how this new “religion” found fertile soil in the land of American individualism.

2010-08-31T13:48:00.003-06:00

One, simple observation

I am amazed how quickly Christians sacrifice the gospel on the altar of their particular political ideology(ies). And, to make matters worse, we don't even realize when we do it.

God help us.

2010-08-25T08:05:00.001-06:00

Resurrection Faith

The resurrection of Christ is an unstoppable work of God in the life of every believer. In spite of life’s disappointments—regardless of how things appear—Paul was convinced that God would finish what He started: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:6). For just as believers experience the death of Christ and are buried with him through baptism, we are also destined to share in his resurrection. But, it isn’t simply a matter of our body—suffering from the effects of sin—being restored, reclaimed, remade after death. As far as Paul was concerned, God had already begun to raise the dead when any person turns to Christ in faith. It was God’s design from the beginning not only to raise a worn-out body from the dead, but also to raise a broken heart from the dead, to raise a contrite spirit from the dead, to raise a corrupt mind from the dead, to raise a troubled soul from the dead. When it comes to Christ’s resurrection, nothing is left behind. When old things pass away, everything becomes new. On the last day, the resurrection will be obvious. Until then, we simply have to wait for time to catch up with the reality of what God has already done through Christ in us. Indeed, if the resurrection of Christ teaches us anything it’s this: death’s days are numbered—it’s only a matter of time till everyone sees the resurrection reign of Christ.

2010-07-30T19:21:00.001-06:00

Foolish Generosity (more from my work on Paul's Spirituality)

Paul believed the church was home, where no one operated with a sense of entitlement and everyone knew they were needed. Paul believed his converts were family, where every member worked for the good of everyone and no one could afford to be selfish. That’s why he chose to “work with his own hands.” Although he was entitled to receive pay for preaching the gospel, he set aside the privilege so he wouldn’t be a burden to the Thessalonians (2 Thess. 3:8-9). Even while Paul was in Thessalonica, he accepted financial support from the Philippians (Phil. 4: 15-16; evidently, Paul didn’t find enough work in Thessalonica to support himself, even though he worked “night and day,” 2 Thess. 3:8). So, the Philippians—Christians of some means—sent money while he was laboring in Thessalonica. Evidently, the Thessalonian believers were poor and relied upon each other for economic support. In fact, Paul described the Macedonians (the province that included Philippi and Thessalonica) as churches that had endured a “severe ordeal of affliction” and gave to the relief offering in spite of their “extreme poverty” (2 Cor. 8:2). Obviously the Philippians were not the impoverished ones; when the Thessalonians were persecuted by their neighbors, it must have included economic reprisals (1 Thess. 2:14; 3:3-7). Ostracized by their community, the Thessalonians looked to each other for food, work, help, and support—they were family. To refuse to work would mean that others would have to work harder to supply bread for the family. Therefore, by refusing to exercise his rights, Paul modeled what church family is supposed to look like: a group of selfless people who put everyone’s interest above their own, just like Christ. It’s no wonder hospitality thrived in an environment like that; and it’s no wonder early Christians were so vulnerable in their generosity. They worked hard and gave much. It would be easy to take advantage of a group like that.

I wish the church today had the same reputation: a group so generous it would be easy to take advantage of us. But, I don’t see that happening for several reasons. We don’t rely upon each other like the church in Paul’s day. That’s because we’re convinced what happened in the early church should never be repeated (Acts 4:32-37). The Acts experiment only created needy people; selling possessions to help others didn’t last long. Isn’t that why Paul had to collect a relief offering in the first place? Second, we believe in self-sufficiency. We’ve been taught the only person you can count on is yourself. To rely upon others for personal resources is failure. Being needy is foolish. But Paul saw the church as a family of needy people, which is why he believed it would take every single one of us to make it through life together—something I learned in the middle of an ice storm. We’ve also lost the first gift of the church: hospitality. The earliest church was “forced” to discover the power of hospitality because they met for worship in homes. “Welcome to church” was the same as “welcome to our family.” But in our day hospitality is something you pay for; those who own hotels are said to be in the “hospitality business” (I owe this insight to Jan Peterson). We’ve limited hospitality to welcoming visitors to our worship services with a smile and a handshake—anything more you have to pay for. Finally, our sense of entitlement steals away any chance for us to be foolishly generous. We are entitled to the money we earn. So, only those who are entitled to our help receive it. How soon we forget that most jobs require able-bodied persons, there are no guarantees to good health, and no one owns their daily bread—all are gifts from a very generous God—something we call “grace.” Indeed, if the power to work is a gift from God, how much more the fruit of our labor?

2010-07-12T12:42:00.001-06:00

Focus on which family?

Everyone knows you shouldn’t take marital advice from a single man. But it is an undeniable fact that both the founder of our faith and the apostle to the Gentiles were single men. And, to make matters worse, Jesus had some pretty harsh things to say about family relations (Lu. 9:57-62; 12:51-53; 14:26). In a radical departure from the norms of his day (where family identity meant everything), Jesus redefined his earthly family in light of his kingdom mission: “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (8:21). His behavior proved he meant it; he treated his disciples more like brothers than his own family. Paul certainly believed the same. He acted like his converts were his family; he was especially fond of using familial terms to describe their relationship (“Though you might have ten thousand guardians in Christ, you do not have many fathers. Indeed, in Christ Jesus I became your father through the gospel. I appeal to you, then, be imitators of me,” 1 Cor. 4:15-16). So, when Paul gave advice to his converts about marriage, he thought he was acting like their family father, arranging marriages (or discouraging them) for their own good—being completely devoted to Christ. Marriage that compromised such devotion would be nothing but trouble, “and I would spare you that” (7:28). One more reason why he sent his “son” Timothy to remind his Corinthian children of “his ways” in Christ, “as I teach them everywhere in every church” (4:17).

But what would Paul say to us, two thousand years later? Would he give us the same advice? Some might say, “absolutely, because the American family has become an idol in the church,” and in certain respects, I can see why. We know families have been in crisis for quite some time: Christian marriages end in divorce about the same rate as the national average. One can draw the startling inference that our faith makes no difference when it comes to husbands and wives living together (or could it be Paul was right? Perhaps these Christian couples should have remained single). This led some, especially in the evangelical world, to “focus on the family,” to save the institution from adversarial forces, making it our number one priority. Parachurch ministries were launched, political alliances were formed, enemies were targeted, problems were addressed, and resources were gathered to preserve family values. Marquis issues (abortion, euthanasia, ERA, teenage pregnancy, public versus private education, school curricula, gay marriage) came and went in order to rally the troops during the battle to protect the family. Other countermeasures were installed to make sure the church was doing everything it could to make Christian marriages strong: pre-marital counseling, pre-school programs, parenting classes, marriage seminars, men’s ministries, women’s ministries. The implication was unmistakable: the American family was under assault and we should do whatever it takes to save this sacred institution. But, in our attempts to make Christian families ideal, we forgot our most important obligation: devotion to Christ (not the family) is what makes a man or a woman a Christian.

2010-06-30T13:38:00.003-06:00

Artists make me think about the Holy Spirit

More and more I've come to love artists--not just for their craft, but for their heart. Whether visual or literary, musical or pictorial, artists help me see the work of God in ways I could never get from academia. To be sure, most people already know this; I admit that I'm a slow learner.

There can be no creativity without God--the Master Creator. The evil one has created nothing. He will never create anything (and I think that drives him mad). But we, made in God's image, create. What a generous God we worship.

Why would He share such power with us? Why would the Holy Spirit inspire such beauty? Why did Jesus prefer fiction? Because He is God. He can't help it. He is beauty. He is creativity. He is the story. Creation reveals the glory of God. We are the creative work of God so that we can do the creative work of God. Receiving and giving. Being and becoming. Art and artist.

I am overwhelmed by the sheer joy of art because God is.

2010-06-08T10:41:00.002-06:00

The Sermon in the Valley (aka the Sermon on the Mount upside down)

Last Sunday I broke from conventional wisdom and preached an "anti-sermon." I took Jeff Foxworthy's bit ("you may be a redneck if . . .") and used it to recover the provocation of Jesus' famous Sermon in Matthew 5-7. (BTW, have you noticed Foxworthy's audience is composed primarily of rednecks laughing at each other?). What most people miss (especially at the end) is that the entire sermon was directed against the scribes and the Pharisees. So, I went through the sermon--hitting the highlights (an impossible task!)--and tried to turn Jesus' teaching upside down, rendering the following monologue (a few examples):

You might be a Pharisee if you believe people get what they deserve.

You might be a Pharisee if you believe the world would be a better place if everyone kept the ten commandments (or especially if you believe it's your job to enforce the decalogue).

You might be a Pharisee if you believe God hates your political enemies as much as you do.

You might be a Pharisee if you're convinced people love to hear you pray.

You might be a Pharisee if you ask God, "why me?" when bad things happen to you.

You might be a Pharisee if you believe you're on the "straight on narrow."

Before I ended the sermon by following Jesus' lead (there are two paths, two choices: either you enter the broad way that many righteous people find [Pharisaism] or the narrow path which is the Jesus way [mercy!]), I asked the congregation to add to the list. Here are a few zingers they offered:

You might be a Pharisee if you think God cares what you think.

You might be a Pharisee if you believe your denomination is theologically correct.

The anti-sermon seemed to inspire the congregation more than I anticipated. It's the most fun I've had preaching a sermon in a long time. And, I didn't like it at all--left me very conflicted.

Jesus' Sermon on the Mount was more provocative than I expected.

2010-05-12T14:32:00.001-06:00

Church as Family (another excerpt)

Paul never talked about his immediate family in his letters. As far as we can tell, he never mentioned his parents, or his brothers or sisters if he had them; he never referred to his grandparents, aunts, uncles, nephews, or nieces. That is startling to me. That’s because, like all of us, I can’t help but talk about my family. They come up in daily conversation all the time. Much to their chagrin, they even pop up in my sermons and writing (most of the time, I get their prior approval; but sometimes I’m inspired, in the moment, I can’t help it). On the other hand, I rarely talk about our church. And predictably, when I do, it normally has something to do with what’s happening on Sundays—the worship service, different programs, Sunday school classes, musical events. I never think about what my church is doing on Monday, or Tuesday, or any other day of the week (unless there is a special activity). In other words, I see the world through the eyes of my family—“wonder how the day is going for Sheri”—and church is ancillary to my life, something that supports my life, my family. And, many churches gladly assume this assigned role; they even market themselves as “family friendly.”

Paul would have us view things the other way around. To him church is family, a people that consumes our daily thoughts and conversations. What if we saw the world like he did? What if we acted as if church were family? What if talked about members as if they were our brothers and sisters? What if the welfare of the church were the most important concern in our lives—more than our work, more than our friends, more than our spouses or children or parents? In other words, what if we were to imitate Paul? What would that look like today? Some of us might be tempted to dismiss the idea as “cultic.” But, then again, if church is supposed to be more than a time and a place, then what are we supposed to do? If church is our family, how should that affect our every-day lives? If Paul, the apostle to Gentiles, is our father in the faith, then how should we behave as his children?

2010-04-19T07:51:00.001-06:00

Baptism as burial (excerpts from my work on Paul's Spirituality)

For some reason, Paul thought baptism was a way of participating in the burial of Christ (Ro. 6:4; Col. 2:12). That idea is found nowhere else in the New Testament. Of course, almost all of the other writers mention baptism—Luke, Peter, John, Matthew, even the author of Hebrews. And, in most places baptism is referenced as a given, as if readers didn’t need a description of the practice or its significance. Indeed, we are left to infer the logistics (who? where? what? when? how?) and theology (why?) of the ritual. And, when it comes to Paul, things get more complicated. That’s because Paul used baptism—with all of its vagaries and mystifying qualities—in order to make a point about something else. In fact, in every case but one (Ro. 6:1-4), Paul referred to baptism when he was trying to get his converts to learn how to get along with each other (Gal 3:28; 1 Cor. 1:13-17; 12:13; 15:29; Col. 2:12; Eph. 4:5). In other words, Paul never tried to put on paper his theology of baptism; he never felt obliged to explain it. And yet, baptism was a very important touchstone for Paul—especially when he wanted to remind his converts of what they had already committed themselves to from the beginning.

If a man like Paul died in the big city he had to rely upon friends to make sure he received an honorable burial (cf. Matt. 27:57-60). That’s because most merchants and craftsmen who worked in the city left their hometowns in order to ply their trade (notice how often we hear of Paul’s associates in one city, then the next, e.g., Prisca and Aquila lived and worked in Ephesus, Corinth, and Rome). In fact, in most cities there were burial clubs, a volunteer society of poor working class members who promised to bury their dead friends with honors, even holding memorial services on the birthday of the deceased. Sometimes they would gather at the tomb of their dead friend to share a drink or even a memorial meal. To the Corinthians, Galatians, Colossians and Romans, the church probably sounded like another burial society, what with all of its talk about members being buried with Christ and sharing table in memorial. In fact, within a century early Christians began the practice of being buried together in shared tombs—having “died in Christ” they were therefore “buried with Christ.” Or, it could also be that to some of Paul’s contemporaries, baptism may have resembled certain pagan rituals that were performed in order to insure safe passage in the afterlife for the deceased. Some scholars suggest such influences from their religious past may explain the bizarre Corinthian practice of baptizing for the dead (1 Cor. 15:29). In that case, Paul’s converts had simply misunderstood the significance of the ritual, i.e., even though baptism was a rite of passage from death to life, Paul was talking about a different kind of death and life at a different time. Indeed, according to Paul, buried with Christ through baptism pictured both the death and new life of the convert in Christ before the grave. Some of the Corinthians thought they could help their friends after the grave by being baptized for them (like the Mormons do). But, when it came to his Corinthian converts, what concerned Paul more than the misapplied ritual was their confusion over what they died to and who they were to live for when they were buried with Christ.

Paul often used the rite of baptism to explain how the rights of an individual are sacrificed for the welfare of the church. We often speak of Christ’s death and resurrection as a theological starting place for understanding our spirituality. Indeed, most books on Paul’s spirituality skip over the significance of being buried with Christ. That’s because we tend to emphasize our personal experience as the locus of spiritual formation. So, individual preferences end up governing spiritual development. I determine what is vital and what is harmful; my experiences govern what is useful and what is irrelevant. In such an individualistic pursuit, church becomes a place (not a people!) where my spiritual palate is satisfied, where I get what I think I need to grow spiritually. Thus, my experience of the Spirit is determined by my choices, my desires, my expectations, my efforts. I really don’t need anyone else (especially if they try to tell me what to do—as if I don’t know what’s best for me). If a church doesn’t give me what I think I need, I’ll find another that will. But Paul would have us consider the implications of Christ’s burial through baptism as the initiatory experience of the Spirit-led life—something that must be developed within the community of faith. We received the Spirit from others, so we can’t walk in the Spirit alone. Indeed, Paul was convinced that none of us can be Christians by ourselves.

2010-03-22T14:09:00.002-06:00

Movies as Scripture

As some of you know, I've taught a course the last few years called, "The Bible and American Culture." We spend time reading cultural "texts" (movies, plays, songs, novels) to see how scripture functions as both a protagonist (informing culture) and antagonist (how cultural texts interpret scripture). Recently, my wife and I led a marriage retreat for our church where I tried to apply an abbreviated form of this "hermeneutic" to analyze different relationships in television and the movies: marriage, family (including in-laws!), and friendships. This was not your usual marriage retreat--what with all the "fill-in-the-blank" workbooks and nice, easy lessons to learn. Instead, we had open-ended discussions about how cultural texts operate with embedded scripts, teaching us how we're supposed to relate to each other.

One of the most common scripts that we talked about was the "domestication of the male/girl power" text that seems to run through nearly every sitcom and romantic comedy film. The "strong, leading man" model that dominated films a generation ago has been replaced by the "I'm-a-man-but-I-can't-figure-out-my-life-without-a-woman" hero that is ubiquitous. Of course, the presumption is that a "real" man wouldn't choose to marry a woman simply because he wanted to. He must be schmoozed, coaxed, lured by the irresistible wiles of womanhood. What I found fascinating in our discussions was how many women were vociferous in their opposition to the new hollywood stereotype. It wasn't the men in the crowd who rose up and said, "what a bunch of hooey." (And, what does that reveal?) Instead, it was the women who piped up and said, "No thanks!" As a matter of fact, one distraught mother said, "I hope my daughters can learn to respect men in spite of what they see on film or on tv."

It makes one wonder: what is a respectable man?

2010-03-02T07:58:00.002-06:00

Modern Religion

My wife tivoed the closing ceremony of the Vancouver Games, wanting me to see the comedic routine accompanying the presentation of the Olympic torch (it was funny). But, what caught my attention was the ritual celebration that officially closes the winter games for 2010. I said offhandedly, "A visitor from the first-century Mediterranean world would see this and ask, 'What god are you worshiping?'"

Indeed, the celebration had all the necessary parts: the fiery altar in the center, the priests serving, the celebrants parading, songs lifted in praise to the Spirit of the Olympics, the stadium filled with joyous revelers. Talk of sacrifice and the offering of much money would convince any first-century visitor that this god was worthy of veneration.

What's fascinating to me is how many of us would never describe these athletic games in religious terms. In fact, it would be downright offensive to most of us to suggest that all of this was nothing more than a modern form of idolatry. Perhaps it would take a visitor from the first-century to point out the obvious.

2010-02-12T08:39:00.001-06:00

The Problem with Law (more from my work on Paul's Spirituality)

“There is a path to freedom. Its milestones are: obedience, honesty, cleanliness, sobriety, hard work, discipline, sacrifice, truthfulness, love of your homeland.” Words to live by. Some might even say, words to die by. The first time I read them, I was struck by the strength of these words, the soundness of these words, the rightness of these words. “Many people might find their life’s purpose in this creed,” I muttered to myself. “You could build a nation on these ideals then teach citizens to defend them at all costs.” Then I thought of how many people died under the banner of these words.

In fact, that’s exactly what happened to thousands of people—they died with these words hanging over their heads. That’s because this saying was painted on the roof of the long, narrow maintenance building at the Nazi concentration camp at Dachau. Every sighted prisoner saw it as they entered the building—the beginning of horrors of what we call the holocaust. The maintenance building housed the Schubraum (literally, “shoving room”), where new prisoners were stripped of their clothes and dignity, where humans were treated like animals prepared for torture and slaughter. The victims were Jews, German priests, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and homosexuals. The Nazis rounded up these “misfits” and imprisoned them in their concentration camps all over Germany in order to clean up the neighborhood and reorient these prisoners to the “proper” way of life. What happened behind those prison walls is well-known. The atrocities suffered by Jews, priests, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and homosexuals at the hands of their tormentors were hell on earth. What I couldn’t understand, as I stood there one summer day in front of the maintenance building at this notorious concentration camp, was how the men who did such horrible things could believe they were living up to this creed. Why not be honest, tell the truth? The sign should have read: “Obey or not: we will kill you anyway.” Instead, these murderers acted like they were doing something noble, something virtuous, something lawful—the sign proved it. How could words that sound so right lead men to do so wrong?

It must have seemed like a cruel joke to the prisoners inside. The ultimate “bait-and-switch.” The big lie. “Work hard and you will find freedom.” Instead, what these prisoners were forced to do was not “work,” and the end for most of them was not “freedom.” Even the entrance to the camp—a gate through which every prisoner passed—had iron bars bent to shape the words, “Arbeit macht frei” (“Work makes freedom”). Such words may have made sense when they entered the prison. Yet, viewed from inside the concentration camp, the words must have appeared completely backwards—figuratively and literally. No matter how hard the prisoners tried, regardless of how much they obeyed their taskmasters, all they got was more slavery, more abuse, more death. Inside the prison, “work makes freedom” makes no sense at all, no matter how many times you read the sign.

How do we explain the atrocities that took place behind these prison walls? The starvation, the torture, the sadistic experiments, the barbaric treatment. How could one human being treat another with such hatred, such heartless cruelty, such hellish intention? Evil. We blame evil. We blame sinister forces. We blame the devil. But, Paul wouldn’t. Paul didn’t blame the horrendous evil of sinful man on Satan—especially when he considered his own horrible past. A onetime persecutor, Paul never said, “The devil made me do it.” He never shifted the blame of his sinful behavior to the evil one. Rather, when dealing with the unrelenting power of sin, Paul blamed two agents. First of all, sin resides in the flesh—the baser appetites of humanity. For Paul the root of the problem of human sin is the flesh. And yet, as pervasive as Paul’s talk is about the flesh, he will not attribute the cause of all sin to human selfishness. The flesh has a partner in crime, a co-conspirator. As a divine agent of such great potential, many have been fooled by its universal appeal. It is a power that was supposed to make things better but actually made things worse. Rather than curb sin, it increases it. Instead of taming the flesh, it provokes it. Paul saw the law as the main instigator, a manipulated tool, the provocateur of human sin. In fact, Paul goes so far as to suggest that “apart from the law sin lies dead” (Rom. 7:8). That which was supposed to be the solution turned out to be the problem.

2009-12-17T08:57:00.001-06:00

The Dark Side of Christmas

This is a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.” We’ve heard Luke’s story so often, we don’t see how sad it is. In fact, it’s the sad parts of the Christmas story that we try to hide, shielding our eyes from the unpleasant realities of Jesus’ birth. Instead, Christmas cards render idyllic portraits that are far removed from the biblical story: landscape scenes of cabins covered with snow, horse-drawn sleighs, animals frolicking in the snow—not only reindeer, but also chipmunks, raccoons, cardinals, and cute gray mice. Even when we consider the biblical narrative, we prefer to see the birth of Jesus as a quaint, country story about sheep and shepherds, peace and goodwill, angelic hosts and a guiding star. Actually, Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth is a very dark story. A Palestinian census meant Roman taxes. Caesar’s pax Romana cost money, and poor imperial subjects were going to foot the bill whether they liked it or not. The fact that Joseph couldn’t find shelter for Mary in his hometown reveals that no family would take him in due to the shameful circumstances of their predicament. What Luke doesn’t tell us is what he assumed we would already know: Joseph was shunned by his family when he came home with a pregnant fiancé. Neither a guestroom nor a public house was made available to the dishonorable couple. Probably born in a cave, Jesus would be cradled by a feeding trough. In Luke’s version there are no magi, no gifts of gold, frankencise, or myrrh. No midwife. No family celebration. All alone, in the middle of the night, Joseph and Mary welcomed a baby boy into the world. This is a dark story, indeed.

Piercing the darkness of Bethlehem was the angelic announcement of Messiah’s birth. Humble circumstances give way to dramatic events that break through the narrative with divine force. Luke employs powerful poetry to deliver a theme that will dominate his gospel: heaven crashes into earth and only the lowly see. The angel seemed to bring good news tailored for dirty shepherd boys. “For today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this is your sign: you will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth, lying in a feeding trough.” All newborns were wrapped in strips of cloth, mummified to keep them warm. There was nothing significant about that. The special sign for shepherds was that they would find their Messiah in a feeding trough. There is something very appealing about shepherds gathered around a manger to see the Messiah that was born for them, as if they were tending the Lamb of God.

“Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.” Jesus probably grew up hearing stories about his birthday. Traveling for a census, angels visiting shepherds, and good news found in a manger—bending toward nostalgia, the blending of common details and extraordinary events made the story of Jesus’ birth evermore endearing to poor people who counted on the mercy of God. Listening to his family relive the circumstances of his birth, Jesus knew what he was born for. Redeemed by poor parents with a turtledove instead of a lamb, Jesus was destined to be good news for those who have nothing. He knew he was heaven’s gift of the poor to the poor. The lowly are exalted, the humble honored because the Messiah was born in David’s hometown to poor pilgrims from Nazareth. It makes perfect sense: as David’s heir, Israel’s king should be visited by shepherd boys. “He was one of us,” the shepherds could say. He was born for them. That’s why their story wouldn’t be told with descriptions of royal palaces and rich furnishings. Instead, Jesus came into the world under conditions that only a shepherd could appreciate. Indeed, we all know that good tidings of great joy comes to all people because the gospel came first to boys who tended sheep and found their Messiah in a feeding trough.

He became one of us.

2009-11-10T12:20:00.001-06:00

Idolatry (more from my work on Paul's Spirituality)

The gifts of God are like prickly pears: if you don’t handle them with care, you’ll get hurt. That’s the way it is with all things sacred. In fact, the Scriptures are constantly filled with warnings about taking the sacred for granted, purposing the divine for common utility. Abuse godly power and you do little more than set yourself up for abuse. The people of Paul’s day knew this better than we do. They set up “taboos” to make sure divine gifts were employed with humility rather than arrogance. Sharing power with the Almighty was an ominous thing. With the greatest good comes the greatest risk. And, of all the gifts God shared with humanity, “creator” was one of the riskiest. The power and the glory of sex are rife with godly potential and devastating effect. God seemed to pour much glory into humans acting like creators. Psychologists know this; they try to help patients with the emotional baggage carried due to bad relationships. Preachers know this; they sound the sirens of moral decay in our society as evidenced by domestic abuse in their congregations. Poets know this; they persist in writing about unrequited love between men and women—a seemingly vain pursuit that nearly always ends badly. Even people who don’t believe in God know this. We all know this. Much seems to be at stake when man and woman copulate. From the time we were old enough to laugh at dirty ditties scribbled on bathroom walls, we’ve known that sex carries a powerful punch. It’s no wonder the west is obsessed with sex; even our best minds can’t sort out what it means. To me, this makes Paul’s warnings even more poignant. “For even though they knew God, they did not give glory to Him as God, or give thanks; but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened” (1:21). It’s that one line that keeps turning over in my head as I think about how we abuse the gift of our made-in-the-image-of-God sexuality: “their foolish heart was darkened.”

Without God, sex becomes a cipher—an empty and selfish pursuit. Degrading passions harden depraved minds. Rather than generate life that glorifies God, self-fulfillment inexorably leads to degenerate (as in, “the opposite of generating life”) behavior. When sex is an idol, all we want to do is please ourselves. Indeed, the way Paul sees it, this unquenchable thirst for sexual fulfillment without God is a result of God “handing them over to the desires of their darkened heart.” The imagery is graphic. “Handing them over” was a term often used to describe imprisonment. In fact, Paul talks about sexual vices as if these fleshly impulses were a prison, with God “handing them” over to the jailer. Imprisoned by their own cravings, they are chained to their baser appetites—a foolish, wasteful life. Finding sexual pleasure is their supreme quest. Sex becomes their raison d’etre, their only purpose, the only thing they think about. Sex becomes their god.

Is there any doubt that sex is an American idol? Sexual attraction and sexual fulfillment are the twin themes of our culture, embedded in nearly everything we see and hear. It seems we bow in submission to Aphrodite every time we turn on the television or read an advertisement or listen to music. Shielding our eyes and plugging our ears doesn’t seem to be a reasonable option (the Amish might say different; withdrawing from society has some advantages—but even Amish communities have to deal with fleshly desires). So, what’s a Christian to do? How do we deny ourselves in the land of plenty? It’s no wonder a few years ago, during an open forum on our campus (we were discussing the impact of American culture on Christian spirituality), a student said bluntly: “Pornography is main stream. Saying, ‘I won’t look at it’ is naïve. Today, it’s not a matter of ‘if.’ It’s a matter of ‘how often.’” The silence in the room spoke volumes. None of the three-hundred plus students in attendance felt obliged to offer a rebuttal. Consuming pornography was taken as a fait accompli. Sex is everywhere.

The Corinthians could have said the same thing, “it’s not a matter of ‘if’ but ‘how often.’” Roman bath houses were filled with murals of hetero- and homo-erotic scenes. One couldn’t take a bath without taking in all the pornographic imagery. Sex trafficking was heavy in this Roman town, too. Depending upon a man’s income or status, sex was readily available—and socially acceptable—via brothels, sex slaves, courtiers at public banquets, or priests and priestess serving in the temples of fertility gods and goddesses. Sex was everywhere. So, what was a Corinthian Christ-follower to do? Paul’s response was simply, “Flee fornication!” Advice that must have sounded a bit naïve to the Corinthians.

2009-10-02T09:43:00.005-06:00

No Applause, please! (or why I don't clap my hands anymore)

I rarely watch television anymore (except baseball!). In other words, I only keep up with pop culture crises via my wife's reports (she only has a little time in the morning to watch news shows). Evidently, in the long line of public figures confessing their indiscretions, David Lettermen used his show to admit his sins and call out his extortioner. Now, there's so much to talk about here (public confession, the problem of greed in all of its forms [sexual, monetary, power, et al.], American contrition, etc.), but I want to center on the crowds reaction to Letterman's mea culpa. They laughed. They cheered him on. They applauded. As a matter of fact, when I saw part of the replay (my wife fetched me from another part of the house with the words, "you've got to see this"), I found the dissonance overwhelming: here's a man confessing he had sex with his co-workers and the audience applauded!

I hate confirming Pavlov's experiment--when humanity acts nothing more than like dogs who salivate given a certain cue. We clap our hands for anything these days. It's mindless. It's knee-jerk (pardon the mixed metaphor). It's foolish. It's the herd instinct in full force.

This is why I don't clap my hands during worship. I remember a time, growing up in a very strict SBC church, where clapping hands seemed rebellious, pentecostal, downright disruptive. Now, it's so common, we'll clap for anything. Someone sang a song (clap). Someone told a joke (clap). Someone did something nice (clap, clap).

Maybe I'm turning into the grumpy old man I remember seeing in church who snarled when his neighbors clapped their hands during church 40 years ago. No, wait. I don't snarl. I just don't see the point. I don't clap during baseball games, either.

2009-09-23T14:20:00.003-06:00

American Calvinism

I've recently discovered a blog that I find myself wanting to read everyday. Some blogs I check every now and then. Only a few have become daily habits. This one, http://blog.beliefnet.com/jesuscreed/, is led by the NT scholar Scot McKnight, a man I haven't met but whose work I have admired for some time. What makes the Jesus Creed blog so attractive to me isn't just the posts that McKnight makes now and then on a variety of subjects (he obviously is a very well-read man), but he has guest posters just about every day who offer their struggles with our Christian faith within the context of their expertise. One such poster goes by the initials RJS. And, I have found his/her insights (a scientific mind and a strong heart for our faith) to be very helpful and provocative.

A recent post discussing the biological determinism often associated with human behavior and the question of our culpability with regard to sin broke some new ground for me, especially in reference to our proclivity within American culture to assign all things to an inevitable future (even though we supposedly prize human free will). In the post, RJS asks something to the effect: to what extent are our brains wired for certain sins and what does that say about God's judgment? And, to what extent can science help us take more responsibility for overcoming our sins?

The comments by readers (many of them it seems from the scientific community) seemed to engage the debate regarding the common tautology: which came first, genetic wiring or imprinting by experience? Then, different answers were given for how to overcome this or that behavior. As I read their comments, all I could think about was: what about the Holy Spirit? For most of the posters, sin is nothing more than deviant human behavior. I kept hearing Paul shouting: sin is also a power outside of human will.

I think that is a scary idea to most Americans, for how do we oppose a power greater than human will power?

2009-08-24T14:09:00.002-06:00

Cross Reflections

For Paul, the cross summed up everything that is wrong and right with the world--all at the same time. Injustice and justification, abuse and healing, brokenness and restoration, curse and blessing.

This has led me to think through the cross as a paradigm for dealing with abuse, especially keying on Jesus' words. I haven't experienced horrible abuse; I've known several wounded souls who have. And, even though I can't say, "I know how you feel" maybe Jesus does. Could his experience become the crucible of healing--a paradigm of restoration--for those who suffer such atrocities?

First, one cries out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Abuse feels like abandonment. Then, one decides that he/she will no longer be defined by the abuse, "Father, forgive them; they don't know what they are doing." Absolution is a divine work. Ultimately, the suffering commits themselves afresh to God's care, "Into Thy hands, I commit my spirit." For destiny belongs to the One who creates something out of nothing and turns evil on its ugly head.

Could this be the way of solace for those who need peace? The cross of Jesus Christ.

2009-07-08T09:24:00.002-06:00

Pity for Michael Jackson

For quite some time I have felt sorry for the pop idol. No human could be worshiped as a god and have a healthy view of things. He seems to have been a troubled man. It is rather obvious he was not comfortable in his own skin, literally. Controversy was his constant companion--some of it orchestrated ("I am Peter Pan"), most of it I'm sure he didn't want (accusations of misconduct, financial problems). It must have bothered him: how can I be worshiped around the world and yet despised by so many?

We were in Germany with our daughter when the news of Jackson's death dominated the airwaves. After hearing countless testimonials from the typical "man on the street" interviews from around the world, I commented to my wife: "Substitute the name 'Jesus' for Jackson's name and see how familiar it sounds."

"Michael Jackson is my life." "He brought meaning and purpose to my life." "He has given me courage to face the day." "I don't know what I would do without him."

And, these people don't even know the man.

We humans have an amazing capacity to worship someone. Sadly, when we worship someone rather than the One who deserves our worship--the One who can handle it--we destroy ourselves as well as the idol of our affection. I hear echoes of Paul: God gives them over to the foolishness of their own destruction.

I'll say it again: how can anyone have a healthy view of themselves or the world when they are worshiped as a god?

Only God can, which confirms to me what I have known for quite some time: it is good for me to worship the One who is worthy of praise.

2009-06-09T08:18:00.001-06:00

Loss by Cross

The cross made Paul reconsider his Jewish identity—everything that used to define who he was became “garbage.”

Circumcised the eighth day, of the nation of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the Law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness which is in the Law, found blameless. But whatever things were gain to me, those things I have counted as loss for the sake of Christ . . . , and count them but rubbish [skubala] in order that I may gain Christ (Phil. 3:5-8).

Actually, the word Paul used was more indelicate than “rubbish” or “garbage.” After Damascus, Paul considered his old identity, his old ways as “dung.” (By the way, college students revel in the idea that St. Paul used crass words like “crap.” Inspired by the apostle, the biblical term has worked its way into their vocabulary—talking about someone’s silly claim, they’ll say, “that’s skubala.” Ah, the benefits of education.) To be sure, these losses were painful. They were damaging. Paul was no polyanna. Nevertheless he was convinced it was worth throwing them away like trash. Why? Losing his identity in the old age was part and parcel of gaining Christ in the new. A Jewish kind of righteousness had been replaced by a righteousness that “comes from God,” i.e., a righteousness found in Christ. So, Paul traded his reputable life in Judaism in order to be “found in Him” (Phil. 3:9)—not only in his resurrection glory but especially in the loss wrought by his cross. For him, sharing in the sufferings of Christ’s cross revealed his true identity. Indeed, those opposed to this way of life were actually enemies of the cross (v. 18). They missed the point of what it means to imitate Christ: loss by cross is gain.

This is where we need to be very clear on what Paul was not saying. Paul didn’t see “losing to gain” as an investment strategy. “I’ll sacrifice this so I can get more of the same” (the mantra of the prosperity gospel). He did not give in order to get. He did not set aside Jewish privileges in order to win Christian privileges. Nor did Paul reckon the benefits of the crucified life as divine payback for giving up what mattered most to him. His experience of Christ didn’t work that way: “I’ll give this up for Christ so that I can gain more of what I desire.” No. As a matter of fact, for Paul just the opposite happened: from the Christophany to his imprisonment, Paul found that gaining Christ led to losing his life. The more he was conformed to the image of Christ, the more he recognized his loss as gain. Paul wasn’t losing to gain more. He saw his loss as gain. And, the only way he could see it that way was because of the cross of Christ. The cross turned losing into gain, shame into honor, death into life. The crucified life turned the world upside down, which made perfect sense to Paul. If death is the worst thing that can happen, and yet it’s the best thing that can happen for a Christ-believer, then no tragedy can overwhelm the good, no death can spoil life, no loss can erase what is gained—especially since loss is gain. The more he lost his life, the more Paul found it. Sacrifice does that to a man or woman. The more we sacrifice the more we realize what is important. Indeed, sacrifices reveal what matters most.

During our winter mini-term, I teach a course called, “The Bible and American Culture.” The class is designed to get students to see how the Bible functions as a protagonist and antagonist to American ideals revealed in cultural “texts,” e.g., films, plays, and music. It takes a while for my students to see how Bible stories have informed movie scripts, e.g., how “The Truman Show” is an American version of the Adam story in Genesis. The main character is the “true” man who discovers the truth of who he is when he rebels against the designs of his creator and leaves paradise (“Sea Haven,” Truman’s world, is a movie set, an anagram for “As Heaven”). What is even more difficult for them to see is their reflection in the Hollywood version of the biblical narrative, when the film functions like a mirror, revealing how American cultural texts have twisted gospel truth. The looks on their faces when they realized they’ve been duped by their culture—to prefer American convictions over biblical faith—is a pitiful site. Sometimes it’s hard to think like an American and still follow Jesus.

A student presented in class an analysis of his favorite film, “Braveheart.” He even came dressed for the part, looking just like William Wallace—painted face, wild hair, Scottish kilt, sword in hand. Wallace was his hero, a messianic figure bringing hope to the poor and oppressed of his homeland, just like Jesus. Illustrating his point, he played a clip from the film showing how Wallace sacrificed himself for the good of the people, inspiring followers to carry on with the mission of bringing freedom to the Scottish people. Then, the student ended with a passionate plea, raising his sword for dramatic effect: “So, like William Wallace, we Christians must raise the sword of the Spirit and carry on the battle of bringing freedom in Christ to all.” The air reeked of testosterone. The male students roared with delight; the ladies rolled their eyes.

Once the clamor died down, I asked the presenter, “What made you think Wallace’s death was a sacrifice?” The answer seemed obvious to him; the sequence of events leading to Wallace’s execution proved the point: he was betrayed by a close friend, beaten by the arresting officers, imprisoned by a wicked ruler; a woman offered Wallace a drink to ease the pain of his approaching death; strapped to a cross, the crowd mocked him as he was brought before his executioners; he was lifted up, suspended between heaven and earth with arms stretched out, screaming in great pain; his followers hid in the crowd, watching the spectacle in anonymity; a sword was thrust in his side; his last breath was a victorious cry. “Yes, his death portrayed in this film looks like a sacrifice,” I said. “But we all know it wasn’t. All who live by the sword, die by the sword, right? Wallace got what was coming to him. He was a murderer, and the law finally caught up with him. History does not give us the details of Wallace’s execution. So, why do you suppose Mel Gibson wanted Wallace’s death to look like the death of Christ?”

At this point, some of the presenter’s male compatriots rushed to his defense. Talk of “making the ultimate sacrifice,” and “dying for freedom while fighting your enemies,” and a “soldier’s noble sacrifice” filled the room. Then I said bluntly, “Wallace didn’t follow Jesus, did he? He didn’t respond to injustice like Jesus did.” Silence. “What if he did? How would the film be different if Wallace had followed the ways of Christ?” What happened next took everyone by surprise. A student said sarcastically, “Well, I suppose he would have visited all the villages, preaching peace and telling them to love their enemies. But we all know that doesn’t work.” An audible gasp could be heard from several students, followed by a pensive silence. The presenter’s face fell, his eyes looking down, as if he were inspecting the floor. He sheathed his sword, looked up at the class and said, “Why didn’t I see that before? I claim to be a disciple of Christ, and yet I would rather have a Messiah who kills his enemies than one who loves them.” The irony was delicious: there stood a young man dressed like William Wallace talking about loving his enemies.

Thinking like an American comes naturally to those of us who live in these United States. Thinking like a follower of Christ is far more challenging. In fact, American ideals often trump our Christian convictions, especially when it comes to living the crucified life. How are we supposed to love our enemies when we’ve been taught to kill them? How can I follow Christ, giving up my rights like he did, when I’ve been trained to protect my rights no matter what? Why does loyalty to America take precedent over loyalty to Christ, that pledging allegiance to a flag is nobler than swearing allegiance to a cross? To what extent is our American citizenship more important than our Christian identity? How many Christians act as if patriotism is just as important as the gospel—or even worse, an expression of the gospel? In several ways, the American way of life is at cross purposes with the crucified life; American politics cannot contain Christian faith. For example, politics makes enemies; Christians love enemies. Americans are taught to preserve national and personal interests at all costs. Paul taught his converts to prefer the interests of others. American consumerism is built on the idea that we should always want more. Paul was content with more or less. In light of these stark contrasts, one cannot help but wonder: if we were to live the crucified life like Paul—losing our identity in Christ—would our neighbors be compelled to accuse us of foolishness for forsaking the American way of life?

2009-04-30T14:52:00.003-06:00

The Glory-maker (overcoming the flesh, part deux)

Paul was convinced that God put His glory in everything He made, which was a very Jewish way of looking at creation. A good God created everything and declared it was good—everything in heaven, on earth, and under the earth. Evil does not exist by its own will. Evil cannot create anything. The only way evil can exist is to pervert what God has made. Paul’s pagan neighbors, on the other hand, didn’t see it that way. Some things exist because evil powers have created them. Good gods and evil gods were locked in eternal battle over dominion of the whole world. Evil gods created sinister beings for their purposes; good gods created flawed humans for their purposes. Therefore, Greeks and Romans believed this cosmic battle between the forces of evil and good would never end. So, what are we to do? What is our human fate? Some sought the virtuous life to overcome the destructive vices of the flesh. Others gave into the human condition: eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.

This put Paul in a difficult spot with his pagan converts. Who could be opposed to the virtuous life? Wisdom, honor, self-control, and fortitude were desirable qualities, especially when overcoming human depravity. But Paul believed there was a higher power. Who could deny the simplest of human pleasures? Eating and drinking were as much a part of the good life as any other noble pursuit. But Paul believed in a higher purpose. In fact, whenever Paul tried to expose the impotence of virtue (man can’t save himself!), he appeared to support the revelers. And, every time he tried to rein in the epicureans (all things are not profitable!), the moralists were vindicated. The problem, of course, was that Paul didn’t share the dualistic “worldview” of his converts. He believed that God made everything good, and that baser appetites can fulfill evil purposes. Of course, he got both ideas from the foundational story of Israel’s faith—creation and the fall of man (Gen. 1:1-3:24).

Creation reflects God’s glory. The art reveals the artist. Since humans are made in His image, they are able to reflect His glory in what is seen and heard. In other words, the way Paul and his Jewish kinsmen saw it, human capacity to see the glory of creation is a divine attribute—we are able to see God in what He has made because we are made in His image. God creates because He is creator. Creation is beautiful because God is beauty. Therefore, whatever He creates is embedded with His glory. Why did He do it? Because He is good, He couldn’t help but create what is good. Even God reflected on the glory of creation with the affirmation, “this is good.” After six days, God marked the seventh day for reflection—a time when all creation would reflect the glory of God by glorifying God. That is to say, God put His glory in everything so that we would seek to know the Glory-maker, worship the Creator of all things, glorify the God in whose image we are made.

This is why we are inspired by magnificent sunsets. This is why we are enchanted by the animal kingdom. This is why an overwhelming joy comes to first-time parents when they hold their newborn baby in their arms. This is why weddings are happy occasions. This is why the simple act of sharing table with friends makes time stand still. This is why food tastes good. God put His glory in everything He created, invented, planned, and shared. He thought that we, after taking in such glorious sites and sounds—waterfalls crashing, mountains imposing, birds migrating, puppy dogs playing, children laughing, lovers cuddling, friendships lasting—that we would want to know the One who made life so glorious. We were supposed to “taste and see that the LORD is good.” He did this. He made this. He shared this. This breath-taking, inspiration-making, mouth gaping open-celebrating of life we’ve been freely given by a very generous God—because of this grace—it was all supposed to compel us to give Him glory, recognizing the source of every good gift. He knew we would need to give Him glory because He is a glorious God.

This may sound crass, but that’s why God made sex feel so good. The joy of sex between a husband and wife should compel them to say, “thank God.” Indeed, God created us to reflect Him when we create so that we would find our purpose in glorifying God. Even though we know “where babies come from,” all of us know God is the One who gives life. I didn’t become a father because of sex. God, my heavenly father, made me a father. I knew that better than anyone the day Andrew, Emma, and Grace were born. Giddy with the pure joy of God-given life (in all three cases, I did some pretty strange things, like ordering a whopper late at night in the drive through at McDonalds. My stupid grin convinced the attendant I was playing a joke. All I said was, “I’m sorry. My daughter was born a few hours ago.” Then I giggled and drove off. I kept laughing even as I scarfed down the burger at midnight). Indeed, God made food taste good so that we would use the same tongues to give glory to a God who shared his power with us—to get dominion over the whole earth, planting gardens, drinking wine, sharing the bounty of what God has made. In celebrating life we are giving glory to God.

But, here’s where we’ve missed the whole point. Made just enough in His image—we are powerful creatures—we tend to believe all of this comes from us. We create children. We make our own food. We dominate the world. We seek our own glory. We think we’re god. The Bible calls this “idolatry,” and we’re eaten up with it.

2009-04-27T11:33:00.002-06:00

Here's another tidbit from my work on Paul--denying the flesh

Why did God make food taste good?

The theological significance of that question didn’t hit me until I was forty years old. Skinny all my life, I never thought I’d have to worry about what I ate. Thin mint chocolate shakes. Boston cream pie. Root beer floats. Double fudge chocolate cake. No food was verboten. Then, everything changed after four decades of decadence. It’s like someone flipped a switch in my metabolic rate and ruined everything. I used to think diet cokes were for losers—a waste of money (why pay for nothing? No sugar, no protein, nothing to savor). Now, it’s the only thing that comes close to satisfying my sweet tooth. But, I know better: sugar substitute brings only a vague recollection of what used to taste good. “Tastes like sugar,” blah, who are they kidding? The truth of the matter is, I can’t tell anymore. Sometimes I think the waitress has slipped me the “real thing.” “Would you taste this?” My son or daughter takes a sip, recoils in disgust, and says, “No, dad. It’s not regular coke. That’s diet for sure.” Then, they give me that “poor-old-man” look of sympathy and whisper to each other, “his tastes buds are shot.” “I can still hear, you know?” Then I grumble to myself about how good taste (among other things) is wasted on youthful indulgences.

The tongue is one of the few organs built for more than one purpose. Eyes see, ears hear. But a tongue does more than taste. It is used for communication, both verbal and nonverbal (what the Scriptures call “separating the lip,” Ps. 22:7). So, why would God design the tongue to serve more than one purpose? It almost looks like an afterthought. “Let’s see. Man will need to be able to communicate. A tongue! That should do it. Now, we know he’ll get hungry—his stomach should growl loud enough to take care of that. But, let’s make it more interesting. Why don’t we put some taste buds on his tongue? Then, he’ll get the message. His hunger can never be satisfied by food alone. He’ll want things to taste good, too.” Of course, I don’t pretend to know the mind of God when it comes to divine purposes (although, Gary Larson’s “The Far Side” has given me many possibilities to ponder). But, here’s the part I really don’t understand: it’s the bad stuff that especially tastes good. If God were going to make us desire food for more than survival, then why did He make fat and sugar and starches and chocolate taste so good? Or, turn the question the other way around. Since God wants what’s best for us, shouldn’t broccoli taste like ice cream and chicken taste like prime rib? I’ve never heard anyone munching on brussel sprouts try to talk and eat at the same time, “hmmmmmmm. ‘Dis goooood.” It sounds a little cruel, doesn’t it? “Okay. We’ve turned his tongue into a taste mongering machine. Now, for the icing on the cake: let’s make all the stuff that’s bad for him taste really good—undeniably, irresistibly good.”

A man I admired very much lived to be an octogenarian before he died. He loved to give his advice when someone asked him the secret to a long life. “A simple diet,” he would say. “If it tastes good, I spit it out.” And, he always said it with a smile. But, thinking about his advice doesn’t make me smile at all; such deprivation certainly doesn’t sound very appealing, does it? Besides, aren’t we supposed to “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps. 34:8)? For most believers, the problem of evil and suffering is a perplexing issue. To me, the problem of goodness is just as vexing. Why would God make the world so good, so desirable, and then expect us to deny ourselves of these things that bring such basic pleasure? Why would God engineer sex to feel so good and then tell us, “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t do it.” Why would He make us to feel so satisfied after we’ve stuffed ourselves with food? Why set us up as fleshly creatures, with all the urges and constant cravings, only to make us fall (come on, who obeys all the rules)? Denying fleshly appetites is hard. Constantly telling ourselves “no!” feels like abdication. Self-denial wears a downcast countenance. Giving in, on the other hand, feels so good. Enjoying baser appetites comes naturally. Looking forward to dessert seems eschatological. Smacking our lips always breeds a smile.

Trying to solve the problem of good has led many Christians to one extreme or the other. Some equate the flesh with evil. Fleshly desires seem good, but they’re not good for us. Therefore, denying the flesh is the way we overcome evil. Others draw lessons from the creation account in Genesis: all things were created by God, and He declared them “good.” Sex, food, and drink are natural desires created by God for our pleasure. Therefore, if it feels good, it must be divine. Interestingly enough, both camps call upon Paul in defense of their positions. Yielding to the desires of the flesh is in antithesis to walking in the Spirit (Gal. 5:16-17). And yet, did not Paul say as long as we partake with thankfulness, all things are lawful (1 Cor. 10:30-31)? The truth of the matter is, for Paul, the truth is somewhere in the middle.

2009-03-31T12:09:00.001-06:00

Paul, the cracked pot

Since I don't seem to have the time to post random thoughts on a regular basis, I thought I'd share excerpts of what I'm writing. Currently, I'm working on Paul's spirituality. Here's a tidbit.

The cracks in Paul’s body made the glory of Christ’s light more apparent. Like a clay pot, the lantern’s imperfections were revealed most clearly by the light of the flame.

"But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body" (2 Cor. 4:7-10).

Rather than hide his flaws or deny his weaknesses, Paul reveled in the power of Christ revealed in his “thorn in the flesh.” Of course, to the Corinthians it was sheer folly to boast about such things. Paul didn’t care. He saw the essence of the gospel in his wounds, the wisdom of God in such foolishness, the power of God in human weakness. And, where would he get an idiotic idea like that? Only one place: “Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” In what sounds like a confirmation of the cross, Paul heard God say, “My grace is sufficient for you” (2 Cor. 12:9). That’s why boasting in his weakness was the same as boasting in the cross. For Paul was convinced that weak believers reveal the strength of Christ’s cross better than anyone.

The problem today is we don’t think Paul was right about that. In fact, in most of our churches we believe just the opposite: only the best and brightest are put on stage to teach the rest of us how to overcome our weaknesses. The strong, the powerful, the successful, the articulate, the chosen are the credible witnesses of what is true, what is believable, what is persuasive, what is commendable. Need to know how to have a successful marriage? Here’s a couple who’s been married for fifty years. Want your church to grow? Come hear this dynamic pastor whose church is now meeting in a basketball arena. Having a hard time overcoming your addiction? Buy the book from the Christian counselor who’s written the latest best-seller. The message is undeniable: only the healthy, wealthy, and wise have anything to say. The sick, poor, and foolish should keep their mouths shut.

“Excuse me. I’ve recently been divorced. I’d like to share my experiences at your church.”

“Oh, you must be looking for the recovery group for divorcees . . . They meet on Tuesday evenings, upstairs in the recreation room.”

“I’ve battled alcohol addiction for nearly thirty years. Recently moved to the area. Been sober going on six months now and I’d like to share . . .”

“Good for you. I’m sure someone’s already told you that A.A. meets at the community center on Thursdays.”

“I’m a pastor. Just released from prison. I’d like to offer my services to churches looking for someone to preach . . .”

“Oh, that is good news. The county jail is looking for a chaplain.”

Recently, a Sunday School class was planning their annual marriage retreat, wondering which members should give their “testimony.” A couple’s name came up and someone said, “Wait. Should they be one of our speakers? They’ve both been divorced, you know. I don’t think we need to hear from someone who’s been divorced.” Of course, their names were passed over due to the veto power of the righteous. If the apostle Paul were there, I’m convinced he would have said: “On the contrary. Divorced people are the very ones you need to listen to.” In fact, I think they could give us great advice about marriage, but that’s not why I think we need to hear from them. I want to know how God’s grace sustained them through their painful ordeal. How he helped them, surprised them, overwhelmed them by His grace. But, we’re so focused on our own definitions of success, overemphasizing results, we miss the grace of God. Instead, those who fail at marriage are marginalized in our churches, sequestered from the body of Christ in their own “divorce recovery groups.” Rather than ignore them, we should embrace their brokenness as a way of celebrating the grace of God, learning how God’s power is perfected through weakness. Because, that’s where God’s presence is most clearly seen—when everyone else thinks we’ve failed.

I’ve been to churches where miracles are celebrated with great bravado. A man stands before the congregation and testifies of God’s healing. The test results confirm the miracle: where there was once a suspicious mass clearly seen on the MRI, now it is gone. The congregation breaks out in jubilation. They prayed for this man for weeks. The doctors can’t explain it. The faithful understand it. The man boasts of God’s miraculous healing hand. All declare with one voice, “God is good.” The musicians play faster, the people sing louder, the pastor preaches harder, the Church is triumphant. Later, at the end of the worship service, an announcement is made about funeral arrangements for the woman who died of cancer. A hush falls over the congregation. There is no boast, no celebration, no declaration of God’s miraculous work. A prayer is offered for those who grieve. The piano plays a somber postlude. The congregation files out of the auditorium in silence. Passing by, one of the parishioners says, “I wish we didn’t have to end on such a downer.”

Just once I’d like to hear someone boast of the miracle of God’s grace for the one who died. Just once. Her courage as she celebrated life in the middle of dying. Her strength as she continued to serve food at the shelter for the homeless. Her grace as she puzzled over why God didn’t answer our prayers for her healing. Her grief over the “bad” days outnumbering the good days. Her pain, her sorrow, her illness, her questions, her fears, her faith, her death. I wish we could learn to celebrate all of it—every bit of life—because the grace of God runs through it all. Don't we speak of Christ's death on the cross as the place of grace? Then, why don't we boast about the believer's death as a graceful place? Paul did. For he knew that we carry around in our body the dying of Jesus that the life of Christ may be revealed.

2008-10-30T13:45:00.003-06:00

Visions of Heaven

Recently, I've had several people ask me what I thought about life after death experiences. (I could attribute the interest to the recent visit to SBU of Mr. Don Piper, who wrote a best-selling book about his visiting the gates of heaven when he was dead--and obviously returned to life to tell us about it. But, others have asked me the same question who don't attend SBU. So, this must be a hot topic.) Some of my students have asked, "Mr. Piper said he died and went to heaven. What do you think?"

It depends on our definition of death. Of course, we seem to rely upon biology to define death. But, even physicians cannot tell us the precise moment someone dies. Is it a flat EKG? No, hearts can stop and start again. Is it a flat EEG? No, bodies can be kept alive by machines for quite some time. When does a man die?

If we define death theologically, a person hasn't died unless he returns with a resurrected body. To be sure, there are several stories of resuscitation in the Bible. But, when Jairus' daughter, or the widow's Son, or even Lazarus was "raised from the dead," they simply returned to life in their mortal bodies. In other words, they weren't dead. When a man sees God, he's dead. No one sees God and lives to tell about it. Only one man died and came back to life. His was no resuscitation. Jesus came from the dead with a resurrected body. That's the proof that someone died according to the New Testament.

So, what do we make of experiences told by Mr. Piper? Some, I think, make the wrong assumption and discount his experience, "Well, since he didn't die according to what the Bible says, his experience wasn't legitimate. It can probably be explained biologically: something somatic that made him think he died." So, once again, we leave it to biology to define our theology.

I think he had a real experience. But, he didn't go to heaven. He didn't see heaven as it is. He had a vision of heaven, similar perhaps to what Paul described in 2 Cor. 12 or what John saw in his Revelation of Christ. Paul couldn't tell whether he had an "out of body" experience or not. John saw things and kept using the expression, "it was like this or that." Similes are comparative language. John did not see heaven as it really is. He saw what heaven was like. The same, I believe, could be said of Mr. Piper. He had a vision of heaven. He did not see it as it is. That doesn't make his experience illegitimate. Something happened to him. The question is: how do we interpret his experience? I think the Bible already has.

2008-09-23T07:12:00.003-06:00

Time for Meditation

I've been thinking about the story of the Transfiguration lately--due primarily to Sufjan Steven's song "Transfiguration" from his "Seven Swans" record. There's one part of the story that has always intrigued me (come to think of it, the whole story is intriguing--very mysterious). Anyway, it's the part where Jesus tells the three who saw the whole thing that they should keep it to themselves for a while (Matthew and Mark's version). Of course, scholars have rightly concluded that the Transfiguration was a preview of Easter. So, the instruction to keep things under wraps until later makes perfect sense: the three wouldn't have the framework to explain what happened on the Mount until the resurrection. As a matter of fact, Luke has Jesus saying to them after the event, "Let these words sink deep into your ears . . . ," and then he goes on to forecast his passion and resurrection. The combination of "don't tell anyone" and "let these words sink deep into your ears" has profound implications, I think, for those who follow him today in a world of full disclosure ("talk shows" use to be pretty rare; now they're everywhere).

Sometimes I think we're quick to relate an "experience with the Lord." We talk of "the Lord said to me" or "God told me," trying to give words to a mystery too deep for conversation. And, before we know it, our words clutter the event of our interior life to the point where we can't make sense of the mystery anymore. We spoke presumptuously, too soon, as it were, and the voice in the cloud is lost in the sound of our own words.

A few times in my life, I've kept the secret to myself, reticent to speak of what I thought I saw and heard. Then, with time, the mystery comes into focus, the words make sense in light of later events. It's as if I've come down from the mountain of the presence of God, finding meaning in everyday life, common events which turn out to be extraordinary moments of clarity for me. This is a conversation that takes time, this correlation of things heard and things seen. Sometimes I think it's better not to share what we've received--especially when it comes to the mystery of God.

"Let these words sink deep into your ears."

2008-08-29T07:37:00.002-06:00

I Need To Praise God

God came through for my friends, and I'm so grateful. Even though I was angry with Him over their plight--even vented a little bit, questioning His care for them--I now must give Him credit for taking a seemingly hopeless situation and turning it into life. He does that all the time, doesn't He? If there's anything we Christ-believers must cling to with the very passion of our lives it is this: the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ turns loss into gain, sorrow into joy, despair into hope, death into life. Thanks be to God for the life we have in the Crucified One.

There are scars, to be sure. My friends still have a long way to go. But, to see them smiling in light of some recent good news sure did my heart good.

I'm looking forward to Sunday so I can tell God what I really think about Him. Come to think of it, that's why I go. I have this compulsion, this need to worship God. And, I need to hear others do the same.

2008-08-13T11:41:00.002-06:00

Complaining is an act of worship

Lately, I've been thinking about how much we try to impress God with our worship. We want to say the right things. We want to do the right things. And, rightfully so. When we read Leviticus, it becomes pretty obvious that God takes our service of worship very seriously. At the risk of sounding sacrilegious, God seems rather obsessive about it: bring coals from the wrong fire and He'll kill you.

This is why the Psalms are so refreshing to me. I love the way the penitent will often rake God over the coals for not coming through, not making good on promises, not helping in times of need. These laments sound brash and daringly provocative to my ears that are used to hearing American versions of worship songs, inspiring us to whisper "sweet nothings" into God's ears. I sing about sacrifice. I sing that God is "my everything." But, I'm not sure I mean it.

But, I must tell you. I could really get into songs that would inspire me to be honest to God, especially when I'm considering the suffering of others who are far more faithful than I. Lyrics like, "God, why have you forsaken us?" Or, "How long, O Lord? When will you remember the promises You made to my friends who have been faithful to You?" Or, "Why do you keep a safe distance in our times of trouble?" Those who know the Psalms will recognize these verses. They inspire me. I love the fact that our God is so big He inspired His people to complain to Him when times were hard--even in songs meant for worship. Why would he allow such a thing? Because He knows He's our only hope.

Oh God, please help my friends today. You know who they are. I'm angry that they're going through another impossibly difficult time. Why would you let this happen? Please, be their God. Please take care of them. We have no where left to turn.

2008-07-16T08:35:00.002-06:00

PCUSA Debate over Homosexuality

I've been following the debate in the Presbyterian Church over whether practicing homosexuals should be ordained for the gospel ministry. Mark Roberts is a Presbyterian minister who recently left the pastorate of an influential church in California to serve as the resident theologian of a retreat/camp in Texas called "Laity Lodge." I've followed his blog ever since I met him last year (through a mutual friend, former student, Steven Purcell, who's also on staff at Laity Lodge), and have found his writing to be very helpful, insightful, wise, and compassionate. He has a great mind and a good heart--a great combination for the work of the kingdom. Anyway, his blog can be found here: http://www.markdroberts.com/

I think Mark has put his finger on the salient reason why those who oppose ordination of gays and lesbians will never be able to agree with those who do (and vice versa). For those who oppose, it's a matter of personal righteousness. Since same sex behavior is condemned in the Bible as sinful, then those who participate in homoerotic behavior are committing sin. For those who support ordination of gays and lesbians, it's a matter of justice. Since the marginalized are often singled out by the prophets as victims of injustice, then those who fight for the marginalized are doing the work of God because He is a defender of the weak, the outcast, the rejected. So, as Mark writes, those who support ordination of gays and lesbians will never give up until these who have been marginalized in America are accepted--it's a matter of divine justice. And, those who oppose ordination of gays and lesbians will never accept the homosexual lifestyle as anything but sinful because personal righteousness is defined by God's Word not by individual preferences.

So, here's the question that I think will help bring a little light to the subject. Can you think of examples where Jesus defended the marginalized by redefining the margins--what is "unclean" anyway? And, can you think of examples where Jesus defended the marginalized while maintaining the margins--sin is still sin, right? I think the difference will be revealing.

2008-07-09T08:12:00.002-06:00

Surprised by Wright

N.T. Wright's Surprised by Hope seems to have raised a few eyebrows in the Church. I'm surprised by the reaction to Wright's work. It's one of those cases where I thought everyone already knew what Wright was writing about, i.e., the importance of the resurrection for Christian faith. After finishing the book soon after its release, I thought to myself, "Well. He's done it again. There's nothing new here. But, because he's such a good writer, this will get some good press."

But, here's the shocker: to much of the reading public, there is much that is new here. In other words, Wright has put his finger on a major theological problem in pop Christianity. It seems that most Christians do have a gnostic view of life after death, that the resurrection of their bodies is a rather offensive idea to their modern sensibilities, and that the common way of talking about heaven as "our final reward" does reveal their preferences for the afterlife (by the way, Eugene Petersen issued the same warning a few years ago in his, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places).

I can't believe it. To test Wright's warning, lately I've been bringing up eschatology in everyday conversation with believers (no, not the left behind variety). It's been amazing how many believers find the biblical idea of a resurrected earth and a resurrected body as bizarre and foreign ideas. When I say, "heaven is not our final reward. It's a halfway house until the last day, when God brings heaven to earth and the grave gives up bodies for resurrection glory." They often say, "Really? I've never heard that before."

All this singing about "When we all get to heaven" has messed up our theology more than I realized.

Be careful little mouths what you sing.

2007-09-25T14:17:00.000-06:00

One simple truth

Obedience is boring when things are going well.

That's when I'm tempted by the enticement: think of all the things you're missing because you don't . . . .

I must admit: the allurement of sin makes me wonder about the forbidden. Why not spice up your life with a little indulgence?

The problem is: I fear God.

I'm afraid He will say, "So, let's get this straight. Life is so good, every once in a while you get bored. Want a little action? Want to shake things up a little? A little intensity? Want to go to a place where you long for the good ol' days, when good things were predictably boring?"

No. No. I take it back. I'm so grateful your goodness is so reliable I feel like I'm missing out on other things.

Honestly, I wouldn't make a very good rebel, anyways.

2007-09-07T07:54:00.000-06:00

A Christian War

I've been working through the Revelation of John, developing an idea that worship is an act of war in the Apocalypse. When we gather to worship God on the Lord's day, we are declaring war on the world. That's the sequence of the seven visions. Each vision begins with a festal gathering of worshippers around God's throne or in God's temple, then forces are marshalled against the powers of evil on earth. Heaven comes to earth when God is worshipped. And, with his presence, so comes the kingdom of God. It's a breath-taking vision--one that each of the seven churches desperately needed. The letter reveals the challenges/problems each church faced. And, I believe, each vision addresses how each church overcomes them.

Here's my thesis: Revelation is a behind the scenes peak at liturgy. So, each vision reveals what happens during the constitutive parts of worship (adoration, prayer, presenting the word, song, confession, commission). And, each part of worship is the answer to each problem the seven churches were facing. Ephesus needed to recover the adoration of God (vision #1), Smyrna needed to be reminded that prayer works (vision #2), and so on.

So, Revelation is a manual for recovering authentic worship of God and bringing justice to the earth.

A little different read than your "left behind" approach. What do you think?

2007-08-06T14:00:00.000-06:00

Why Hell?

Hell may be a strange place to begin a discussion about self-defense, but we all know sometimes it's best to start with last things (Schweitzer!?). The more I think/read about hell according to the NT, the more I'm beginning to see a two-fold purpose: to punish disobedience and to stop evil. Beyond question, God takes violent measures to stop evil (John's Revelation is filled with such imagery). And, according to Paul, God even uses evil empires (Rome!) to stop evil (the infamous Ro. 13 passage). In fact, Revelation tells a similar story: the kings of the earth destroy the Harlot and the heavens rejoice. In other words, even from a NT perspective, God takes violent measures to stop evil.

But, here comes the real question: does that give us precedent for doing the same?

The only scriptural justification in the NT that I can see to support using violence for self-defense is Luke 22:36. Here Jesus seems to imply that his disciples are going to need to take care of themselves since he will no longer be with them. Thus, the advice: if you don't have a sword, sell your coat and get one. But, before we build a case on such cryptic advice, we must consider the rest of the story. When one of his disciples reveal the swords they have already been carrying around (I haven't heard a single sermon stressing this part of the story--but, what does that say about the sword-carrying disciple? Maybe he wasn't so sure Jesus would protect him from evil? Where's the faith?), Jesus reveals a reason why he made such a request: having sword-toting disciples will fulfill Scripture when he is arrested. Is this the only reason Jesus gave the advice to buy a sword? I don't think so. It strains at credulity to think that Jesus expects his disciples, so late in the evening, to secure a sword before they get to Gethsemane. Something else is going on here. (I think Jesus knew a few of his disciples were carrying swords--what, were they hiding them in their pockets? Jesus made his statement to draw out the implications of what would transpire in the garden. He wouldn't need their help. But, at the same time, they wouldn't have his anymore.) But, I don't think this one text stands up very well as a proof text for violent, self-defense--especially against the sea of evidence we call the NT. No where do we have stories of Christians using violence to defend themselves. Not even in the Revelation of John do we have scenes of God or Christ marshalling forces on earth to conquer evil. The only armies that do violence come from heaven. Instead, throughout the Revelation, the faithful on earth are encouraged to remain faithful witnesses (martyrs).

So, would God allow me, a follower of Christ, to use violent means to stop an evil attack on me, just like God does/did?

I don't think so. But, that doesn't mean I won't. After all, I'm evil, too (Mt. 7:11).

Which is why, when it comes to stopping evil, I can eventually count on hell.

2007-07-27T12:36:00.000-06:00

Rediscovering Paul

IVP has listed our textbook (written by Capes, Reeves, and Richards) as a future release on their website. "Rediscovering Paul" is supposed to come out the end of October/beginning of November. Getting some good reviews. Looking forward to seeing what readers think. I'll be using it this Fall for Early Pauline Epistles.

Here's the link:
http://www.ivpress.com/cgi-ivpress/book.pl/code=2598

2007-07-13T13:55:00.000-06:00

7/7/7

We were sitting on the beach in Maui and it dawned on me that we were enjoying the perfect day.

My beautiful wife by my side.

Our son and daughters reveling in the sand, surf, and sun.

Drip sand castles. Boogie boards. Paperback novels.

Rolling waves, indigo sea, clear blue skies, basaltic mountains, tropical flowers, distant islands.

Rest. Sabbath. Selah. Pause.

Breathe in, breathe out.

This is paradise.

Wait. No, it's not. This too shall pass. Even though I want this moment to be eternal, I know time marches on. Like the wind, I don't know why it moves on. But it always does. I can take a picture and try to capture the moment. Video tape may take me back vicariously to this perfect day, helping to preserve a memory. But, indeed, it's never the same. Even now, that blissful time dances in my mind like a dream, a vision, a recollection.

One day, time will be frozen. The eternal moment will be upon us. Paradise--like we've known only for a few moments in this beautiful world made by a God who is Beauty--it will be forever ours. Until then, whispers of what has been continue to push me forward to what will be.

He is Paradise. And, one day, I will be with Him, with my beautiful wife by my side, with our children reveling in the sea of His presence, and a clear vision of all that is Beauty and Goodness and Fun.

Oh God. What a day that will be.

The perfect day.

2007-06-01T13:09:00.000-06:00

Zeroes and ones

I was recently informed by Baker Books that they're going to declare my book, "A Genuine Faith: How to Follow Jesus Today" out of print. Seems that 4,000+ copies in two years isn't enough to justify keeping it around. Since this was my first attempt at writing/publishing for the general market, I'm not surprised. At the same time, it kind of "hurts" to know that what I wrote didn't appeal to very many readers (at least, by Baker Books' standards). Obviously, I didn't try to write something that would be "marketable." Yet, I secretly hoped it would do well.

Thanks to all who bought a copy, read a copy, or shared a copy.