Judging Judgmental People

(Here's another excerpt from my forthcoming commentary on Matthew's Gospel in the SGBC)

The imagery of homes devastated by flood waters is familiar to all people through the ages.  As long as people persist in building homes by rivers there will be repeated scenes of floods destroying property.  Those of us who live in the safety of the hill country (who needs flood insurance?) can’t help but wonder, “Why do the river people keep inviting such misery?  Come join us on the mountain and you’ll never have to fear the floods again.”  But the river people say, “What’s a little clean up every now and then?  Our house is still standing.  The concrete foundation didn’t crack.  Besides, it was about time to renovate the old homestead anyway.”  And therein lies the difference between Jesus’ day and ours:  we can put houses just about anywhere we want because of the way foundations are laid.  Footings are dug and concrete is poured to create the necessary foundation for homes built on the mountain or by the river.  Dig deep enough and massive condos can be built right on the sandy beach, as close to the water as you want.  But in Jesus’ day, you couldn’t put your house anywhere you wanted.  Rather, one had to look for a rock upon which to build the house.  And, in lower Galilee basaltic formations of large boulders—the hazard of farmers (Matt. 13:5)—could be found hiding under the shallow ground, especially up the mountain.  But to build a house on sand near a wadi (dry-bed creeks that would swell with water during the rainy season) was shortsighted foolishness.  To ignore the years of wisdom of your neighbors who built their houses on rock foundations was the height of arrogance.  It was only a matter of time until everyone would see the house on beachfront property come crashing down (Matt. 7:27).

Situated on a mountain, Jesus encouraged the crowds to build their lives on his rock-solid words.  No need to look anywhere else for a foundation.  If they did what he said, choosing to live in the shelter of his words, then no persecution, no flood, no affliction, no trouble would overwhelm them.  Even during the last days, when the earth groans under the weight of messianic woes unleashed on a troubled world, Jesus predicted his disciples would weather the storm because they chose to follow him to the end.  It’s no wonder, then, that the crowds marveled at his teaching and followed him down the mountain (7:28; 8:1).  No one spoke like this.  Even their experts—the scribes—didn’t speak with such confidence (7:29).  Jesus knew what he was talking about:  to have a righteousness that exceeds scribes and Pharisees, to live with the confidence that you are blessed by God because you follow Jesus, to enter the kingdom of heaven now, to pray for God’s will on earth as it is in heaven, to look upon all creation with kingdom eyes, to love your neighbor as yourself, to love even your enemies.  This is the only way to live—to enter the narrow gate leading down a difficult path that ends with great rewards for the wise.  Only a fool would think otherwise.  And, it will take the rest of the story to see the difference.

The way of mercy is difficult; it requires humility, forgiveness, and sacrifice.  The way of judgment is easy; only words are required to condemn others.  And it’s quite apparent that words are not difficult to come by when we judge others.  All you need to do is read the comment section of any online news story or blog to see the vitriolic spew of arrogant judges.  When we speak our minds the underbelly of humanity is easily exposed.  Snap judgments and knee-jerk reactions to what others say and do are almost always hateful and abusive.  What bothers me is that I see the same tendency on so-called “Christian” blogs and e-magazines.  One should expect kind-hearted, gentle, and yet pointed dialogue among those of differing opinions in the Christian Blogosphere.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  At times I can’t tell the difference between the comment section on a story at cnn.com or christianitytoday.com.  Only those who “scream” the loudest, using unmercifully cruel “zingers,” get noticed.  Ad hominem attacks and arrogant non sequitur abound in the Christian world of crusaders defending the faith.  The way of judgment is broad and many people find it.  It’s enough to make the pure in heart wonder how anyone could see God on this path of destruction.  Indeed, the comment section is no place for the meek; the humble are wise not to build their house there.  Come to think of it, I’ve never read a single comment beginning with the line, “I could be wrong but . . . .”  Judges don’t talk like that.

And yet, to judge judges for their judgmental words is easy to do.  Everyone recognizes the bad fruit, the destructive words of hypocrites who can’t see the plank in their eye.  We who love words and reverence their power—especially those of us who make a living by using words—should be the first to recognize the dangerous satisfaction that comes with condemning the hypocrisy of judges.  (The irony is hard to miss, like when I preach a sermon about how faith that relies upon words is useless according to James.  Shouldn’t it be the shortest sermon I ever preach, knowing that we’d all rather see a sermon than hear one?)  Jesus knew that too, which is why he made it clear that offering a sermon on a mountain or merely hearing a sermon wouldn’t be enough.  He had to come down from the mountain and show us all what mercy looks like, and he expected his disciples—true prophets—to follow him all the way to the end.  Merely repeating what Jesus said is never enough.  To see the red letters animated in living color (incarnation!), in ourselves and in others, this is the kingdom of God.

Requited Anger

It's the latest storm in the culture war and I'm not alarmed.  Again.  And, I'm beginning to wonder, "Why?"  Why don't I join the chorus and lob my verbal bombs on social media like most everyone else?  Why don't I lock arms with my Christian brothers and sisters in righteous indignation and march against the foes of decency?  Why am I not seething with unrequited anger over football players kneeling during the national anthem, or statues of confederate soldiers removed from public view, or ten commandments defaced in front of the courthouse, or ad infinitum ad nauseum.

Is there something wrong with me?  Why don't these things bother me?  I can't say my heart has grown cold because these tussles have never warmed my heart.  Back in the day, when the flag was sown into clothing, or when Olympic athletes raised their fist during the national anthem, or when Christians campaigned for dry counties or blue laws--these things never incited my sense of divine wrath.  Honestly--I'm not trying to be dense--I never understood why Christians got so upset over these issues.

Of course, I'm more inclined to think about the kingdom of God and how American nationalism has little effect on it (for if it did, then all the other nations would be in trouble until we got our act together).  And, since I've been called by God to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, then that surely is enough to keep me busy--perhaps even entitling me to look down my nose on all of these "misguided" Christians who seem completely obsessed with temporal (even trivial?) things.  And yet, to strike such a pious pose seems just as dangerous to me as the righteous indignation of the culture warriors.

But still, I wonder why I don't get angry about these things.  Is it because my aim is true and theirs isn't?  Is it because I have my priorities straight and they don't?  Or, is it because, deep down, I'm really not grateful for the sacrifices others have made for our country?  I want to be thankful.  I want to appreciate those who make sacrifices to serve our communities, our nation, our people.

But, then again, these people chose to work in these "service professions."  In fact, they get paid to do it.  Plus, if you recognize them with accolades (especially those who have had to commit atrocities during war), they deflect the praise.  Of course, if we had a selection service that was compulsory, where we forced certain people to serve in the armed forces (at home and abroad), that would be a different story.  Then, I think, I might get angry over displays of disrespect.  But, that's not the case here.  I'll say it again:  these people chose their professions and they get paid to do it.  In fact, they're not unlike ministers, or teachers, or linemen (who risk their lives making sure we have power), or garbage collectors--people who get paid to serve our community.  And yet, we don't have rituals to make sure they know how much we appreciate them.  Why not?  What makes some people worthy of respect and others not?

 Maybe that's why I don't get angry over the sight of privileged athletes choosing to kneel during the National Anthem.  No one says, "How dare they disrespect public school teachers like that"--which says more about us (and our highly selective requited anger) than it does about them.

Eating at the Wrong Time with the Wrong People

(Here's a little excerpt from my forthcoming commentary on Matthew for the Story of God Bible Commentary--to be published soon).

It’s easy to see a correlation between the healing of the paralytic and the calling of Matthew (Matt. 9:9-13).  Neither man asked for Jesus to do what he did.  The paralytic had his sins forgiven and the tax collector became a disciple of Jesus.  Furthermore, both men apparently popped up quickly in response to Jesus’ word:  the paralytic “got up and went home” and the tax collector “got up and followed him” (v. 9).  We might even be tempted to merge their stories together, seeing Matthew just as paralyzed by corruption as the paralytic was paralyzed by disease.  “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,” Jesus would say about Matthew and his friends (v. 12), almost leading the reader to hear echoes between these two stories.  And, in both cases, the Pharisees and scribes objected to Jesus’ behavior regarding sin and sinners.  Is that why Matthew put his story here, so that we would see him and the paralytic as “fraternal twins” of God’s mercy?  That’s certainly the lesson the scribes and Pharisees were supposed to learn.  Having just seen Jesus forgive the paralytic’s sins by healing him, they were forced to stand and watch Jesus dine with a bunch of tax collectors and sinners (vv. 10-11).  It was too much to take in for one day, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” they asked the disciples.  The answer should have been apparent—at least that’s what Jesus thought.  Sick people need a doctor, right (v. 12)?  That seems obvious.  Sinners need God, right?  Still don’t understand, huh?  Time for a little homework, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’” (v. 13).  Boy, are they going to learn a lesson they’ll never forget.

The issue between Jesus, the Pharisees and even John’s disciples had to do with the question:  How can we restore sinners to God?  Of course, the question rests on two presumptions:  those doing the restoring are righteous and those who need restoration are the sinners.  Everyone should know the difference between the two groups.  And just in case anyone was fuzzy-headed about the distinction, the righteous people were the first to point out who was righteous and who wasn’t:  the righteous are the ones who are serious about sin.  Even though the Pharisees and the Baptizer had very different ideas about how to deal with the problem of Israel’s sin, they agreed on one thing:  fasting was necessary for repentance.  And, it’s easy to see why.  Of the six festivals Israel observed to commemorate God’s salvation, there was only one that required fasting.  Yom Kippur, the “Day of Atonement.”  Forgiveness and fasting went together like feasting and Passover.  Evidently, both the Pharisees and the Baptizer (11:18) extended the practice of fasting beyond the once-a-year ritual.  In fact, the Pharisees were known to fast twice per week, Mondays and Thursdays.  But Jesus defied the tradition, choosing to eat with sinners rather than join the righteous in fasting.  This was the way he would restore sinners to God (v. 13).  That’s a completely different approach, feasting when you should be fasting.  And yet, it wasn’t the Pharisees who raised the objection this time.  Instead, John’s disciples were the ones who wanted to know, “How is it that we and the Pharisees fast often, but your disciples do not fast?” (9:14).  In their minds, the man who preached repentance (4:17) should lead sinners to perform the proper acts of repentance.

Jesus knew his methods were unconventional.  He had already decided it was time for something new, something radical—an approach to sin that would change everything.  It was time for the mercy of God.  But, his approach wasn’t completely brand new.  Hosea had already predicted long ago that God would prefer mercy over sacrifice once he had disciplined Israel for their sin (Hos. 6:1-6).  So, as far as Jesus was concerned, it was time to show sinners the mercy of God; it was the only way to recover them, to lead them to the kingdom.  And yet, eating with sinners to deal with Israel’s sin problem seemed completely backwards, out of place, upside down to the righteous.  Feasting was the last thing sinners needed to do to get serious about their sin.  But Jesus acted like times had changed.  The bridegroom is here!  Mourning at a time like this would be completely out of place (v. 15).  Besides, to go back to the old ways of repentance would be like sowing a new patch on an old piece of clothing, or trying to put new wine in an old container (9:16-17).  It would just make things worse.  That’s what mercy does; it destroys the old ways of dealing with sin.  You can’t pour mercy into the wineskin of judgment.  You can’t cover the hole in your worn-out-jeans of sin management with the fresh patch of God’s forgiveness.  It was time for new wineskins to hold God’s mercy, a new way to get serious about sin:  eat with sinners.  And, of course, those of us who gather around the Lord’s Table know exactly why that is true, as we eat and drink our way into the kingdom of God.

Profanities

I've always been intrigued by the idea of "profane" speech.  Perhaps it has something to do with my childhood.  Whenever I think of a "naughty" word, I get this bitter taste in my mouth--the distinct flavor of Ivory Soap.  I'll never forget the first time I repeated a "dirty" word (I must have been around 7 or 8 years old).  My mom was horrified.  "Where did you hear that?"  Of course, I didn't know.  A little boy can't remember what he heard an hour ago much less who? said what? when?  Anyway, I do remember what happened next.  With a stern look of disapproval, she marched me into the bathroom, lathered up a wash rag with Ivory Soap, and proceeded to "wash my mouth out" since it was "so dirty."  One never forgets the taste of Ivory Soap.

I only made that mistake once more.  My brother Denny, however, didn't.  He cursed like sailor around mom (he had a particular affinity for the f-bomb).  Sometimes, after letting one fly, Denny would head for the bathroom unfazed by the routine (I had begun to wonder if my brother had developed a taste for soap).  After the umteenth time of hearing Denny let one fly, mom changed her tactic.  She grabbed Denny by the arm, escorted him to the bathroom, grabbed a new bar of soap, shoved it in his face, and said, "Take a bite."  I watched from the hallway, wondering what he would do.  After some hesitation (and mom's insistence), Denny finally nibbled a little corner off the edge.  "That won't do," at which point mom shoved the bar into his mouth and made him chomp off a tobacco-sized plug.  Denny winced as he chewed on the white bite, foam pouring from his six-year-old "dirty" mouth..  "Keep chewing till I say so.  Don't swallow it.  Keep chewing."  Denny never spoke profanities in mom's presence again.

Profaned speech is culturally conditioned.  We decide what is vulgar and what isn't (and the list changes across time, across cultures).  In fact, the word "vulgar" comes from the Latin, "vulgarus" which means "common."  The term was used by the educated class to describe the low-brow language of commoners.  To speak in vulgarities, to use "profane" (common) speech, was a sign that you were not only uneducated but also inarticulate--unable to use the proper word at the proper time due to your limited vocabulary.  The same thing happens today.  Notice how some people use the f-bomb like a gap-filler when they can't think of anything else to say.  "That f***in' lawnmower won't f***in' work because the f***in' mechanic didn't fix the f***in' engine."  I usually don't walk away from that guy and think, "Wow.  He's brilliant."

And, why do we call it an "f-bomb"?  Obviously, some profanities are more explosive than others, which brings me to the point of this post.

A well-known, often crass, comic used a profane word the other day and it created quite a stir.  Now, that sentence alone should raise an eyebrow because comics are notorious for their profanities.  But, this was no ordinary vulgarity.  In fact, I would say the word he used has risen to an even higher level than the "f-bomb."  He used the n-word.  And, as a result, even this brash, arrogant, take-no-prisoners, abrasive, foul-mouthed personality was brought to the point of contrition (I must say I took a little pleasure in his mea culpa--something I never thought I 'd hear him say).

So, lest you think that profanities are old fashioned, a relic of the old days--that we've become more sophisticated due to our ability to accept vulgarities--know that even a guy like Bill Maher has to watch his potty mouth.

The Real Meaning of Easter

Most of us are concerned about endings.  We talk often about the importance of closure, trying to make sense of our lives in the mean time.  It's no wonder, then, that eschatology plays such a crucial role in understanding the story of humanity--not only for all people, but especially for each one of us.  I may think about the destiny of humans, where it will end for all of us, but the question becomes more important as I think about my ending.  How much more time do I have left?  When will it end for me?  How will I die?  And, most importantly, what happens after I die?  That's the question that hangs over all of our heads, our clear sense of mortality.  One day it will be all over, then what?  Which is why our notions about life after death sometimes rise to the surface (even though we often try to suppress them), especially after we bury someone we love.  Where are they now?  Is this all there is?  Even for those of us who belong to Christ, sometimes the idea that we will live forever with him in a spiritual place called heaven isn't enough to shout down the pain of sickness and death.

And, it was never supposed to.

For our hope isn't that one day we will "shed our mortal coil"--this earthly prison--and live in heaven with those we love forever.  Rather, the entire NT is witness to this hope:  one day, for those of us who die in Christ, our bodies (as well as all creation) will be raised from the dead.  Sin and death cannot destroy what God has made in his image.  If it did, sin would win.  But God won't let that happen.  The resurrection of Christ (then, now, and in the end) proves it.

But, not all Christians celebrate Easter with that in mind.  Rather, for them, Easter is about celebrating Christ's victory over his death and the threat of hell against us.  Sin and death lost the battle because God raised Christ from the grave, proving that the penalty of sin has been paid for us, which means we get to go to heaven when we die.  That's what Christ did for us.  That's what Easter means to them.  It's not about our hope that one day we too will be raised from the dead.  Rather, for many Christians, Easter is a celebration of our victory in Christ over sin and eternal death (hell)--but not our grave.

To be sure, sin is a horrible enemy--one that we have welcomed into our lives, our world.  Genesis 3 tells the story of when it all began:  how Adam and Eve sinned against God and brought about the curse of death to all creation.  We inherited this mess.  And, even though we "didn't start the fire," we've certainly added gas to the flames.  Therefore, for those who see Easter as our "get out of hell" card, the defeat of sin through the death and resurrection of Christ is truly worth celebrating.  But, to me, that kind of Easter celebration doesn't go back far enough (nor far ahead enough).  Instead, the significance of the Resurrection of Christ goes all the way back to Genesis 1 and all the way ahead to Revelation 21-22.

Christ not only conquered sin and death, he restored us to be what God intended from the beginning:  to bear the very image of God, who is Christ, in life, in death, and--this is crucial--in resurrection.  One day, on the last day, we will reign with Christ over sin, death, and our graves on this resurrected earth.  That's when we truly celebrate Easter, from the first chapter of the Bible all the way to the last.

The Prodigal Son: the next day

I've often wondered what some of Jesus' "unfinished parables" would look like if we took them to their "logical" extreme.  Here's my "extended" version of the Parable of the Prodigal Son (you'll notice my add-on appears in brackets):

Prodigal Son Revisited

A man had two sons.  The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the estate that falls to me.” So he divided his wealth between them.

And not many days later, the younger son gathered everything together and went on a journey into a distant country, and there he squandered his estate with loose living.  Now when he had spent everything, a severe famine occurred in that country, and he began to be impoverished.  So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.  And he would have gladly filled his stomach with the pods that the swine were eating, and no one was giving anything to him.

But when he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired men have more than enough bread, but I am dying here with hunger!  I will get up and go to my father, and will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me as one of your hired men.’”

So he got up and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion for him, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”  But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly bring out the best robe and put it on him, and  put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet; and bring the fattened calf, kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.”  And they began to celebrate.

Now his older son was in the field, and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing.  And he summoned one of the servants and began inquiring what these things could be.  And he said to him, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has received him back safe and sound.”  But he became angry and was not willing to go in; and his father came out and began pleading with him.  But he answered and said to his father, “Look! For so many years I have been serving you and I have never neglected a command of yours; and yet you have never given me a young goat, so that I might celebrate with my friends; but when this son of yours came, who has devoured your wealth with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him.”  And he said to him, “Son, you have always been with me, and all that is mine is yours.  But we had to celebrate and rejoice, for this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live, and was lost and has been found.”  [But he refused to join the celebration.

Early the next morning, the older son went to work in the field, waiting for his brother to join him.  But, he never came.  The longer he worked, the angrier he got.  That evening, once again he heard music and dancing coming from his father’s house.  Inside he found his father and brother still feasting and celebrating.  Enraged he cried out, “Why do you spend what is not yours?  You are drinking my wine, eating my food.  Am I your slave?”  But the father replied, “Since we are eating your food and drinking your wine, come, dine with us!”  But he refused to join the celebration.

The next morning, while working in the field, the older son thought to himself, “I’m tired of doing all the work.  If the fattened calf shall be slain, I shall eat it with my friends.”  So that night he had a party, feasting and drinking with all of his friends until the sun came up, then he slept the day away.  This happened for several nights until one day the younger son confronted his brother, “Wake up!  How long will you lie around in your drunkenness?  Are you not wasting your inheritance?”

Then the brother replied, “All that I have is yours.  Why should you worry about my inheritance?”]

Jesus and Politics

When I was a pastor, I would occasionally receive phone calls, letters, messages from members who were disappointed in me because I hadn't taken up the latest political issue in the pulpit. They wondered if I had enough courage to "take a stand for what is right."  My predecessor was known for that:  the marquis issue of the day would be the theme of his message on Sunday--a message meant to stir up the base, rally the troops against moral decadence, reminding the religious right that we were righteous in our cause.  People had grown accustomed to the war drums and they missed the beat in my sermons.

What I had decided to do in my first year as their pastor was to focus on Jesus and the kingdom of God.  Consequently, I spent a lot of time in the Gospels, working through Jesus words and works, reminding us all of the one we want to follow.  That approach frustrated several members; one (a retired minister) was so disappointed he set up a meeting with me to talk about why he didn't leave worship on Sunday inspired to take up arms against the ways of the world.

He said (I can't remember his words exactly; but it went something like this): "Why don't you talk about the evil of our world?  Abortion?  Homosexuality?  The absence of prayer in public schools?  I miss a good, rousing sermon about these important issues.  We used to leave Church ready to take on the world every Sunday.  Now, . .  well, . . . I don't know what you're doing up there.  It's very discouraging."

He offered his critique in a very kind way--wasn't mean-spirited or angry. An older, experienced preacher, I got the impression he was trying to help out a younger man. When I tried to explain, telling him of my intention to continue to preach from the Gospels, he became even more exasperated:

"Is that enough?"  I said, "Shouldn't it be?"  To which he replied, stammering, trying to string a sentence together, "Well, . . . don't you think? . . .  I'm not sure . . . what you're doing is . . .   Look!  All you're doing up there is preaching God's Word."

Searching my face to see if his words hit the target, I just smiled backed at him.  Then, a look of horror fell over his face as he took in the irony of his critique.  He paused, looked down at the floor, grinned to himself, and said, "That didn't come out right.  Doesn't sound like much of a criticism does it?  Of course, you should preach God's Word.  But, . . . I'm not sure . . . do you know what I'm trying to say?"

I assured him that I understood, and I wondered out loud whether my sermons were doing any good.  But then I asked him a question--one that I think every Christian needs to ponder as they banter about their politics these days (again, I can't remember exactly what I said, but it went something like this):

"Why didn't Jesus consistently, constantly blast the Romans for their reprobate politics?  Why didn't he take on the important 'political' issues of his day, addressing the problems of infanticide, child abandonment, violence in entertainment, Roman aggression, military expansion, sexual promiscuity?  If we're supposed to follow Jesus, shouldn't we pay careful attention to what he said and how he said it?  Shouldn't we preach the same gospel?  Live the same morals?  Pursue the same kingdom of heaven on earth?  That's what I'm trying to do.  I'm trying to follow Jesus."

And so, as I think about our current political climate--realizing the stakes are just as high as back in the late 90s--I can't think of a better politic than that.

Word Craft

I admire people who are good with words.  Those who are reckless with words, on the other hand, I don't respect at all.  Even though I may not agree with the content of what someone is saying or writing, I enjoy good word craft.  I listen to them carefully.  (And, the converse is true: even though I may agree with the speaker/writer, if they're using crass, inflammatory words, I don't appreciate their comments.  But I still listen to them.)  And, in light of the rancorous political scene of late, I've come to realize (even more than I did before) that some (many?) people don't have the ability (or desire?) to discern the difference between what is being said and how something is being said.  And, I wonder why?  What makes me different?

For me, it goes back to my college days, hearing things in class that I'd never heard before (or strongly disagreed with).  And, since we were often discussing the Bible (I was a double major:  religion and speech), it was unsettling to listen to someone who was obviously "wrong." Now, even though I didn't know exactly why they were wrong (except that what they were saying didn't sound like what I had always heard), I tried to enter the fray and defend the truth.  When I encountered arguments that I hadn't considered before, I realized I was in trouble.  I didn't know how to assess an opposing argument.  I didn't know how to consider another perspective.  All I knew to do was either raise my voice or attack the person or walk away after I'd launched a dismissive jab.

Then I took three classes that rocked my world:  philosophy, advanced public speaking, and hermeneutics.  Philosophy taught me how to break down an argument, analyzing first the premise (is it sound?), then how the argument proceeds (logic).  We also studied logical fallacies (tricks that debaters use to throw off their listeners, like ad hominem and non sequitur).  Advanced public speaking taught me the power of rhetoric, and why carefully crafted speeches are desirable.  How occasion is just as important as purpose.  How style and delivery matter as much as diction and structure.  Of course, the course that affected more than even these mind-blowing classes was heremenutics:  principles for interpreting biblical literature.  Realizing that none of us read the Bible as a dispassionate (read:  "objective") observer but invested "believer" opened my eyes to the reality that the Scriptures are not a literary "flat-land."  The mountains and valleys of biblical genre require travelers to read the literary landscape before making sense of where they are, what they see.  We come to the Scriptures as visitors and take with us only what we want.  That is a very troubling, ominous, sober reality.

There have been other factors, influences in my life that have shaped me to try to listen to an opposing opinion charitably.  For example, doing Ph.D. work in biblical studies forces you to read a lot of stuff you don't agree with.  But that's never enough.  You need to know why you don't agree with certain parts of a scholar's work--even appreciating their line of thinking, wearing their perspective, using their method.  That's why I've never been satisfied with a lazy, "all-or-nothing" approach--those who dismiss that scholar as "liberal" or that one as an "unbeliever."  For, I've discovered that sometimes the liberal, Jewish scholar is paying closer attention to the Scriptures than the conservative "believer" out to defend the faith at all costs.

I've also been a pastor--an office that compels you to listen to (and care about!) people you don't agree with (that, in and of itself, was an eye-opening experience.)  I wish lay people had to be "paid professional" ministers at least one time in their lives.  Then you'll know what Jesus meant when he said, "love your enemy"--yes, your pastor has enemies in your church.

Which brings me back to what happened last night on Facebook.  Even though I didn't vote for President Obama (and often disagreed with his policies), I have great admiration for his ability as a public speaker.  I said as much, offering a little note of appreciation for his farewell address. Most of the comments revealed they missed my point, attacking the President with reckless abandon, snide remarks, and caustic asides.  Most of my "friends" are Christians, but a few comments revealed a pure hatred for Obama. It was breathtaking.  One wonders what they think Jesus meant when he commanded us to "love our enemies."  Does that include words too?

Yes it does, which is why I plan to listen to our President-Elect carefully and charitably--even though at times he is reckless with his words.

Why I don't believe Gay Marriage is Holy Matrimony

 I’ve yet to hear a convincing argument from Christians who support marriage equality that a marriage between two men or between two women is holy matrimony—a covenant relationship between God and his Church.  And, here’s why I don’t think I ever will:

Those who are convinced that gay marriage honors God and should therefore be recognized by all Christians did not arrive at their conclusions due to Scripture (that statement, alone, will offend some of my Christian friends who support gay marriage, but let me explain).  There is no Scripture that supports gay marriage.  We have no example of gays or lesbians being held up as honorable examples in the Scriptures.  We have no canonical prescription that affirms same-sex relations.  Rather, the Scriptures prohibit homoerotic behavior, both in the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament.  What that implies, I think, is that the locus of conviction regarding a pro-gay marriage position exists outside the Scriptures.

Gay marriage has recently been affirmed as a social good in America.  Marriage equality has been championed as a right—a matter of justice for all--within liberal democracy.  Because there is no Scriptural text to support the particular issue of gay marriage, Christians who support gay marriage do so because of the cultural convictions of our day.  And, once a Christian is convinced that marriage equality is right—justice for all, gays and straight—then that Christian must read the Scriptures in a way that supports their position.  I’ve read many arguments justifying gay marriage, scholarly and common, and none of them are convincing.  Here’s why:  they come to the Scriptures (our common book, where there is no affirmation of same-sex relationships) convinced that gay marriage is justified; I come to the Scriptures (our common book, where there is no affirmation of same-sex relationships) and hear their attempts at justifying gay marriage in spite of Scripture’s prohibition.  This is unprecedented:  what is universally prohibited within Scripture is now embraced as right, just, holy, Godly.  Think about that:  What is completely prohibited in Scripture (there isn’t a single text on this particular issue that leads one to say, “Hey, maybe God does honor gay marriage”), and what has been rejected by the overwhelming majority of Christians (now and throughout Church history), must now be accepted and affirmed.

I don’t think that’s ever happened before:  something that is completely prohibited in Scripture is now accepted.  Divorce?  No, it is permitted in a few places in Scripture.  Racism?  No, racism isn’t universally prohibited in the Scriptures nor is it considered a cultural good (quite the opposite:  racism is prohibited in the NT, “neither Jew nor Gentile,” and we abhor it today).  Slavery?  No, slavery isn’t universally prohibited in Scripture nor is it acceptable today.  Women in leadership?  No, although “prohibited” in some texts, women are held up as leaders (in the OT and NT) and are affirmed as leaders in the Scriptures.  Pro-gay marriage Christians bring up these examples (divorce, racism, slavery, sexism), but none of them are strictly consistent, hermeneutical corollaries.  So, I’ll say it again:  I think (and I’m ready to be corrected on this point) there has been no other time in Christian history where some of us want the rest of us to endorse something the Scriptures completely prohibit.

To my friends who are “experts” (scholars and ministers who want to be consistent in their hermeneutical approach to the Scriptures) and support gay marriage, let’s be honest:  what you’re asking some of us (Christians who cannot justify gay marriage from the Scriptures) to do is unprecedented.  Basically, you’re saying, “The Spirit is leading us to a new truth that disregards Scriptural prohibition.”  What the Spirit once inspired he now inspires us to deny.  And, that’s why I don’t think I’ll change my mind and embrace gay marriage as holy matrimony.

Postscripts

This post has nothing to do with whether or not gays and lesbians should have the right to civil unions in America.  In other words, I’m talking about what should happen within the Church (whether in America or anywhere else in the world).

Christians who support gay marriage do rely upon the Scriptures to justify their position. And so, I plan to explain in later posts why their specific arguments are unpersuasive to me.

I’m a terrible blogger; I don’t monitor or referee comments.  So, I won’t be deleting posts or responding to questions directly.

Finally, for those who aren’t used to responding to arguments charitably—even though we disagree—this is the way the academy works.  I don’t take counter arguments personally.  Ad hominem arguments don’t mean much to me.  Personal attacks will be ignored.

"Take my ears, tell me when the whistle blows"

I've always been horrified by the tale of Rip van Winkle--the bedtime story of a young man who falls asleep and wakes up an old man with a long gray beard.  The threat that I could "sleep my life away" (along with the pressing reality that no one knows how much time they have on this earth) is the perfect cocktail for a never-ending nightmare.  Come to think of it, it's really a dirty trick, played on children by worn-out parents looking for a little revenge, to tell the story of Rip van Winkle to a child just before they say their bedtime prayers:  "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I die before I wake ["wait, mommy!  You think I'm going to die tonight?"], I pray the Lord my soul to take."  "Now, go to sleep little one.  Sweet dreams."   Hardly, I'd lie awake in the dark, forcing myself to stay awake, lest old age or death creep up on me when I wasn't looking.

I've been a fan of the songs by John/Taupin almost from the beginning of their career.  Of course, the musical side of that writing team knows how to write beautiful music.  But, it's the craft of the lyricist that stays with me--his ability to capture the human condition in the most honest, unassuming, profound, and sometimes disturbing ways.  In their autobiographical album, "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy," John/Taupin explore their rise to fame with a bit of wistful recollection and biting sarcasm.  In one of the songs, "Take my ears, tell me when the whistle blows," Taupin explores the prodigal son motif with a twist.  He realizes he's lost something of home, and he can never go back.  At such an early age (he must have been around twenty-three or twenty-four when he wrote the song), Taupin lays bare the fear of homelessness:  at a railroad station, trying to make a connecting train headed to his home in the country, the young man has seen too much of the big city success, has lost his moorings, like a "black sheep going home, I want to feel your wheels of steel."  To be grounded once again, to wake up from the dream (nightmare or fairy tale?), to feel the earth, a gravitas, a clear sense of where you are, where you've been, and where you are going.  "Wake me up, and tell me when the whistle blows."  Things change, things change you, and you can never go back home.

This is why eschatology matters.  The existential angst that accompanies our storied lives isn't enough to wake us up.  And, nobody can sound the alarm for us, to rouse us from our comfortable repose (besides, nobody likes alarmists anyway).  Rather, we have to have a sense of the ending, last things, where the story is going, to keep us alive and well, fully conscious, breathing in the pain and the pleasure, the disappointment and the hope, the past and the present.  Bottom line:  neither nostalgia nor fear work like smelling salts to make us see where we've been, where we're headed.  Instead, the only way I can make sense of both is the end-of-the-world work of the kingdom of God, the summing up of all things (past, present, and future), a "this-is-where-you-are" map of the world, protology and eschatology.  The way the last book of the Bible puts it, Jesus is the Alpha and the Omega--the breadth of all things--and therefore, those who "follow the lamb wherever he goes," find the ending because they know the beginning.

""And to the angel of the church in Sardis write:  He who has the seven Spirits of God, and the seven stars, says this:  'I know your deeds, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead.  wake up, and strengthen the things that remain, which are about to die . . . . And I heard a voice from heaven saying, 'Write, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on!" "Yes," says the Spirit,"that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow with them"'" (Rev. 4:1-2; 14:13).

"Long lost and lonely boy, I'm just a black sheep going home, I want to feel your wheels of steel, underneath my itching heal, take my money, tell me when the whistle blows."

a eulogy for mom

How can I describe the significance of my mother in a few words?  Why would I even try?  Death seems too strong for words.  The measure of her life can’t be summed up with words.  This moment, this sorrow, this aching loss is too much for words.  Words fail me when it seems I need them the most.

But then again, before this day, “the word became flesh and dwelt among us,” joy mingled in sorrow, death and life thrown together, despair and redemption rolled up into one.  And so, I rely the words of another about the Word Incarnate, our beginning and ending, first and last words about the Alpha and the Omega:  Phil. 2:1-11.

We translated that very passage in my second-year Greek class the day my mother died.  It’s a song about Christ—the music lost to us—but the ancient rhythm of these lyrics still sing in my ear.  And, as much as my mother loved both—Christ and music—I find it more than serendipitous that my Greek students would read these words to me in the light of day after one of my darkest nights.  It’s because, in these words, I not only hear of Christ, but I see my mother, one of the main reasons I am a believer.  And, I see her in my family—my father, my brothers, our wives and our children—words becoming flesh.

My mother loved the Scriptures.  One of my fondest memories of her is when she and dad gave to me my first Bible.  I even see her face now, beaming with joy as I unwrapped the gift (I remembering being a little puzzled when I opened the box. In light of her excitement, I thought I was going to get a special toy, something to play with.  But, it wasn’t.  It was a Bible for children, the one with a picture on the cover of Jesus surrounded by children, a zipper around the edges to bind up the book, and a cross dangling from the zipper).  Holding it my hand, looking at her then back at the book, I realized it was special—nothing to toy with—but I had no idea why.

We were waiting for mom to die.  That’s a horrible situation, when the experts say the end is near and you’re wondering if they’re right.  Dad and I were in her hospital room, keeping vigil.  At first, we both tried to get a little rest.  But, long after midnight, dad said, “Here.  You take this chair; it’s more comfortable.  I’m going to read.”  So, he dragged his chair into a dim light, sat next to mom’s bed, and began to read the Scriptures.  I dozed off, every ten minutes checking on mom—her shallow breathing getting worse—then glancing over at dad still reading the Bible.  I’ll never forget that image.  My dad finding comfort during the dark night in the light of God’s Word . . . and I think of mom. Her love of the Scriptures, her husband by her side reading the Bible until she died, and the gift she once gave to her nine-year-old son.

Paul the apostle encouraged the Philippians to empathize with people, to consider the needs of others above their own, having what he called “the mind of Christ.”  That was true of mom, a virtue I also see clearly in my brother, Denny.  I was in the fifth grade, attending school in Compton, California, when a boy made a fool of himself and everyone laughed.  He had dropped his lunch tray in the cafeteria, mashed potatoes and gravy spilled all over the linoleum floor, and as he struggled to get up, he kept falling down in the mess.  I’ve always been a sucker for slapstick comedy; and his attempts at gathering his plate, silverware, and bottle-thick-lenses-in-black-horned-rim glasses now covered in gravy reminded me of a bit from the Three Stooges.  But, in this case, there was only one stooge, and his comic routine was hilarious.  Others took in the sight, and soon a huge crowd gathered around the boy to enjoy the spectacle—dinner and a show.  The harder he tried to stand, the more he wallowed in the mess.  Then, all of the sudden, he realized we were all laughing at him.  I’ll never forget the look of horror on his buck-toothed, gravy-stained face when he realized he was the undesirable center of attention.  All of the sudden, I wasn’t laughing anymore.  My stomach turned inside of me—an aching in my heart—but I didn’t understand why.  When I got home from school, mom noticed my melancholy mood and asked the question every mother greets her children with, “Did you have a nice day at school?”  When I told her what happened, puzzling over why I felt so bad, she offered one of many lessons about the importance of empathy.  She would often say, “How would you feel if that happened to you?”—a question that I still ask myself nearly everyday because of my mom.

Denny and Paula have recently given up their home and moved to a difficult neighborhood, to live among people who face huge challenges in their lives:  low income, poor health, broken families, addiction, crises every day.  It takes great courage to have the “mind of Christ,” to not “merely look out for your own personal interests,” as Paul wrote, “but also the interests of others.”  It’s called, “empathy”—a virtue my mom tried to teach me at least once a week, a Christ-like character I see in my brother and sister-in-law.

My mom was a generous woman, especially when it came to celebrating Christmas.  She loved giving Christmas gifts—dozens of presents spilling out all over the living room.  We knew she didn’t receive much for Christmas when she was a child.  So, she went overboard with us.  When the grandchildren came along, it only got worse—often we’d have to rent a trailer to tow the stash home.  I should have seen it coming.  For our first Christmas as husband and wife—among many presents—mom gave to Sheri and me a special box (I’d seen that look in her eye before and so I halfway expected a Bible).  Instead, it was baby doll.  When I looked up in confusion, she said, “Get the hint?”  She couldn’t wait for grandchildren.  When Andrew and Josh came along a few years later (only a month apart), she was in heaven—so excited when we came home for the holidays.  Then Emma and Grace came into the world, and she was overjoyed.  Having raised three boys, mom always wanted a girl—it was especially evident when Chris was a toddler.  She refused to cut his hair, his long locks falling to his shoulders.  People often mistook Chris for a little girl, oohing and awing over his beautiful hair.  Mom would eventually correct them, but then add, “he’s pretty enough to be a girl, isn’t he?”  I worried sometimes that when I came home from school, we might find Chris in a dress.  She loved her grandsons; her affection for Zach and Bryce was just as strong.  But, oh how she loved her granddaughters, Emma, Grace, and Callie.  The night Emma was born, I called mom and said, “She’s here.  Emma was born just a few hours ago.”  To which mom replied incredulously, “Are you sure it’s a girl?”  I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Yeah, mom.  Emma is a girl.”  “Oh boy, I can’t wait to buy those frilly, little dresses.”  Sure enough, under the Christmas tree, wrapped with her signature bows, were frilly, little dresses—for Emma, Grace, and Callie.  Mom loved watching them model their new outfits, and giggled with delight when her grandsons played with their latest super-hero action figure.

I see the same generous spirit in my brother, Chris.  He loves giving nice things to the people he loves—just like mom.  Just the other day, Chris decided dad’s old refrigerator had to go.  Of course, my dad is a “get by” kind of guy.  But, Chris wouldn’t hear of it.  When dad objected, “I don’t need a refrigerator.”  Chris interrupted, “How old is that one, dad?  Thirty years, forty years?  I’m not going to argue with you about it.  We’re going right now.  I’m getting you a new fridge.”  That’s my brother; he’s a very generous guy—something he learned from his mother.

I’ve learned many things from my mom.  Her love of music, her love of Christ, her love of the Church, how she reveled in family get-togethers, cherished a delicious meal, loved to read, and, most of all, how she cared for us.  The same qualities I see in my sweet wife, my children, my family.  It’s the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us.  The Word Incarnate I need to see when words fail me.

For the love of Christ, until the resurrection, all we have are words, the Spirit of God, and each other.  And, because of Christ, that is more than enough.

Joy and Sorrow mingled together

Music is a great gift from God. I marvel over its power to help me in ways that go beyond the spoken word.

I recently attended the funeral of a righteous man who lived a good, long life. Before words were spoken or sung, we heard a song played by two musicians:  one on piano, the other tenor sax.  They are colleagues of mine who are tremendously sensitive and talented musicians.  The song was "Brethren we have met to worship"--a fitting invocation for the occasion.

The pianist began with soft notes, minor chords, light dissonance, somber tones:  grief explored.  Then the tenor sax jumped in, at first finding a tune that sounded more like sorrow than joy.  But then, it happened: piano and sax joining in one accord, marching majestically through the song with resonant notes of hope and confidence.  Nearing the end, the tenor sax waned. the piano softened her sound, and the song ended with an upward progression, once again slightly dissonant, the last note lingering unresolved . . .  calling brothers and sisters to worship God in sorrow and joy.

That song, especially the arrangement and the care with which it was presented, healed my heart--a man who was trying to celebrate a wonderful life with the ugly pallor of death staring us all in the face.

Thank God for music.  He heals me in ways I don't understand, especially as I think about the man who died in Christ, a servant we tried to memorialize, the one who knew more than most that music is God's gift to us all.

It's no wonder the end comes with a trumpet.

The Bible and American Politics

Have you noticed how certain people refuse to be reasonable when it comes to recognizing the short-comings of their political party?  There's no talking to them.  You bring up a problem with their party (or candidate) that, given their religious convictions, should lead to a frank discussion.  But, rather than admit the problem, they dig in their heels, set their jaw, and defend their politics without even giving a sideways glance to their religious convictions.  It's as if political faith trumps religious faith.  Their political loyalties take full reign of their mental and emotional faculties.  Whether democrat or republican, the fight for what is "right" is binary.  Either you're for us or against us--no in between--which reminds me of the way religious people defend the Bible.

Recently, I was listening to a well-known atheist who was making fun of the "wacky parts" of the Bible.  He had an equally well-known Christian apologist who was there to defend the Scriptures.  And, even though I appreciated the nuanced answer he gave in defense of the Bible as God's word, their so-called "conversation" reminded me of the arguments over politics.  With both sides convinced of their position (and both sides making salient points regarding the weaknesses of the other), there was no "give and take."  Rather than admit weaknesses in their position, a sense of infallibility kicked in pretty hard as both men defended what they believe, their faith.

The longer I live, the more I'm realizing my need to embrace weakness, not only mine but the weakness of others.  But, in a world where only strength is celebrated and weakness is marginalized--a bystander in the battle for "truth"--I think I'll be dismissed as a traitor to the cause (politically and religiously).  But, that's okay with me.  I've sworn allegiance to a king and his kingdom that is built on weak people like me.  And, I learn about that kingdom in a Bible that has "wacky" parts that defy common sense.  The difference, I guess, is that I'm willing to admit it, puzzle over it, be confused by it, even complain to God about it (read the Psalms!).  But I've got a feeling that, whether in politics or religion, most people will despise such weakness.

Which reminds me of the cross of Jesus Christ.

Losing Hope

I'm in a funk.  It's beginning to dawn on me that the very thing I've committed my life to--the object of my study--doesn't matter these days.

Now, before you correct my misplaced devotion (after all, we're supposed to be committed to Christ and his kingdom), I am fully aware that there is a difference between the Word of God and the word of God.  And, yes, I've committed my entire life to the former, the One who captured my heart, the Man who lived better than any person has ever lived, the very Son of God who reveals perfectly our heavenly Father, the hope of our salvation, the once-and-for-all sacrifice for our sins, the embodiment of our resurrection.  But, as the preacher in the book of Hebrews said so eloquently, Jesus is the Last Word of God found first and foremost in the very word of God--the Scriptures.  He warns his listeners over and over again:  We'd better listen to the word to hear the Word, because, if we don't, there's going to be big trouble.

Within the cacaphony of trivia that dominates our everyday attention, you'd think a more substantive, powerful, shake-your-soul-to-your-feet, gravitas-kind of word would feel like a drink of cold water in the middle of the desert.  (Is it just me, or are things getting worse?  My daily morning habit is to read a few .coms of news, check out a blog or two--even a so-called "Christian" blog that tells me the state of our faith "Today."  A few years ago, that would take about 30 minutes to an hour.  These days, I don't find much to read.  For example, this morning I clicked on nothing!  Nothing!  Nothing!  Perhaps I'm becoming that old curmudgeon that I used to despise in my youth.  But, I wonder to myself, "Does anyone read this nonsense?  Really?  Is this what should occupy our minds today?")  I read for a living.  I speak for a living.  I write for a living.  But, the very centerpiece of that devotion, the thing I treasure, what should occupy our attention in profound ways, is so marginalized today that I can't even get my students to pay attention to it in class.  The Bible doesn't matter.  And, the great irony is, they're taking a biblical studies class.  They don't read it before class.  They don't even have it open while I lecture on it.  They don't wrestle with what it says.  Rather, the majority of them sit and listen and take a few notes, hoping to pass the class.  Of course, I have a few students who care.  But that number is shrinking every year.

Sharing my disappointment recently, one of my colleagues assessed the situation like this:  these students of ours love the Bible.  They just don't care what's in it.

Same thing happens in church.  I'll invite my listeners to take their bibles and turn to . . . .  But there's no movement, little effort.  A few open the Scriptures (hard or e-copies) and try to follow along.  But, for the most part, the Bible is one of the most ignored things on Sunday mornings.  Trying to keep them engaged, I'll ask, "And what did Jesus say here?" or "And what was Paul's response in verse 24?"  Nothing.  Silence.  A few might fumble around trying to find the answer, as if surprised by the pop quiz.  But most stare back at me with that, "Are you finished yet?" look I've come to recognize so well:  in the classroom as well as in the church.

I'm afraid I'm becoming so discouraged that I might throw a fit in righteous indignation.  But that's such an ugly scene.  Doesn't do any good.  Besides, I don't want to be that guy.  I even prayed that this morning, "Lord.  Please help.  I don't want to be that guy."

But, I'm afraid I am becoming that guy, the old prof who reminisces about the good, old days--when people not only loved the Bible but also craved to know what's in it.

Honestly, I'm afraid the Scriptures don't matter anymore, and I wonder what the preacher of Hebrews would say.

Time to look away

Hearing about the death of one of my favorite actors, Philip Seymour Hoffman, made me groan.  I don't know why, but it felt like the death of a friend.  That is the allure of film.  We see stories with which we resonate, admire characters with whom we identify, and then deposit in our hearts fond feelings for the actors who bring these fictions to life.  I've written before that our obsession with Hollywood should give pause to us all:  we venerate people who are good fakers.  What does that say about us?  We love to watch great pretenders.  Professional liars (is that too strong of a term for actors?) are our heroes.  Indeed, great actors know how to embody the role, wear the psyche of a complex character--which some think leads to the demise of the overly empathetic actor.

This is why it bothers me so much that the press and the adoring public are eaten up with wanting the gory details of Mr. Hoffman's death.  It makes me angry.  I didn't need to hear that he had a needle in his arm when he died.  I didn't need to hear about all the bags of heroin in his apartment.  I didn't need to hear about his last hours on this earth--where he ate, how much money he drew from the ATM, whom he talked to on the phone.  All I could think about were his children, how they won't have their daddy around any more, how they'll have to hear all of their lives about how great an actor their daddy was and how tragic it was that he died a drug addict.  What a horrible burden to carry, especially for a child.

We watch.  We wait for more bits of juicy gossip.  We wring our hands over the tragedy.  We try to find some good in the "national conversation" about heroin addiction.  But, where's the dignity of remembering a man who was more than an actor and a drug addict?  He was a father for goodness sake.  He was someone's son.  Like every one of us, he too was made in the image of God.

Job said, "I have made a covenant with my eyes."  That's the best way to describe my desire these days.  I'm tired of watching the drama, the horror, the circus, the car wreck, the grief at someone else's expense.  For God's sake and mine . . .

It's time to look away and refuse to consume what the clamoring masses crave.

Good Endings

Our lives are filled with celebrations marking the beginning of things:  marriage, births, commencements, house warmings, inaugurations.  And, we have several ways of tracking life in the meantime:  birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, job promotions.  But, we really don't seem to have a handle on how to make sense of endings:  divorce, death, bankruptcy, retirement, chronic disease.  It's like we spend much energy at the beginning--party!--trying to keep the party going as it slowly fizzles--who wants cake and ice cream?--all the while knowing the end is coming.  To use a travel metaphor, we get worked up preparing for the trip, try to enjoy the journey, but have no idea when we've arrived.  It's almost as if we've heard the mantra so long--it's not the destination that matters but the journey--endings feel like failure.

Now, of course, I'm not suggesting that we cut against the grain of disappointing loss by offering some contrived celebration:  "yippee, I'm divorced;" or "ding, dong the witch is dead!"  That's why the recent trend of "designer funerals" appears so foolish.  A guy's coffin is made to look like the car of his favorite NASCAR driver, or a football fan's wake is attended by faux-cheerleaders of the NFL team he spent every Sunday rooting for.  I see what they're doing. They're trying to celebrate the end.  But it just comes off as campy and downright disrespectful.  Repeating the line, "Harry would have loved this!", doesn't make it any better.  Such arrogant words can only be spoken by the living, and they work like a hammer driving the last nail in the coffin.

Those of us who attend Christian funerals don't fare much better.  We try hard to say something nice, something important, hoping to sum up the life of a man in thirty minutes.  But, I always leave these funerals feeling like something's undone, like we forgot something, as if there was so much more to do, so much more to say.  Indeed, death always feels like a bad ending to a good story.

Then I think of Good Friday.  How the disciples walking away from the crowd that day must have felt the same way.  How the story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus seems to capture much of what I'm feeling as I walk away from the funeral, needing to mark the end of things with a celebration.

Then we gather for food around a table.  We talk.  We eat.  We even laugh at the funny stories of our shared life.  But that makes me long ever more for the day when we will celebrate the good ending.

I wish we knew how to celebrate the end of things.

Dear Reader

I've received several letters from readers of my books.  Few things excite me more than when a reader has read carefully my work and then offered a response.  For an author, it doesn't get much better.  Here's my response to a letter received last week:

Thanks so much for the kind, hand-written note regarding Spirituality according to Paul.  Please forgive my letter in print form; my handwriting is atrociously illegible, especially when compared to your beautiful cursive script.  I blame my poor penmanship on fast-talking professors during my studies at the university and seminary.  But, to be fair, my writing was in pretty bad shape before I started college.

 

Thanks for picking up a copy and reading the book.  I hope what I wrote is both fair to St. Paul and helpful to the Church.  There’s so much to say about our apostle, and so many excellent minds have devoted much study to unpacking his ideas.  No one, of course, will ever be able to say they’ve offered the last word on Paul.  To say that we shall study his letters until the end of the world is not a statement of resignation but a sincere and promising hope.  There’s still much work to be done.

 

Thanks also for including notes from your talk about homosexuality and the Bible.  To be sure, this is a complex and sensitive subject.  As a culture, we’ve certainly witnessed a revolution in the way we think and talk about homosexuality.  And, there’s no way a little letter will capture the way I read the Bible, and especially Paul, on this matter.  But, I will say this:  for the most part, I agree with your statement, “There can be no question Paul condemns homosexual acts, but he does not condemn homosexuality as such.”  But, allow me to parse your words a little in light of my reading of the Bible.

 

Homosexuality as a sexual orientation is a modern construct.  In New Testament times, they only knew of homoeroticism.  No one in Paul’s day would claim a psychological identity “gay” or “straight.”  So, to say that Paul condemns homosexuality in our terms is anachronistic (as your notes seem to point out).  That’s why I like to use (along with other NT scholars) the more descriptive term, homoeroticism.  Paul does condemn homoerotic acts, both man to man and woman to woman.  This is to be expected because as a first-century Jew who’s very concerned about holiness—especially as it applies to the behavior of his converts—Paul wants to present the obedience of the Gentiles to Christ as the ultimate proof of his apostleship.

 

Now, to claim that Paul would therefore affirm homosexual (a modern construct) relationships or unions (whether civil or religious) is purely speculative.  I think the burden of proof falls on anyone who would argue that Paul would support gay marriage.  Just because a more accurate reading of Paul’s arguments—based on the culture of his time—helps us see the difference between homoeroticism and homosexuality, it doesn’t necessarily follow that Paul would support gay marriage.  The most that could be said is that he would oppose it because he believed homoerotic acts did not glorify God (and gay couples certainly have every opportunity to engage in homoerotic behavior).  And, the least that could be said is that we don’t know whether Paul would support gay marriage.  One would have to weigh the arguments—plotting a trajectory from Paul’s letters to our context—to see whether we’re being fair to Paul (and especially) the full revelation of God’s Word.

 

Of course, some don’t feel obliged to read Paul carefully; claiming to be “red-letter” Christians they base their support of gay relationships on the silence of Jesus.  But, I’m afraid such an argument from silence is pretty shaky ground.  Besides, Jesus does have much to say about human sexuality and practice that needs to be more carefully considered, for example his teaching about lust, the abuse of divorce, and the importance of “eunuchs” for the sake of the kingdom.  I don’t hear many people fretting over what Jesus meant about becoming a eunuch.  Why not?  Sometimes it feels like the “marquis” issues of our day dominate our reading of the Bible.  Our selective reading of the Scriptures has more to do with what we’re trying to prove.  I would like to turn the hermeneutic around.  Perhaps a more careful reading of the Bible should inform the issues we choose to discuss?  Is that naïve?  Maybe so.

 

I hope my little note helps explain what I wrote in the conclusion of the book, where I speculate on what St. Paul would say to us today.  It was offered as a “thought experiment” and not a definitive word.  But, you certainly read my comments correctly.  I don’t believe Paul would come down hard one way or the other on the politics of gay marriage.  I do, however, believe that Paul would continue to condemn homoerotic behavior and would have much to teach us about sacrificing ourselves for one another—even Christians who are attracted to the same sex.

 

Thanks again for your kind remarks about the book.

 

Blessings to you, my brother.

The loneliness of friendship

I've been thinking a lot lately about friendship.  It may have something to do with the convergence of things that have happened this summer:  my son and daughter's move to "the big city," the death of my father-in-law, time spent camping with my youngest daughter and her soon-to-leave-for-college life.  Friendship is an elusive reality.  We all want friends.  We all need friends.  But, I'm not sure I've found very many--you know, the kind of friend that loves you unconditionally.  Of course, we find friends in expected places (family, work, school), but even then I've come to realize that my friends over the years have been few and far between.

Not counting my immediate family, I've had three or four friends.  In high school, my best friend, Rick, was my constant companion.  Wherever he went, I went and vice versa.  We worked at the same place (Orange Julius at the Battlefield Mall), we enjoyed the same movies (Monty Python's "Quest" and Mel Brooks "Blazing Saddles" nearly made us pee in our pants for laughter), and went to the prom together (with appropriate dates, of course).  Our 40 year high school reunion is coming up.  I haven't attended a single one.  But, if I were to attend this one, it would only be because Rick was going.  And, I'm sure we'd pick up the conversation were we left it over 10 years ago.

I made a couple of friends in college--guys that I haven't kept up with but I know that if we were to talk, it would feel like time travel.  Jimmy, "Bib", and Tim--even though the four of us didn't hang out together--these three guys made college feel like home.  But, again, I've only seen them every once in a while, when they're drawn back to Bolivar for various reasons.

During seminary, I became acquainted with several guys, but only three--Gerald, Randy, and David--have become good friends.  There was this immediate connection, this automatic fellowship, that made me feel like I've known them all my life.  I've seen all three over the years for a variety of reasons, but I don't know them as well as I ought if they are truly "friends."

In different jobs, under different circumstances, I've found friends for the same reasons:  a sense that somehow we share a deeper affection, a raison d'etre, that pulled us together for a time.  Jeph, Ken, Ric, Martin--I knew as soon as I met these guys that we would be friends.  I think about them every once in a while--wonder how they're doing, finding out tidbits via social media--but since I don't spend time with them, it doesn't feel like we have a lasting friendship.

So, when it all comes down to it, my best friends are only four:  Sheri, Andrew, Emma, and Grace.  I need them in my life.  I crave spending time with them.  I think about them all the time.  I pray more for them than anyone else.  I trust them completely.  I can't imagine treating them like I have all of my other friends--only getting by with random updates and "hey, how are you doing" encounters.  I drink up the times we are together--now more than ever--because the centrifugal force of life is sending two of them away, with one yet to part.  The older I get the more I realize that time is the constant of friendship, and this irrepressible force we call "time" will leave me lonely for them.

I used to look forward to birthdays, the marking of time with presents.  Now all I want for my birthday is time--time with my friends.  And then I think of God.  Time.  Never ending.  Always together.  Never parting.  And I weep for the end of loneliness we call friendship.

Buffets and Television

I was an indiscriminate eater of buffet food when I was younger.  I'd plow through the line and grab most everything I liked, what looked good to me.  These days I can't stomach the thought of grazing at the buffet.  It all looks nasty to me.  High fat, deep fried, starch-city, warmed over, preservative-drenched mush.  Even if I closed my eyes and dove in, I'd regret it throughout the night.  My body would rebel, "What in the world have you thrown down here, you numbskull?"  Indigestion, tossing and turning, fat-induced coma the next day.  Bleary-eyed and stumbling through the work day, I would question my foolish consumption.  I have become an old man.  "I can't believe what people eat these days."

I was an indiscriminate consumer of television programs when I was younger.  I'd watch just about anything, no matter how mind-numbing or senseless.  These days I can't tolerate the nonsense that passes for entertainment.  It all looks ridiculous to me.  Low ball, over hyped, idiot-city, warmed over, commercial-drenched pabulum.  Even if I closed my mind and took it in, I'd regret it throughout the night.  My soul would rebel, "What in the world have you thrown in here, you fool?"  Easily distracted, rambling and wandering, short-attention span waste the next day.  Foggy-headed and uncreative through the work day, I would question my foolish consumption.  I have become an old man.  "I can't believe what people watch these days."

If you've ever visited (or lived) outside the U.S., you know what this feels like.  Turn the television on and the whole world is foreign.  None of the personalities are recognizable.  None of the programs are familiar.  That's what it feels like when I flash through television programs these days.  It's all foreign to me.  No matter how many people rave about "Duck Dynasty," I can't get through two minutes.  No matter how many people talk about "Honey Boo Boo," I can't even tolerate the commercials for it.  It feels like we're living the apocalyptic scenario predicted by the movie, "Idiocracy."

I've often said to my wife (sounding like an old man), "I honestly don't know anymore.  None of this makes any sense to me.  Why do people watch this stuff?  Have we become a nation of idiots?"  She offers a more perceptive take on this ever-increasing mountain of television mush, "I think I know why.  People love to make fun of other people.  They're not watching 'Honey Boo Boo' because they like it.  They're watching it because it feeds this dark place where we enjoy being cruel to others."

Well, that may be true.  But, we still have to live with the indigestion that results from the indiscriminate consumption of what is served at the buffet.

So, here's some advice from a curmudgeonly old man, "Watch what you watch, for goodness sake.  We are what we eat.  (As he turns to the television) are the Cardinals playing tonight?"

Traitor

When I think through the implications of Jesus' teaching about how to love our enemies (Mt. 5:38-48), I realize once again how provocative he was.  In certain respects, I wish he would have been more vague about what it means to "love."  It would've helped us justify ourselves with empty expressions like, "hate the sin, love the sinner," for who could deny that we are "loving" someone when we tell the truth about sin?  But, Jesus won't let us get off so easy.  He doesn't leave the definition of "love" to us.  Rather, he offers a startling example that forces us to do things that don't come so easy.

When we think about loving our enemies, we often center on the "turning the other cheek" part of his advice.  And, that teaching is provocation enough to make us rethink whether we are truly loving our enemies.  But, recently I've been thinking through the other bit, the part about "going the extra mile," as an even more scandalous teaching--for Jesus' day and for ours.

Think about what it meant for his day.  He's making a clear reference to the practice of Roman soldiers to "force" imperial subjects to carry their armor, swords, provisions for a mile.  Since Rome didn't pay their armies enough to live on (some things never change), the Senate made provisions for Roman soldiers to exact help from the people they were ruling, e.g., extorting provisions for a journey, procuring goods for an expedition, or forcing locals to carry anything for a mile.  Of course, Roman soldiers abused the law and often took more than they should.  Think about how many times Jesus witnessed the scene growing up in Nazareth (a little town located a few miles from a major Roman highway).

Roman soldiers enter Nazareth.  They need food, water, perhaps tools, equipment, beasts of burden, etc.  Going house to house, the soldiers take what they need, what they want.  A Jewish man objects; they can't take his ox!  It's the only one he's got.  It took a year's pay to get it.  How will he plow his field without it?  The man resists.  The soldier gives him the usual warning, a back-handed slap across the face.  What can the man do?  He relents.  But, it gets worse.  The soldier has decided that he will not only take the man's ox, he will conscript the Jew to carry his armor.  That's the last thing the man from Nazareth would want to do:  help his enemy with Roman occupation.  As he carries the weapons and armor, imagine what would go through his mind:  "I wonder how many Jewish brothers and sisters this pagan has killed with his sword.  And I'm helping him get to the next Jewish village!"  They reach the end of the mile.  According to Roman law, that's as far as the subject should have to go.  But, the soldier keeps walking.  The Jewish man says, "That's it.  I'm going no further."  The soldier returns, slaps the man across the face again, and says, "Keep moving."  This was a common scene repeated thousands of times, not only in Palestine but throughout all imperial provinces of the Roman Empire.

Going "the second mile" not only meant willfully accepting the injustice of the enemy but also "aiding and abetting" the perpetrators.  Imagine what it looked like to fellow Jews when one of Jesus' disciples helped Roman soldiers rule the land promised by God to Israel.  By any standard, such action would be treason:  treason against fellow Jews, treason against God.

And, now we've come to the litmus test of what it means to love our enemies.  If our friends can accuse us of helping our opponents to the point that we are acting like traitors, then we might be living up to what Jesus taught.

But, we don't do this for two reasons:  we refuse to admit we have enemies (we Christians love everyone, right?), and our enemies know we hate them.  It's no wonder we don't know how to love them.