Tonight was my church’s annual meeting and afterward a group of us went out for dinner. Toward the end of the meal, I asked my pastor if he had been reading anything of interest. He told me that he had read the first chapter of a book that I had noticed in his library and had made comment on. The book in question is a perspectives book on the issue of Exclusivism/Inclusivism, titled “What about those who have never heard?” I made comment on this book because it represents an issue that has caused me a lot of debate and study. For about a year, it kept me from being licensed with the C&MA. (Anyone who knew me during that time remembers that it was a trial for me—and trial in the interrogation/court sense wouldn’t be a misinterpretation.) The issue in and of itself is worthy of its own series of blogs or perhaps its own theology class…and we won’t attempt that here.
As we began to discuss the topic a bit, my pastor made a comment on the issue in regards to its impact on mission’s motivation. “Risking your life in missions so that someone can have a little bit better life, when they would be going to heaven anyway. What motivation is that?” (Complete paraphrase, and I hope a fair one. He clarified that he was talking about a major shift in thinking from how he was raised.) I am a bit embarrassed about my over-zealous response. As I said, this is an issue I’ve had to talk about quite a bit, and it was a bit unfair to go overboard on an unsuspecting pastor, late in the evening. I responded that I felt one (or I) could find quite compelling reasons for missions in this context. That I was afraid that doing missions solely so that people don’t go to hell bordered on Gnosticism. That doing missions for the sake of discipleship, not shallow evangelistic efforts, was healthier and honored our relationship with Christ and the Holy Spirit in this life—and meant that this life meant something. Our conversation was interrupted at this point and never resumed.
But it left me thinking about the motivation to be missional in Christian faith, especially as it relates to the generation divide. I have entertained this conversation with a couple of people, all of whom are my senior, and who have all taken generally the same view, i.e. if you remove the risk of hell, you cut the motivation and urgency out from under the missions movement. This has never made sense to me, but my rebuttals to this assertion have never seemed to make an impact either. Tonight I realized for the first time that this probably has a great deal to do with the generational gap. Being a young person who has had a long-term calling to missions, but who is, nevertheless, steeped in the thinking of my generation, the question of “what motivates me towards missions?” is especially relevant. And further, the question, “what will motivate my generation to be missional?” is also of grave concern to me. (To clarify, by missions, I mean the intentional relocation from one’s culture to another which has less access to the Church, in order to live out the gospel among that people.) The following is just a quick attempt to outline some of my thoughts.
First, I should give a brief synopsis of my belief regarding those who have never heard the gospel, since that is what started this whole topic. I am open to the possibility that God has a means of applying His grace—provided by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ—to people who have never heard the gospel, other than the means which we know, i.e. believing in the historical person of Jesus Christ and praying directly to Him to receive the grace He provided for us through His death. What this does NOT mean: 1. “Everyone gets into heaven.” I am not a universalist (perhaps my God is?). If God chooses to use another method of applying His grace to the lives of some, it is certainly a minority, otherwise He would have informed us of this method. As it is, the only method we know with certainty is the one I have mentioned above. 2. “The historical person of Jesus is unimportant.” I affirm the ancient Christian doctrine of the peculiarity of Christ and acknowledge that no one could do for us what He did. 3. “The death of Jesus is unimportant.” Without Christ’s death and resurrection, we are all hopeless, without a means of being reconciled to God. For us to be reconciled to God, Jesus had to come into specific history and place as the fully-God, fully-Man person, die, and be resurrected. I am simply saying that God might choose to apply this grace to people who haven’t had access to the same historical knowledge we have had. To be honest, most people in my generation probably are unaware of the spectrum of beliefs in the exlusivism/inclusivism debates, but I have a hunch that most passionate, well-thought out Christians my age would have similar beliefs, simply because we share the same generational thinking.
Now the whole concept of missions motivation for a post-modern generation is a bit of an oxymoron in the first place. Post-modern ideals don’t really endorse the idea of telling someone their way is “wrong” (is there such a thing?) and that yours is “right.” There are no absolutes, so going to another culture to convert people is a scandalous idea. Whether a young person has been raised safely in the Church, with a solid Christian worldview, or not, the post-modern ideas get on you. Two points here: 1.) We can either rebut the whole post-modern system (good luck) or we can look within and past post-modernity to communicate the necessity and the motivation for missions. 2.) Hell, for post-moderns (hereafter PM’s), is an uncomfortable thought and won’t be a source of motivation. Hell, a place of absolute separation from an absolute God, because you did things that were absolutely wrong and did not receive the only and absolute means of reconciliation with God. Far too absolute an idea for PM’s to feel comfortable with, let alone be motivated by, even if they do acknowledge a belief in it. Let me expound:
Christian moderns have less issue giving an answer to the question, “who is going to heaven? Hell?” Post-modern Christians (hereafter PMC’s) squirm when asked this question. They may both believe in heaven and hell, and that your relationship with God is the deciding factor in your eternal destiny. But here is the difference. Moderns believe they know things with certainty. Post-moderns, not so much. Moderns have a clear cut standard for who makes the cut, so to speak. Post-moderns believe everything is a bit less clear cut. A PMC will likely believe that people who have rejected the Christian message will spend eternity separated from God, but will likely be hesitant to be forced into saying so. The issue is not one of the PMC’s being more gracious than their modern fathers, nor is the issue, I think, one of moderns having the correct doctrine and PMC’s having poor doctrine. (There is potential for both to have terrible doctrine…each generation must guard their lives and doctrine carefully.) So when asked this question, PMC’s will probably give an answer like this, “I’m not God, I don’t get to decide for other people. I can, however, tell you that I believe the way I know with certainty that I am going to heaven is by my relationship with Christ.” The reference is personal because PM’s are all into things that are personally true. Again, a PMC believes in some absolute truths. That is not the issue, but they choose to communicate in such a way for two reasons. 1.) It is culturally taboo to say that one knows with certainty truth about another person. This leads to the second point: 2.) PMC’s must either decide to communicate truth in the way their modern father’s expect—bold proclamations of absolute truth, despite cultural taboos (which is, as said above, to rebut the whole postmodern system)—or to communicate truth in a way that is accessible to their generation. (No small feat, which requires an in-depth understanding of the thinking and communication of the postmodern generation, and perhaps, as NT Wright suggests, looking past postmodernity for a different way of knowing.) For better or worse, most PMC’s choose to communicate truth from a personal standpoint because it makes connections with other people in their generation. Broad, absolute statements do not. All of that to say, talking about masses of people going to hell will not motivate a PMC to missions. It makes no connection with their method of knowing truth.
So, since some of the traditional methods will not motivate the postmodern generation to be missional, what will? I would like to make three suggestions. The first method is letting love replace knowledge as the source of motivation. For the reasons mentioned above, cold, hard facts only make postmoderns squirm, not motivate them. If we can disciple people to develop a heart of love for people they have never met, then we have successful motivation. PMC’s feel much more comfortable sharing truth in loving, personal relationships. The second method is developing a full understanding of what living the gospel in all its fullness is. There is a huge resurgence of social conscience/justice among young evangelicals. I believe this is part of living out the gospel in its fullness; part of being active in the Kingdom of God here on earth. We cannot swing the pendulum toward a purely social gospel, but holding together an understanding of ministering to people’s physical and spiritual needs, will bring about a great deal of motivation for PMC’s. Lastly, PMC’s have been brought up in a global community. They will be naturally motivated to transact with people of other cultures. Teaching PMC’s to form strong cross-cultural relationships and to communicate successfully in such relationships, will hinge natural motivation with successful missions methods.
I am not an expert in modern vs. postmodern thinking, so feel free to comment. I do believe that this is an issue that will need to be explored more in-depth, as it will be crucial to the missions movement in the West.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
Inverse Prostitution
“On the day you were born your cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water to make you clean, nor were you rubbed with salt or wrapped in cloths…Rather, you were thrown out into the open field, for on the day you were born you were despised. Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, “Live!” (Ezekiel 16:4-6)
The Lord of the Universe calls a people to Himself, in order to redeem the whole of His creation. He calls them from despised obscurity. He calls a weak and helpless people to Himself, a people destined to die, and He says to them, “Live!” Today, the call to “Live!” is extended to us as individuals—from all nations and peoples.
“Later I passed by, and when I looked at you and saw that you were old enough for love, I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness. I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lord, and you became mine” (Ezekiel 16:8).
Few young teenagers could think of anything more embarrassing than being stripped naked in front of their peers. I remember having nightmares of going to school in my underwear during middle school, and I would spend the whole dream trying to get home to find more clothes. A naked, exposed teen hitting puberty is how God describes His people Israel. Vulnerable to those around Her; Her imperfections out in the open for all to see and take advantage of. And this is how He finds us today in our sin and brokenness; exposed, vulnerable, imperfections glaring, and open to the ravages of sin.
“And your fame spread among the nations on account of your beauty, because the splendor I had given you made your beauty perfect, declares the Sovereign Lord.” (Ezk. 16:14)
The Lord makes a covenant with Israel. They are to be His people, and He will be their God. He covers their nakedness and adorns them with beauty, so that their fame is known through the nations. He offers protection and provision in a covenant of love. His covenant for us today promises the same—a covering for our naked shame, a reworking of our imperfections, a healing of the damage done by sin in order to make us beautiful. He makes us beautiful as individuals in relationship to Him, and in corporate unity as the Church, His Bride.
“But you trusted in your beauty and used your fame to become a prostitute. You lavished your favors on anyone who passed by and your beauty became his.” (16:15)
Having been made a covenant people—a distinct people with a unique pattern of living and an unsurpassed relationship with Her God—and having been redeemed and saved from the oppressing nations around them, Israel wastes no time in breaking Her vows. She immediately whores after idols and the customs of other nations. Having been redeemed and saved ourselves, we perhaps delay no longer than Israel in seeking after idols and customs that deny the distinct and holy lives we have been brought into. We run back into the naked shame from which we came, opening ourselves to the ravages of sin once again. He has given us life and beauty, and we run back to kicking in our own blood and death. More shocking yet:
“You adulterous wife! You prefer strangers to your own husband! Every prostitute receives a fee, but you give gifts to all your lovers, bribing them to come to you from everywhere for your illicit favors. So in your prostitution you are the opposite of others; no one runs after you for your favors. You are the very opposite, for you give payment and none is given to you.” (16:32-34)
An inverse prostitution of sorts. Israel had an oath from the Sovereign God of the Universe that He would be their God—what more could be needed? Instead, in times of crisis, Israel pays money to other nations to deliver Her. Her lack of obedience and trust cost her greatly. And when we choose to find satisfaction from sin, we do so at great cost to ourselves. When we choose the alluring promises of sin, we pay to make ourselves a prostitute. Much is taken from us as sin rapes us—a rape of our own choosing. If running back to sin were a simple act of prostitution at least we would leave the encounter with something in our pockets, but it is a terrible act of inverse prostitution in which we lose all.
In what ways has sin ravaged us again? What has it taken from us? As individuals? As the Church?
New Year’s resolutions are typically cheap and cliché at best. So I hesitate to tell you that I made some. But in moments of clearheaded reflection at the end of the year, I made some decisions to live differently—more in line with the distinct pattern of living that Christ has modeled for us. I’ve already broken a few of these resolutions, and if it were only an issue of not making it to the gym like I wanted, I suppose I wouldn’t be so concerned. But since my resolutions are choices to derive my life, beauty and worth from the God with whom I live in covenant relationship, and not from the alluring but ravaging life of sin, I am reminded by Ezekiel what is truly at stake.
The Lord of the Universe calls a people to Himself, in order to redeem the whole of His creation. He calls them from despised obscurity. He calls a weak and helpless people to Himself, a people destined to die, and He says to them, “Live!” Today, the call to “Live!” is extended to us as individuals—from all nations and peoples.
“Later I passed by, and when I looked at you and saw that you were old enough for love, I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness. I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lord, and you became mine” (Ezekiel 16:8).
Few young teenagers could think of anything more embarrassing than being stripped naked in front of their peers. I remember having nightmares of going to school in my underwear during middle school, and I would spend the whole dream trying to get home to find more clothes. A naked, exposed teen hitting puberty is how God describes His people Israel. Vulnerable to those around Her; Her imperfections out in the open for all to see and take advantage of. And this is how He finds us today in our sin and brokenness; exposed, vulnerable, imperfections glaring, and open to the ravages of sin.
“And your fame spread among the nations on account of your beauty, because the splendor I had given you made your beauty perfect, declares the Sovereign Lord.” (Ezk. 16:14)
The Lord makes a covenant with Israel. They are to be His people, and He will be their God. He covers their nakedness and adorns them with beauty, so that their fame is known through the nations. He offers protection and provision in a covenant of love. His covenant for us today promises the same—a covering for our naked shame, a reworking of our imperfections, a healing of the damage done by sin in order to make us beautiful. He makes us beautiful as individuals in relationship to Him, and in corporate unity as the Church, His Bride.
“But you trusted in your beauty and used your fame to become a prostitute. You lavished your favors on anyone who passed by and your beauty became his.” (16:15)
Having been made a covenant people—a distinct people with a unique pattern of living and an unsurpassed relationship with Her God—and having been redeemed and saved from the oppressing nations around them, Israel wastes no time in breaking Her vows. She immediately whores after idols and the customs of other nations. Having been redeemed and saved ourselves, we perhaps delay no longer than Israel in seeking after idols and customs that deny the distinct and holy lives we have been brought into. We run back into the naked shame from which we came, opening ourselves to the ravages of sin once again. He has given us life and beauty, and we run back to kicking in our own blood and death. More shocking yet:
“You adulterous wife! You prefer strangers to your own husband! Every prostitute receives a fee, but you give gifts to all your lovers, bribing them to come to you from everywhere for your illicit favors. So in your prostitution you are the opposite of others; no one runs after you for your favors. You are the very opposite, for you give payment and none is given to you.” (16:32-34)
An inverse prostitution of sorts. Israel had an oath from the Sovereign God of the Universe that He would be their God—what more could be needed? Instead, in times of crisis, Israel pays money to other nations to deliver Her. Her lack of obedience and trust cost her greatly. And when we choose to find satisfaction from sin, we do so at great cost to ourselves. When we choose the alluring promises of sin, we pay to make ourselves a prostitute. Much is taken from us as sin rapes us—a rape of our own choosing. If running back to sin were a simple act of prostitution at least we would leave the encounter with something in our pockets, but it is a terrible act of inverse prostitution in which we lose all.
In what ways has sin ravaged us again? What has it taken from us? As individuals? As the Church?
New Year’s resolutions are typically cheap and cliché at best. So I hesitate to tell you that I made some. But in moments of clearheaded reflection at the end of the year, I made some decisions to live differently—more in line with the distinct pattern of living that Christ has modeled for us. I’ve already broken a few of these resolutions, and if it were only an issue of not making it to the gym like I wanted, I suppose I wouldn’t be so concerned. But since my resolutions are choices to derive my life, beauty and worth from the God with whom I live in covenant relationship, and not from the alluring but ravaging life of sin, I am reminded by Ezekiel what is truly at stake.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
All the foolish and weak things
This is a bit of a follow up for a blog I wrote back in June, called “A little down.” At that time, I was feeling so desperate to see God’s work in the people and ministries around me. I still feel that same desperation, but perhaps not with the same doubt that He will come through. However, through this past six months of praying for the Spirit to intervene, waiting with baited breath to see it come, and then rejoicing in the amazing things He does accomplish, God has begun to teach me something of how He works with all the foolish and weak things to advance His Kingdom.
I’m going to be a bit vulnerable here. I think I told one of my girlfriends this one time, and she made fun of me, which wasn’t a major blow to my ego, but did make me realize that I’m a bit weird.
I’ve always wanted to be a spy. I still think about it when I’m driving and I’ve got good music playing. I think about how cool it would be to know five languages, be trained in martial arts, fly around the world on secret missions, and be constantly looking behind my back, ready for the next chase. I imagine that my car is a decked out spy car that has a hidden computer and the ability to transform into some type of racing car and then into a plane. Yeah, yeah, it is childish, but perhaps not as much as my desire to be a superhero. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but ever since the X-men cartoons I watched as a kid, I’ve wanted to have telekinetic powers like Professor X. I’m just sure that if I was either a spy or a superhero, I would kick some butt, take some names, and, of course, save the world.
Usually, after a few minutes of fanciful thinking, my attention comes back to reality. I’m barely fluent in English and at the peak of my French-speaking abilities, my best African friend asked me to pray in English, because I “hurt the (French) language.” Besides my brother, I’ve never had an honest fight with anybody, and to be frank, my body build lends itself to running away more than fighting. I drive a dirty, 1998 Ford Taurus, with a slipping transmission that would have trouble getting airborne over a ramp, let alone turning into a plane. And since I still call Post-It Notes my brain, I doubt I’ll be developing telekinetic powers anytime soon.
Right before reality shatters my day dreams, I usually start coming around and trying to redeem them. I imagine using my powers for the Kingdom. This, for some reason, is always an uncomfortable marriage of ideas and usually leads to my rousing from the day dream. Somehow, kicking butt, taking names, and looking extremely cool while I do so, doesn’t seem to mesh with my idea of the Kingdom. But, to be frank, when it comes to power-issues in the Kingdom, I’m no more comfortable with God’s version either.
“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (1 Cor. 1:27-29).
When I pray that the Kingdom of God will advance, I want God to respond by equipping His followers with power enough to sweep through obstacles, crash through opposition, and—in a triumphant flurry—set up His loving, peaceful, and merciful reign. Instead, He seems quite content to work with us in all our weak, messy humanity.
Certainly, some of the most intelligent, powerful, and incredible people I know are Christians and are actively at work to advance the Kingdom. But even their work seems to be limited by the imposition of Christian values. The intelligent are not allowed to brow-beat those who are less intelligent into believing truth. The powerful advance the Kingdom through humble coaxing, not through coercion. Ours is a Kingdom advanced on faithful knees, not on swift feet. Our banner is a cross—an ominous reminder that our very lives are being offered—not a sword which demands the lives of others. Ours is the basin and towel, with which we wash feet, bind up the broken hearted, and minister to the sick and poor. Our calling is to the poor, oppressed, and imprisoned. Ours is prayer and waiting for the Spirit.
And we do these things through small, seemingly inconsequential acts in our everyday humanity. In her book, Traveling Mercies, Anne Lammott says, “I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools—the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But when I grew up, I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said, ‘Do the best you can with these. They'll have to do.’ Mostly, against all odds, they're enough.”
This all started to boil over in my mind the other day as I was helping my African refugee friends. I so often feel inadequate when I am helping them. I was trying to help one particular family reestablish their profile with food-stamps and medicare. This lead to a wild goose-chase of calls and ended up with me having to talk to a lawyer. All of which made me feel like I was in way over my head. I truly felt like God should be using a powerful lawyer or a seasoned social worker instead of me.
Driving home, I was thinking about this, and about several other areas of my life. It seems so humble, weak, and foolish. The refugee ministry keeps me humble, daily. And even though things are progressing there, we’ve had some setbacks that make me say, “Lord, what ARE you doing?” My hopes of becoming a missionary to Africa are, for now at least, delayed. I found out that I will not be deploying this summer as I had thought. Again, a “Lord, what ARE you doing?” moment. The lives of several people around me seem to be quite tumultuous right now, and I feel largely unable to help them. So, I simply pray that the Lord will use all the weak, foolish, and lowly things to advance His Kingdom in my life and in the lives around me.
I’ll close with this beautifully stated thought from my friend Adam Thada. In reflecting about Christmas—certainly the beachhead advance for the Kingdom of weak, foolish, and lowly things—he says, “But Christmas is the time to believe in the small things once again, to become poor, foolish and simple. We sow tiny seeds that grow into mighty trees. We follow poor, generous widows and feast on leftover bread and fish. We return acts of kindness for our enemy’s assaults. At Christmas, evil is blindsided as love wins from the underside.” Well said, Adam.
I’m going to be a bit vulnerable here. I think I told one of my girlfriends this one time, and she made fun of me, which wasn’t a major blow to my ego, but did make me realize that I’m a bit weird.
I’ve always wanted to be a spy. I still think about it when I’m driving and I’ve got good music playing. I think about how cool it would be to know five languages, be trained in martial arts, fly around the world on secret missions, and be constantly looking behind my back, ready for the next chase. I imagine that my car is a decked out spy car that has a hidden computer and the ability to transform into some type of racing car and then into a plane. Yeah, yeah, it is childish, but perhaps not as much as my desire to be a superhero. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but ever since the X-men cartoons I watched as a kid, I’ve wanted to have telekinetic powers like Professor X. I’m just sure that if I was either a spy or a superhero, I would kick some butt, take some names, and, of course, save the world.
Usually, after a few minutes of fanciful thinking, my attention comes back to reality. I’m barely fluent in English and at the peak of my French-speaking abilities, my best African friend asked me to pray in English, because I “hurt the (French) language.” Besides my brother, I’ve never had an honest fight with anybody, and to be frank, my body build lends itself to running away more than fighting. I drive a dirty, 1998 Ford Taurus, with a slipping transmission that would have trouble getting airborne over a ramp, let alone turning into a plane. And since I still call Post-It Notes my brain, I doubt I’ll be developing telekinetic powers anytime soon.
Right before reality shatters my day dreams, I usually start coming around and trying to redeem them. I imagine using my powers for the Kingdom. This, for some reason, is always an uncomfortable marriage of ideas and usually leads to my rousing from the day dream. Somehow, kicking butt, taking names, and looking extremely cool while I do so, doesn’t seem to mesh with my idea of the Kingdom. But, to be frank, when it comes to power-issues in the Kingdom, I’m no more comfortable with God’s version either.
“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (1 Cor. 1:27-29).
When I pray that the Kingdom of God will advance, I want God to respond by equipping His followers with power enough to sweep through obstacles, crash through opposition, and—in a triumphant flurry—set up His loving, peaceful, and merciful reign. Instead, He seems quite content to work with us in all our weak, messy humanity.
Certainly, some of the most intelligent, powerful, and incredible people I know are Christians and are actively at work to advance the Kingdom. But even their work seems to be limited by the imposition of Christian values. The intelligent are not allowed to brow-beat those who are less intelligent into believing truth. The powerful advance the Kingdom through humble coaxing, not through coercion. Ours is a Kingdom advanced on faithful knees, not on swift feet. Our banner is a cross—an ominous reminder that our very lives are being offered—not a sword which demands the lives of others. Ours is the basin and towel, with which we wash feet, bind up the broken hearted, and minister to the sick and poor. Our calling is to the poor, oppressed, and imprisoned. Ours is prayer and waiting for the Spirit.
And we do these things through small, seemingly inconsequential acts in our everyday humanity. In her book, Traveling Mercies, Anne Lammott says, “I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools—the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But when I grew up, I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said, ‘Do the best you can with these. They'll have to do.’ Mostly, against all odds, they're enough.”
This all started to boil over in my mind the other day as I was helping my African refugee friends. I so often feel inadequate when I am helping them. I was trying to help one particular family reestablish their profile with food-stamps and medicare. This lead to a wild goose-chase of calls and ended up with me having to talk to a lawyer. All of which made me feel like I was in way over my head. I truly felt like God should be using a powerful lawyer or a seasoned social worker instead of me.
Driving home, I was thinking about this, and about several other areas of my life. It seems so humble, weak, and foolish. The refugee ministry keeps me humble, daily. And even though things are progressing there, we’ve had some setbacks that make me say, “Lord, what ARE you doing?” My hopes of becoming a missionary to Africa are, for now at least, delayed. I found out that I will not be deploying this summer as I had thought. Again, a “Lord, what ARE you doing?” moment. The lives of several people around me seem to be quite tumultuous right now, and I feel largely unable to help them. So, I simply pray that the Lord will use all the weak, foolish, and lowly things to advance His Kingdom in my life and in the lives around me.
I’ll close with this beautifully stated thought from my friend Adam Thada. In reflecting about Christmas—certainly the beachhead advance for the Kingdom of weak, foolish, and lowly things—he says, “But Christmas is the time to believe in the small things once again, to become poor, foolish and simple. We sow tiny seeds that grow into mighty trees. We follow poor, generous widows and feast on leftover bread and fish. We return acts of kindness for our enemy’s assaults. At Christmas, evil is blindsided as love wins from the underside.” Well said, Adam.
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