I read the following paragraphs in an article by Christianity Today. The full article can be read here.
"Which sums up much of ex-gay ministry today. No hype. Limited faith in techniques. No gay bashing. No detectable triumphalism, religious or political. Just serious discipleship. This may be the only group in America that realizes all the way to the bottom that when you decide to follow Jesus, you don't always get to do what you want to do.
The ex-gay movement runs against the cultural tide. Given adverse public opinion, the ambivalent support of conservative churches, and the common assertion that ex-gays condemn themselves to a life of frustration, you would think the movement would shrivel. Yet Exodus affiliates have doubled in number over the last 18 years. Many of its leaders have been in the public eye for 20 to 30 years. They show every sign of stability."
What a lesson to all of Christians! What would the Church be if we began to realize the sacrifice involved in discipleship? What if we fearlessly confronted cultural tides? What if our leaders would stand strong?
Lord, grant that we may follow the example of these, our brothers and sisters.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Our Deeply Sane Moments
The other day I decided that I needed to start smoking. I was driving, window open to the warm summer air, my hand on the window skimming through the breeze, and some great song on the radio. As I pulled up to a stop light, the guy next to me had just reached his hand out the window to flick ash off the end of his cigarette. It was so irrepressibly cool, so relaxing, I decided to buy my first pack at the very next gas station.
Luckily, I walked out of the Sinclair with only a pop-tart and a Mountain Dew (breakfast of champions!). I reasoned that I didn’t have time to smoke just then, and showing up to seminary class (New Testament) reeking of smoke wouldn’t go over real well. I was deeply tired and incredibly stressed, and perhaps a bit insane.
What in the world was going on in my head? Did I really think that a long draw on a cigarette was going to relieve my stress? Or make me cooler? A few weeks back I was preaching from Hebrews 10 and was emphasizing the “day after day, again and again” phrase that describes other attempts to reach God apart from Christ. I shared a definition of insanity that I thought particularly helpful and insightful. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, each time expecting a different result.
By this definition, I would say that many of us have strongly insane tendencies. I mean, if it’s not drugs or alcohol, it’s the power-games and the rat-race for financial gain. Day after day, again and again, trying to acquire for ourselves something we think will give us those things we truly seek—love, peace, joy. These things are only found in God, revealed and made known to us only through His Son. Really when you think of it, all sins are this type of insanity. We say to God, “I will meet these deep needs within me by a different means than what you’ve provided—I can provide for myself.” So we sin again and again, thinking that this time it might fulfill, this time we might find that which we are after.
With all these moments of insanity, I sometimes wonder if I can trust myself to make any sound decisions at all. Here again, I’m comforted by something I heard. The difference between truly insane people and sane people is that the insane never question their sanity. But still, how do you know when you are making a sound decision? Especially when there seems to be major change or risk involved? Couched in Christian language, one might ask, how does one know God’s will?
Two months ago, I witnessed one of the most stirring and deeply sane moments I have ever seen. A friend of mine reached rock bottom. As three of us sat on the floor in a living room with long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional comment, he kept expressing how much he wanted to leave behind this thing that was destroying his life. He felt destitute, broken down, beat up, almost destroyed, but he had a vision of freedom and he was building resolve to find it. It was if his mind, heart, emotions, and spirit had all come into alignment—telling him the same thing: “Leave this behind.” The road ahead was marked with sacrifice, difficulties, and risk, but he felt compelled to begin. It was sober and sobering; it was deeply sane.
Our deeply sane moments may come only once in a great while. They are moments of great vision grounded with sober reality. They are those rare moments when all parts of seem to align—mind, heart, emotions, and spirit. We somehow seem to know—as deeply as we’ve known anything—this is the road we must take. The road, though fraught with danger and hardship, will lead us to love, peace and joy.
When we leave this moment, we must guard the vision against all our insanities. We must never settle for old coping mechanisms, which we practice again and again, hoping for different results. We are now on a different road. It is terrifying, terribly hard, and deeply sane.
Luckily, I walked out of the Sinclair with only a pop-tart and a Mountain Dew (breakfast of champions!). I reasoned that I didn’t have time to smoke just then, and showing up to seminary class (New Testament) reeking of smoke wouldn’t go over real well. I was deeply tired and incredibly stressed, and perhaps a bit insane.
What in the world was going on in my head? Did I really think that a long draw on a cigarette was going to relieve my stress? Or make me cooler? A few weeks back I was preaching from Hebrews 10 and was emphasizing the “day after day, again and again” phrase that describes other attempts to reach God apart from Christ. I shared a definition of insanity that I thought particularly helpful and insightful. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, each time expecting a different result.
By this definition, I would say that many of us have strongly insane tendencies. I mean, if it’s not drugs or alcohol, it’s the power-games and the rat-race for financial gain. Day after day, again and again, trying to acquire for ourselves something we think will give us those things we truly seek—love, peace, joy. These things are only found in God, revealed and made known to us only through His Son. Really when you think of it, all sins are this type of insanity. We say to God, “I will meet these deep needs within me by a different means than what you’ve provided—I can provide for myself.” So we sin again and again, thinking that this time it might fulfill, this time we might find that which we are after.
With all these moments of insanity, I sometimes wonder if I can trust myself to make any sound decisions at all. Here again, I’m comforted by something I heard. The difference between truly insane people and sane people is that the insane never question their sanity. But still, how do you know when you are making a sound decision? Especially when there seems to be major change or risk involved? Couched in Christian language, one might ask, how does one know God’s will?
Two months ago, I witnessed one of the most stirring and deeply sane moments I have ever seen. A friend of mine reached rock bottom. As three of us sat on the floor in a living room with long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional comment, he kept expressing how much he wanted to leave behind this thing that was destroying his life. He felt destitute, broken down, beat up, almost destroyed, but he had a vision of freedom and he was building resolve to find it. It was if his mind, heart, emotions, and spirit had all come into alignment—telling him the same thing: “Leave this behind.” The road ahead was marked with sacrifice, difficulties, and risk, but he felt compelled to begin. It was sober and sobering; it was deeply sane.
Our deeply sane moments may come only once in a great while. They are moments of great vision grounded with sober reality. They are those rare moments when all parts of seem to align—mind, heart, emotions, and spirit. We somehow seem to know—as deeply as we’ve known anything—this is the road we must take. The road, though fraught with danger and hardship, will lead us to love, peace and joy.
When we leave this moment, we must guard the vision against all our insanities. We must never settle for old coping mechanisms, which we practice again and again, hoping for different results. We are now on a different road. It is terrifying, terribly hard, and deeply sane.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Lessons from the 'rents
My mother taught me to clean up after myself, to love with a no-nonsense, fierce love, and to leave things better than I found them.
My dad taught me to work hard, think deeply, and to enter so deeply into other people's lives that your kids feel as if you will never leave the church on Sunday afternoon.
In some senses, the clock is ticking loudly on my time here in Utah. My prayer is that I'm faithful to the lessons I learned from my parents.
I hope that when I leave Utah my affairs here will be wrapped up neatly, my hard work and deep thinking will have lasting effects, and my love and relationships will run so deep it will hurt like hell to leave. I hope in some way to leave this place better than I found it.
My dad taught me to work hard, think deeply, and to enter so deeply into other people's lives that your kids feel as if you will never leave the church on Sunday afternoon.
In some senses, the clock is ticking loudly on my time here in Utah. My prayer is that I'm faithful to the lessons I learned from my parents.
I hope that when I leave Utah my affairs here will be wrapped up neatly, my hard work and deep thinking will have lasting effects, and my love and relationships will run so deep it will hurt like hell to leave. I hope in some way to leave this place better than I found it.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
How the Church lost the debate on Homosexuality
For the most part, I am very optimistic about the Church’s ability to overcome problems, reach people and be a salt and light presence in the world, even if I do criticize what I perceive to be short-comings in these efforts. That being said, when it comes to the Church and the homosexual community, I’m not so optimistic. I’ve seen the rejection and hate that some within the Church show homosexuals. I’ve seen otherwise grounded Christians freak about homosexual issues that present themselves. And most devastatingly I’ve seen two friends who were Christians turn completely away from the faith because they felt that there was no place in the Church for them. These experiences have left me entirely skeptical and bit worried about the Church’s ability to recover from her faults in this area. I see three areas in which I think the Church has lost the debate already. If we are to reenter the debate in any meaningful way, these are the three areas we will have to address. And then we’ve only scratched the surface—we’ll have years of trying to repair relationships that might be strained beyond repair, save only by miracle.
OUR DOUBLE STANDARD: How we made it “special”
We made a double standard for homosexuality. While many other sins can be addressed with calm, rational, biblical, and loving approaches, many within Christian circles go on high alert when they hear anything about homosexuality. Instead of loving and biblical approaches, we either run away in a dead panic, or pull out the bio-hazard gear and handle the situation as if it might be toxic enough to wipe us all out. Imagine the difference in these two situations. A man walks into your church on a Sunday, sits through the service, and at the end of the service tells people that he is an alcoholic, but desperately wants to come to know Christ. Now, imagine that two men enter your service and at the end they tell people they are a gay couple and they want to come to know Christ. The tension would be palpable. I have a feeling that in many churches the alcoholic would be led to Christ and would be encouraged to seek treatment, while the gay men would be told that they need to stop living a homosexual lifestyle (no relapses or mess-ups allowed) and then led to Christ. Some sinners need grace and forgiveness, and the Holy Spirit to change them from inside out, others (homosexuals) need to change on their own and then can get grace and the Holy Spirit.
Furthermore, we have maintained a double standard (not in theory, but in practice) for what is sin and what is temptation. If an alcoholic feels attracted to booze, we call it temptation. If a man is attracted to another man, we call that sinning. A homosexual who becomes a Christian is supposed to experience immediate release of any temptation (and if they ever give in to temptation, we’d probably kick them out of the church). A non-Christian homosexual is deemed a special kind of sinner because their every thought in this regard is sinful. (I differentiate between willful sin and something caused by sin’s corruption of the created order—I mean, here, willful sin.) The Bible’s prohibitions on homosexuality have nothing to do with orientation, but all to do with actual actions. Homosexual orientation, or more appropriately homosexual temptation, is not in and of itself willful sin.
If we are going to have any ministry among homosexuals, we’ll have to drop our double standard. Sin is sin, and it is nasty, but all of it was dealt with on the cross. Our savior had no such double standards.
OUR SEXUAL MISCONCEPTIONS: How we made it hopeless
The Church went from not talking about sex at all, to talking up how great faithful, marital sex is. We’ve talked it up so much that we’ve bought in to a pattern of thinking that anyone who does not get to experience this would be an incomplete person. And since we’ve bought into the notion that when Christ said He had come to give us life and life to the full, He must have been talking about the exact set of things that we feel constitute life to the full (sex being on the top), we are hardly ready to tell anyone that they can’t have sex. We tell the teenager to endure these years, because marriage is coming (wait for sex). We tell the single adult, you’ll meet the right person soon; you just got to work at it a bit (strive for sex). We tell the homosexual, one day you’ll miraculously change, and you too will enjoy marital sex (change for sex). Sex is definitely at the end of the equation for you, we just have to figure out the right path, after all, we can’t leave you an incomplete person forever.
What about a model of understanding that gives merit to the idea of life-to-the-full without sex? What hope do we give to the celibate, homosexual Christian who does seem to be able to throw off the 20, 30, or 40 years of ingrained patterns overnight in order to become a candidate for healthy, heterosexual marriage? What if a person like this won’t live to see this drastic change? We seem to only be able to point to examples of Christians who have been able to make this change, but many voices are now expressing doubt as to whether every person will be able to make this change (though they may be able to live sinlessly). Do we have ministries in the Church to help people live life to the full without sex, without a heterosexual marriage? Or are we so blinded by our version of life-to-the-full, that we can only tell people “wait, strive, or change” instead of “live it now” in Christ.
We must regain a firm understanding that saying “no” to unbiblical sex is, well, biblical even if that means a life of no sex. But if we want to offer hope to homosexuals both in and out of the Church, we must understand and teach that a “no” doesn’t mean a second-rate life. An interesting article that touches on this can be found here.
OUR MISPLACED AGENDA: How we made it “us versus them”
Probably in large part because we made it “special,” we have turned the issue into a relationship so antagonistic as to be down-right sinful. When the Church covered her eyes and ears and began to hum really loud, instead of seeking to learn and understand; when we decided to control homosexuals with legislation, instead of reaching them with the gospel; when we responded to them with fear, anger and hate, instead of love; we played right into a trap. We added fuel to flame that was galvanizing the homosexual community’s identity. And while we’ve chosen to argue about orientation, genetics, and legalities, they have chosen to emphasize identity. We’ve done nothing but reaffirm their conception of their identity. In fact, a group with a strong identity is much easier to attack, than individuals with an amorphous connection. So we made it “us versus them.”
In the process we forgot all about one of the most fundamental questions we purport to answer: Who are we? We are God’s creation. We are loved and cherished by Him. We are sought after by Him. We are sinners to whom He has offered salvation. This is the true identity of every person on earth.
Homosexuals often find their homosexuality to be a huge part of their identity. This identity, they feel, is under constant attack by the Church. So why would you ever step foot in place that attacks your very identity? If we are going to be relevant to the gay community in any way other than antagonism; if we are going to love the sinner but hate the sin, we are going to have to lovingly set the record straight on identity. Until we do, we’ve lost before we’ve even started. Could you imagine a committed American soldier having any inclination to join a group of terrorists hell-bent on destroying American soldiers? I would argue that most gays would feel the same way about joining the Church. We must differentiate between actions/lifestyles and identity. They are not first and foremost homosexuals; they are loved and sought-after creations of God. This is part of the scandal of the gospel—what you do is not who you are in the eyes of God, it is instead what He has done that makes you who you are.
OUR HIDDEN POWER: How we made it this far
My only optimism is in the Holy Spirit who seems to work in the hearts of believers in order to prepare the Church for each big challenge. If only we will listen and heed Him. It seems as if more and more within the Church are rising up to meet this challenge with wisdom and love. We have seen homosexuals come to know Christ and even change, and this we can certainly admit is by no stellar efforts on our part as a whole, but by the efforts of the Spirit through individuals who chose to listen and obey. Holy Spirit, breathe of the living God, renew us and all the world.
OUR DOUBLE STANDARD: How we made it “special”
We made a double standard for homosexuality. While many other sins can be addressed with calm, rational, biblical, and loving approaches, many within Christian circles go on high alert when they hear anything about homosexuality. Instead of loving and biblical approaches, we either run away in a dead panic, or pull out the bio-hazard gear and handle the situation as if it might be toxic enough to wipe us all out. Imagine the difference in these two situations. A man walks into your church on a Sunday, sits through the service, and at the end of the service tells people that he is an alcoholic, but desperately wants to come to know Christ. Now, imagine that two men enter your service and at the end they tell people they are a gay couple and they want to come to know Christ. The tension would be palpable. I have a feeling that in many churches the alcoholic would be led to Christ and would be encouraged to seek treatment, while the gay men would be told that they need to stop living a homosexual lifestyle (no relapses or mess-ups allowed) and then led to Christ. Some sinners need grace and forgiveness, and the Holy Spirit to change them from inside out, others (homosexuals) need to change on their own and then can get grace and the Holy Spirit.
Furthermore, we have maintained a double standard (not in theory, but in practice) for what is sin and what is temptation. If an alcoholic feels attracted to booze, we call it temptation. If a man is attracted to another man, we call that sinning. A homosexual who becomes a Christian is supposed to experience immediate release of any temptation (and if they ever give in to temptation, we’d probably kick them out of the church). A non-Christian homosexual is deemed a special kind of sinner because their every thought in this regard is sinful. (I differentiate between willful sin and something caused by sin’s corruption of the created order—I mean, here, willful sin.) The Bible’s prohibitions on homosexuality have nothing to do with orientation, but all to do with actual actions. Homosexual orientation, or more appropriately homosexual temptation, is not in and of itself willful sin.
If we are going to have any ministry among homosexuals, we’ll have to drop our double standard. Sin is sin, and it is nasty, but all of it was dealt with on the cross. Our savior had no such double standards.
OUR SEXUAL MISCONCEPTIONS: How we made it hopeless
The Church went from not talking about sex at all, to talking up how great faithful, marital sex is. We’ve talked it up so much that we’ve bought in to a pattern of thinking that anyone who does not get to experience this would be an incomplete person. And since we’ve bought into the notion that when Christ said He had come to give us life and life to the full, He must have been talking about the exact set of things that we feel constitute life to the full (sex being on the top), we are hardly ready to tell anyone that they can’t have sex. We tell the teenager to endure these years, because marriage is coming (wait for sex). We tell the single adult, you’ll meet the right person soon; you just got to work at it a bit (strive for sex). We tell the homosexual, one day you’ll miraculously change, and you too will enjoy marital sex (change for sex). Sex is definitely at the end of the equation for you, we just have to figure out the right path, after all, we can’t leave you an incomplete person forever.
What about a model of understanding that gives merit to the idea of life-to-the-full without sex? What hope do we give to the celibate, homosexual Christian who does seem to be able to throw off the 20, 30, or 40 years of ingrained patterns overnight in order to become a candidate for healthy, heterosexual marriage? What if a person like this won’t live to see this drastic change? We seem to only be able to point to examples of Christians who have been able to make this change, but many voices are now expressing doubt as to whether every person will be able to make this change (though they may be able to live sinlessly). Do we have ministries in the Church to help people live life to the full without sex, without a heterosexual marriage? Or are we so blinded by our version of life-to-the-full, that we can only tell people “wait, strive, or change” instead of “live it now” in Christ.
We must regain a firm understanding that saying “no” to unbiblical sex is, well, biblical even if that means a life of no sex. But if we want to offer hope to homosexuals both in and out of the Church, we must understand and teach that a “no” doesn’t mean a second-rate life. An interesting article that touches on this can be found here.
OUR MISPLACED AGENDA: How we made it “us versus them”
Probably in large part because we made it “special,” we have turned the issue into a relationship so antagonistic as to be down-right sinful. When the Church covered her eyes and ears and began to hum really loud, instead of seeking to learn and understand; when we decided to control homosexuals with legislation, instead of reaching them with the gospel; when we responded to them with fear, anger and hate, instead of love; we played right into a trap. We added fuel to flame that was galvanizing the homosexual community’s identity. And while we’ve chosen to argue about orientation, genetics, and legalities, they have chosen to emphasize identity. We’ve done nothing but reaffirm their conception of their identity. In fact, a group with a strong identity is much easier to attack, than individuals with an amorphous connection. So we made it “us versus them.”
In the process we forgot all about one of the most fundamental questions we purport to answer: Who are we? We are God’s creation. We are loved and cherished by Him. We are sought after by Him. We are sinners to whom He has offered salvation. This is the true identity of every person on earth.
Homosexuals often find their homosexuality to be a huge part of their identity. This identity, they feel, is under constant attack by the Church. So why would you ever step foot in place that attacks your very identity? If we are going to be relevant to the gay community in any way other than antagonism; if we are going to love the sinner but hate the sin, we are going to have to lovingly set the record straight on identity. Until we do, we’ve lost before we’ve even started. Could you imagine a committed American soldier having any inclination to join a group of terrorists hell-bent on destroying American soldiers? I would argue that most gays would feel the same way about joining the Church. We must differentiate between actions/lifestyles and identity. They are not first and foremost homosexuals; they are loved and sought-after creations of God. This is part of the scandal of the gospel—what you do is not who you are in the eyes of God, it is instead what He has done that makes you who you are.
OUR HIDDEN POWER: How we made it this far
My only optimism is in the Holy Spirit who seems to work in the hearts of believers in order to prepare the Church for each big challenge. If only we will listen and heed Him. It seems as if more and more within the Church are rising up to meet this challenge with wisdom and love. We have seen homosexuals come to know Christ and even change, and this we can certainly admit is by no stellar efforts on our part as a whole, but by the efforts of the Spirit through individuals who chose to listen and obey. Holy Spirit, breathe of the living God, renew us and all the world.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Honest about our puffy feet
My parents are visiting from Ohio this week and today I took them up to Yellowstone and Grand Tetons National Parks. It was a beautiful but long trip. In the quiet and tired moments on the way home, I began to think of, for no reason other than my random, tired mind, a substitute teacher that I once had in elementary school.
The woman was average height and thinning black hair, but by far the most fascinating aspect of her was her feet. I still remember the first day we met her. Our teacher was going to be gone for a week or two and she was coming in to take over. We all immediately became fixated on her feet. Some of us knew we shouldn't stare, but no one could resist. They were puffy feet--they swelled up and out of her shoes. She wore a dress flat with a fairly open top and her foot just billowed out of that open shoe like it was the top of a muffin.
I remember thinking we might get in trouble for staring, but she shocked us all when she started class. The first thing out of her mouth, after her name, was, "And most people are curious about my feet." She spent the next few minutes explaining that her feet were swollen and nobody really knew why. And then she fielded the barrage of questions from the inquisitors we were as elementary students. No, they didn't hurt. Yes she did have trouble finding just the right shoe. No, it didn't feel like a water balloon you could pop, but was rather firm.
Now I don't know much about this woman today, but what struck me as amazing as I was recalling that event was her simple acceptance of herself. She was not caught up in all the image games we tend to play. She had puffy feet, and that was that. She didn't hide them or make excuses for them. She didn't change the subject whenever someone brought it up. Instead, she bravely and honestly explained her puffy feet to a bunch of first graders. She demystified the whole thing, and we came, rather quickly, to accept her puffy feet as a welcome visitor in our classroom.
What would the world be like if we could all just live honestly with our own puffy feet? What if we weren't so concerned about image, but rather just accepted ourselves and presented ourselves honestly to others? What if we just admitted that our hair wasn't perfect, or our smile was crooked, or that our skin was in full mutiny to our wishes? What if we could be honest about that fact that we were uncomfortable with our weight, or worried that we aren't athletic enough?
And as amazing as that would be, I'm really wondering, what if those in the community of believers would just be honest about our spiritual, emotional, and character puffy feet? What if we could just admit that we weren't doing "OK"? What if we talked honestly about the things that plagued us? What if we named the sins that continually knocked us down? What if the Church was the safest place to share these things? See, unlike physical puffy feet, these things can be healed in community.
Protecting images is destroying community.
The woman was average height and thinning black hair, but by far the most fascinating aspect of her was her feet. I still remember the first day we met her. Our teacher was going to be gone for a week or two and she was coming in to take over. We all immediately became fixated on her feet. Some of us knew we shouldn't stare, but no one could resist. They were puffy feet--they swelled up and out of her shoes. She wore a dress flat with a fairly open top and her foot just billowed out of that open shoe like it was the top of a muffin.
I remember thinking we might get in trouble for staring, but she shocked us all when she started class. The first thing out of her mouth, after her name, was, "And most people are curious about my feet." She spent the next few minutes explaining that her feet were swollen and nobody really knew why. And then she fielded the barrage of questions from the inquisitors we were as elementary students. No, they didn't hurt. Yes she did have trouble finding just the right shoe. No, it didn't feel like a water balloon you could pop, but was rather firm.
Now I don't know much about this woman today, but what struck me as amazing as I was recalling that event was her simple acceptance of herself. She was not caught up in all the image games we tend to play. She had puffy feet, and that was that. She didn't hide them or make excuses for them. She didn't change the subject whenever someone brought it up. Instead, she bravely and honestly explained her puffy feet to a bunch of first graders. She demystified the whole thing, and we came, rather quickly, to accept her puffy feet as a welcome visitor in our classroom.
What would the world be like if we could all just live honestly with our own puffy feet? What if we weren't so concerned about image, but rather just accepted ourselves and presented ourselves honestly to others? What if we just admitted that our hair wasn't perfect, or our smile was crooked, or that our skin was in full mutiny to our wishes? What if we could be honest about that fact that we were uncomfortable with our weight, or worried that we aren't athletic enough?
And as amazing as that would be, I'm really wondering, what if those in the community of believers would just be honest about our spiritual, emotional, and character puffy feet? What if we could just admit that we weren't doing "OK"? What if we talked honestly about the things that plagued us? What if we named the sins that continually knocked us down? What if the Church was the safest place to share these things? See, unlike physical puffy feet, these things can be healed in community.
Protecting images is destroying community.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
A little down
The last couple of nights I've been kind of down. I've been hanging out with people and have been having a great time, but when they leave I begin to reflect and I get this anxious and sad feeling in my heart.
See, for the first time in my life, (except once, but that lasted like 3 hours) I've been doubting God not for intellectual reasons or lack of understanding or lack of faith, but because of power. I know in my head that God's power is unlimited, but my heart has been anxious to see that power in action, and it feels as if He is sitting on His thumbs when His mighty working is needed.
I've got a friend who's really been struggling lately. He's had a rough life and has gotten this feeling that God has cut him a raw deal. The struggles that he so desperately wants to throw off keep plaguing him. His desires seem unfulfilled. These struggles and feelings of disappointment are pulling him into dangerous waters; he's ready to throw in the towel. And what I want so desperately to see happen in his life seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
I tutor these Somalian refugee kids. They are struggling to make it in this life. I read their report cards and see things like "minimal proficiency" "at risk" and "negative attitude." They are getting sucked into the gang life--into drugs, violence, and sexual promiscuity. At 12 and 13 they have to translate everything for their parents--forced into the role of an adult before their time. They live with a shell of Muslim religion they seem to know so little about and which seems to do nothing for them, other than prevent them from eating pork and petting dogs. And what I want so desperately to see happen in their lives seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
I have these friends at work. Some are Mormon, and they've bought so hard into this religion that I see to be a deception, that they seem content to live with meaningless legalism. Some of them aren't Mormon but want nothing to do with religion because of the hypocrisy they've seen. I've been working to establish stronger and stronger relationships with them, and I find that I truly love them, which hurts because I want them to have what's most important to me. And what I want so desperately to see happen in their lives seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
We've had all these new young people come to our church lately. They've been in and out. It seems like we just start establishing a relationship with them, and then they just disappear. They come in so hungry, and we start to show them where to eat, and they slip out the back door. And what I want so desperately to see for this ministry seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
When I get to thinking about all these, I get a little low. And when I think about the battles that are raging, I start to think about me. I think about all the stuff that holds me down. I think about the countless times I've let the Lord down. I think about the times I've just completely botched my witness in front of my friends. I think about the struggles inside me that I've sworn for the thousandth time would end today. And what I want so desperately to see happen in my own life seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
Last night before I fell asleep, with this anxious, sad feeling stirring in my gut, I became almost desperate to see God's power at work. All these battles to be fought and I feel like "where's the power to fight these?" So, I'm a little low.
"Holy Spirit, breathe of the living God, renew me and all the world."
See, for the first time in my life, (except once, but that lasted like 3 hours) I've been doubting God not for intellectual reasons or lack of understanding or lack of faith, but because of power. I know in my head that God's power is unlimited, but my heart has been anxious to see that power in action, and it feels as if He is sitting on His thumbs when His mighty working is needed.
I've got a friend who's really been struggling lately. He's had a rough life and has gotten this feeling that God has cut him a raw deal. The struggles that he so desperately wants to throw off keep plaguing him. His desires seem unfulfilled. These struggles and feelings of disappointment are pulling him into dangerous waters; he's ready to throw in the towel. And what I want so desperately to see happen in his life seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
I tutor these Somalian refugee kids. They are struggling to make it in this life. I read their report cards and see things like "minimal proficiency" "at risk" and "negative attitude." They are getting sucked into the gang life--into drugs, violence, and sexual promiscuity. At 12 and 13 they have to translate everything for their parents--forced into the role of an adult before their time. They live with a shell of Muslim religion they seem to know so little about and which seems to do nothing for them, other than prevent them from eating pork and petting dogs. And what I want so desperately to see happen in their lives seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
I have these friends at work. Some are Mormon, and they've bought so hard into this religion that I see to be a deception, that they seem content to live with meaningless legalism. Some of them aren't Mormon but want nothing to do with religion because of the hypocrisy they've seen. I've been working to establish stronger and stronger relationships with them, and I find that I truly love them, which hurts because I want them to have what's most important to me. And what I want so desperately to see happen in their lives seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
We've had all these new young people come to our church lately. They've been in and out. It seems like we just start establishing a relationship with them, and then they just disappear. They come in so hungry, and we start to show them where to eat, and they slip out the back door. And what I want so desperately to see for this ministry seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
When I get to thinking about all these, I get a little low. And when I think about the battles that are raging, I start to think about me. I think about all the stuff that holds me down. I think about the countless times I've let the Lord down. I think about the times I've just completely botched my witness in front of my friends. I think about the struggles inside me that I've sworn for the thousandth time would end today. And what I want so desperately to see happen in my own life seems to be on the other side of an impossible battle.
Last night before I fell asleep, with this anxious, sad feeling stirring in my gut, I became almost desperate to see God's power at work. All these battles to be fought and I feel like "where's the power to fight these?" So, I'm a little low.
"Holy Spirit, breathe of the living God, renew me and all the world."
Fixing problems
The other day I went to a meeting of people that advocate for the refugee population here in Salt Lake City. This has become my second full-time job out here. I had Wednesday through Saturday off this week (oh the joys of being a nurse), and I was with them for at least three or four hours each of those days. But back to the meeting.
A lady who teaches ESL at one of the local schools here but is just starting to volunteer with our group was at the meeting. She made a comment that meet with unanimous approval, head nods, claps, and "absolutely's" from around the circle, including myself, as if she had hit our purpose right on the head. The moment I stopped parroting the approval, I realized with a sense of horror what I had just approved.
It's not that the lady suggested we bomb government buildings, or made some overtly demeaning or racist remark (emphasis on overtly), or something else horrible like that. She simply said that research showed that if we don't intervene with a population like this, who has been so traumatized already, they will turn to drugs, alcohol, violence and other destructive behaviors. She concluded by saying that what we were doing was for the good of the community, that it was essential to preserve our community.
Maybe that doesn't sound horrible to you; it didn't immediately to me either. I mean she is right, research probably does indicate all of those things (I see it with my own eyes). Let me tell you one other comment before I share my sense of horror.
One of the ladies that leads these meetings said to me a bit later on in the conversation, "Jake, why don't you take some of these new volunteers and introduce them to the families you've been working with, and then once they get started, you can move on to a new family."
Are you kidding me? Move on to a new family? These families aren't just some problems I'm trying to fix, so that as soon as someone else can deal with them, I can move on to the next problem. These are people; people I love. That's why I reacted (delayed as it was) so badly to what the teacher had said. What we are doing is for the good of the community? Sure, but that isn't what I'm there for. I'm not helping these families because I'm worried that if I don't one more user and one more pusher will be added to my streets. No, I'm helping them because I'm terrified that that user or that pusher might have a name, and it might be the name of one of my boys. I don't give a rip about statistics, but I'll fight with my whole being to make sure that one of my kids doesn't become one.
Now I was the only Christian at the meeting, so maybe I took a unique perspective. (Don't get me wrong, these people are wonderful.) Or maybe I'm over reacting. But I firmly believe that I'm part of a kingdom (The Kingdom) that has a unique concern for individuals. There isn't concern for individuals over and against the community, but the two are held in a tension. Mine is a kingdom in which the shepherd leaves the 99 to find the 1, but mine is also a kingdom in which "the many parts make one body."
And the issue here, as I think about it, isn't even community vs. individual. In a community the members are still people. The problem here is the typical "fix it" American mentality, which usually has self at the center. See we can be awfully generous (at least in our own minds) when we are trying to fix problems. And that is what we see, problems, not people. We throw money at everything because we believe it fixes everything. But it doesn't fix people. And we throw our ingenuity, our activism, and our left-over time at problems, because these fix problems. But they don't fix people. People are messy and you just can't fix them.
We will only begin to understand what true generosity and true community are when we stop trying to fix problems, and just start treating people like people. When we learn to love people--messy, awkward, error-prone people, whom we find to be strangely like ourselves--then, and only then, will we make a difference--a difference that will be felt community-wide.
Quit fixing problems and start loving people. And Holy Spirit, make it true of me.
A lady who teaches ESL at one of the local schools here but is just starting to volunteer with our group was at the meeting. She made a comment that meet with unanimous approval, head nods, claps, and "absolutely's" from around the circle, including myself, as if she had hit our purpose right on the head. The moment I stopped parroting the approval, I realized with a sense of horror what I had just approved.
It's not that the lady suggested we bomb government buildings, or made some overtly demeaning or racist remark (emphasis on overtly), or something else horrible like that. She simply said that research showed that if we don't intervene with a population like this, who has been so traumatized already, they will turn to drugs, alcohol, violence and other destructive behaviors. She concluded by saying that what we were doing was for the good of the community, that it was essential to preserve our community.
Maybe that doesn't sound horrible to you; it didn't immediately to me either. I mean she is right, research probably does indicate all of those things (I see it with my own eyes). Let me tell you one other comment before I share my sense of horror.
One of the ladies that leads these meetings said to me a bit later on in the conversation, "Jake, why don't you take some of these new volunteers and introduce them to the families you've been working with, and then once they get started, you can move on to a new family."
Are you kidding me? Move on to a new family? These families aren't just some problems I'm trying to fix, so that as soon as someone else can deal with them, I can move on to the next problem. These are people; people I love. That's why I reacted (delayed as it was) so badly to what the teacher had said. What we are doing is for the good of the community? Sure, but that isn't what I'm there for. I'm not helping these families because I'm worried that if I don't one more user and one more pusher will be added to my streets. No, I'm helping them because I'm terrified that that user or that pusher might have a name, and it might be the name of one of my boys. I don't give a rip about statistics, but I'll fight with my whole being to make sure that one of my kids doesn't become one.
Now I was the only Christian at the meeting, so maybe I took a unique perspective. (Don't get me wrong, these people are wonderful.) Or maybe I'm over reacting. But I firmly believe that I'm part of a kingdom (The Kingdom) that has a unique concern for individuals. There isn't concern for individuals over and against the community, but the two are held in a tension. Mine is a kingdom in which the shepherd leaves the 99 to find the 1, but mine is also a kingdom in which "the many parts make one body."
And the issue here, as I think about it, isn't even community vs. individual. In a community the members are still people. The problem here is the typical "fix it" American mentality, which usually has self at the center. See we can be awfully generous (at least in our own minds) when we are trying to fix problems. And that is what we see, problems, not people. We throw money at everything because we believe it fixes everything. But it doesn't fix people. And we throw our ingenuity, our activism, and our left-over time at problems, because these fix problems. But they don't fix people. People are messy and you just can't fix them.
We will only begin to understand what true generosity and true community are when we stop trying to fix problems, and just start treating people like people. When we learn to love people--messy, awkward, error-prone people, whom we find to be strangely like ourselves--then, and only then, will we make a difference--a difference that will be felt community-wide.
Quit fixing problems and start loving people. And Holy Spirit, make it true of me.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Fundamentalism or Orthodoxy??
So when did any form of Christianity that asserts the particularity of Christ among other religions become labeled "hardcore fundamentalism"?
I stumbled on this article on Yahoo! (coincidentally after having talked about Kirk Cameron at breakfast this morning) this evening. Found here, the article details the conversion and new ministry that Kirk Cameron has undertaken. I actually had an opportunity to hear Kirk speak at my school a couple of years ago, so I was familiar with his testimony as well as his ministry strategy. More thoughts on that later, but what really caught my attention was this statement:
"They have harnessed Comfort's writing and Cameron's celebrity to create a small multimedia empire that is in service of a hardcore fundamentalist message: Accept Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior or you will not get to heaven."
Again, I ask, when did this basic Orthodox, protestant, evangelical tenet get subverted under the banner of hardcore fundamentalism? I object to this for a number of reasons. First, I hold to this message and don't consider myself a fundamentalist (let alone a hardcore one, unless you consider me a grammar fundamentalist, as you will see). Second, much like CS Lewis protesting the way the word 'gentleman' was being used to describe something other than what a true gentleman is, I protest this use of the word fundamentalist. A fundamentalist is a subsect of Christian practice, not Christianity itself. The use of the word fundamentalist in this context is a redundant use of sorts, and actually distorts understanding, making either the word Christianity or fundamentalism a useless word (I have a sense which word people would love to make worthless). Thirdly, the word hardcore (let alone fundamentalist) is wrought with connotation, most of which is not favorable. Lumping a basic Christian message under the title of hardcore fundamentalism is far from neutrality in journalism. Lastly, taking a message that is a basic tenet of Christianity and labeling it "fundamentalist" ties all adherents to fundamentalism. And since the banner of fundamentalism has gone from meaning "a subsect of Christianity" to being more synonymous with "religious fanatic", on the plane of backward, polygamist Mormons and Islamic terrorists (a plane on which, although I have my disagreements with them, I would not begin to place fundamentalist Christians), the adherents of basic Christianity get lumped into a group of polygamist, jihadists. I'm sure there are those who would be eager to label me that as well....but, well... I can't even get one wife, let alone three, and I mulling over pacifism.
Now, it might be more appropriate to label Cameron's methods of sharing the gospel as "hardcore," but still not necessarily fundamentalist. I will diverge from his methods, but not his basic message. I'm not a big fan of confrontational evangelism (any single method of evangelism which claims to be the only means, gets labeled suspect in my book), and I think there are more effective ways of presenting the love and grace which are central to the Christian message.
Well, having made my grammatically fundamentalist complaint for the day, I'm going to go grab some Taco Bell (talk about hardcore) and head to bed.
I stumbled on this article on Yahoo! (coincidentally after having talked about Kirk Cameron at breakfast this morning) this evening. Found here, the article details the conversion and new ministry that Kirk Cameron has undertaken. I actually had an opportunity to hear Kirk speak at my school a couple of years ago, so I was familiar with his testimony as well as his ministry strategy. More thoughts on that later, but what really caught my attention was this statement:
"They have harnessed Comfort's writing and Cameron's celebrity to create a small multimedia empire that is in service of a hardcore fundamentalist message: Accept Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior or you will not get to heaven."
Again, I ask, when did this basic Orthodox, protestant, evangelical tenet get subverted under the banner of hardcore fundamentalism? I object to this for a number of reasons. First, I hold to this message and don't consider myself a fundamentalist (let alone a hardcore one, unless you consider me a grammar fundamentalist, as you will see). Second, much like CS Lewis protesting the way the word 'gentleman' was being used to describe something other than what a true gentleman is, I protest this use of the word fundamentalist. A fundamentalist is a subsect of Christian practice, not Christianity itself. The use of the word fundamentalist in this context is a redundant use of sorts, and actually distorts understanding, making either the word Christianity or fundamentalism a useless word (I have a sense which word people would love to make worthless). Thirdly, the word hardcore (let alone fundamentalist) is wrought with connotation, most of which is not favorable. Lumping a basic Christian message under the title of hardcore fundamentalism is far from neutrality in journalism. Lastly, taking a message that is a basic tenet of Christianity and labeling it "fundamentalist" ties all adherents to fundamentalism. And since the banner of fundamentalism has gone from meaning "a subsect of Christianity" to being more synonymous with "religious fanatic", on the plane of backward, polygamist Mormons and Islamic terrorists (a plane on which, although I have my disagreements with them, I would not begin to place fundamentalist Christians), the adherents of basic Christianity get lumped into a group of polygamist, jihadists. I'm sure there are those who would be eager to label me that as well....but, well... I can't even get one wife, let alone three, and I mulling over pacifism.
Now, it might be more appropriate to label Cameron's methods of sharing the gospel as "hardcore," but still not necessarily fundamentalist. I will diverge from his methods, but not his basic message. I'm not a big fan of confrontational evangelism (any single method of evangelism which claims to be the only means, gets labeled suspect in my book), and I think there are more effective ways of presenting the love and grace which are central to the Christian message.
Well, having made my grammatically fundamentalist complaint for the day, I'm going to go grab some Taco Bell (talk about hardcore) and head to bed.
Monday, May 28, 2007
A letter to St. John
This was my final class assignment for seminary...I enjoyed it a lot. I was to write a letter to St. John telling him the history of Christianity in narrative form. This is far to long a post. Also, I should write another post about the use of narrative theology in reaching post-moderns...but we'll worry about that some other time.
Dear John,
I grew up sheltered, I know I did. My mom and dad stayed together. My older siblings were typical; I got picked on, but they were also fiercely loving, protective and loyal. Our house was big enough; the table was set with dishes of hot food made with love by mom before we even got hungry. In the summers, our huge yard became a wonderland—grassy fields for ball, soft and dark padded forest floors, smelling of pine, led to worlds of imagination and fun. Fall would come, and while the leaves turned hues of fiery red, bright pink, and wonderful orange, I would wake up early, grab my lunch (made by mom) and head out for the school bus. Winter brought snow days, snow forts, and the warmth of the fire place. Spring would come and the rains made rivers in our yard, in which we would play—barefoot in muddy water and wet grass—after the rolling thunder had cleared. All was right with the world.
But even sheltered boys grow up, and even sheltered boys leave home and taste bitterness in the world. I remember Columbine, and the sickening fear of two boys shooting their classmates, and the weeks of daydreaming about what that would be like in my high school, and the imagined escape routes. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Haiti, and that little boy with a swollen belly, discolored skin, and passing out granola bars amidst the hot dust like I was a king. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember 9/11, the car radio, a speaker saying a plane has hit the tower, and then Oh my God, Oh my God, a second plane, and the paralyzing fear and obsessive TV watching, the mourning, and the air of unsettling. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Sri Lanka, tropical breeze, swaying palm trees, ankle-deep in sand, warm ocean lapping my heels, and looking in horror at tsunami-carnage. 15,000 dead in what the eye beholds; try to fathom, try to mourn, try to have compassion. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Gabon, red dust, dark hospital room, dying 19 year old, swollen belly, puffy skin, kidney failure without cure here in Africa, but easily handled in America. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember the book, reading through tears, Rwandan Holocaust, and then meeting Emmy, holocaust survivor, refugee, with so little help; my country failed to stop it, my country failed him. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember the free health clinic, honest, hardworking people, jobs lost to outsourcing, in tears accepting charity, hauntingly similar to mom and dad, and me. And I knew something was not right with the world.
Even sheltered boys disobey, and even sheltered boys taste bitterness in themselves. I know the pride, the elevated view, the haughty confidence, the self-worship. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the burning anger, the knife-words, the child tantrum, the letting go to an emotion. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the lusty desire, the greed, the collection of things around my heart. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the “that which I want to do, I do not do,” and the “what I hate, I do,” and the “I do not understand what I do.” Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me.
Saint John, who will answer; who can answer? My generation is asking. My generation wants to be a part, a part of something bigger than all this anxious questioning. Scientific method, logical rationalism, and fact will not capture us. Truth is wanted, but only that truth which enraptures and includes us. Our parents see black and white and tell us to see the same; we have been taught to see shades and are discontent will all these sharp lines of distinction. Fact and statement are black and white and sharp lines fail to communicate; stories paint with shades, and to stories we can belong. Tell us a story we seem to cry. And funny, John, that Sunday School felt-boards and bed-time stories should answer the bitterness, which the pupil thought was a world apart.
In the beginning, the Spirit hovers over waters, over the formless, empty, and dark. And God—one who speaks and creates, one who is before, who has seen the beginning, active as the first scene begins--speaks commands into existent reality. Spoken word separates light from dark on the first day, and on the second a word divides water with an expanse called sky. Land pulls up from watery depths, flora bursts forth and the third day passes. Governing lights are spoken into existence, one to rule the day, one to rule the night, as God speaks on the fourth day. The waters teem with fish, and the expanse is filled with the flutter of wings on the fifth day. Creative genius speaks the animals into existence, but hold, He is not done. The speaking, pre-existent One has a masterpiece to reveal. “Let us make man in our image.” “Male and female he created them.” The seventh day dawns, completeness, and He rests in garden paradise that is good, with the male and female that are very good. Shameless nakedness rules equitably over the garden and is in complete harmony with the speaking, active One who rests. All is right with the world.
The serpent is crafty, forked tongue lying. Eve buys in; Adam joins all too willingly, to become like God, knowing good and evil. Oh would that they remain content in their innocence, being like God in image alone. Knowledge of evil becomes bitterness and death for all of creation. Harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. Garden paradise is closed; Adam and Eve must live in corrupted creation. Now the creation must groan in expectation. Through Adam, corruption is breed, into the fabric of humanity, into the created universe. Evermore, something is not right with the world.
Humanity now makes God in its image. Corruption abounds, every heart-intention is evil. The speaking, pre-existent, active One is filled with deep pain. Harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. Grieved, a deluge is planned. Yet a plan of grace survives. A man will pass through the waters and be saved. Noah has found favor, grace, and will start over with a representation of the corrupt creation. Eight start over, but fail to live in harmony. Something is indeed wrong with the world.
Abram is called; a family and people of God he will start. God will show His faithfulness and grace to the patriarchs, undeserving misfits. Abraham believes God and it is credited to him as righteousness—a response of faith to the speaking One brings back harmony and relationship. Isaac and Jacob continue in the heritage. Jacob’s sons sell Joseph to Egypt, and now the people of Israel grow up in the land of Egypt. Oppression begins and the Lord calls Moses to deliver His people. Pharaoh refuses to let the people go, plagues are called down. In preparation for Exodus, the people make bread without yeast, sacrifice the lamb and apply its blood over their doors. Blood spares them from certain death. They flee, Egyptian armies pursuing, to the Red Sea. The water means death to them, but God makes a way, they pass through the waters and are saved. Pursuing armies die in the waters. Now the Lord will make a covenant, a deal, with His people. The people will obey the commands. He will be their God, and they will be His people. Disobedience will be forgiven by the offering of blood, saving people from death. Oh but it is not the blood of bulls and goats He desires, but obedience. The covenant seeks to restore the relationship, the harmony between God and man. Israel only proves how deep the corruption runs. Through generations and reigns of kings, the people wander and disobey the covenant, worshipping that which can never be in relationship. In great forbearance, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob calls them back, only to be grieved with deep pain again. Ultimately they show—harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. The idolatrous people of God are conquered by nations who worship idols of wood and stone. Something is indeed wrong with the world.
Who will answer this; who can answer this? A long awaited Messiah, the Christ. One who will deliver his people from this bondage, who will restore the people to covenant relationship. Who but God—the creating covenant God—can do this? Now the true nature of God revealed—Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Trinitarian mystery—“Hear oh Israel, the Lord your God is one,” and yet three persons in relationship and perfect union. Greater mystery—the Son leaves heaven to be born a babe. All heaven watches in breathless anticipation as Son becomes Messiah.
Roman rule, occupation, oppression. Pagan emperor rules the people of God. The zealous long for the Messiah, but when, where, how will he come? Mary and Joseph pledged to be married. Humble, simple, Nazarene. Can anything good come from Nazareth? Mary with child, pregnant, not by human means, but by the Spirit. The baby she bears is no ordinary child, and yet a baby that must be wrapped in swaddling clothes. A humble birth in a cave here on earth; in heaven, the woman gives birth, the serpent, now a dragon, lunges to devour the woman and child, but is foiled. This is the child who will “rule all the nations with a rod of iron,” yet, on earth, he is helpless Nazarene babe. In heaven proclaimed, “Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God.” Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Jesus grows. He meets his cousin, John the Baptist, a voice in the desert making straight paths for the Lord. Jesus is baptized by John’s unworthy hands. Jesus passes through the water, and the pronouncement is made, “This is my Son whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” From the waters to the desert, Jesus is led by the Spirit to be tempted. Unlike the people of God, who pass through water to fail in the desert, the Son of God, will pass through water and resist every temptation in the desert. The Son, the Messiah, will rule humbly, not with miraculous seduction or compromise with the serpent. Unlike all who have gone before and failed to maintain the covenant relationship, Messiah is wholly faithful. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Emerging from the desert, Messiah, Son, Jesus, calls his disciples. He will teach them the story. He will teach them about the kingdom, revolutionary yet so unlike any other, simple yet so difficult to grasp. A kingdom in which the poor own heaven, the meek inherit the earth, and the insulted are rewarded. A kingdom in which the law governs even the intentions of the heart—comprehensive rule, over body and soul, society and individual, external behavior and internal disposition, cities and nations and homes and churches. A kingdom in which subjects sell all they own to find a pearl. A kingdom in which the shepherd leaves 99 to find 1, and the vineyard owner pays equal wages for a day or an hour, and the host calls the blind, lame and poor in from the streets to replace his honored guests. Utter foolishness, worthy of scorn, but irresistible, heralded by the mighty working of healings and miracles, guided by two commands, love God and love neighbor. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
The zealous wonder, could this Jesus be Messiah? Will he overthrow the emperor? They fail to grasp his kingdom. Disillusioned, their zeal will become “crucify him, crucify him.” Knowing his time is short, Christ takes his disciples to an Upper Room. Passover meal shared. Bread without yeast broken; “this is my body.” Wine poured; “this is my blood.” Preparation? For an Exodus? Irresistible allusion, still yet incomprehensible. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Betrayed by one of his own, deserted by all his closest companions, Jesus is handed over. Beaten, mocked, crucified. Blood runs down. Jesus gives up his spirit. Body buried in an empty tomb. Early on the third day, two Marys discover an empty tomb. Angel pronouncement: “He has risen, just as he said.” Resurrection reunion and final commands—go and make disciples of all nations. Through his own death, sacrifice, and resurrection, the Son, the Messiah, has enacted his kingdom on earth. He has made an Exodus from the reign of evil into the reign of righteous relationship. Something not yet complete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
A story not yet complete, but end foretold. Cosmos curtain pulled and behold a white rider, riding into conquest. He conquers the red, the black, and the pale horse; Christ conquering completely the evil of war, the evil of famine, and the evil of sickness and death. Evil on every plane—social, ecological, biological—is struck down by the white rider. With the resurrection, his ride has started; with his return, all that would seek to mount an Armageddon- resistance to his reign will be swallowed up. Something gloriously complete glimpsed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
And Saint John, the story could be told for a lifetime. And indeed this is the goal, to tell and live in the story for a lifetime. A story with salvation as plot; catastrophe-surpassing, creation-rescue as theme. His death and resurrection are an Exodus for me; I pass with Him through the waters of His death and then live in new covenant with Him. The bitterness tasted within me is answered. In new life, I join with the white rider in warring against evil, and wait with eager anticipation for His final triumphant ride. The bitterness tasted within the world is answered. Salvation has become my life theme, my story. I will tell it to the world, answering the bitterness tasted with a glimpse of God’s cosmos. I will give my life to this story; my mind will be renewed by the story. And my prayer will be always, Come white rider, come again Messiah. Maranatha!
In Christ,Jake Tillett
With a little help from Eugene Peterson, NT Wright, James Wakefield, and Saint John.
Dear John,
I grew up sheltered, I know I did. My mom and dad stayed together. My older siblings were typical; I got picked on, but they were also fiercely loving, protective and loyal. Our house was big enough; the table was set with dishes of hot food made with love by mom before we even got hungry. In the summers, our huge yard became a wonderland—grassy fields for ball, soft and dark padded forest floors, smelling of pine, led to worlds of imagination and fun. Fall would come, and while the leaves turned hues of fiery red, bright pink, and wonderful orange, I would wake up early, grab my lunch (made by mom) and head out for the school bus. Winter brought snow days, snow forts, and the warmth of the fire place. Spring would come and the rains made rivers in our yard, in which we would play—barefoot in muddy water and wet grass—after the rolling thunder had cleared. All was right with the world.
But even sheltered boys grow up, and even sheltered boys leave home and taste bitterness in the world. I remember Columbine, and the sickening fear of two boys shooting their classmates, and the weeks of daydreaming about what that would be like in my high school, and the imagined escape routes. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Haiti, and that little boy with a swollen belly, discolored skin, and passing out granola bars amidst the hot dust like I was a king. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember 9/11, the car radio, a speaker saying a plane has hit the tower, and then Oh my God, Oh my God, a second plane, and the paralyzing fear and obsessive TV watching, the mourning, and the air of unsettling. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Sri Lanka, tropical breeze, swaying palm trees, ankle-deep in sand, warm ocean lapping my heels, and looking in horror at tsunami-carnage. 15,000 dead in what the eye beholds; try to fathom, try to mourn, try to have compassion. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember Gabon, red dust, dark hospital room, dying 19 year old, swollen belly, puffy skin, kidney failure without cure here in Africa, but easily handled in America. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember the book, reading through tears, Rwandan Holocaust, and then meeting Emmy, holocaust survivor, refugee, with so little help; my country failed to stop it, my country failed him. And I knew something was not right with the world. I remember the free health clinic, honest, hardworking people, jobs lost to outsourcing, in tears accepting charity, hauntingly similar to mom and dad, and me. And I knew something was not right with the world.
Even sheltered boys disobey, and even sheltered boys taste bitterness in themselves. I know the pride, the elevated view, the haughty confidence, the self-worship. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the burning anger, the knife-words, the child tantrum, the letting go to an emotion. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the lusty desire, the greed, the collection of things around my heart. Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me. I know the “that which I want to do, I do not do,” and the “what I hate, I do,” and the “I do not understand what I do.” Something deep within abhors it, and I know something is not right with me.
Saint John, who will answer; who can answer? My generation is asking. My generation wants to be a part, a part of something bigger than all this anxious questioning. Scientific method, logical rationalism, and fact will not capture us. Truth is wanted, but only that truth which enraptures and includes us. Our parents see black and white and tell us to see the same; we have been taught to see shades and are discontent will all these sharp lines of distinction. Fact and statement are black and white and sharp lines fail to communicate; stories paint with shades, and to stories we can belong. Tell us a story we seem to cry. And funny, John, that Sunday School felt-boards and bed-time stories should answer the bitterness, which the pupil thought was a world apart.
In the beginning, the Spirit hovers over waters, over the formless, empty, and dark. And God—one who speaks and creates, one who is before, who has seen the beginning, active as the first scene begins--speaks commands into existent reality. Spoken word separates light from dark on the first day, and on the second a word divides water with an expanse called sky. Land pulls up from watery depths, flora bursts forth and the third day passes. Governing lights are spoken into existence, one to rule the day, one to rule the night, as God speaks on the fourth day. The waters teem with fish, and the expanse is filled with the flutter of wings on the fifth day. Creative genius speaks the animals into existence, but hold, He is not done. The speaking, pre-existent One has a masterpiece to reveal. “Let us make man in our image.” “Male and female he created them.” The seventh day dawns, completeness, and He rests in garden paradise that is good, with the male and female that are very good. Shameless nakedness rules equitably over the garden and is in complete harmony with the speaking, active One who rests. All is right with the world.
The serpent is crafty, forked tongue lying. Eve buys in; Adam joins all too willingly, to become like God, knowing good and evil. Oh would that they remain content in their innocence, being like God in image alone. Knowledge of evil becomes bitterness and death for all of creation. Harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. Garden paradise is closed; Adam and Eve must live in corrupted creation. Now the creation must groan in expectation. Through Adam, corruption is breed, into the fabric of humanity, into the created universe. Evermore, something is not right with the world.
Humanity now makes God in its image. Corruption abounds, every heart-intention is evil. The speaking, pre-existent, active One is filled with deep pain. Harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. Grieved, a deluge is planned. Yet a plan of grace survives. A man will pass through the waters and be saved. Noah has found favor, grace, and will start over with a representation of the corrupt creation. Eight start over, but fail to live in harmony. Something is indeed wrong with the world.
Abram is called; a family and people of God he will start. God will show His faithfulness and grace to the patriarchs, undeserving misfits. Abraham believes God and it is credited to him as righteousness—a response of faith to the speaking One brings back harmony and relationship. Isaac and Jacob continue in the heritage. Jacob’s sons sell Joseph to Egypt, and now the people of Israel grow up in the land of Egypt. Oppression begins and the Lord calls Moses to deliver His people. Pharaoh refuses to let the people go, plagues are called down. In preparation for Exodus, the people make bread without yeast, sacrifice the lamb and apply its blood over their doors. Blood spares them from certain death. They flee, Egyptian armies pursuing, to the Red Sea. The water means death to them, but God makes a way, they pass through the waters and are saved. Pursuing armies die in the waters. Now the Lord will make a covenant, a deal, with His people. The people will obey the commands. He will be their God, and they will be His people. Disobedience will be forgiven by the offering of blood, saving people from death. Oh but it is not the blood of bulls and goats He desires, but obedience. The covenant seeks to restore the relationship, the harmony between God and man. Israel only proves how deep the corruption runs. Through generations and reigns of kings, the people wander and disobey the covenant, worshipping that which can never be in relationship. In great forbearance, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob calls them back, only to be grieved with deep pain again. Ultimately they show—harmony is broken, naked innocence hidden behind fig leaves. The idolatrous people of God are conquered by nations who worship idols of wood and stone. Something is indeed wrong with the world.
Who will answer this; who can answer this? A long awaited Messiah, the Christ. One who will deliver his people from this bondage, who will restore the people to covenant relationship. Who but God—the creating covenant God—can do this? Now the true nature of God revealed—Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Trinitarian mystery—“Hear oh Israel, the Lord your God is one,” and yet three persons in relationship and perfect union. Greater mystery—the Son leaves heaven to be born a babe. All heaven watches in breathless anticipation as Son becomes Messiah.
Roman rule, occupation, oppression. Pagan emperor rules the people of God. The zealous long for the Messiah, but when, where, how will he come? Mary and Joseph pledged to be married. Humble, simple, Nazarene. Can anything good come from Nazareth? Mary with child, pregnant, not by human means, but by the Spirit. The baby she bears is no ordinary child, and yet a baby that must be wrapped in swaddling clothes. A humble birth in a cave here on earth; in heaven, the woman gives birth, the serpent, now a dragon, lunges to devour the woman and child, but is foiled. This is the child who will “rule all the nations with a rod of iron,” yet, on earth, he is helpless Nazarene babe. In heaven proclaimed, “Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God.” Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Jesus grows. He meets his cousin, John the Baptist, a voice in the desert making straight paths for the Lord. Jesus is baptized by John’s unworthy hands. Jesus passes through the water, and the pronouncement is made, “This is my Son whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” From the waters to the desert, Jesus is led by the Spirit to be tempted. Unlike the people of God, who pass through water to fail in the desert, the Son of God, will pass through water and resist every temptation in the desert. The Son, the Messiah, will rule humbly, not with miraculous seduction or compromise with the serpent. Unlike all who have gone before and failed to maintain the covenant relationship, Messiah is wholly faithful. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Emerging from the desert, Messiah, Son, Jesus, calls his disciples. He will teach them the story. He will teach them about the kingdom, revolutionary yet so unlike any other, simple yet so difficult to grasp. A kingdom in which the poor own heaven, the meek inherit the earth, and the insulted are rewarded. A kingdom in which the law governs even the intentions of the heart—comprehensive rule, over body and soul, society and individual, external behavior and internal disposition, cities and nations and homes and churches. A kingdom in which subjects sell all they own to find a pearl. A kingdom in which the shepherd leaves 99 to find 1, and the vineyard owner pays equal wages for a day or an hour, and the host calls the blind, lame and poor in from the streets to replace his honored guests. Utter foolishness, worthy of scorn, but irresistible, heralded by the mighty working of healings and miracles, guided by two commands, love God and love neighbor. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
The zealous wonder, could this Jesus be Messiah? Will he overthrow the emperor? They fail to grasp his kingdom. Disillusioned, their zeal will become “crucify him, crucify him.” Knowing his time is short, Christ takes his disciples to an Upper Room. Passover meal shared. Bread without yeast broken; “this is my body.” Wine poured; “this is my blood.” Preparation? For an Exodus? Irresistible allusion, still yet incomprehensible. Something incomplete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
Betrayed by one of his own, deserted by all his closest companions, Jesus is handed over. Beaten, mocked, crucified. Blood runs down. Jesus gives up his spirit. Body buried in an empty tomb. Early on the third day, two Marys discover an empty tomb. Angel pronouncement: “He has risen, just as he said.” Resurrection reunion and final commands—go and make disciples of all nations. Through his own death, sacrifice, and resurrection, the Son, the Messiah, has enacted his kingdom on earth. He has made an Exodus from the reign of evil into the reign of righteous relationship. Something not yet complete has been revealed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
A story not yet complete, but end foretold. Cosmos curtain pulled and behold a white rider, riding into conquest. He conquers the red, the black, and the pale horse; Christ conquering completely the evil of war, the evil of famine, and the evil of sickness and death. Evil on every plane—social, ecological, biological—is struck down by the white rider. With the resurrection, his ride has started; with his return, all that would seek to mount an Armageddon- resistance to his reign will be swallowed up. Something gloriously complete glimpsed, curtain pulled back for a peek at God’s cosmos.
And Saint John, the story could be told for a lifetime. And indeed this is the goal, to tell and live in the story for a lifetime. A story with salvation as plot; catastrophe-surpassing, creation-rescue as theme. His death and resurrection are an Exodus for me; I pass with Him through the waters of His death and then live in new covenant with Him. The bitterness tasted within me is answered. In new life, I join with the white rider in warring against evil, and wait with eager anticipation for His final triumphant ride. The bitterness tasted within the world is answered. Salvation has become my life theme, my story. I will tell it to the world, answering the bitterness tasted with a glimpse of God’s cosmos. I will give my life to this story; my mind will be renewed by the story. And my prayer will be always, Come white rider, come again Messiah. Maranatha!
In Christ,Jake Tillett
With a little help from Eugene Peterson, NT Wright, James Wakefield, and Saint John.
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