Say What?

Moving!

2009-08-14T16:56:00.003-06:00

This blog has moved to http://revsramblings.wordpress.com/ (And yes, that means I do intend to update it one of these months).

If you are looking for sermon discussion questions, click on the link above and locate the tab in the upper right hand corner of your screen that says "Discussion questions."

Hmmm.

2009-07-17T09:54:00.003-06:00

Food for thought:

We're not rejecting God; we just don't have time for him. We've lost
him in the blurred landscape as we rush to church. We don't struggle with
the Bible, but with the clock. It's not that we're too decadent; we're too
busy. We don't feel guilty because of sin, but because we have no time for
our spouses, our children, or our God. It's not sinning too much that's
killing our souls, it's our schedule that's annihilating us.
(Michael Yaconelli, Messy Spirituality, p. 96)

Constant Communication

2009-03-07T09:55:00.006-07:00

Some time ago, I rolled up to a stop light on a late afternoon bike ride and and had the following encounter with a fellow cyclist.

Hello! she said. Her hands rested on the handlebars and she rested her weight on the bike's top tube--and stared straight ahead.

Hello, I replied, pleasantly surprised that she had given me more than a nod (but a little perplexed that she couldn't be bothered to look my way).

How are you?! She asked, with what seemed to be unnecessary enthusiasm and concern.

Oh, um, I'm fine. Beautiful day. How are you?

Hold on a second, she said. Some guy is trying to talk to me. I'll call you back in a second...

That's when I finally noticed the tiny gadget hooked over her ear. My face flushed as I put two and two together and realized that there was a good reason it sounded like she was talking to an old friend on the phone--she probably was. Even standing there at the intersection of Franklin and Alameda while enjoying a sunny afternoon on the bike, she was able to stay in touch.

Of course, her ability to do so is no longer a surprise to any of us. A friend updates his Facebook status from the ski lift. The woman in the airport pulls out her Blackberry and sends a quick email without ever sitting down. Members of congress update their constituents via their Twitter feeds even while listening (or pretending to listen) to the President speak. We are people who are in constant communication with one another.

A few weeks ago, a friend relayed a conversation she'd recently had with her eight-year-old daughter. I just love to pray, the little girl gushed. I only dream sometimes at night. Usually I just pray. And lots of times during the day, I don't even say 'Amen' because I don't want it to be over. I just want to keep talking to God all the time.

Here is a little girl who has something that many of us desire--she is in constant communication with her Creator. She, as much as anybody I know, seems to follow Paul's command: Pray without ceasing. Her life is a continuous conversation with her heavenly Father.

I wonder what will happen to that little girl--to her life of prayer--in a few years. What will happen she gets a Facebook account and a iPhone and a Twitter feed with her friends. Will she be able to stay in constant communication with her God--even while she's in constant communication with so many others?

Most of us would like to have it both ways. But I'm beginning to wonder if we can (or if that's wanting to have your cake and eat it too). Does the constant buzz of communication from cell phones and blog feeds and twitter updates leave us with enough space--enough silence--for us to speak to (and hear from!) our heavenly Father?

I'm not one to push giving up something for Lent (I often joke with people that I'm going to try to give up sin). But maybe a helpful experiment for some of us during this time of year would be to sign off for a few weeks--to let our communication with each other slide so that we can get back in touch with our God.

Edit (3.9.09): Apparently the Pope reads my blog :)

Lectionary Text

2009-03-02T19:08:00.003-07:00

I stumbled across this poem by Debra Rienstra today in her (very good) book, So Much More. It's called "Lectionary Text" and is about what happens in her household the week before her husband has to preach. My wife will testify that she gets at least the first two paragraphs right. I pray the third will be accurate as well.

Lectionary Text
Once you invite me in, beware:
I toss you from your favorite chair,
I snip the daily news to shreds
And interrupt you in your bed.

By week's end you wish me away--
I drag around your thoughts all day.
You wrestle me down, chop and twist,
But I, with ancient art, resist.

Come Sunday, sweet as Spirit's dew
I gentle fall on folks, through you.
A Maddening mystery? Thus your part
To sink a word into a heart.

Good News or Old News?

2009-02-06T20:14:00.007-07:00

"Restore unto me the joy of your salvation."
Psalm 51:12"

"Mind if I join you?"

The question came from the woman standing in the lift line next to me. The collar of her coat was pulled up tight against the cold and her goggles obscured much of her face. I glanced down at her, smiled, nodded, and we scooted forward in line. When our turn came, we plunked down in the chair and the lift swept us up the mountain. Within moments, the woman began to chatter away.

"Well," she said, "I really don't ski that much. My daughter--she's 26--she's the real skier in the family. Of course, she probably won't be doing much of it this year..."

The woman paused. Sensing that this was my cue to prod her along, I asked why.

"Well," she said, "She had climbing accident this summer. Terrible thing. She and some friends were taking the back route up Greys and Torrey's. A ledge snapped out from under her. She fell and broke her back..."

She paused again, giving me a moment to shake my head and cluck my tongue with the appropriate blend of shock and sympathy.

"But you know what?" She didn't pause this time--but leaned a little closer, letting me see the sparkle in her eyes as she spoke. "The doctors were able to perform some surgery--and they say she's going to be fine. In fact, she may very well be back on skis come March. Remarkable, isn't it?"

I've had a lot of ski lift conversations over the last few years--but there was something about this one that was different. I think it was the sense of urgency in the woman's voice, the impression she gave me that she just might burst if she didn't say something. She had some good news--and she just had to share.

Of course, I've got my own bit of good news. For starters, I believe that God so loves us--God so loves me, you, that woman on the ski lift and her daughter, too--that he paid the ultimate price (his own son!) so that we might enjoy a new life with him. It is good news. But even so, it didn't really cross my mind to grab that woman on the ski lift by the shoulders, to look her in the eye, and to declare to her the miracle that I have experienced. "Do you know about this Jesus? About the things that he did? ... Remarkable, isn't it?"

I suppose that if I had, I may very well have learned what it feels like to be stabbed by a ski pole. But even so, it bothers me that the thought never really occurred to me. It bothers me that I can't say with Paul (at least not often enough) that the love of Christ compels me to share the good news of Jesus (2 Cor. 5:14). It bothers me that, all too often, the good news seems to have been down graded to old news.

And so I lift a few words from King David for my prayer. Restore unto me the joy of your salvation. Remind me just how good the good news is.

MLK Day*

2009-01-27T07:42:00.004-07:00

On the evening of November 4th, 2008, I sat on my friend's well-worn couch, watching CNN as the tally came in. Colorado goes blue, Missouri goes red, Ohio goes blue, Montana goes red. Finally, at around 9 pm, the race was called. My friend--much more passionate about these things than I--cheered and raised his beer glass in celebration.

Of course, he wasn't the only one celebrating. That night in Chicago's Grant Park, thousands gathered to celebrate the victory of their hometown hero. When Obama took the stage and delivered his solemn speech, the cameras pulled in close on the faces in the crowd--many of them black, many of them weeping. After the speech, the commentators noted (as they have many times since) that Obama's election carries special significance in United States--a country where, a generation or two ago, it was still an open question if black people should have the right to buses and diners and public education now elects a black man president. Remarkable, they said.

And undoubtedly, it is. But I'll admit--the significance was lost on me. It's not that I don't have a clue about where America has been. I've read Fredrick Douglas and Zora Neal Hurston and Martin Luther King. I've been to a town in Mississippi that still has a cinderblock wall running down the middle of it--a wall that divided the white part of that town from the black part for years. But all that seems like ancient history to me. It's so easy for me to put on the blinders--too shut out both the world and the darkened corners of my own heart--and assume that racism is nothing but a relic of an ancient past.

Of course, it's not. Last week, a friend in another corner of the country was praying with a group from his church. One man--a leader in his congregation--spoke up. He started well. Dear God, he said, be with our new President and Commander and Chief. My friend murmered his ascent. But then things took a turn. God, we do not like his politics, his attitude, his religion, or his color...

President Obama carries the hopes and expectations of many with him into office. And today, I (along with many others) add one to the list: my hope is that he will help us all confront the prejudice that lies within, that he will help us see not just how far we have come as a nation, but how far we have to go. And I hope that, somehow, God will use him to help us all take a step in the right direction.

*A week overdue.

The Love of Jesus

2009-01-09T21:31:00.004-07:00

Sleepless in Seattle was on again last weekend. And I'll admit--I watched it.

I'm not really sure why. I've probably seen it (or bits and pieces of it) three or four times before. Plus, I've seen You've Got Mail a time or two, and that's more or less the same movie. So I knew the plot line, knew the jokes, knew the happy ending. But I watched it anyway. I blame my wife and mother-in-law.

Towards the end of the movie, the Sam Baldwin (Tom Hanks) character wakes up one morning and discovers that his house is empty--his eight-year-old son, Jonah, has run away. Somehow, the little boy managed to board a plane and fly to New York (by himself!) where he must navigate the bustling streets--alone.

I don't remember what my reaction to this scene was the first (or second, or third) time I saw it. Probably deep skepticism (how could that kid even find his way to the airport?!). But this time, I couldn't help but clutch my wife's arm and hold my breath as the desperate father (Hanks) boards his own plane to New York and then sprints through the streets of the city in search of his son. And I couldn't help but let out a huge sigh of relief when that Father finds his son--when he's able to pick him up in his arms and squeeze him tight. I was captivated by it all in a way that I never had before--because before, I was not a father. Before, it had not fully occurred to me just how terrible it would be to lose a son.

I suppose it's stating the obvious to say that I love my son--a lot. I imagine I would do anything necessary to protect him and keep him safe. And I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one.

That hit me when Adrian baptized this summer. I recall being deeply moved when Pastor Joy pronounced the blessing over him. Adrian Paul, for you, Jesus came into the world. For you he took on flesh. For you he lived. For you, he died. For you he rose again... The words hit me someplace deep inside and I suddenly understood--with new clarity--that there is someone who loves my son even more than I do. The love of Jesus for my son (for me, for you) is more profound and perfect than any earthly father's could ever be. I find that fact to be wonderfully assuring.

But there's a flip side. It's not just the way Jesus loves my child. It's the way I love Jesus back.
One of the lectionary readings for this week is from Matthew 10:34-39. It includes these words:

Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of
me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy
of me.

I do not like those words. At all. I want Jesus to love my son more than I can. But how can I love Jesus more than I love my son? My son--whom I can see and touch and hold? My son--whose soft cries float down the stairs, even as I type this? My son--for whom I would give up my own life? It seems like too much to ask. I fear that it is impossible.

But I pray that God would make it possible for me. I pray, not that he would make me love my son less, but that he would make me love his Son more.

Counting the Cost

2009-01-02T19:17:00.003-07:00

Several months ago, Jill and I bought a new computer for our home. I was looking forward to it--at first. When the man from DHL dropped off the boxes on our front porch, I hefted them into the house and ripped into them like a child on Christmas morn. And for the first, say, thirty seconds, it was great fun.

But then reality hit. Soon, I was up to my neck in cords and manuals and speakers and video cards and virus software. Now understand--it's not that a Luddite (at least not that much of one). I can handle some basic computer set-up without injuring myself or anybody else. The trouble is that I am not a patient person. I wanted to be surfing the Internet and organizing my check book and cropping my photos--I wanted my computer--and I wanted it now. As I looked at the mess of the cords, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did it have to take so long?*

Forty minutes later--with cardboard boxes and broken bits of Styrofoam now cluttering my office--I finally turned the machine on. I rubbed my hands together and sat on the edge of my seat as the little machine began to purr for the first time. I was ready to go. And I figured that the new computer would be as well.

Of course, it was not. Once I got my initial log-in screen set up, I was greeted by what seemed like a ridiculous number (dozens? hundreds? thousands?) of user agreements. Windows XP. Microsoft Office. Norton Antivirus. Qwest Internet. Microsoft Live. Dell Customer Support. Picasa Photo. iTunes Music. All of them demanded that I check a box indicating that I had read and agreed with their fifty page user agreement. Which I, of course, did not do.

At least not the reading part. I checked the box and signed on whatever line they indicated--but there was no way I was going to read all that legal jargon. I was ready to get to work (and play); ready to enjoy the benefits of my new machine. Terms and conditions could wait for another day.

Afterwards, it occurred to me that I had taken a risk by skipping the fine print. The folks at Microsoft and Qwest and Norton could have slipped all sorts of fees in--and I would have been none the wiser (until a bill showed up in my inbox). I assumed I knew what I was getting into when I checked the box and signed on the line--but the truth is that I had no clue.

I wonder we have the same tendency as Christians--to check the box and sign on the line for Jesus--and never really slow down to consider (or share) what the cost might be. At least that was my thought while reading some of the lectionary passages for this week. In one (Mark 1:4-13), Jesus--freshly anointed with the Holy Spirit and heralded as God's own beloved Son--is driven out into the wilderness where he receives no food for forty days and there is no one to keep him company but wild animals (and eventually, the Devil). In another (2 Corinthians 11), Paul rattles of his resume--which includes prison, severe floggings, lashes, beatings with rods, stonings, shipwrecks and other "dangers" (the word is used eight times in a few verses). Put the two together (and toss in a few other quotes by Jesus) and it's hard to dodge the conclusion--Jesus didn't live an easy life, and those who follow him can't expect to either.

But it seems to me that's not something we like to talk about much. We'd rather skip all that (it's such a downer!) and talk about prosperity for the present and bliss for eternity. We'd rather focus on the benefits--some of them real, others not--and get people to check the box and sign on the dotted line. After all, if we really told people what they were getting into when they signed on with Jesus, who would bother? Wouldn't church attendance dwindle? Wouldn't evangelism inevitably fail? Why would people ever be drawn to a suffering Savior--especially when he might call them to suffer, too? As Paul himself says somewhere else, from where some folks are standing, it all sounds like foolishness.

But then again, honesty--counting the cost--may very well be the best policy here, too. Especially when one considers the alternative. The alternative (at least the one tried by nearly every generation) is to promise that Jesus will make a person healthy, wealthy, and wise. And though it sounds much more attractive, most people recognize it as the bill of goods that it is. Most people realize that that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.**

But if we were honest--even about the cost--maybe people would find our claims more compelling. If we tell others about the need to shoulder a cross--or better yet, show them how it's done--perhaps our claims of truth might seem gain new traction. After all, if the good news that we bring is so good that we think it's worth suffering for--it must deserve serious consideration.

*Friends have told me--repeatedly--that I should have shelled out the extra bucks for a Mac. Apparently, the fine folks at Apple include Fairy Godmother who waves her magic wand and makes everything work perfectly in the blink of an eye.
**The note able exception being the gospel of grace, of course.

Christmas

2008-12-20T10:39:00.000-07:00

"If you don’t hear in the message of Christmas something that must strike some of blasphemy and others as sheer fantasy, the chance are you have not heard the message for what it is." (Frederick Buechner)

Forget Not

2008-12-19T08:43:00.010-07:00

Praise the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits.
Ps. 103:2

The florescent lights in the nursing home cafeteria buzzed and flickered. Sleigh Ride or Holly Jolly Christmas or some other such jingle played in the background. Dishes clattered as the girl in blue scrubs slid leftover beef stroganoff and crumpled napkins and half eaten dinner rolls and bits of jello-salads into her bin. And my dear old friend, Jon, slumped in his wheel chair, picked at the table cloth, and muttered something I could barely make out. Work to do. Mother is at home. Put that over here.

We were there to offer him the sacrament--the body and blood of our Lord. But we didn't know how it would go. Before arriving, I had been optimistic. But I was becoming less and less sure by the minute. Jon seemed rather baffled by the three men sitting before him. He couldn't remember the name of his son--never mind his pastor and his elder. When I tried to explained that we were there to celebrate communion and set a small crystal tray of cubed bread on the table, Jon reached for one and put it into his mouth--as if it were just some leftover morsel from his lunch that he hadn't gotten to yet.

As Jon nibbled on his bread, I began to think that it was all a silly idea--the old form from the back of the Psalter Hymnal, the little cup of juice, the zig-zagging conversation. What good would it be? How could these things be meaningful for a man who couldn't even remember that his wife of seventy-some years had been dead for months?

I had my doubts. But even so, I began to read my photocopied notes. And as I did, something changed in Jon.

As I went through the old form--the institution from 1 Corinthians, the explanation of what was being proclaimed and remembered, the prayer for the blessing of the Holy Spirit--Jon became suddenly aware. He interrupted--only occasionally--to offer the reference of the scripture passage, or to request a favorite Psalm (139). When we got to the Lord's prayer he said every last phrase--clearly. When it came time to say the words--Take, eat, remember and believe--Jon held on to his bread and juice until the appropriate moment. And then offered his thanks. To me, perhaps. But mostly, I believe, to Christ.

After we had swallowed our bread and sipped our juice, I began to read the traditional thanksgiving Psalm--103. It didn't take long--two verses--before the words caught in my throat and tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. Praise the Lord, says the Psalmist, and forget not all his benefits. When I read those words, I nearly lost it--right there in the nursing home cafeteria. I nearly lost it because I knew that of all the things that Jon has forgotten--the name of his son, the place he attended church for ninety (or more) years, the death of his wife, what year he was living in--Jon has not forgotten Christ and all his benefits. He was able to take, eat, remember, and believe. Dementia has taken so very much from him--but by God's grace, it hasn't taken that.

Praise the Lord, oh my soul. Praise the Lord.

Parking Lot Prayers

2008-12-12T12:54:00.022-07:00

The greatest tragedy in life is not unanswered prayer, but unoffered prayer. (F.B. Meyer)

The habit of not praying is far more difficult to break than the habit of praying. (Philip Yancey

When Art and Dolly told me that they always prayed for parking spots--and that they had never been disappointed--I simply smiled and nodded. I didn't ask if they felt guilty about cluttering up God's inbox with their petty parking petitions when they might instead have chosen to bring him a request for--oh, I don't know--world peace. I didn't challenge them to explain why God would take the time to cut down their walk to the front doors of Wal-Mart when he apparently hadn't been able to fit the healing of a friend from church into his ca lander. I didn't ask. In fact, I didn't even raise an eyebrow.

But a part of me wanted to.

I know that I'm supposed to be all for prayer (no matter what it's about)--especially since I'm a preacher and all. But even so, there was something about the way the lovely old couple phrased things there in their doily-filled living room that I found unsettling at the time. It seemed to me that somebody in the prayer equation had their priorities mixed up. Either Art and Dolly did (because they were content to offer up petitions about one of the more trivial matters in life and were neglecting (I assumed) the weightier things). Or God did (because he was so busy managing parking lots that he couldn't seem to be bothered with world hunger and genocide). It would be better, I thought, if we didn't bother God with parking spots or Settlers games or even head colds at all. After all, all of us--and God especially--have more important things to worry about.

Well, last Monday, while my legs dangled from the ski lift and I scrunched my shoulders up against the cold, I found myself praying that my car would start. I didn't mean to--honest. It just happened. I sat there on the lift, thinking about the drive home--hoping that I wouldn't
have to find someone to give me a push start in the parking lot like I had the previous week.* And the prayer just happened. Dear God, please, please, please, let it start today... For the most part, it was a silent prayer. But every now and then, I may have muttered my plea into the pulled up collar of my winter coat.

I felt rather silly about it at the time. After all, I knew there were many other things I should be using my time to pray for. Even as I muttered that prayer for my car, my iPod was piping into my ear an NPR news story about genocide and child soldiers in some far away corner of the world. Shouldn't I pray about that instead? It sounds strange to say it, but suddenly I found myself feeling guilty about praying.

That incident has run through my mind nearly every time I've tried to start my vehicle the past week (which has worked every time, by the way). And I've concluded that, the next time I'm in the mountains and am worried about the car starting, I'll probably pray about it. Here are a few reasons why:

God invites us to pray (and is offended when we don't). He apparently likes to be asked--even for seemingly mundane things like daily bread and dependable automobiles.
Every action (or nearly every action) is habit forming. Every choice not to pray moves me toward a life of non-prayer. Every choice to pray moves me toward a life of prayer.
Furthermore, when I pray for the "little" things, I'm reminded to pray for the "big" things. And when I learn to trust God with those "little" things, I'm a step closer to trusting him with those "big" things.
Prayer helps us learn to see reality more clearly. More specifically, it helps me see that God is a apart of my reality. He is at work in my world and in my life--no matter how big or how small the issue may be.

Does all that mean I'm planning on always getting a good parking space or a life free from car trouble? Not likely. But it does mean that I believe God hears me--and wants to hear from me. And for that, I'm grateful.

*Actually, I didn't even need to find them. I prayed that God would help me get my vehicle started then too, and these kind folks showed up and offered a hand. Coincidence? Or providence?

A Day to Re-Member

2008-10-09T11:02:00.005-06:00

Our worship service went long on Sunday. Again. Instead of raising my hands, pronouncing the blessing, and telling people to "Go in Peace to love and serve the Lord"at 10:45 as I had planned, it didn't happen until 10:54. It was only nine minutes. Okay, maybe eleven. Not that long in the grand scheme of things. But I still hate it when that happens.

It's not, of course, that I'm opposed to worshipping God. Personally, I've come to look forward to weekly times of worship. I find an hour and twenty-four (okay, twenty-six) minutes of praise, prayer, and reflection quite tolerable--even enjoyable. (That's not something I would have said in the days of my youth when I spent much of the worship service calculating the lenght of each song and prayer so that I could have an accurate countdown to the final "Amen").

Even so, as a worship planner and leader, I get nervous when a service goes long. I'll be sitting there in the front row anxiously checking my watch, sneaking glances around at the congregation, thinking about the Sunday School teachers who have rooms to prepare, the older folks who need to catch a bus to get home in time for lunch, the visitors who might wonder why the preacher talks so long or we sing so many songs.

That being said, it should be acknowledged that there are many Christian traditions--both in the United States and around the globe--that would have been astounded by the brevity of Sunday's service. (Only an hour and twenty-four minutes?! Imagine that!) Sunday morning, in between glances at my watch, I couldn't help but think of a story I heard about one of those congregations.*

I can no longer recall all the details, but the story goes that a Presbyterian from a predominantly white congregation in the Midwest attended a black church in the South one Sunday. The Presbyterian took in the service with wide eyes. The dancing in the isles, the impromptu riffs on the organ that punctuated the preachers point, the shouts of "Amen" and "Hallelujah" from those standing around him--none of those things were a part of his normally reverant and mildly exubarant worship experience. But perhaps the most astounding thing to this Presbyterian was the length of the service. Two hours in and the preacher had yet to begin his sermon. Three hours in and he wondered if he'd be out in time for lunch.

After the postlude, when one of his fellow worshippers asked him what he thought, the Presbyterian straightened his tie and, with uncharacteristic bluntness, declared: "I just don't understand why we had to go so long! " That's when one of elders in the group smiled, reached out and touched his Brother on the shoulder, and gently explained: "All week, people puttin' us down. They tell us we ain't worth a thing. Tell us we're no good. So Sunday, we come to church and we worship so that we can learn to see the straight again. It takes a long time to learn to see straight. Takes a long time to be assured that we're worth something, that we are children of God. That we are loved by him..."

I like that story because I think it helps see the gift of active Sabbath observance. As I tried to say on Sunday, many of us come to church every week feeling like we haven't accomplished enough well enough. We feel dehumanized, worthless, degraded after busy weeks working, producing, consuming. We are taken apart by the messages we've heard all weak from others--or even ourselves. But when we practice Sabbath, we remember God and his grace. And when we remember God and his grace, we are re-membered. That is, we are put back together, made whole, renewed.

And when I look at it that way, it seems like going a few minutes "long" isn't all that bad. Sure, it can be a little inconvenient for everyone (even preachers). But what a gift to come into God's presence and take some time to re-member!

*This was a story I had considered including in my sermon but (perhaps ironically) cut for the sake of time.

Sin 101

2008-09-09T13:25:00.003-06:00

I've given myself the assignment of preaching on the 10 Commandments this fall. I've covered #1 (or at least preached a sermon on it) already--but just ran across another good bit from NT Wrigth that I wish I could have included somehow. It's good fodder for thinking about the 1st Command, but also our approach to the rest of them:

When we begin with creation, and with God as creator, we can see clearly that the frequently repeated warnings about sin and death, referred to as axiomatic by Paul, are not arbitrary, as though God were simply a tyrant inventing odd laws and losing his temper with those who flouted them, but structural: humans were made to function in particular ways, with worship of the creator as the central feature, and those who turn away from that worship—that is, the whole human race, with a single exception—are thereby opting to seek life where it is not to be found, which is another way of saying that they are courting their own decay and death. That is to say, with the entire Jewish tradition, that the basic sin is idolatry, the worship of that which is not in fact the living creator God.(NT Wright, Paul, pg. 35)

Providence on the Side of the Road

2008-08-08T12:50:00.004-06:00

"Cynthia's down! Cynthia's Down!"

The cry came from my tandem partner, Barb, and it meant exactly what it sounded like. Our fellow cyclist, Cynthia, had crashed while going 20+ mph on a stretch of I-76. She lay on the side of the road with her cracked helmet, holding a throbbing wrist, complaining about a pain in her thigh that would later be identified as a fractured pelvis.

Later, after Cynthia had been carted away the ambulance and as we continued to ride somberly toward our final destination, another cyclist commented that it was amazing to see how God was, once again, at work on their tour. "It wasn't just coincidence," he said. "It was providence. It was a 'God thing.'"

I'll admit, I've never really liked the phrase, "God thing." And any time people start talking about the providence of God in a messy situation, I start to get nervous. After all, if they're going to credit God for what went right in a bad situation, are they going to give him credit for what went wrong, too? Isn't there something wrong with that picture?

I don't have the answers to all those questions. But as I continued to reflect on what happened--and what didn't happen--with Cynthia's accident, I had to admit that my riding partner was right. Some how, some way, God was at work.

First of all, there was Sarah. At the moment Cynthia went down, she was being passed by a car with two folks who were heading back to Massachusetts after a few weeks of vacationing out west. They immediately pulled over and one of them one of them (Sarah) just "happened" to be an EMT. Not bad timing, if I don't say so myself!

And then there was what could have happened--but didn't. Cynthia could have fallen into traffic--but she didn't. And she could have taken out the two cyclists who were riding behind her--but she didn't. Things could have been so much worse than a fractured pelvis and a prematurely ended bike tour. But they weren't.

Perhaps--in a world that is broken and fractured by sin and its consequences, in a world that is far from imperfect--that's how God's providence works. No, he doesn't remove all obstacles (or crash inducing litter!) from our paths. He doesn't make us invincible. But God--in his providence*--does make it so that things aren't as bad as they could be. And though God doesn't give us a Teflon coating that causes all the garbage of life to slide right off , He does--in his providence--give us the grace to make it through.

*In our tradition, this has often been attributed to the function of "Common Grace" and what John Calvin (I believe) referred to as "the universal work of the Holy Spirit.

The Brilliance of Bicycles

2008-07-29T16:52:00.006-06:00

Two years ago this August, Jill and I found ourselves standing in the rain along side a nearly abandoned country road in Ontario, Canada. Our tandem bicycle--along with the bags of camping gear we were depending on to keep us sheltered, fed, and clothed for our two week bicycle tour--was laying in the ditch along side of the road.

The bike had already taken us over a hundred miles that day (108, if I recall correctly), but we knew that it wasn't going to take us any further--at least not without a little help. Due to on unfortunate set of circumstances (involving the previously mentioned rain, a metal grate on bridge, and some bad advice) our rear tire was damaged beyond our ability to repair it. And so we stood on the side of the road, looking at our wounded bicycle wondering what to do--and where to go--next.

We didn't have to wonder for long. It was only ten--maybe twenty minutes--before a man (whose name I've sadly forgotten) in a Chevy Silverado pickup pulled unto the shoulder next to us. "Where you folks from?" Before we could answer, he went on, "You look like you could use a little help." We seized the opening and explained our precarious situation. And before we could ask him what we really wanted (Did he know of any towns nearby that had a bike shop? Could he help us get there? Or at least a campground nearby), he tugged at his beard and said: "Well, I happen to own a marina in the next town up. I'd be happy to have you stay with me for the night. Then tomorrow morning we'll see about that tire."

So that's what we did. We loaded our gear into the back of his truck and a half hour later we had not only met his wife, we'd also met another woman (also a complete stranger) who offered us the exclusive use of her camper--warm shower, stove, clean sheets and all. For a couple of dirty, worn out bikers, she was a Godsend!

The thing that always strikes me about that story--and the others we have like it--is the way people treat you when you're on a bicycle. There's something about people on bikes--especially people on bikes who have clearly traveled a long way using nothing but their own horsepower--that breaks down the barriers that are usually erected between strangers. Maybe it's the funny outfits. But for some reason, when people see a couple of strangers roll in on their bicycles, they seem much more prone to let their guard down and strike up a conversation. And therein lies the brilliance of bicycles. And the brilliance of the Sea to Sea Bike Tour.

I'll admit, I wouldn't always have characterized Sea to Sea as "brilliant." In fact, I'll confess to being rather cynical about it all. That's not to say I don't like the idea of a cross country ride. I do. In fact, it's something I've personally wanted to do for a long time. So as a cyclist, I always thought it was a great idea. I was not convinced, however, that the tour was really going to be all that effective in pricking any one's conscience about issues of poverty, or that it would do much (besides raise a fair chunk of money from people who might give it any way) to "stop the cycle of poverty."

But that changed yesterday. Yesterday, I had the privilege of riding along with the tour for a day . I pedaled the tandem (this time with a biking buddy from my youth, Barb) from Denver to Fort Morgan. And a long the way, I was reminded of what I had learned on the tours Jill and I have done--when you're on a bike, people want to talk to you. In coffee shops and campgrounds, I got to see my riding companions speak with complete strangers. And not just about the route, or the weather, or the other mundane details of their days. But about things that matter. They got to talk about why they were doing this crazy ride from Seattle to Jersey city. They got to talk about poverty.

I know there will probably be debates about how effective this tour is in doing anything about poverty (although the 2 million bucks they've raised so far should but some of that to rest) or if all the riders should just sell their bikes and feed a hungry family with the proceeds (who of us couldn't stand to sell something?). But I'm convinced. When I got to see the bikers in action--chatting it up with locals and nudging them to think about issues that ought to be of concern to us all--I recognized how tremendously valuable this tour is. It takes a lot to move people to action on atrocities we all grow too easily accustomed to, but it seems that this grass-roots, one-on-one bicycle tour is a fine--perhaps even brilliant--start.

**Want to donate? Click here.**

Let the Little Children Come

2008-07-23T14:35:00.004-06:00

I spent the better part of the last two days helping to lead a mini-retreat for kids who are interested in professing their faith. Among the many gems I overheard was this one from a fourth grade boy:
"I think God is like a bird flying through the sky not giving up on others
because if he did he couldn't fly."

Good Books

2008-07-23T08:50:00.003-06:00

I don't often recommend books to others. However, I just finished up Timothy Keller's latest, The Reason for God , and can't help myself. Read this book. Whether you're just curious about the Christianity, a committed believer, or somewhere in between, take some time to ponder what Keller has to say. You won't regret it.

Prayer

2008-07-05T14:21:00.001-06:00

Stumbled across this old comic recently and was reminded of the parables we've been studying from Luke 11 and Luke 18.

The Trouble with Grace

2008-06-27T12:28:00.012-06:00

I had been dreading the conversation for days. Weeks.

Months actually.

Someone I know was stuck in a rut. They were clinging to a certain sin (or their sin was clinging to them--I'm not always sure which way it goes). They didn't want to give it up. They didn't even want to categorize it as "sin." And they certainly didn't want me to put it in that category for them. So I'd been dutifully looking the other way. Pretending not to notice. Pretending it really wasn't there.

I thought about saying something earlier. But really, who wants to be "that guy"? You know the one. The Christian who is "good" in the worst sense of the word (as Mark Twain said). The preacher whacking people over the head with is ten pound King James Version, whipping out the bullhorn to declare God's judgement and wrath on those who have violated his commandments. After all, we are supposed to be people who model Christ's love. People who show the world his grace.

But that, it seems to me, is the rub. We're supposed to show the world grace. That's a kingdom value. But does showing the world grace mean that we can no longer talk to the world (or to each other) about sin? Does it mean that the right thing for me to do with my friend would've been to look the other way?

That's a popular idea. People often say things like: "More grace, less judgment". What they mean is that yes, I should keep my mouth shut. I should accept my friends no matter what. I should show grace, not judgement.

And of course, there is something right and admirable about the impulse. But I have to admit, I think there is something slightly off base about it.

The problem is that when we put grace and judgment at odds with one another, we've confused grace and tolerance. Like grace, tolerance accepts everybody--regardless of what they've done or left undone. But unlike grace, tolerance refuses to deal with sin head on. Tolerance deals with sin by renaming it--by calling it something other than sin. Tolerance looks the other way, always minds it's own business, lets every person do as s/he sees fit. Tolerance makes no judgements about right or wrong.

It's an attractive approach. But it's not grace.

In order to show grace (and not mere tolerance) you have to make a judgment that something is wrong. You have to acknowledge that a person (maybe even you!) needs to be forgiven, needs mercy, needs unmerited love and acceptance. That's the trouble with grace. When you talk about grace, you also have to talk about sin.

Here's what Neil Plantinga says on the subject:

"For the Christian Church ... to ignore, euphemize, or otherwise mute the lethal reality of the sin is to cut the nerve of the gospel. For the sober truth is that without full disclosure on sin, the gospel of grace becomes impertinent, unnecessary, and finally uninteresting." (Plantinga, Not the Way It's Supposed to Be, p. 199)

So what does that have to do with my friend?

Well, after a lot of hand wringing, pacing around my office, and--yes--prayer, I decided I had to have that difficult conversation. I decided I needed to tell him that--from what I understood of God's word and will for his life--what he was doing was sin. I had to make a judgment. But I also I had to do it in a way that was not judgmental. I had to do it in a way that was full of the fragrance of Christ. A way that showed him unconditional love, mercy, acceptance of Jesus Christ despite what he was doing wrong.

I wish it was easy--like tolerance. But it wasn't. Sadly, there's no handbook for these things. No neat and tidy procedure that ensures we'll get it right. Like most people, I had to work things out within the messy context of relationship. And like most people, I stumbled and fumbled. Like most people, I didn't get it all right. But I tried. By the grace of God, I tried.

Learning to Read

2008-05-13T13:22:00.001-06:00

“My current project is writing a talk I am to give to the Macon Parish Catholic Women’s Council on the dizzying subject – 'What Is a Wholesome Novel?' I intend to tell them that the reason they find nothing but obscenity in modern fiction is because that is all they know how to recognize.”

Flannery O' Conner

Lifted from the fine folks at Toads Drink Coffee.

Whooot!

2008-05-01T08:56:00.004-06:00

Adrian Paul was born Wed night at 10 pm. 7 lbs 12 ounces. 21 inches long (the cone head adds some, but he wasn't standing up straight, so I figure it more or less evens out). Everyone involved is doing well...

"My Pleasure"

2008-04-25T15:34:00.011-06:00

"Nothing presses the noses of the faithful up against the windows of their faith like death."

Thomas Lynch

We had another funeral on Monday morning. We came together as a community, sang songs, prayed, heard God's word, and, afterwards, shared stories over ham buns and jello in the church basement.

Twenty-four hours later, the family huddled under a green tent pitched in the middle of a vast cemetery. They sat on their folding chairs, the casket holding their mother and grandmother setting before them--unavoidable--waiting to be lowered into the ground. And again we prayed, we heard God's word, and afterwards shared stories as the family read the names off the surrounding grave stones and remembered those who had already gone to be "with the Lord."

I've been to a few funerals by now (probably participated in twenty or so in my combined two and a half years in two different churches). I hope it doesn't sound cold to say that this was all pretty standard stuff. I don't say anything new or ground shaking; I didn't come up with anything the family hadn't heard before or said in some way to one another (in one form or another). It was one of those affairs of which Garrison Keillor's Pastor Inkfus commented, "The preacher said said the things that preachers always say on such occasion, but the things that need to be said anyway."*

All the same, one of the children came up to me after it all, shook my hand, and thanked me. It was a pleasure, he said. He was very kind. But his comment caused me to fumble for a reply. The pleasure was all mine or Glad I could do it seemed like the natural response to such a statement. But that felt rather "off" for reasons that should be obvious to anyone. It just sounds cruel to say that doing some Saint's funeral was a pleasure.

But the truth is it was. It was a pleasure spending time with the family--being invited into such an intimate moment in their life. But more than that, it was a pleasure because I got to do such a wonderful thing. I got to stand next to a casket that hovered over a grave--just waiting to fill it--and tell the old old story about another grave that remained empty. I got to say words like "hope" and "peace" and "comfort" and, above all "resurrection".

I say those sorts of things every time. And I get shivers--every time.

Before I started leading funerals, I would've assumed that they would be times of spiritual struggle and doubt for me. I assumed that the dark shroud that hangs over us during times of death would make it impossible to see much of God at all. It's true that I've been to a few funerals that have been like that (of children, for instance) and suspect that may be the case for others in attendance. But as a pastor, I find that some of the most nourishing times for me have been at funerals and by gravesides. For some reason, the Spirit seems to be more tangibly present at these affairs. And perhaps more to the point, it is when death presses my nose up against the window of my faith that I see with greatest clarity my risen Lord on the other side. In those moments I am convinced--right down to my toenails--that I have not put my trust in him in vain. And that is always a pleasure!

*This is a paraphrase. If any Keillor devotees out there know the exact line (from sometime this spring) I'd love to have it.

Children at the Table

2008-04-20T15:32:00.002-06:00

If you'd like to do more reading on the topic click here.
If you'd like some questions to guide your reading (written by yours truly), click here.

Cold Water, Hot Coffee

2008-04-08T13:25:00.004-06:00

We talked a lot last Sunday about Christ's call to embrace a broken world; the command to go into the world with his other-worldly kindness, love, grace, and service. But talking about it is one thing. Knowing how to do it is another. Someone shared this poem with me that I think gives a good suggestion. It's called "Cold Water, Hot Coffee" and is written by Ann Weems.

Sometimes that cup of cold water,
turns out to be a cup of hot cofeee,
and what we're asked to do is
to pour it...and to listen.
Sometimes we Christians
in our enthusaism
think we were asked
to save the world,
when what we were asked to do
is to go into it
and tell God's story
to people in need of
some good news.
Aanxious activists forget
that just listening is an act
of compassion.
Driven disciples forget
that just listening is an act
of faithfulness.
Guilty givers forget
that just listening is an act
of stewardship.
Since we church people
have a tendancy to be
driven and anxious and guilt-ridden,
perhaps we shoul
read the directs again
and pour a cup of hot coffee
and listen
in his name.

For me, there's sweet relief in knowing that I don't have to "fix" everything. Listening can be enough.

Stomp for Jesus?

2008-03-14T09:47:00.007-07:00

I recently went to a production of "Stomp" with some friends. If you're not familiar, it's a dance/drumming group that uses every day things--brooms, newspapers, pipes, gas cans, kitchen sinks, basketballs--to make music. Not the kind of music you'd hear in a cathedral or concert hall--but music nonetheless. Personally, I think they do a mighty fine job of it (see the video below if you'd like a taste).

The show was plenty engaging in it's own right. But even as I watched with simple delight, I couldn't help but think about a question that I often hear: What does it mean to be "Reformed"?

The standard answer is that being "Reformed" has to do with (a) our historical roots in the Reformation of the 16th Century and (b) our conviction that the sovereign God has placed his claim on "every square inch" of our lives and we are to bring him glory in all that we do.

I think that's an accurate answer--but it's not a very inspiring or creative one. So as I sat and watched those musicians swoosh their brooms in perfect rhythm and clang on their sinks in strange harmony, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a better answer playing out right in front of me. After all, we Reformed folks pride ourselves in using the term "worship" in a very broad way. We want to expand the activity beyond the sanctuary on Sunday morning--we want it to overflow into all of life, wherever we find ourselves, no matter what we're doing. And it seems to me that that's exactly what was happening in that show. Of course, those who were making that music may not have intended it that way--but I suspect that God took some delight--in their creativity and joy, their harmonies and their rhythms, in their ability to make music with whatever the could find--anyway.

So, how is it that we can make God glorifying "music" while standing over our own kitchen sinks, clicking at our keyboards, ruffling through our papers? How can we use everything in life--even our garbage--to bring Him praise and glory?

Stomp- Stomp Out Loud

2008-03-14T09:47:00.001-07:00

Great Taste During Lent

2008-03-05T15:50:00.005-07:00

No joke: I saw this sign in Taco Bell a few weeks ago. There are too many levels of irony to comment on here, but suffice it to say that I'm not so sure that the folks who came up with the concept really "get" Lent. Even so, they helped me "get" it a little better.

I've still got John 4 (the Samaritan Woman at the Well) on the brain. I'm still thinking about why Jesus goes about unraveling this woman's past. The obvious answer (which is usually the best answer when it comes to Scripture interpretation) is that he wanted to help her see how she'd been looking for love in all the wrong places. Jesus wanted to open her eyes to the way that she'd been trying to quench her deepest thirsts and hungers (for intimacy, meaning, security) in all the wrong places. He wanted to show her how she'd been filling up on cheap substitutes that could never leave her satisfied. He wanted to show her just how thirsty (and hungry) she was for Him, and what he could offer her.

It seems to me that Jesus wanted to show her that she was trying to fill up on Taco Bell when what she really wanted was Him.

That, of course, is one of the great questions we ask ourselves during Lent. Who (or what) do we look to to satisfy our hungers and quench our thirsts? Have we been duped into filling up on cheap substitutes and lost our appetites for the real deal?

Recently, a friend of mine posted this quote on her blog:
" Do not be surprised, therefore, when you have yielded your service, given your affection, and poured out your heart to that pleasure of yours, your idol,
your own lust and mischief--do not be surprised, then, if you have no appetite
for Christ, or for that heavenly food."
--Robert Bruce

She then went on to confess that she needs to give up reading anything but the Bible for a while. It's a drastic step for her because she loves books, loves words, loves ideas, loves stories. But she says that she's been so busy trying to satisfy her thirst with them--these "cheapo substitutes"--that she's lost her appetite for Living Water and Bread from Heaven. Books were her "Taco Bell."

I love her insight for it's honesty. But I also love it because it helped me see that sometimes, the things that we need to give up--those artificial substitutes--often aren't bad in and of themselves. What's keeping us from drinking deeply from the well of Living Water might not be something obvious: pornography, or gossip, or promiscuous relationships--those favorite sins of preachers. It may be something that is good in it's proper place--when our loves are properly ordered (as Augustine said)--but that has slipped out of place. It may be that we're filling up on books, family, work, hobbies. It may be that these good things that have become dangerous because we're too full of them to be full of Him. If you'll let me push the analogy--it may be that we're taking what's okay on occasion (Taco Bell?) and filling up on it all the time.

Of course, it doesn't have to be that way. Jesus says he's got something better than Grilled Stuffed Burritos for us. He says that we "he has food we may know nothing about (vs. 32) and that "...those who drink the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

The next time you're tempted to pull through the drive-thru at Taco Bell, think about that! He is the one who satisfies!

Success

2008-02-26T08:41:00.001-07:00

Some food for thought for the season of Lent:

"Any church or any preacher who keeps preaching the cross is not going to grow. The preacher will not be a success and the church will not grow, because in our culture what we are interested in is success, not sacrifice."
Phillip Rieff

Hmmmmm.

2008-02-18T14:36:00.001-07:00

I'm not an ER fan (I think I've only seen one episode). Should I be?
Discuss.

Lament

2008-02-10T06:58:00.001-07:00

We're talking about--and practicing--the biblical art of lament on Sunday morning. For some wonderful thoughts on why this may be an important part of our Christian lives, check out this entry in Jim Schaap's blog. Good stuff.

Growing into Providence

2008-02-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

"I cannot fit it all [tragedy] together by saying, 'God did it.' But neither can do so by saying, 'There was nothing he could do about it.' I can only, with Job, endure.”

Nicholas Wolterstorff in Lament for a Son

An elderly gentleman told me a story today. It must've happened more than eighty-five years ago, when he was a little boy. He didn't elaborate on the details, though it was clearly etched in his mind.

It seems that a a group of children from the neighborhood went swimming at a local pond one day. One of them didn't come home.

At the funeral, the preacher said: "This was not an accident. This was a part of God's plan. This was God's will."

My old friend has never forgotten it.

I'm not sure if he believed his preacher or not. But it seems that he did. It seems that he found the words to be full of hope, full of comfort.

I'm not sure that I do.

I worry that--with all our Calvinistic talk about Divine Providence and Sovereignty and Control--we run the risk of making God the author of evil. For if God pulls the puppet strings that pull a young boy under water, what can you call it but evil? I wonder, wouldn't we be better off if we gave the credit for these things to somebody/something else?

On the other hand--I understand the comfort in knowing/believing that things don't simply happen at random; that there is a higher purpose; that the Good God is in control and that tragedy strikes because he has some hidden good in mind that we cannot understand.

I suspect that there is some messy middle ground between these two positions (micromanaging of the universe on the one hand and liaise faire style of governance on the other) where the truth about God's role in all this lies. There must be some way to nuance our theological language that respects both the power of our good God as well as the reality and power of evil.

I'll let you know when I find it.

In the meantime, I find that when trying to make sense of God's role in the brokenness of this world and in our lives, most folks toss nuance out the window and pick one side or the other. As for me--the longer I'm in ministry, the more I'm learning to respect the folks who put their faith in a God who is in complete control. It takes a lot of faith (and chutzpa) to sit by the hospital bed of a loved one, to stand over the casket of a friend, to take a pink slip from a boss, to watch the evening news and to still say: It was God's will. I do not understand it all. But I know God is good. God is in control. And that is enough for me.

But like I said, I'm not quite there yet. It seems to me that in so many matters of faith, I'm like a child playing dress up--I've got Dad's suit, tie, and shoes on, but they're all too big. I've got some growing to do before I can fit into them quite right. And while I'd like to think that I've grown up a bit in the past few years--while the "pants of providence" don't pool around my ankles quite like they used to--I've still got some growing to do before I say with the the same simple conviction of that Dominie of years gone by: "This was not an accident. This was a part of God's plan. This was God's will."

Deep Sea Divers

2008-02-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

I've been re-reading portions of Philip Yancey's book on prayer this week as I prepare for a (unexpected) sermon on Psalm 13. Yancey has a gift for listening to the wisdom and insights of other people. Two of those insights he includes in his book include similiar metaphors--and they seem fitting for this week.

On grief: "Evengelicals tend to want to get to the happy ending. Sometimes, there is no happy ending, and we're simply suspended in grief. When I'm with suffering people, I feel like a deep-sea diver accompnaying them into the depths. Come up too fast, and you'll dangerously decompress. We need to stay with the grief for a while, feel it, let it out. maybe we can see things through tears that we can't see dry-eyed." (269).

On prayer: "...God has equipped us to go deep-sea diving and instead we wade in bathtubs. What makes the difference...is how seriously we take prayer. I see prayer as the process of becoming available for what God wants to do on earth through us." (276)

Wisdom: A Sneak Peek of Daniel 4

2008-01-31T13:30:00.000-07:00

Working on Daniel 4 this week, I was reminded of the opening line of John Calvin's Institutes.

"Nearly all the wisdom we possess, that is to say, true and sound wisdom, consists of two parts: the knowledge of God and of ourselves."

Hopefully, we'll take a few steps in the direction of that "true and sound wisdom" this (and every!) Sunday morning.

Obedience

2008-01-29T15:06:00.000-07:00

On Sunday morning, I quoted Sietze Buning's (Stanley Weirsma's) poem Obedience. However, I left out what I think may be the best part (the last few paragraphs). So for your pleasure (and pondering), here it is in full:

Were my parents right or wrong
not to mow the ripe oats that Sunday morning
with the rainstorm threatening?

I reminded them that the Sabbath was made for man
and of the ox fallen into the pit.
Without an oats crop, I argued,
the cattle would need to survive on town-bought oats
and then it wouldn't pay to keep them.
Isn't selling cattle at a loss like an ox in a pit?

My parents did not argue.
We went to church.
We sang the usual psalms louder than usual--
we, and the others whose harvests were at stake:

"Jerusalem, where blessing waits,
Our feet are standing in thy gates."

"God be merciful to me;
On thy grace I rest my plea."

Dominie's spur-of-the-moment concession:
"He rides on the clouds, the wings of the storm;
The lightning and wind his missions perform."

Dominie made no concessions on sermon length:
"Five Good Reasons for Infant Baptism,"
Though we heard little of it,

for more floods came and more winds blew and beat
upon that House than we had figured on, even,
more lighting and thunder
and hail the size of pullet eggs.
Falling branches snapped the electric wires.
We sang the closing psalm without the organ and in the dark:

"Ye seed from Abraham descended,
God's covenant love is never ended."

Afterward we rode by our oats field,
flattened.

"We still will mow it," Dad said.
"Ten bushels to the acre, maybe, what would have been fifty
if I had mowed right after milking
and if the whole family had shocked.
We could have had it weatherproof before the storm."

Later at dinner Dad said,
"God was testing us. I'm glad we went."
"Those psalms never gave me such a lift as this morning,"
Mother said, "I wouldn't have missed it."
And even I thought but did not say,
How guilty we would feel now if we had saved the harvest.
The one time Dad asked me why I live in a Black neighborhood,
I reminded him of that Sunday morning.
Immediately he understood."

Sometime around the turn of the century
my sons may well bring me an article in The Banner
written by a sociologist who argues,
"The integrated neighborhoods of thirty years ago,
in spite of good intentions,
impaired Black self-image and delayed Black independence."
Then I shall tell my sons about that Sunday morning.

And I shall ask my sons to forgive me
(who knows exactly what for?)
as they must ask their sons to forgive them
(who knows exactly what for?)
as I have long ago forgiven my father
(who knows exactly what for?)

Fathers often fail to pass on to sons
their harvest customs
for harvesting grain or real estate or anything.
No matter, so long as fathers pass on to sons
another more important pattern
defined as absolutely as muddlers like us can manage:
obedience.

Seitze Buning, in Purpaleanie and other Permutations
The Middleburg Press, Orange City, IA. 1978.

Praying for Your Pastor

2008-01-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

Flipping through Ephesians on Sunday night, I found a pastoral prayer request that ties in well with my last post. Paul says: Pray for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel...Pray that I may declare it as fearlessly as I should. (Ephesians 6:19-20)

A good one for Paul...and a good one for me!

The Revealer of Mysteries: Take 2

2008-01-18T09:33:00.000-07:00

I encountered what could only be referred to as irony in my sermon preparation this week. I've been doing my best to write a compelling, relevant, biblical sermon on Daniel 2--and on the "Revealer of Mysteries" that is so frequently referred to there. But in the meantime, I've felt enshrouded in mystery myself. For some reason, I can't seem to see this text with the clarity I would like. I've found myself keeping company with Nebuchadnezzar--tossing and turning at night as I try to understand what God is trying to "reveal" to us in all of this.

Come Sunday (barring major a major revelation in the next 48 hours), I'll be talking about how God's knowledge of the future assures us of his control of the future. But I've also thought--more than once--that this text might take us a different direction.*

It seems to me that old Nebuchadnezzar is on a quest for truth in this passage. He's looking for a kind of truth that doesn't come about through human intuition, or the standard Babylonian ways of knowing that he had long depended on. This methods of knowing the deeper mysteries of life are ultimately insufficient and not dependable. Nebuchadnezzar needs something more. He needs a revelation from God. (That's why he ups the ante with his court astrologers and has them tell the dream--because he wants to know that they can be trusted).

The parallel is less exact than I'd like (and that's one of the reason's I didn't preach this) but it seems to me that there may be a very strong Christ connection in this passage. After all, Paul frequently refers to Christ as the "mystery of God" (do a search--it's rather fascinating. Or start with Col 1:25-2:5, 1 Cor. 15)**. The question for us then becomes how we can know the truth about the mystery of Christ.

There are plenty of places to start when we're searching for the "meaning of the mystery" that is Christ. Apologetic arguments, intuition, the words and witness of passionate believers. But in the end, our conviction of the truth of this mystery will not come from our normal sources of understanding; it will not come from our quest to discover and discern Christ. Ultimately, it will come from God's movement toward us. It will come from his act of revelation. And if we take Daniel's actions as a cue, it will only come when we step out in faith and enter a relationship (prayer) with him.

I think it's something worth considering. I know some folks (some readers here?) who are curious about the Christian faith, curious about Christ, but don't know how they can know for certain. To them, I'd say--step out in faith. Pray that God will reveal this truth to you (or to your loved ones). Or if you're a person who struggles with day to day doubts, with the plausibility of what we confess to be true as Christians (which most of us who think about these things will do at some point)--pray to God to reveal the mystery to you. Ask him to give you true wisdom and insight into the certainty of life with Christ.

*More than one, actually. If I get around to it, I'd like to jot down a few things on the politics of Daniel 2.
**A connection can also be made with the "wisdom" idea that comes in Daniel's Song (Chap 2.20 ff)--God gives wisdom, and the wisdom of God is the foolishness of the world--the cross of Christ that we know through the Spirit. Cf. 1 Cor 1

A Rant: Removing the Roadblocks

2008-01-11T12:59:00.000-07:00

Pardon me, but I need to rant a bit today. That means this post will undoubtedly include some ridiculous overstatement, silly generalization, or other ungodly use of words. So I ask your forgiveness in advance. But I just can't help myself.

My rant is in response to an email I received recently. It was from a dear friend who was looking for a book recommendation. The book was not for him, but for a family member who apparently has turned her back on the Christian faith (any book recommendations out there?). While explaining his request, he gave a fistful of reasons for her rejection, but the one that really stuck in my craw was one I've heard all too often. This young woman--a bright student in finishing her masters degree in biology at a large university--is under the impression that you can't be a Christian AND be an intelligent scientific thinker. Her proof? The (misinformed) impression she has that all Christians believe (and must believe) that dinosaurs never existed, that the earth is 6,000 years old, that there is no such thing as evolution in any shape or form.

Don't get me wrong. You are entitled to conclude from your reading of Genesis 1-2 that God created the world in a very short time (even 6, 24 hour days). You may believe, if you really think it best, that the dinosaur bones that have been found just west of Denver were a part of God's elaborate plan to create a young earth that merely looked old (on par with giving Adam and Eve belly buttons). You can even insist that the earth is a mere 6,000 years old. You may think all those things and I will have no beef with you. Just don't tell me that I have to believe all those things. More importantly, don't tell my young friend that she has to.

There are a lot of reasons I'd prefer Christians don't run around insisting on this narrow interpretation of Scripture. For one, I (and many other Bible-believing Christians) believe that there are other (better?) ways to interpret the text--ways that remain faithful to Genesis' original intent but not at odds with scientific findings. I think that looking to Genesis 1 to see just how old the earth is and exactly "how it happened" is starting in the wrong place--that when we do that we're asking questions the text isn't trying to answer. I think that the text may not be trying to tell us exactly how God created the cosmos (I can't understand why God would think it necessary to tell us that--first thing!)--but that he created it (I can understand why God would want us to know that). I may elaborate on that in a later post (depending on how much trouble I get in for this one), but that's not really my main point here. My main point is that there are sound reasons for having a different understanding of Genesis 1 and that to insist that there is only one--and that it's the one that seems to contradict so much science--is to put up an unnecessary roadblock to the Christian faith. I'd even go to say that, depending on the severity of the insistence, it may even be making the Christian faith about something it is not.

Let me explain that last sentence--and pardon the tangential thinking. Remember, this is a rant.

Here in Denver, it's not uncommon to see "Darwin Fish" plastered on the bumpers of the Subaru's in the King Soopers parking lot. You know the ones--they have fins, feet, and often, gaping mouths that are chomping down the "Jesus fish". There are probably a lot of things that could be said about those fish (either the Darwin fish or the Jesus fish). But for today, just take a moment and notice the interest pairing that is happening here. The Darwin symbol--which represents one interpretation of the way the world came about--is paired with a Jesus symbol. I don't expect anything on a bumper to be too profound, but in my mind, this should be an apples to oranges comparison--a confusion of categories. After all, when I want people to know Jesus and to become Christians, what I want for them to know is all the life, salvation, holiness, joy, fulfilment, meaning, hope, and redemption that can be theirs in Christ Jesus...not some particular understanding of all the details of the way this world came about. To be sure, we have something to say about that as Christians--but it's not our main concern. Yet the pairing of the Darwin/Jesus fish on so many bumpers suggests that, at least in the minds of many (presumably) non-Christians--that is our (and Jesus'!) main concern. If that's the message we're sending, no wonder so many people remain disinterested--or even scornful--from the "Christian" faith.

That's one of the tragic ironies of all the energy that many Christians have been pouring into the Creationist debate. They've been fighting for "truth" in what may be considered a peripheral issue, but in the process have but up unnecessary roadblocks for those who might come to know the Truth, the way, and the life. In my mind, that is something worth ranting about.

Definitions: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness

2007-12-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

One of the bright spots that has emerged through the darkness of Sunday's tragic shootings has been the declarations of forgiveness from the family and friends of the victims. Christians have taken notice and, quite significantly, so has the press.* As more than one person has said to me, we ought to be grateful for the positive example of people living out their faith in a forgiving God.

Others, however, have not been quite so sure. In a recent conversation, someone had the courage to suggest what many of us may have thought--that perhaps it was too soon to offer forgiveness, that maybe doing so trivialized what was, by all accounts, a very terrible wrong, or that doing so may have rushed a grief process in which anger would have played an important role.

These are all legitimate concerns--but I think they may stem from a misunderstanding of forgiveness. So a few thoughts today on what forgiveness does--and does not--involve.**

Forgiveness is not a one time event. The individuals affected by Sunday's shootings declared their forgiveness almost immediately. However, it will take time for them to grow into this declaration. As I mentioned in a sermon on this topic last month, they will have to forgive--to make moves against their anger--again, and again, and again (seventy times seven!). I suspect that for some of these people (perhaps all of them) it will take years for forgiveness to be complete. As Smedes says, "Forgiving is a journey; the deeper the wound, the longer the journey."
Forgiveness does not mean condoning or excusing a wrong. In fact, forgiveness means the opposite. To forgive someone of a wrong, you must acknowledge that there is actually a wrong to be forgiving. To forgive, you must assign blame. When we forgive, we are not saying that the intolerable has suddenly become tolerable. Rather, we are saying that the only way we can deal with an intolerable wrong is through the miracle of forgiveness.
Forgiveness does not mean minimizing a wrong. Saying "I forgive you" is not the same thing as saying, "That's okay--it was no big deal." If it's not a big deal, it doesn't need to be forgiven. As Lewis Smedes has written somewhere, "We need to sort out our hurts and learn the difference between those that call for the miracle of forgiveness and those that can be borne with a sense of humor. If we lump all our hurts together and prescribe forgiveness for all of them, we turn the art of forgiving into something cheap and commonplace. Like good wine, forgiving must be preserved for the right occasion.”
Forgiveness is not the same thing as reconciliation. Reconciliation may be seen as the ultimate (though not always attainable) goal of forgiveness. However, forgiveness is only one step in achieving this goal. For full reconciliation to occur, the person who committed the wrong must also make a move--must "repent" in the biblical sense of the word (express both sorrow AND a commitment to change). If the person who committed the wrong has not changed, it would be unwise--even foolish--to enter back into relationship with them. In short, it takes one person to forgive but two to achieve full reconciliation.
Forgiveness does not mean there are no consequences. God (and good parents, I think) may forgive the sins of His children but deem it important for them to live with the consequences of their poor choices. Sometimes when we forgive people, it is also necessary that they live with painful consequences. This can be an important a way of protecting ourselves from future hurts.
Forgiveness does not mean forgetting: Forgiveness has more to do with the way we remember than with removing our memories. When we forgive, we learn to remember without anger or a desire for revenge. Furthermore, in a sin filled world, remembering the wrong we've forgiven can be important because of the need to protect ourselves from future hurts.
Forgiveness is not something we only do for other people: Scripture makes clear that forgiveness is one of the ways we show Christ-like love for other people. However, it's also a way we love ourselves. When we refuse to forgive, we are held captive by our own anger and bitterness--it eats away at us and threatens to consume us. As Smedes writes: "When we forgive, we set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner we set free is us."

*It says something about the nature of forgiveness that it is considered newsworthy event. **Many of these come from Lewis Smedes' excellent book, The Art of Forgiving.

Endings and Beginnings

2007-12-07T11:16:00.001-07:00

This week I'll be talking about our longing for our "home" in the New Creation (Isaiah 11)--a home that will be "set in order" for us when Jesus comes again. One of the thoughts I had kicking around in the back of my mind while I wrote the sermon came from something Eugene Peterson once wrote about atheists (and I may have commented on here before).

Peterson observes that many atheists are what he refers to as "Atheists of Compassion." They look around the world, see all the war and cancer and genocide and hypocrisy and other monstrosities that human beings are capable of, and conclude that there is no god worth believing in who would allow so much evil.* So their atheism, their refusal to believe in god/God, stems from their compassion for this world.

Peterson notes that in some ways, these atheists are our allies. As Christians, we too ought to be appalled by the brokenness of the creation. Our hearts ought to be just as broken (or more so) than that of a good atheists. So we agree there. We can call ourselves allies in our compassion for those who suffer in this world.

Of course, there are differences too. Namely, hope. We believe that there is a way "out" of this madness--a solution that will not come from the perfect political system or better policies or improved technology or a little more information or right thinking. We believe that one day, God himself will come again in the person of Jesus Christ and he will set all this right again. We believe that, because of his love for this world, God will not toss it in his divine dumpster, but instead will lovingly restore it to (and even beyond) it's prefallen glory. That's one of the reasons we long for his coming--because we love this world enough to want him to redeem it.

Here is how Lewis Smedes describes what will happen when Jesus comes again:

"C.S. Lewis said somewhere that when God comes back to earth it will be like having the author of a play called on stage after the final performance; the play is over, he takes his bow, the players leave, and the theater is swallowed in darkness. I do not much care for the metaphor. I believe that the Author of the play will appear on stage not after the final performance, but before the first curtain rises. The players have been turning rehearsals into nasty fights about who gets the best lines and the prime spot on the billboard; [they've been wrecking the set]; the play has become a disaster, doomed before it gets off the ground. it is then that the Author shows up, his original script in hand and with the power to change self-seeking egos into self-giving artists. The theater is bathed in gentle light, the curtain rises, and the play begins a triumphant and endless run. Not the ending, but the new beginning--this is what I hope for." (172).

What we long for when Christ comes again is not the day he will whisk us away from this mess, then destroy the world and toss it on the cosmic scrap heat. No, we long for the time when he will renew all things. We long for God's restoration of the world he loves (and we ought to love). We long for the time when we can experience the joys and comforts of home.

It's something to think about in the midst of our advent longing. Does our longing for his coming stem out of a disregard--even a disdain--for this world that God made? Or does it grow out of our love and compassion for it? Do we look at all the brokenness around us and just want to "fly away" and "be done with it all"? Or do we look at all the brokenness around us and hope that Jesus will come again and finally fix it--make it the way it's supposed to be? Do we sit around with our heads in the sand and wait for the sweet by-and-by? Or do we join Him in his big redemption project, even while we wait?

*This is the "problem of evil" argument. It's compelling, but it raises its own questions. For example: How do you measure evil, and at what point do you say there's "too much" evil. Or more significantly, what do you do with all the good in the world? (I call this the "problem of good"). Who gets the credit for that?

More on Matthew 18

2007-11-13T09:06:00.000-07:00

"Forgive us our debts, as we've forgiven our debtors." Most of us have probably squirmed at that little phrase in the Lord's prayer. We squirm because we all struggle to forgive from time to time--and a simple reading of that phrase makes it sound like God's forgiveness is contingent upon our own; it sounds as though we can somehow loose our place in his household if we fail to do what we're told.

The Lord's Prayer isn't the only nugget of scripture that might give you that impression. You might think that after reading the parable that we studied together on Sunday morning, too (Matt 18:21-35). This poor schmuck is forgiven a huge debt, fails to pass it on, and apparently loses his forgiven status. You might read this parable and conclude that God's forgiveness is fickle.

It's troubling and we ought not try to explain it all away too quickly. But some comments I read this weekend in NT Wright's book, Evil and the Justice of God, helped me make sense of it (without making Jesus' teaching easier than it really is). Here's what he says about Jesus' command to forgive in this passage:

"Jesus is not giving a kind of arbitrary, abstract commandment and then saying that if you fail to meet the test God will not forgive you. He isn’t setting the moral bar at an impossible height and then warning that God will be everlastingly cross if we don’t manage to jump it. He is drawing attention to a fact about the moral universe and human nature. He is telling us, in effect, that the faculty we have for receiving forgiveness and the faculty we have for granting forgiveness are one and the same thing. If we open the one we shall open the other. If we slam the door on the one, we slam the door on the other. God is not being arbitrary. If you are the sort of person who will accuse a neighbor over every small thing and keep him or her under your anger until each item has been dealt with (perhaps by your gaining revenge), then you are also the sort of person who will be incapable of opening your heart to receive God’s generous forgiveness. Indeed, you will probably not admit that you need it in the first place.” (158)

More on Judgment

2007-11-13T09:02:00.000-07:00

Just to prove that I wasn't making up what I said in my last post about judgment, here's a snippet from N.T. Wrights book, Evil and the Justice of God, which I finished up this weekend.

“God’s justice is not simply a blind dispensing of rewards for the virtuous and punishments for the wicked, though plenty of those are to be found on the way. God’s justice is saving, healing, restorative justice, because the God to whom justice belongs is the Creator God who has yet to complete his original plan for creation and whose justice is designed not simply to restore balance to a world out of kilter but to bring to glorious completion and fruition the creation, teeming with life and possibility, that he made in the first place.” (64)

I told you so :-).

Jumpstarting Judgment

2007-11-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

A Christian summer camp counselor I knew once reported having one of the most successful weeks ever. He proclaimed, with understandable delight, that each of the twelve boys in his cabin had given their lives to Jesus. They wanted to be Christians. They wanted to live for and with Jesus from that point on and into all eternity.

The rest of the camp staff was ecstatic--at first. But that didn't last long. Because the next week, camp supervisors were inundated with phone calls from concerned parents. Apparently, many of the young boys who had been in that converted cabin were having nightmares that were directly related to their week at camp. They would toss and turn as they dreamt--not about the boogie man or some other camp fire legend they had learned while chomping on s'mores--but about the torments of hell and the torture that would be inflicted upon them for all eternity if they didn't get their acts together and give their lives to Jesus.

As the phone calls rolled in and the story was pieced together, the mass conversion of Cabin 14 suddenly was a lot less exciting and a lot more disturbing.

I doubt that any of us would feel comfortable using the evangelism tactic of that camp counselor--scaring people out of hell and into heaven. But what's troubling about the text we looked at last week (Matt 5:21ff) is that Jesus appears to do that very thing. He lets his listeners know--in no uncertain terms--that if they don't clean up their lives, their future is not very bright. So what are we to make of this?

Well, there are several thoughts we ought to keep in mind. First: there is the obvious difference between the speaker: between Jesus (perfect) and us (not-so-much). Second, there is a distinction that must be made between the audiences: Jesus speaks to people (adults) who are presumed to be a part of the community of faith while in evangelism we (or at least that camp counselor) are talking to those who are presumed to be outside of the community of faith. That distinction is not insignificant.

That being said, something else that those of us in the community of faith might consider is the nature of judgement. We tend to think of judgment (I think) largely in negative terms. We think about a finger wagging God ready to give us what we deserve and eager to crush us with his almighty thumb. But that's not quite the full picture of biblical judgment.

When God "judges" his people in scripture, it is not merely retributive. It is also restorative. God not only punishes, he also disciplines. Consider, for example, the exile of the people Israel. The point is not merely to send them away from the promise land to suffer in the labor camps of the Babylonians. The point is to purify them--to burn away all the garbage that stands in between them, God, and their neighbors. The point is to help them live the kind of "shalom-filled" lives of wholeness for which they were created. Or as Thomas Long puts it in his commentary on Matthew. 5:

"In the biblical sense, judgment is God’s exercise of good judgment, repairing all that is harmful to humanity. Judgment is God’s repairing of the broken creation. Judgement is God’s scalpel carefully removing the malignant tissue that threatens life. Judgment is God’s burning away of all that is cruel and spirit killing in order that we may breath the air of compassion. Judgment is good news; it is God setting things right.”

From this perspective, we can think of Christ's call to be reconciled with our neighbors as a way to "jump start judgment." Because when we're seeking to be reconciled with a brother or sister--when we confess to the ways we've hurt people, when we try to restore our relationship with them, when we do our best to remove the garbage that separates us from God and each other--we're not waiting for Jesus to return to set things right and cut away the "malignant tissue that threatens life", but we're trying to do it ourselves. And in that way, we're "jump starting judgment."

So just a reminder (or if you weren't in church Sunday morning, a challenge): Jesus calls us to do our best to set right the wrongs that linger between us. And he calls us to do it now. Don't wait for God to do it. Don't wait for Kingdom come to do it. But through the power of the Spirit, take the initiative and do it today.

Food, Farms, and Faith

2007-11-03T07:32:00.000-07:00

My friend Becky grew up on a large farm in central Iowa but has since moved to the booming metropolis of Grand Rapids, MI. Some time ago, she was reflecting on the transition. There are things she likes about living in the city, she said. But even so, there are times she feels, well, "disoriented."

I didn't quite understand what she meant at first. But I hazarded a few guesses.

"Hmmm. Disoriented." I said, "Like when you're downtown and the streets aren't straight? Or in a suburb and keeping hitting cul-de-sacs?"

"No..."

"Okay, like when the sun doesn't shine for four months and you no longer know if its day or night?"

"No..."

Becky then went on to explain that she felt "disoriented" because she had lost her connection with the earth and therefore had no way of keeping time. Back on the farm, she and her family lived into the regular rhythms of the land. Planting. Irrigating. Harvesting. Resting. Their lives changed with the seasons.

But back in Michigan, Becky went to her office every day. She sat in a windowless, climate controlled room (sweaters in the summer, short sleeves in the winter!). It now made little difference to her and her livelihood if there were droughts or floods. She could still go to Meijers--even in February--and buy her tomatoes, asparagus, and whatever else she wanted to eat.

Becky's disorientation is something that all of us who live in the city face--even if we were never blessed to be "oriented" by farm life. Because all of us are separated from the earth. I read recently that the average meal in America travels 1,200 miles before ending up on our plates. A friend of mine (who's much better with these things than I am) once calculated that to get a single strawberry from California to the produce isle in a Northwest Iowa grocery store takes nearly 600 calories of energy (a huge net loss!). I've also been told that the tuna that is served in Manhattan's finest Sushi restaurants is caught on the Atlantic coast of the US, shipped to the fish markets in Tokyo, sold, and then shipped back to New York. In other words, that tuna goes around the world before it ends up on the plate of the American consumer (and this is not all that unusual in our food system).

There are, of course, tremendous ecological implications to all of this. Most obviously--there are all the extra costs involved (both in terms of finances and natural resources), and the generally unsustainable nature of this system. But there is a more subtle danger too. If we are separated from the means of production--separated from the land--and have no idea how our food is grown (or raised), then we will have little interest in the way the land is used (or the animals are treated). This alone should give us pause. (By the way, Wendell Berry is excellent on this point.)

But we should also consider what all these degrees of separation between us and the land do to our relationship with our Creator. If we spend our days in climate controlled offices, cooped up in our cars or even on the city bus, if depend solely on King Soopers to provide us with our food (Tomatoes in February!)--then not only will we be separated from the land, we will also be separated from the One who made and upholds the land.

This is a point that was brought home to me by Rob Bell recently. Bell argues that there are many people who struggle with needless doubts and faith crises. They complain that God seems too far away, that he is distant. But it's no wonder, says Bell. When we don't take time to notice God's handiwork, when we no longer need to pray to and depend upon him for daily bread, when he becomes a peripheral consideration in the meeting of our daily needs--then undoubtedly, he will seem a long ways away. But really, says Bell, it's not God who is a long way from us. It's we who are a long way from Him.

Where we get our food--our relationship with the land--can drastically affect our faith. If we are cut off from the creation, we will (almost) certainly face some spiritual "disorientation."

So what's the upshot of all this? Well, I'm suggesting that we all do what we can to get connected--with the Creation and the Creator. Start a garden next spring. Try to eat a locally grown meal. Walk instead of driving. Get connected with the creation. And the Creator.

If want to read more on the topic, I'd suggest the writings of Wendell Berry (particularly his "Jayber Crow" Novels, but also his essays, if you're ambitious), Kathleen Norris ("Dakota" is a great read).

Excuses

2007-10-09T07:48:00.000-06:00

Dear Gentle Reader,
Apologies for the blogging hiatus. I anticipate that my return will coincide with that of my laptop from Dell (hopefully later this week).
Joel.

100th Anniversary Pics

2007-09-26T17:21:00.000-06:00

Apologies for the lack ofr updates recently. I blame both computer problems and J.K. Rowling.

Here are a few pictures from our recent block party. It was a hoot. I also have some marvolous vidoe of Dutch dancing and Norm B. singing along with "Yellow Submarine". Ask nicely and maybe I'll post them.

Heaven

2007-09-06T15:05:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about heaven a lot the past few months. I've been thinking about what it is we want from heaven, what we hope it will be like, what exactly will make it so wonderful for us.

The Bible (and our culture) suggests many different answers to this question: we look forward to heaven because there will be no more suffering, "no more mourning, crying, or pain," as Revelation 21:4 so beautifully puts it. And of course, many of us look forward to being reunited with our loved ones (books like 90 Minutes in Heaven seem especially keen on this idea, from what I'm told). Or perhaps we simply look forward to heaven because we trust that will experience life as it was intended to be: a restored earth free of crime and pollution and all the brokenness, perhaps(depending on who we are and where we're getting our information) an eternal golf game* or the everlasting weekend in the mountains.

Those things may all be well and good. But I wonder, are they enough? Or ought we to be hoping for something more? Or as John Piper puts the question:

The critical question for our generation—and for every generation—is this: If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever saw, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?”

The "right" answer to that question, of course, (at least from a Christian perspective)ought to be "no." But my fear is that, too often, we talk about heaven (and about Christianity in general) in a way that suggests otherwise. Think, for example, of the way we may "pitch" Christianity evangelistically: we tell others that Jesus will relieve them of their guilt, give them the chance to see dear old aunt Sally again, or will get them some othe perk. Sure, these things may be true--but they miss the deeper point. The deeper point, as Piper puts it in the title of his book, is that GOD is the Gospel. The point is that true happiness comes from fellowship with HIM--which is exactly what he gives us in Christ and promises us for eternity!**

So why do I make such a big deal out of this? Well, for one thing, it's a simple matter of right thinking. Suggesting that heaven is more about forgiveness or lack of pain or some other perk than it is about life with God confuses the ends with the means.*** But more to the point--it comes back to T.S. Elliot's famous line: "In my end is my begninning." If our eternal goal is merely to be reunited with our loved ones, to live a pain free life, to ski for eternity--then that's how I'll live now. Those will be the things that we live for now. (And if that's how we live, I suspect we might be too earthly minded to be of much heavenly good.) But if my eternal goal is to dwell with God (and the rest is just details), than will have termendous implications for what--or WHO--I seeek and serve now!

*For some, this might only happen in that other, warmer , place!

**Since I've started thinking about this, I've realized that a much more central concern of Rev 21 (more central than the absence of sickness, crying or pain etc mentioned in verse 4) comes in verse 3: Now the dwelling of God is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God... It's more about the relationship than the "perks."

***I find Lewis helpful on this point. In A Grief Observed, he writes: Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. [Lewis' deceased wife], it runs through him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all. That’s what was really wrong with all those popular pictures of happy reunions ‘on the further shore’; not the simple-minded and very earthly images, but the fact that they make an End of what we can get only as a by-product of the true End.

Questions Worth Asking

2007-08-30T09:30:00.001-06:00

I don't remember many worship services from my childhood days. But I do remember communion Sundays. I remember them because they were infrequent in those days (six times a year, I believe). I remember them because the service was sure to go long (10:55!). I remember them because I loved to look down the long pews of our sanctuary and see arms lifting and heads tipping in one beautiful, unified motion as the adults in our congregation received the body and blood of the Lord. Their unity in that moment reminded me of the way bows would move together in an orchestra.

But the other thing I remember about communion is peering at the shiny silver trays as they passed me by. Sometimes I would get to touch them or help pass them. But usually not. In the CRC in which I was raised, the Lord's supper was something for adults. Children were not invited.

As I'm sure many of you know, discussion in recent* years in the CRC has suggested that we change that. Synod has now suggested that it's okay--even important--for children to participate in the Lord's Supper. But this makes some of us (understandably )nervous. After all, we've "always" done things this way. And if was good enough then, why isn't it good enough now?

Well, I have my own answers to that question. But I'd like to help all four of you who read this blog come to your own conclusions. So here are some questions I think you need to answer for yourselves in order to develop a theologically informed position on this matter.

Our discussion ought to start with baptism: What actually happens to a child in baptism? What's the main event? How does baptism relate to membership in God's family (if at all)?
What is the relationship between baptism and communion?
What are some of the central "happenings" in the Lord's Supper (I assume there is more than one)? Is it primarily an act of remembrance on our part? A way for God to nourish us? Something else?
To phrase the previous question another way: who is the primary actor in the sacraments? Is the Lord's Supper (and for that matter, Baptism) something that God does for us, or something that we do for God?
What is the relationship between the "old" signs of the covenant (i.e. circumcision and the Passover Feast) and the "new" signs of the covenant (Baptism and the Lord's Supper). Does the place of children in these "old" ceremonies suggest anything about their appropriate place in the "new"?
What "body" is Paul referring to in 1 Corinthians 11? How might reading this passage as referring to the "body of believers " affect what we do at the table?
How does the gift of the Lord's Supper strengthen us and build us up as followers of Christ? How might it do the same (or be different) for our children?

I think this ought to be enough to get you started. If you'd like to read what (I think) are some well thought out answers to these questions, as well some questions you may not have thought to ask (like the history of this issue) check out the latest issue of the Calvin Seminary Forum. (Also available at church. Ask me if you'd like a copy.)

*Walt A. , our expert on all things syndoical and church order, informs me that this discussion has actually been going on for over twenty years. That's long enough that I actually could have participated in the Supper as a child if my church had been up to speed on the latest Synodical decisions.

Revelation

2007-08-18T15:08:00.000-06:00

A week or two ago, someone at church handed me a copy of Jon Krakauer's book Under the Banner of Heaven. The book looked interesting, but after glancing at the cover, I wasn't sure I wanted to read it (just yet). You see, I've just read some other books that are rather disturbing (namely: "King Leopold's Ghost") and wasn't sure I was ready for what Krakauer had to offer: an investigation into the murder of a young mother and her daughter at the hands of two brothers, Dan and Ron Lafferty--two Fundamentalist Mormons who carried out the killings after receiving (they claim) a direct command from God.

Well, Jill was gone last week and I found myself with a little extra time on my hands and nothing to read. So I grabbed Under the Banner of Heaven and dug right in. I'm glad I did.

The book was fascinating to me because Krakauer didn't just tell the story of the murder. Instead, he chose to dig into the "roots of their crime [which] lie deep in the history of an American religion practiced by millions"--Mormonism. Krakauer gives a fairly detailed history of Mormonism (and more specifically, the underbelly of the Mormon Church--Mormon fundamentalism) and, occasionally, pauses to apply his observations of Mormonism to religion in general.

One particular aspect of Mormonism/religion that seems to fascinate Krakauer is the idea of "revelation". And with good reason. After all, when Joseph Smith founded the Mormon Church 170 years ago, it was on the basis of a (alleged) revelation from the Angel Moroni (near Jill's hometown of Palmyra, NY, by the way). During the following years, Smith (and his followers) reported countless revelations/interactions with God detailing everything from where they should settle to what they should drink to whom they should marry to when the Civil War would begin. Krakauer's fascination with religious revelation is also understandable because (as I mentioned above), it was on the basis of a Revelation from God that the Lafferty brothers committed their murders.

From my perspective, Krakauers discussion of the Mormon Church, the Lafferty Brothers, and revelation stirred up two related thoughts.

First: What is it that leads Mormons to believe, so fiercely, that they have indeed had revelations from God? As a Christian, I don't (necessarily) doubt the possibility of God communicating with individuals. But I DO (as a Christian) presume that at least 97% of the supposed revelations received by Joseph Smith and his followers are in fact false. So what are we to make of this (and for that matter, the "revelations" received by adherents to other religions)? Are these individuals simply deluded? Have they been duped? Do they just have a bad case of indigestion? Or have they actually heard "voices", but mistaken the voice of God for the voice of someone/thing else? How do we explain this phenomenon?

The second point, related to the first, concerns the "Revelations" that we claim to be true as Christians. Because, make no mistake, even if we don't believe that God communicates directly with individuals anymore (a hotly debated question in some circles), our religion is nevertheless a revealed one. It's a "revealed religion" because, even though we can deduce some general truths from reason/nature (e.g. "God Exists), ultimately, we need the Revelation of Scripture (and the Person of Jesus Christ) in order to show us the full truth.

So, that being said, how do we know that our "revelations" can be accepted as from God? How do we know that we're not crackpots, misguided zealots, or just plain gullible people who have been duped? How do we know that we can trust the apostle Paul, Matthew Mark and Luke, Moses, Isaiah, and the other writers?

This has actually been a question that has troubled me for some time. And after reading Krakauer's book (and let's face it, sometimes after reading Scripture itself), it's easy to see why people might be skeptical. But regrettably (in my opinion), this is one area in which it's hard to get to a real nuts and bolts, "rational" answer. Sure, we can point to things like historical/archeolotical evidence and manuscript studies--but these only take us so far. At some point, I think we simply have to believe it because, well, we believe it. It's a matter of faith. It's a matter of the Spirit's testimony in our hearts. It's a matter of trust. We believe the Bible because the Bible (and the Spirit) says we can believe it. It is a vicious circle, and probably not the most satisfying answer to skeptics (Christian or non*), but thus far, it's the best answer that I can come up with. Anyone smarter than me have a better one?

*Krakauer, a self-proclaimed agnostic, would likely shake his head at disgust at my answer. In the prologue of his book, he writes: "Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial competent of spiritual devotion." Krakauer also adds this rather provocative charge: "when Religious fanaticism supplants ratiocination, all bets are suddenly off. Anything can happen. Absolutely anything. Common sense is no match for the voice of God--as the actions Dan Lafferty vividly attest." (xxiii)

Inside Joke

2007-08-08T08:50:00.000-06:00

This week, I've been reading Richard Mouw's book Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport. It's a fine book written in an engaging style that avoids overly technical and cliche explanations of Calvinism's "Five Points" (AKA: "TULIP") and their broader implications.

There are, of course, many mysterious elements in this "system" of belief." One of these mysteries is raised by the "P" in "Tulip"--"Preservation/Perseverance of the Saints". This doctrine states that, by God's grace, those who are "in " the Kingdom will always be "in. There is nothing they (or any other force/factor) can do to cause God to let them go. It's a fine doctrine of great comfort, as far as I'm concerned, but the natural question that it raises is how people who appear to have had genuine faith can appear to lose that faith. Hence Mouw's little joke (and apologies if this is only amusing to seminary/pastor types):

Four theologians are standing alongside a train stopped between stations. They are looking at a dead body beside the tracks, arguing about what happened to the person. The Lutheran said he jumped from the train and was killed by the fall. The Catholic said he must have been pushed. The Methodist insisted he fell accidentally. But the Calvinist said that if he was really off the train, then he had never been on it in the first place!

ba-da-bump.

A Grief Observed

2007-07-24T16:10:00.000-06:00

A month or two ago, I finished C.S. Lewis' classic, The Problem of Pain. It was a fine book that looked at pain from an "objective", outsiders perspective. As usual, Lewis was thorough, logical, and compelling. If you want some good, rational discourse on how a good God can allow suffering and pain in the world, this is a book you may consider reading.

However, if you want to get a glimpse into the heart of a person who is suffering, if you want to walk along side of someone through the process of their grief, if you want to see pain from the inside, you may want to read A Grief Observed instead. In this book, which consists of excerpts from Lewis' diary, we get a raw look at Lewis' pain after the death of his wife. Although Lewis' experience is likely different than yours or mine (it's A Grief Observed, after all, not All Grief observed), we may find common ground with him as we seek to understand our own grief.

One of the things I found interesting about Lewis' little book is the progression that can be seen in the way he understands God's presence. Consider these few excerpts from the beginning, middle and end of the book:

“Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be—or so it feels—welcomed with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?....Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about him.” (6)
“I have gradually been coming to feel that the door is no longer shut and bolted. Was it my own frantic need that slammed it in my face? The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help my be just the time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.” (46)
“When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘No answer.’ It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent , certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you don’t understand.’” (69)

I also was intrigued by the way Lewis tried to describe what grief feels like. Here are a few examples:

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.” (3)
“I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H. [his wife] for their object. Now their target is gone. I kept on through habit fitting an arrow to the string, then I remember and have to lay the bow down. So many roads lead thought to H. I set out on one of them. But now there’s an impassable frontierpost across it. So many roads once; now so many culs de sac.” (47)
“There is spread over everything a vague sense of wrongness, of something amiss. Like in those dreams where nothing terrible occurs—nothing that would sound even remarkable if you told it at breakfast-time—but the atmosphere, the taste, of the whole thing is deadly.” (35)

And of course, Lewis being Lewis, there are also plenty of intriguing little snippets that can stand on their own. Here are few to think about:

“Bereavement is not the truncation of married love but one of its regular phases—like the honeymoon. What we want is to live our marriage well and faithfully through that phase, too.” (xvii)
“It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters.” (15)
“Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect you don’t understand.” (25)
“I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process. It needs not a map but a history…there is something new to be chronicled every day. Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape…not every bend does. Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one; you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago. That is when you wonder whether the valley isn’t a circular trench. But it isn’t. There are partial recurrences, but the sequence doesn’t repeat.” (59-60)
“God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn’t.” (52)
“What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good’? Have they never even been to a dentist?” (43)

There you have it. There are, of course, other bits in this book that make it a worthwhile read. Or, if you're sure that I already took all the good parts but still want something of this sort, you may want to consider Nicholas Wolterstorffs wonderful little book (also a daily journal) Lament for a Son.

Baal, BEN FRANKLIN, and the Birds

2007-07-10T09:02:00.001-06:00

That's what I was going to call my sermon Sunday. But because of time limitations, I had to leave the Ben Franklin part out.

There were several reasons I wanted to include a bit about Ben Franklin. One is that I just finished reading his biography and have to do something with all that information. After all, over 500 pages, I learned some interesting bits about old Ben:

When he did the famous kite experiment with his son William, his son was actually 21 years old (not a small boy as legend seems to suggest). Later, the two were estranged because of their differing positions on the War for Independence.
Franklin was a fan of parlor tricks. Among his favorites was a cane he made that would dispense oil on water when he tapped the waves. Doing so would "still the waves."
Franklin briefly started his own sect. Among the rules: "all men shall have beards" and strict adherence to vegetarianism. The little experiment ended when Franklin caved in and ate a hamburger (or steak, or pork chop, I can't remember which).
Franklin started the first volunteer fire department in America.
Franklin believed that fresh air was good for one's health and took a daily "airbath" in front of his open window (some say in the nude).

There are many other interesting snippets about Franklin--but the simple intrigue of his life was not the primary reason I wanted to include him in my sermon. Rather, I wanted to include him because I see Franklin as something of a "Case in Point" for my discussion on "practical atheism." Let me explain.

One of the most famous scenes in Franklin's life (taken from his own autobiography) is his arrival in America as a "bedraggled 17-year-old runaway...straggling off the boat" with little more than a nickle to his name. Equally famous is the image of Franklin some fifty or sixty years later, simple but stately, a wealthy land owner (with three homes when he died), mover and shaker of 18th century politics etc etc. Basically, a success. According to Isaacson (Franklin's biographer), this move made Franklin "typically American" because Franklin proved that with a little hard work and ingenuity, (unlimited) upward mobility was possible. To borrow the old cliche, Franklin proved that it was possible (and indeed, expected), for Americans to "pull themselves up by their own bootstraps."

So what's the relation to "practical atheism"?

Well, in Franklin's world, the goal was to live independently, not dependently. Franklin believed in some sort of benevolent, powerful being off in the sky, but when things went well in his life, Franklin was much quicker to pat himself on the back than to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. He was much quicker to praise his own industry and frugality than to praise the Maker of Heaven and Earth. He (Franklin) deserved all the credit for his life's successes.

Perhaps this sounds "normal" to us (particularly the "bootstraps"/industry talk)--it is, I think, a very accepted idea in our culture that with a little hardwork, we can do whatever we want. But now consider Isaacson's parting comment on Franklin's life and legacy. He writes: "[Franklin] embodies one side of a national dichotomy that has existed since the days when he and Jonathan Edwards [one of our Spiritual forefathers, I would say] stood as contrasting cultural figures. // On one side were those, like Edwards...who believed in an anointed elect and in salvation through God's grace alone. They tended to have a religious fervor...and an appreciation for exalted values over earthy ones. On the other side were the Franklin's, those who believed in salvation through good works...and who were unabashedly striving and upwardly mobile." (476)

It's an interesting dichotomy, I think. And perhaps one that ought to give us pause as we think about whose footsteps we follow in. Is it Edwards, dependent on God's grace? Or Franklin, and his "self-help" upward mobility? Where does our help come from?

:There are other the obviously "religious" implications that manifest themselves when this worldview is expanded beyond economics and into one's beliefs the relation between God and his world. For example, there was Franklin's well known effort to perfect himself by following a rigorous self-improvement regimen (complete with ledger book in which he recorded his progress on 13 virtues).

The Trouble With WoodPeckers

2007-07-03T12:12:00.000-06:00

Not So Simple

2007-06-30T17:36:00.001-06:00

Flipping through the channels the other night, I landed on a PBS documentary that caught my attention.

The first scene I saw was of a preacher from Wyoming (stereotypical boots, hat, wranglers and all) shouting at a line of protesters and holding a sign declaring (what he presumed to be) the eternal destiny of all homosexuals (use your imagination, you'll probably get it right).

I cringed.

The next shot was of a priest (from the same community in Wyoming, but dressed in more traditional clergy attire) holding up a communion chalice and declaring to his congregation that Jesus excluded no one, but welcomed all at his table freely and openly.

I cringed again.

Those two scenes reminded me of why some Christians find it so difficult to engage in a meaningful conversation about homosexuality (or for that matter, any issue of morality/sin) in our culture.* Generally speaking, Americans are not people who appreciate nuance (and yes, I realize the irony in that sentence). We live in a culture that prefers to see things in black and white, either/or terms (think of the way issues are discussed on political talk shows). The obvious case in point is the PBS documentary: either you are a hate-filled, homophobic, hayseed or you are a loving, open, and tolerant. There is little (no?) room for middle ground.

But those of us with gay friends/family/co-workers know it's not that simple. We realize that there is a messiness here that may not make for good (or easy) television but is a very real part of life. So what does this messiness look like? If PBS were to come film us, what would they catch on tape? What does it mean to hold on tight to grace and truth?

* Self included--I hesitate to even publish this post for fear of being misunderstood.

** If you want to read about the messiness of our denominations' position on this particular issue, click here.

Prayer and Poetry

2007-06-24T17:17:00.000-06:00

A month or so ago, I heard the poet Billy Collins reading a few of his recent works on "A Prairie Home Companion." I got a kick out of this one, and hope you do too.

"Oh, My God!"

not only in church
and nightly
by their bedsides
do young girls pray
these days
wherever they go
prayer is woven
into their talk
like a bright thread of awe
even in the pedestrian mall
outbursts of praise
spring unbidden
from their glossy lips.

Sabbath

2007-06-19T08:27:00.000-06:00

This past week, Jill and I (along with my parents, sister, and her family) spent a week relaxing (hiking, biking, reading, game playing) in the mountains. It was good. The week away reminded me of the wisdom of stepping away from our labors and practicing regular sabbath rest. Here's a few quotes Eugene Peterson's book, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, that clarify why:

“Sabbath is a workshop for the practice of eternity.” (110)
“Sabbath is a deliberate act of interference, an interruption of our work each week, a decree of no-work so that we are able to notice, to attend, to listen, to assimilate this comprehensive and majestic work of God, to orient our work in the work of God” (110)
“Un-sabbathed, our work becomes the entire context in which we define our lives. We lose God-consciousness, God-awareness, sightings of resurrection. We lose the capacity to sing “This is my Father’s world” and end up chirping little self-centered ditties about what we are doing and feeling.” (117)
“Sabbath keeping is a publicly enacted sign of our trust that God keeps the world, therefore we do not have to. God welcomes our labors, but our contributions to the world have their limits. If even God trusted creation enough to be confident that the world would continue while God rested, so should we.” (Quoting William Willimon, p. 129)

Saying Goodbye

2007-06-08T21:42:00.000-06:00

Today was a day of mixed emotions. We're all a little relieved (even if we won't admit it) that we don't have to get up and work in the heat and humidity tomorrow. But we're also disappointed--disappointed that we don't get to finish that last project, disappointed that we don't get to spend another day with new friends from First Church, and especially disappointed that we don't get to spend a little more time with the families that have worked their way into our hearts this week. So yes, we're excited to go back home to Denver. But it's going to be hard (perhaps unexpectedly so) to leave. A few great moments today might explain why (and you'll undoubtedly hear of many others from me and from others in the coming weeks and months):

Several members of our group have been working on the home of a woman named Roxie. Roxie is around seventy years old, but apparently a little shy--the crew working on her home has talked to her a total of (maybe) five minutes. So, naturally, they wondered what impact--if any--they were making on Roxie's life (beyond the new roof on her carport). Well tonight, Ken (the DRS/CRWRC supervisor who is our point person here) mentioned that he talked with Roxie this afternoon. She told him how impressed she was with her crew--they worked harder then the men she'd paid to do the same job! (These people apparently quit the job well before it was completed, but took Roxie's money anyway). But then she made this comment: "I've been praying for months and months that God would fix my house. And then one day, you suddenly appeared and two days later my roof was fixed!" Reflecting on this, Ken said: "You thought you were just putting in a new roof, but you made a much bigger difference than that. You renewed Roxie's faith in prayer..."
One of the members of our group asked the owners of the house where we worked to pose for a picture with her (they are pictured below). When they asked why, she explained that she wanted to send a picture with the thank you cards she intended to send to the people who had helped pay for the trip so they knew who they helped and who they were praying for. The couple looked rather astounded by this and asked her to clarify. She then had to explain that her family, friends, and church members had helped pay for the trip, and that they had also committed to praying for her and the people she worked with. The couple happily posed, but for the next half an hour, we heard them muttering back and forth to each other: "There's people praying for us there. For us. Imagine that! And there church paid to send them here!"
Today was the sixteenth birthday of Johnny, one of two boys in the house I and many others have been working on this week. We decided to to throw him a little birthday party--got a cake from Dairy Queen and all signed a card. To tell you the truth, I didn't think anything of the card. But the I saw Johnny, who is very quiet and rarely seems to smile (until you get to know him a bit) reading the card. Each and every comment. Twice.

Looking over these snippets, it seems that one of the big lessons I've been reminded of this week is that our small efforts often go much further than we would dare to hope. But then again, maybe that shouldn't be such a surprise. It shouldn't be a surprise because the God we serve is big and strong and powerful--even when we are not. And it shouldn't be a surprise because Jesus himself said that the Kingdom of God is like yeast that a woman worked through a big batch of dough. It starts out small, but grows big.

I hope God uses all our little efforts we made this week that way--that each comment written in a card, each piece of drywall and stroke of the paintbrush, each casual conversation becomes one of his little packets of yeast sprinkled throughout this big batch of dough, slowly but surely--and by God's grace--spreading the Kingdom.

Talktalktalk

2007-06-07T21:46:00.001-06:00

Apologies for those of you who have been checking for daily updates--I was too busy playing cards (Euchre anyone?) and chatting to post. But what's not so good for you (or at least, a little inconvenient if you were really, really hoping for a picture of your loved one last night)has been good for me. Because really, conversing with fellow group members has been wonderful.

Getting to know more about the members of our group has been one great part of the conversations we've had over ice cream sundaes and painting a wall. (I'd give a few specifics, but I don't want to embarrass anyone. Just trust me on this one--you get to know folks in a different way on these trips then you do, say, talking over a cup of coffee Sunday mornings). But the other neat thing I've noticed about the conversations we've had this week is the way the content of our conversations has changed.

At the beginning of the week (four long days ago!), many of our conversations revolved around the work we were doing. How much drywall we had put up that day, what task we were going to tackle after lunch, what projects we'd like to take on if we had our way. Workworkwork. But last night, during our team meeting (and afterward), I noticed that we'd become less focused on what we were doing and more focused on who we were doing it for. The moments that made people's eyes light up were when they said: "I was painting with Jonny and found out he likes the Raiders! But I also found out he wants to go to LSU and got him to smile...", or "Mr. Mullens was talking today about how he met his wife today...." or "Mrs. Miller took in all kinds of family members after the storm, and her brother still lives with her. He was watching TV today and the funniest thing happened..." or "I finally got to talk with Roxie this morning. She told me how..." and so on and so forth.

Its been a great change, in my opinion. Not only has it been a lot of fun to get to know these people (if only a little bit), but it has added a richness--a human face--to our experience that we'll (hopefully) never forget.

Now for the pictures...

Tour de Gulfport

2007-06-05T21:06:00.000-06:00

Roland B. was kind enough to give us a guided tour of Gulfport this evening. Pictured here* are a few of the highlights:

A massive oak tree that is 520 years old (goes back to 1487). Yes, that's before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. It's amazing how these oaks survived the storm (they're all over the ocean front area--gnarled, but standing.)
What's left of Southern Mississippi University (located just off the beach), and Milt in the gang scheming on how we could fit its repair into our schedule.
Sunset with the McDonald's arches in the foreground--notice that there is no McDonald's (its dark, but trust me--its just a slab of cement) and that the sign was ripped apart and only a shell remains.
Devotions (prayer and song) on the beach.
Dave and Rachel S. dancing on the beach (at least Rachel's dancing. I'm not sure if what Dave is doing qualifies :-) )

I missed a few important points of interest, however (today and in the last few days). Among them are:

First Presbyterian Church: If I have the story right, the building (located on the water) was condemned after the storm and won't be rebuilt since the insurance payment would use up the entire church budget (near a quarter of a million, if I heard correctly). The congregation will now relocate 8 miles inland.
The Dole banana plant--apparently they all come in through Gulfport.
Dairy Queen--not that significant, we've just enjoyed going there the last two nights.
"The Wall"--a wall (part of which still stands) that literally divided black and white Gulfport. This was still in use in the last half of the last century. Amazing.

*Press play if the slide show doesn't start automatically. Refresh the page if no pictures show up.

Love Your Neighbor

2007-06-04T21:54:00.000-06:00

I wasn't sure if I wanted to include this photo (which is a shot of the backyard of the house where we worked today) in tonight's entry. I could have just left it at the pictures of our beaming volunteers and called it a good enough(see below if that's what you came for). And that may have been a good idea. After all, you (nor I) know the people who own this house, or why they choose to decorate their yard in such a fashion. And I'd hate to have you make judgments about the people we're working with down here based on one picture.

Then again, that fear probably says a lot more about me than it does about you.

During our team meeting tonight, I confessed to the group that I think I have a long way to go before I'm loving these people we're serving in the way that Christ calls me to love. Sure, I am delighted to work on their home. I enjoy chatting it up with them too. But then, I might look at some silly thing like a cluttered back yard and allow the seed of my own prejudices and pride to grow and swell like an out of control zucchini plant.

I want my love for these image-bearers of God to be about more than new drywall and a fresh coat of paint. I want it to be about respect. I want to see more than the condition of a home or a yard. I want to see people who are temples of the Holy Spirit. I want my love go beyond conditions,to be something more than a commodity. I want to love freely and unconditionally. I want my heart to be cleared of the junk that so easily piles up there. I want to love like Jesus.

WorkWorkWork

2007-06-04T20:27:00.001-06:00

A few shots of our first day of work (from 1 of 3 sites)...prepping for dry-wall, removing carpet, mudding, contemplating and more contemplating, resting...

Number Our Day

2007-06-03T21:18:00.000-06:00

We took a quick day away to Ship Island after church today (see below). I'm wiped from battling the waves all afternoon, so a quick recap of the day in numbers.*

1: Number of hours it took to ride the ferry to the island.

0: Number of shark bits, nibbles, or attacks.

3: Number of beach umbrellas our group tried to crowd under.

1.46: Number of gallons (approximately) swallowed by yours truly while attempting to boogie board.

0:Number of serious sunburns in our group thus far.

5: Number of miles across Ship Island, point to point.

50,000: Weight of the canon barrel on top of fort.

450: Weight of canon balls that were shot from said canon.

4: Number of songs we sang during our evening worship/devotions time.

2: Number of water melon slices the average** Project Server ate tonight.

*Sorry I forgot to take more pictures. You should all brace yourselves, however. Apparently Dave S. got some "good" shots of me "riding the waves" on the boogie board and has big plans to highlight them in our church presentation.

**Estimate based on survey of 1 project serve participant.

Sunday Morning

2007-06-03T09:41:00.001-06:00

Click play...see below for explanation

Communion of the Saints

2007-06-03T09:21:00.000-06:00

The above video (click "play"--sorry about the heads, I was trying to be discrete) is a brief clip from the worship service we attended this morning. As you can tell, the flavor was a little different then what we may be used to at First. The team liked it, however, and thought that maybe we could take a few ideas back to Denver with us. Here's a list of possibilities:

In order to spur all of us on to good stewardship/giving, have the entire congregation bring their offerings up front (instead of having the deacons bring the plates to the congregation), where the plates sit under the watchful eye of the Pastor and church leadership.
Encourage your preacher. This would probably be the roll of the elders who could stand up front with me (it gets so lonely up there!). Phrases like: "Preach on, son!" "Communicate!'' "Work it out Preacher." Or just a good, ol' fashion "Amen!" would serve as a good start. Where words fail, a good pat on the back, clapping, or a whoop will do just fine. I'll talk to John B. about this when we get home and pass on any further tips.
Have your pastor sing the conclusion of his sermon (what you see above).
Have the organist punctuate important points in the sermon/communal prayer with a few blues/jazz riffs. Looks like I'll have to talk to Barb, too.
A Sunday School pageant. Can any of our kids name Jobs friends?

In all seriousness, it was a good service, we were warmly welcomed, and it was good to be reminded of the diversity that is the Body of Christ.

Just Like TV ...sort of

2007-06-02T22:02:00.001-06:00

Driving from New Orleans to Gulfport today, I couldn't help but think that when I watch news reports on TV about tragedies in far away places, its easy to blur the line between fact and fiction. In other words: somehow, when I saw the reports about Katrina on TV, I tucked what I saw I saw in my brain's sitcom/drama/fiction file, rather than my reality/non-fiction file. The devastation I saw on TV and heard about in the news and read about on the Internet seemed too immense and awful and mind-boggling to be real. But today, I (and the rest of the team) received a powerful reminder that for thousands, even millions, of people, the reports reflected reality all too well. Because what we saw outside the windows of our vans was just like TV.

Only it was real.

We saw: Houses tagged with spray paint--the secret code of rescue teams that came in after the storm looking for survivors. "Neighborhoods" with nothing left but a few front steps. FEMA trailers. Trees bent, stripped, and shattered. More FEMA trailers. A semi trailer that apparently landed on top of a car during the storm. Empty parking lots (but no buildings to accompany them). Piles of trash in the streets. Crumpled houses.

Here are a few pictures to get a taste (sorry I didn't take more--I guess I was too overwhelmed!)

A FEMA trailer park...

We stopped for a quick bite of ice cream. The shop owner told us that after the storm, the water was above the ceiling at this place.

Other random bits of information I picked up today about Hurricane Katrina that I think are true (but can't be certain):

There are 92,000 FEMA trailers in Mississippi alone. These are residential trailers and are occupied primarily by families. That's a lot of people living in trailers!
In order to clean up New Orleans, an average of one 40 ft. dumpster's worth of garbage needs to be removed for each resident.
The population of New Orleans has decreased by 250,000 since Katrina.
Garbage trucks in Gulfport still run every day in order to remove Katrina junk.

Ideas Please!

2007-05-25T12:47:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, several of us spent a day (or two) at a conference up in Longmont. The basic point of the conference was that it's not enough for a church to preach the good news to others. We must also show others the good news (I sure hope that sounds familiar!) Speakers challenged us all to make sure that we are loving our neighbors and making our presence felt in the community. The basic goal was to do/be church in such a way that people in our communities would actually notice if we shut down (that's been stated as a goal of First, by the way).

Well, the conference was both affirming and challenging. Affirming, because we could pat ourselves on the back and say: "Yeah, this First Church gets this. We've been loving our neighbors for a long time. We know that word and deed can't be separated." I think this is particularly true of the way we act as individuals in our community: the commitment of people in our church to ministries like Joshua Station, VIA, Kids Hope USA at McKinley-Thatcher, Partners Worldwide, CRWRC Disaster Response, and various other ministries really is quite phenomenal. So yeah, way to go First Church members. You done good.

At the same time, however, we wondered how we as an institution could improve our presence and ministry in the community. I realize that there is overlap between things we do as individuals (what we might call the "Church as Organism") and as an organization, but I'm curious about what folks at First think it means for us "Love our Neighbors" in Platte Park. What are the "needs" of this community that we can meet? How can we show the love of Jesus here? If you have any ideas, feel free to post a comment or talk/email me or Shirley. We'd love to hear from you...(and don't worry about proof reading. I don't proof read and don't expect you to either!)

The Ol' Ball Game

2007-05-16T10:47:00.000-06:00

Some of the Young Adults (well most of us were young...but I won't say who was pushing the limits) went out to a Rockies game Friday night. We had a good time, but as anticipated, the home team lost. On the bright side, however, the defeat wasn't quite as spectacular as that which occurred on Sunday (15-2!!!). Here are a few pics for those who are interested. I also have some great footage of a few members dancing to the "Car Wash" song ("wax on, wax off") and engaging in some other ridiculous behaviors. Maybe if someone asks nicely, I'll post those too...

Mmmmm. Stadium food.

Before and After.

Jason hopes for a rally...

The Group (don't ask me what Bob and Joy are looking at)

The Humility of God

2007-05-11T15:23:00.000-06:00

For the past few weeks, I've been plodding my way through one of C.S. Lewis' classic works: The Problem of Pain. Though I wouldn't try to toss out Lewis' "solutions" to those who are going through some great pain in their lives (not an approach Lewis advocates himself, by the way), the book is interesting (as most of Lewis' writing tends to be). Of particular intrigue to me was Lewis' discussion of what he calls "the humility of God."

A little background: Lewis' discussion on this point is a part of a broader argument in which he is attempting to demonstrate that pain can be (though is not necessarily) purposeful. In other words, he's arguing that God can use pain for good--even our good. One of the ways that God can use pain for our good is by grabbing our attention with it. Pain, says Lewis, is God's "megaphone."*

One of the things God says through the megaphone of pain is that our sense of contentment and satisfaction, our help and our hope, can only come from him. Of course, most of us know this already. At least in theory. But we also know that when life is going well--when the bank account is swelling and our relationships are flourishing and we are (relatively) worry free--it is difficult to turn our thoughts to Him.** Instead of finding satisfaction in the knowledge that we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to our faithful savior Jesus Christ, we begin to find satisfaction in the new car, or in the our healthy bodies, or in our perfect children. Somehow, our souls find rest (or at least relative rest) even though they are not resting in Him. And that's when God decides to take out his megaphone.*** He allows his children to suffer, so that through their suffering, they might receive a reminder of their need for Him.

Taken the wrong way, I suppose this line of argument could make God sound like a cruel parent--Or at least a narcissistic one who has unhealthy needs for attention. But understand that one of Lewis' fundamental presuppositions is that human beings were created to be in a relationship with God and therefore they can only be happy within a relationship with God. In other words, this isn't only about the Father being happy to have his children back (assuming they call to him in their pain). This is also about his children finding happiness because they have their Father back. Put yet another way, in his grace, God uses pain to awaken in his children a desire for the one thing that can truly make them happy--Him.

So, where does the "humility of God" come in? Well, think about this: It is not particularly flattering for God to have us come to Him only when we need something from Him, or as a last resort, or because He seems less unpleasant than the other alternatives. As Lewis states, "it is a poor thing to strike our colours to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping. If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms."

But here's the thing: God is not proud. God is humble. He is willing to take us to himself even when our motives are less-than pure, even when we come to Him as something of a last resort. God so wants us to be happy (read: "God so wants us to be in fellowship with him"), God is so humble, and God loves us so much, that he is willing to do whatever it takes to get us into a relationship with Him. He's even willing to let us go through a little pain. And I, for one, think that is quite remarkable.****

*"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." (p. 83)
**I hope a few of you will make the connection to the sermon I preached a few weeks ago on Deut. 8.
***Please, please, please don't hear this as an explanation for all the pain and suffering we may do. This is one possible purpose, and may not even be a primary purpose.
****I hope you do too. But if this just seems like a bunch of mad rambling, you may want to check out chapter 6 of Lewis' book. He makes the argument much more convincingly than I.

Kudos!

2007-05-10T10:50:00.001-06:00

On Friday night, Jill and I had the privilage of attending a wonderful production of "Beauty and the Beast." We had a bunch of First kids involved (10?!) and they did a great job. Way to go!

For those of you who couldn't afford the price of admission or who missed it for some other reason, I attempted to bootleg the classic number, "Be Our Guest." You can try to get a bit of the experience by clicking on the video above. It's my first attempt at bootlegging, so it didn't turn out very well. But just so you know, some of those white blobs ARE First kids!

Yikes

2007-04-26T17:47:00.000-06:00

As those of you who study the calender in the "Weekly" closely know, I've been in Grand Rapids the past few days. Some of you may wonder what I'm actually doing here (besides enjoying the fabulous West Michigan Weather--Rain, drizzle, rain, drizzle, clouds, drizzle repeat...). So I'll tell you...

Today I spent my time today (Thurs) with a dozen other preachers speaking with Scott Hoezee, the directer for the Center for Excellence in Preaching (CEP). The main topic was how to make the Center's website more user friendly and useful. This discussion was the primary reason the CEP flew me out to Grand Rapids. It was a good day--I met some great folks, got to talk about preaching (which I love), and I'm excited to see what changes are going to come at the CEP in the (near?) future.

The other perk of the trip was that I got to take in a preaching conference yesterday (Wed). The theme of the conference was "Preaching, Pain, and Pastoral Identity" (sounds like fun, doesn't it?!). It was primarily structured around Paul's experiences in ministry (particularly, but not exclusively, with the church in Corinth). The point was to draw analogies between what Paul experienced in ministry (and how he handled it) and what we can expect to experience in ministry (and how to handle it). If you know anything about Paul's ministry, you'll know that "encouraging" or "cheery" might be the wrong word to describe the topic at hand.

Throughout his letters, Paul doesn't hesitate to talk about the great suffering he has endured for the gospel. Paul endured shipwrecks and beatings, slander and imprisonment. And here's the thing--he expects all those who follow Christ to endure something of the same (not just leaders in the church!)

There are probably a lot of different reasons for that. But the main one is simple--that pattern of cross shaped living is one that Christ laid out for us. He suffered, and so shall we. If you read Paul, or Peter, or Jesus himself, it's hard to come to any other conclusion.*

That's a tough sell. It's not exactly "seeker friendly" to tell people who want to follow Jesus to shoulder a cross. It'd be a lot easier to think that Jesus calls us to a life that is comfortable, a life where all our problems are washed away with our sins, a life of "success."

But Jesus doesn't do that. He calls us to die (and rise!) daily. So here's the question: What does that look like in our lives? Chances are that most of us won't give up our life itslef at thius point. But what will we give up? Food for thought...

*"It is clear that since God leads those he loves by way of trials, the more he loves them, the more difficult the way will be." (St. Teresa of Avila)

Back to Basics

2007-04-21T17:06:00.000-06:00

Last Sunday morning, I met for the first time with our "Foundations" class at church. It's a new class and is designed people who are new(er) to First Church, are curious about what we believe and who we are, and perhaps might even want to become members some day (if they're not already). The basic idea is to start broad (with what it means to be "Christian"), narrow down a little (what it means to be a "Reformed" Christian) and then narrow down even more (what it means to be a part of "First" Christian Reformed Church. That's the basic outline, but I'm developing the particulars as we go. That meant that last Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in my office, trying to discern what is at the core of the Christian faith--what people absolutely have to know--in 4o minutes or less.

Well, I thought it would be relatively easy. After all, I (like many folks at First) have been a Christian all my life, attended Christian day school and college, and spent the last four years of my life studying at a very good seminary. I have been blessed with a toolbox full of resources that should have made my task a simple one. It should have been easy.

But it wasn't. I sat there in my office, drumming my pencil against a legal pad, wondering what I should say. I started and stopped. Started and stopped. Drank some coffee. Started and stopped. Got some candy from Sandie's office. Started and stopped. It was turning out to be a much more difficult task than I anticipated.

I was reflecting on why that was so this week. There are probably a lot of reasons, but one stood out--that toolbox full of resources. It was a blessing, yes, but it was also my curse (if you'll allow me to paraphrase Spiderman). I had a million things to say. But I had nothing to say. With so much information floating around my brain, I was oddly paralyzed by the thought that I would leave something out or miss some crucial detail, or perhaps that I would lead my class astray by failing to explain the mystery of the Trinity or the many facets of Christ's atonement. I was overwhelmed by the possible complexities of what should have been a simple task.

I suspect that I'm not the only one who has this. Perhaps many of us feel that way when we try to talk to our neighbors or children about Christ. Because so many of us have been given so much knowledge. And while that's wonderful, I wonder if it overwhelms us and causes us to forget the true simplicity of our message.

I was talking with the other members of the staff about this in our meeting on Tuesday. What would you have said, I asked? One of them (it was a woman, if that narrows it down) responded by telling a story about a time she was in some far off place and was talking to a man she had never met before. She too, felt overwhelmed by all that she could say. But then, she said, she felt a gentle nudging of the Holy Spirit. "Just tell him that God loves him and wants to have a relationship with him."

It seemed simple. Unsophisticated. Maybe even childish. But she listened. She said the words. And the man started to weep.

Maybe it is that simple. God wants to have a relationship with us. In Jesus, God makes that relationship possible. And now we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to him.

So: comments? Am I the only one? what are other roadblocks to clearly articulating our faith? (I have a few ideas, but I'd love for folks to comment...)

Likin' Hikin'

2007-04-15T21:00:00.000-06:00

Today a few of our "Young Adults Group" (Yes, we need a better name...) went for a hike. Sorry, I still can't remember the name of the place (Near Boulder and the "Center for Atmospheric Research"). But all you folks (young or less young) who stayed home to take naps missed out. Here are a few pics:

Rachel E: On The Prowl For an Art Project

Eric B: Auditioning for Gideon's Army

The Gang: Taking a Break

The Ladies: Terrified of the Ever Ferocious Daisy?

(Jill S., Kim Z., Rachel E., Lynn R., Amanda F.)

Kim Z: Holding an Enormous Piece of Pizza. Really.

Rachel E: Shocked? Appalled? Horrified?

Kim Z: Not so much...

Poem For Sunday

2007-04-08T18:58:00.000-06:00

I (and probably 1300 other preachers) made brief reference to this John Updike classic this morning. Here it is in full:

Seven Stanzas at Easter
Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

–John Updike (1932- )

Friday Poetry

2007-04-06T07:34:00.000-06:00

Cross

On my chest this Friday afternoon,
the elegant small signature
of violent death
swings as I walk, gold tapping my
deep heart, telling me I was there.
(I did not mean to do it; I did
not know.) I slump under the weight
of it; my pulse
echoes the beat of hammers.
--Luci Shaw

Then Again...

2007-04-05T09:05:00.000-06:00

It probably goes without saying, but in every sermon I write, I make choices. A lot of choices. One of the choices I have to make when preaching a story from Scripture--like the one I preached last week from Luke 14:12-24--is which characters we, as listeners, ought to identify with. In this story from Luke, the choice was between two basic groups: the prominent Pharisees playing host to Jesus or the poor, the crippled, and the lame who were left out in the cold. I chose the Pharisees.

I hope that those of you who heard the sermon understood the choice: the Pharisees with whom Jesus is dining in this passage have prestige, they have power, they have their acts together. They were the up and up in their society who turned their backs on the down and out. And so I chose to identify us with them, because by the world's standards, most of us at First Church are fairly well to do, we are people of power and influence, people who appear to have our acts together. Again, by the world's standards.

But perhaps we might hear this text a little differently if we chose a different standard--the standard of the Kingdom of God. Because it seems to me that by Kingdom Standards, all of us at First Church have a lot more in common with that other group in the text--with the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.

By Kingdom standards, all of us are people who arrive at the banquet by grace alone. By Kingdom standards, all of us are people who are broken and dirtied, people who are dependent on God for everything we need, people who can never hope to repay the One who invites us to the dinner to have fellowship with him. By Kingdom standards, all of us are people who receive an invitation to dine with Jesus in the Kingdom of God--not because we are so pious, powerful, or polished--but because God, in his grace, went prowling through the back alley's and country lanes and dragged our poor, pitiful selves in from the cold so that we could party with him for eternity.

I'd like to think that if we remember the way God's grace levels the playing field, we who are guests at Christ's Great Supper will be more prone to reciprocate the "heavenly hospitality" that has been shown to us.

From the mouths of children..

2007-03-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

Last night at family night, Ana Engelsman and her friends was playing around the baptismal font in the sanctuary, waiting for her mom to finish up rehersal. Her mom, seizing the teachable moment, said, "Do you know what that's for, Ana?"

"Yes," said Ana, "That's where the babies are adopted."

Exactly.

Mind Your Own Business (or not)

2007-03-27T14:43:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Jill and I were privelaged to host our friends, Brian and Becky, for a few days. Brian and I have go way back--we've started going to school together in fifth grade and continued all the way through seminary (that's 16 years, by my count). So you could say that we know each other pretty well.

Well, we had a delightful weekend together. We went for hikes in the mountains, ate Duffy Rolls, played "Ticket to Ride" and watched movies ("The Cinderella Story" was the ladies' suggestion. Seriously.) But one of the best moments (for me, at least) was not one that I had planned. Or even one that I had expected.

Brian and I were driving down Broadway, on the way to drop my dog off at the pet-sitter for a few days (thanks Joe and Ann!). We were chit-chatting about traffic, dogs, bikes, ministry--the normal things for us--when Brian paused and said, "So, how's your marraige going?" And then he waited for me to give an honest answer.

And for me, that was the moment. The highlight of my weekend. It was even better than my Irish Cream Duffy Roll.

It probably sounds hard to believe (especially if you've ever had Duffy Rolls), but it's true. That was a powerful moment for me because it showed me the value of our friendship. It showed me that our friendship went beyond Brian's willingness to fly out to Denver so we could hang out of the weekend, beyond his willingness to go out for a beer and watch the Nuggets lose (talk about a lucky shot!), beyond our ability to sit around and swap stories about the good old days in Mr. Vander Maatan's Fifth Grade Class. It showed me that our friendship was deep enough for Brian to take an interest in my marraige; for him to take a risk and ask a potentially uncomfortable question. It showed me that he cared about the things that really matter.

Just think about it: when is the last time you've been asked such a question? When is the last time you have asked such a question? If you're like me, it's been a while.

And that's why I'm so thankful for friends like Brian--and for moments like that one we had on Broadway. Because Brian realized that it was not only his right to ask me those kinds of questions, but his obligation. It was his obligation because Brian and I aren't just friends. We're brothers in Christ. And brothers (and sisters) care about each other enough to ask each other questions. Even hard questions.

My hope is that we at First Church will continue to develop as a community so that we can ask each other these sorts of hard questions. I pray that we will be people who recognize that our business is in fact our neighbor's business--that we won't privitize our faith and assume that all we do is just a matter between us and God, but it's also a matter between us and our brothers and sisters in Christ. I hope that we're people who are humble enough, honest enough, and (dare I say) holy enough to ask--and be asked--tough questions. These questions may be about our marraige, the choices we make in raising our kids, the people we want to date, the things we say about our neighbors, our church attendance, the amount of money we put in the offering plate, or anything else in the Christian life.* The point is that being in community--being a member of the Body of Christ--means caring enough about each other to speak honestly (with grace AND truth) to each other about these very important things.

So, let's hear it. Are we already that kind of community? If not, what's stopping us? What do we have to let go of--or gain--to become that kind of place?

*For more on this as it realates to our sexuality, see Chapter 3 of Lauren Winner's excellent book, Real Sex, entitled "Communal Sex".

Confessions of the Ignorant

2007-03-23T06:32:00.000-07:00

If this blog thing works out, I just may have to start an additional blog called, "The things I Couldn't Say...in That Other Blog..."

Catchy, eh?

I probably won't do it, however, because this could go on indefinitely. And I don't have time to update 493 blogs. But there are two things you should know to understand why it's an attractive idea for a person like me right now.

1.) It really bothers me to write things that are full of tangents and are not constructed around one unified theme (hence this blog--it allows me to keep tangents out of my sermons a bit more). This has led to trouble, since 2.) On Wed. evening, we had a photojournalist named Ryan Spencer Reed as a guest at First Church. Ryan has spent extensive time in Sudan/Darfur and now travels with a stunning display of his work (it's at Denver Christian this week: Go see it!). I've now spent the last several days digesting Ryan's fabulous presentation, trying to discern what one thing I should say about it (in order to keep in line with principle #1). Needless to say, it's been a difficult choice.

Before the presentation began, I thought I might write about what we (as Christians) do and do not have in common with our atheistic peers. Maybe I still will some day--but not today. Then, during the presentation, I thought maybe I'd write about the importance of putting a human face on the world's tragedies so that we learn to take them seriously. Point taken (and did I mention you should go see this photo exhibit?!). I also thought about recording Ryan's comments about faith and hope--how he (a relatively new Christian) said that working in Sudan has strengthened his belief in God, not weakened it (as I might have feared). They were beautiful comments. I hope you were there to hear them. But that's not what I want to write about either.

Instead, I want to share with you a comment that has stuck with me the last few days.

A group of us (including Pastor Joy, Ryan and myself) were talking after the presentation about what I some of the issues that had been raised during the presentation: How China's role in the UN has been a roadblock to more international intervention in Darfur, what an important (yet limited) strategy disinvestment is for bringing about change, the ethnic make-up of Darfur vs. Southern Sudan and so on.

One of us (I'd like to think it was not me, but I think it was) said, "Wow, it's all just so complicated."

And Ryan replied (in his gentle and humble way), "No, it's not complicated at all. It's really very simple." And that caught me more than a little off guard.

I wanted to say to Ryan, " What do you mean it's not complicated? I barely understood what you were saying the first half hour of your presentation! I can't comprehend the complexities of international politics and economics. There's so much I don't know! So maybe it's not complicated for someone like you--someone who is clearly very intelligent and who has spent the last five years living and breathing all things Sudan. But for the rest of us, it's far from simple!"

That's what I wanted to say. But before I had a chance, Ryan continued. He said, "It's dangerous to keep saying that things are complicated--because that so easily comes an excuse for politicians for politicians not to take action on this issue."

And I had to think, "Yes, Ryan. Politicians. The Devil. And me."

The fact of the matter is, once you boil things down, it really is very simple. Real flesh and blood human beings--people who are mothers and fathers and children and cousins and wives and husband--are dying. And I've been too self-absorbed to do a thing about it.

I haven't educated myself. I haven't written my congressperson. I haven't prayed.*

I've hidden behind my ignorance and excuses and haven't done a thing.

And that's a sin.

That's all I'll say about that today. But here are some links from Ryan to help (us all?) get started on the path to true repentance:

See how your congressperson is doing, get talking points etc. here.

More information than you can shake a stick at here.

*Eugen Peterson writes: The single most widespread American misunderstanding of prayer is that is that it is private. Strictly and biblically speaking, there is no private prayer. Private in its root meaning refers to theft. It is stealing. When we privatize prayer we ebmezzle the common currency that belongs to all. When we engage in prayer without any desire for or awareness of the comprehensive, inclusive life of the kingdom that is "at hand" in both space and time, we impoverish the social reality that God is bringing to completion."

Kid's Say the Darndest* Things

2007-03-21T14:42:00.000-07:00

Dey-shai and I have been meeting at his school for about three months now--and I'd say we've hit it off pretty well. I'm officially his mentor through our church's Kid's Hope USA program. That means that I try to help him read (I refuse to help with math), play checkers (or most recently: Yatzee!), or talk with him about life and how to make better choices (more on that later). Most importantly, I try to be a steady/positive/male/Christian influence.

I confess, there are days that I feel like I'm going to fall asleep when he's reading. But there are never days when I regret coming.

At any rate, at some point during our hour together, Dey-shai, the King of Irony, always says something that makes me crack up. For example:

"Joel. Huh. That sure is a weird name."
"I want to be a pastor, too. Do you get paid a lot?"
"You're a pastor. So do you own the church?" (He was quite caught up on this one for a while.)
"Is your Dad really only 5'9"?" (He asked me this one three weeks straight).
"Did you brush your teeth this morning? Because no offense, you smell really weird." (In my own defense, yes, I did brush my teeth. Probably more than once. It's just that I had a cup of coffee on the way to school to fend off the aforementioned drowsiness. But yes, I should have known better--especially when I think about my sixth grade teacher's coffee breath and how it prohibited me from asking for help on my math homework. I probably would've been an engineer if it wasn't for her caffeine addiction.)
Any trash talking during checkers. I really love Dey-shai, but seriously, he's one of the world's worst checkers players. He has no business trash talking.

Well, last week, Dey-shai moved beyond the humorous and was--well, touching. Dey-shai was in some trouble for having a little attitude with his teacher. When I came in, he was writing out his confession (a regular part of the discipline at his school, it seems). Only this time, he wasn't writing it to his teacher. He was writing to God. It doesn't look like a lot here, but it took up about half a page with his handwriting. This is what he had to say:

Dear Lord I'm sorry for all the things I did wrong. I can change my ways and I can change my addatude tords people.
Lord I am sorry for using your name in vane and can you help me get out of the mess I'm going throuw.
Lord can you come in my hart can you come into every bodies harts.

I told you it was touching.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to finish it up. But we did get to talk about prayer, and how God might help him stay out of trouble. I wasn't sure if I was "allowed" to at first (as part of Kid's hope, we have to promise not to proselytize), but figured if Dey-shai brought it up I was in the clear. And besides, Dey-shai put my mind to rest. "We're not supposed to talk about God in school," he said. "But you can--you're a pastor."

*If "darndest" is offensive to you or your young children, email me and I'll change the title.