Coram Deo: Living Before the Face of God

Okay, so I'm done with Christians speaking for God. Flipping through channels the other day, providence lend me to tune into Glenn Beck. It only took a few minutes for me to want to turn the channel.

What disturbed me? What unsettled my soul?

In musing on the recent tragedy in Japan, Glenn looked into the camera with his piercing eyes and with his solemn voice announced that all of this destruction and suffering in Japan is a message from God.

Really, Glenn? Are you now claiming prophetic status? It's you, Elijah and Jeremiah, is it?

It's so much easier to be a prophet in the Old Testament. Your anointing, God's message to you, your defined role as a prophet--it's all right there in black and white. These days in the 21st century, anyone can claim to speak for God. Unfortunately, the references, the anointing, the actual words from the Lord don't usually follow...

One ought to be very careful when they claim to be the deliverer of the Lord's message. After all, we do have examples of false prophets in the Bible. Their pedigree is simple. They tell us what we want to hear. Their message doesn't resonate with the Scriptures.

We even have examples of false prophets in the Scriptures. Consider if you will Job's friends. In the midst of the "natural" disasters of his life, their prophetic words were similar to Beck's. "It's a wake-up call dude!" "Stop offending the Lord!" "You know you deserved it. Own up to all of it before something else happens!"

Surprisingly, their counsel is not affirmed by the Lord. It is rebuked. Glenn, are you listening? Are we?

When disaster like these strike, there are too many Christians who want to hear that this is a message from God. They want false prophets like Glenn Beck to tell them that this God's judgment on a world living in sin, on a country worshiping a false religion, on a people who don't share our values. When you have to answer "Where was God in all this?" it is easier to simply say "He was giving you and me a wake-up call!" than it is to deal like Job with the silence of God.

As I continue to watch and pray over the devastation in Japan, I am haunted by Shusaku Endo's (Japan's own Graham Greene) book "Silence". Written in 1966, "Silence" tells the story of a Jesuit priest's visit to Japan during the 17th century to investigate the rumors that one of the most influential members of their order has renounced his faith in Christ.

A particular scene comes to mind as the priest looks out over a ruined village, and prays:

"The village had been burnt to the ground; and its inhabitants had been completely dispersed. The sea and the land were silent as death; only the dull sound of the waves lapping against the boat broke the silence of the night. Why have you abandoned us so completely? he prayed in a weak voice. Even the village was constructed for you; and have you abandoned it in its ashes? ... Have you just remained silent like the darkness that surrounds me? Why? At least tell me why. We are not strong men like Job who was afflicted with leprosy as a trial. There is a limit to our endurance. Give us no more suffering. So he prayed. But the sea remained cold, and the darkness maintained its stubborn silence."

For Endo, God's silence is not absence but presence. It is the silence of accompaniment rather than abandonment. The writer, Henri Nouwen, explains the paradox this way: "[God's] presence is so much beyond the human experience of being together that it quite easily is perceived as absence. [God's] absence, on the other hand, is so often deeply felt that it leads to a new sense of [God's] presence."

If you reread the Book of Job, Job's anguished cries against God's absence paradoxically assumes God's presence. God is silent in Job's life but Job continues to wrestle with God anyway. In the end, Job is vindicated. He was not wrestling with the air or a figment of his imagination. His cries for justice, for restoration, for healing and for hope were not, as supposed by "his friends", marks of vanity or apostasy--they were emblems of faith. As C.S. Lewis, who in reflecting on the book of Job, writes: "Apparently the way to advance from our imperfect apprehension of justice to the absolute justice is not to throw our imperfect apprehensions aside but boldly to go on applying them."

As I continue to wrestle with God in the midst of what has happened in Japan, New Zealand, Haiti, etc., I pray and cry out for justice, for healing, for restoration and for hope. I press on, I press into, the silence of God knowing that the Lord is there, knowing that He is suffering with us. I listen to the words of true prophet, of John the Baptist, who offers the definitive message from God--the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. I look up to a cross and see God in the flesh crucified--I see the real picture of God's judgment on a world broken by sin, on countries addicted to more false gods than can be counted, on a people whose values apart from the Spirit are bankrupt and self-serving.

God's judgment is God grace. An offering of love in the face of rejection and ridicule. A word of forgiveness in the midst of a cacophony of taunts, curses and insults.

I look to the cross and I anticipate resurrection. God is present in our silence but the silence will not remain. Out of the void, the abyss, the silence of death, will come a cry of redemption and reconciliation. "It is finished!" "Behold, I am making all things new!"

The promise of God offered by Jesus Christ in the face of death equip me to understand the promises of God offered in the midst of life, which will in turn, equip me to understand the promises of God in the midst of silence. More than this, I realize that God's silence is only prolonged when I refuse to speak this message, when I refuse to live it out.

People like Glenn Beck can keep speaking for God all they want. As for me and my house, I am just going to keep pointing to Jesus--not just with my fingers but with the entirety of my life.

Rather than telling the people of Japan that God is sending you a message, can we as followers of Christ, become God's message of hope, healing and love?

 

When The Bible Becomes An Idol

More and more Christian schools are having their students start their day by reciting a Bible pledge along with the Pledge of Allegiance and the Pledge to the Christian flag (this merits a whole other blog post!). Kids are being asked to put their hands on their hearts and to declare their faithfulness to the Good Book. In essence, they are promising "Thou shalt have no other book before the Bible."

Swearing our loyalty to the Bible, really?

Does anyone think it is possible for the Bible to become an idol? Can one believe in the Bible (the physical object) at the expense of or over against whom the Bible reveals? I believe that history has proven time and time again that this can and does happen.

Too many Christians, believe, think and act like having a Bible, memorizing it and opening it up now and again to quote a chapter or verse here or there is what it means to obey and follow God. They believe "in" the Bible but don't follow or wrestle with whom the Bible points to--the One who fulfills the Bible--the Word of God!

Once again, I declare that I believe that the Bible is the inspired word of God. I believe the Bible is the definitive and authoritative revelation of who God is, who we are and of what God has done, is doing and will do in this world. I believe the Bible but I don't believe "in" the Bible. 

I believe in Jesus Christ. I worship Jesus and not the Bible. Now, you might be wondering, "Okay, what informs your belief in Jesus Christ, if you don't believe in the Bible?" (Thank you by the way to my good friend Blake for asking this very question!)

What informs my belief in Jesus is the Bible but Jesus also informs how I read and understand the Bible. After all, Jesus is the Word of God. I believe in the Word of God rather than "in" the word of God. Put another way, I think you can believe in the Bible without having any belief in Jesus Christ. When you believe in Jesus Christ though, I think you look and read the Bible differently. You no longer believe "in" the Bible, you believe in the One to whom the Bible points to. 

Ask yourself what it meant for the Jews and early Christians to believe in the Bible. They didn't have a Bible in the sense that we do. For the first few centuries of the Church, neither did those believers either. What did they believe in?

Not a book they could hold or cherry pick verses from. They believed in the word of God transmitted orally--from person to person--from public readings--by word of mouth. They believed in the story--what the word of God revealed and pointed to--the whole word and not just the parts that they liked or fit their agenda.

More importantly, what informed their telling and hearing of the story was a shared, communal agreement as to the what the story was about. What defined the essential themes and message of the story came to be defined as "the rule of faith". The "rule of faith" was the boundary for telling the story rightly--for not leaving anything important out or adding things along the way.

This rubric was also the lens by which to interpret and understand the story. After all, how you tell the story informs how others hear and receive it. As the story was passed on, as it was written down and as certain details were challenged to the point of changing the story, creeds were established.

Creeds restate the essentials of the story--the non-negotiables. Creeds confess the heart of the story. Each person can interpret and live the story in different ways but these features of the story apply to all believers. If you don't believe these things, you're telling a different story. You are worshipping a different God.

Ironically, the early confessions of the Church don't mention mode of baptism, women in ministry, pre or post tribulation, what happens during communion, or a host if other things that we continue to fight about in the Church. This is not to say that these differences and disagreements are unimportant. What it does suggest is that these differences and disagreements are not essential to the story.

It is interesting that our early creeds don't profess to believe "in" the Bible either. For me, this implies that there is some room to agree to disagree in how we read and interpret our Bibles. This is encouraging at a time when so many want to use their Bibles as a weapon--their interpretation of the Bible as a litmus test of whether someone is saved.

Now you might argue, "Well, Jesus read the Scriptures! He believed in the Bible!" Yes, Jesud did read the Scriptures. He even quoted from the Bible. But then again, so did the religious leaders of his day who eventually condemned Him to death, so did the devil who tempted Him in the wilderness, so did Saul (Paul) who persecuted Christ's Body--the Church, after Pentecost. In response, Jesus didn't say, "Believe in your Bible." He did say, "Believe in me!"

Since Jesus fulfilled the Scriptures, I believe in Him. I can't help but think back to Charles Sheldon's book, "In His Steps". You know the heart of the book if you haven't even read it because that book birthed a slogan that has become the number #1 wristband that Christians everywhere love to wear: "WWJD?" Notice the letters don't stand for "What Does The Bible Say?" They stand for "What Would Jesus Do?" Believing in the Bible is not enough. We need to echo the ancient creeds in believing the contents of the Bible--the story--and the centerpiece of that story--is Jesus Christ.

Another way of putting this, is to say that in the history of the Church it has always been the Word and the Spirit together--not separate from each other or over and against each other--but complementary to and inseperable from each other. I believe in the Word and the Spirit together. That's what makes the Bible more than just a book. That's what makes the Bible the living word of God. 

Why I Don't Believe in the Bible...

I've encountered a growing number of Christians who resort to a single sentence answer as a way of reacting to the theological debates of our 21st century. Honestly, the more I hear this glib response, the more I understand why growing numbers of non-believers want nothing to do with the Church. While there are those within the Body of Christ who are dialoguing, listening and wrestling over immigration, politics, homosexuality, genetics and other assorted doctrinal issues with their Bible in their hands, many simply wave their hand and smugly declare, "The Bible says it, I believe it and that's good enough for me!"

If this is your repeated answer, your default mode in the midst of all that is happening within our world and within the Church, I encourage you to stop and really think about what you are saying. More than this, the next time you say, "I believe in the Bible"...ask yourself what that means specifically. Take a moment and consider the fact that Mormons, Catholics, Jehovah's Witness--not to mention Protestants of all flavors profess the same thing. They all "believe in the Bible" and yet they all believe different things about what the Bible says.

What do you make of this? How does this inform or challenge such bumper sticker theology? Are we called to believe in the Bible? I don't think so.

A few years back, Bart Ehrman wrote a book called "Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why" In this book, Ehrman shares how he lost faith in the Bible as the inspired word of God. This crisis of faith began for Ehrman with the realization that we do not have access to the original manuscripts of the biblical writings. For Ehrman, not having these source documents calls the legitimacy of the Bible into question. Furthermore, Ehrman points out that the writers who made copies of the original biblical manuscripts and the first set of copies and so forth sometimes altered the text, either unintentionally due to error or intentionally due to some theological agenda. Since these are the same copies that serve as the basis for the Bibles that we read and study from today, the whole book is suspect.

At the end of the day, Ehrman reasons that if the Bible is to be believed to be the inspired word of God then the content in the Bible must be proven to be the words from the very mouth of God. If one suggests that the words of the Bible were given by God to human authors, then the process of transmission from God's lips to our hears must be proven to have been passed along perfectly. We can't do this so therefore one ought not to believe in the Bible.

Interestingly, Erhman's criteria is closer to an Islamic rather than a classic Christian understanding of divine inspiration. The two key elements to Ehrman's debunking of the Bible are not secrets in the Church but key topics of study in textual criticism when you go to seminary. If you do a little reading, you'll discover that much of what Ehrman levies as arguments against the Bible on the basis of textual criticism are in fact some of the most compelling reasons to embrace ancient and modern translations of the Bible as reliable.

Now, let me be clear. When I wrote for the tagline of this blog "I don't believe in the Bible"--that did not mean that I don't believe that the Bible is the inspired word of God. Unlike Ehrman, I don't hold to such a narrow view when I profess to believe in the legitimacy of the Bible. My argument is that there is a difference between believing in the Bible and in believing in what the Bible reveals.

Another way of expressing this is to point out that Ehrman's argument is well taken when people want to say that the Bible is inerrant (without error). The Bible does have errors. This is not debatable. When confronted with this, many often argue, "Well, if we had the original manuscripts and if you went back to them, the originals are without error." Others will quickly add, "God is without error so therefore His word is without error!" The logic here is that which God intended to reveal through His word has been revealed without error. This is all well and good except for the fact that as we read and study we are interpreting what God's original intentions are. We don't have a divine commentary to go along with the Bible!

But I disgress. For me, the nagging question is, if God inspired the Bible, perhaps even ensuring that the original manuscripts were without error, why did God allow the process of textual transmission to be something less than inerrant?

I would humbly argue that the God we know in Jesus Christ seems to work like this all the time. From the very beginning of entrusting a creation that was good to highly suspect and clearly fallible human beings to the incredible and startling fact that God choses to work through a guy like me in leading the people of Grace Lutheran as their Senior Pastor (does anyone doubt that I make mistakes all the time in the name of Jesus?), God seems to be committed to working through less than perfect people. 

The cornerstone of our relationship with this God is faith. Luther didn't stand on FACT ALONE, he stood his ground on FAITH ALONE. We worship a God who, for reasons that we don't completely understand or frankly agree with, has chosen to reveal just enough of Himself to us so instill faith but not enough so that we know Him absolutely or perfectly. Even in Christ, even via the Holy Spirit, this God is a mystery and will continue to be until we no longer see through a mirror dimly.

In the meantime, I believe that we have been given the Bible not so that we might have a transcript of God's words bur rather so that we might be drawn into an honest, truthful and real conversation (relationship) with Him. Yes, the words matter but less for the purposes of putting God or others in a box of our own making and more for the purposes of kindling, feeding and deepening a relationship of faith with Him. For me, the key is to rely and lean on the living God to whom the words point rather than to get all hot and bothered about each and every jot and tittle. 

Words are subject to interpretation. Talk is cheap. Actions matter more. Relationships are messy. This God revealed to us in Jesus Christ doesn't seem to have as much of a problem with the mess as we do. In fact, this God seems to trust us and desire us so much that He is willing to put up with the messes that we invariably make--including the mess that we make in copying, interpreting, teaching and passing on His divine revelation. It gives new meaning to the word "inspired"--doesn't it?

So you go ahead and keep believing in the Bible. As for me and my house, we'll read, study and discuss the Bible but we believe in Jesus Christ...

The Sign of the Cross

How often have you heard people say that they are looking for a sign from God before making an important decision?  Some are confused and uncertain. They look for a sign that will give them clarity on a decision they need to make. Others are lost and have reached a dead-end in their lives. They look for a sign that will point them in the right direction.

Many believers argue that asking for a sign from God is bad—an indication of a lack of faith or trust. They will often cite passages like Matthew 12:38 – 41 and 16:1 – 4 to support their position. In both of these passages Jesus rebukes the religious leaders of his day who keep asking him for a sign that he is the long-anticipated Messiah. Jesus declares: “A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a miraculous sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah.”

So is looking for a sign from God—asking for a sign, wrong? No; not at all. A quick survey of the scriptures reminds us that God has provided signs all the time. Circumcision and baptism, Passover and the Lord's Supper, are all signs. The rainbow, the plagues, the Sabbath, the budding of Aaron's rod, the parting of the Jordan and twelve stones to prove it and the virgin birth of Christ—all are signs.

God uses signs all the time. God uses and approves of signs. In the pages of the prophet Isaiah, Hezekiah gets an unsolicited sign while Ahaz is rebuked for not asking God for a sign. Biblically, a sign is an event or activity designed to reveal or point to God’s presence and action.

Signs are given to convince—to give a reason for belief. God gave signs to convince the people in Egypt to believe and follow Moses. Signs are also given to confirm—to support or encourage faith that is already present. Gideon asked for one and God responded positively.

The issue that Jesus deals with in Matthew’s gospel is one of motivation, the religious leaders are testing Jesus. Their request for a sign is for the purposes of validation—proof that he is the Messiah. But their desire for proof is not sincere. Jesus has performed many signs—many miracles throughout his ministry. They have seen much in the way of signs but they continue to refuse to see. This is what Jesus is getting at when he comments that they know how to tell what the weather will be but they cannot interpret the signs of the times.

Hypocrisy taints their petitions. Their insistence on more proof, better signs is just another way of avoiding submission to the truth, of acknowledging Jesus as the Messiah. Instead of following Jesus, they are demanding that Jesus follow their lead. This sounds familiar. We’ve been here before. Such testing was the same tactic used by the devil in the wilderness. Again and again, the devil asked for a sign, for proof, “If you are the Son of God, then…"

Only moments earlier in the conversation, the religious leaders accused Jesus of being in league with Satan but their own words betray their own sympathies for the devil. And so Jesus calls the Pharisees, the Sadducees and the teachers of the law, “a wicked and adulterous generation.” The word “adulterous” in particular should stand out. The idea here is that those who call themselves the moral authority, those who would label themselves “religious,” don’t practice what they preach. The ones who should be believers, the ones who were married to God were cheating on their God in practice. In refusing to see and believe what is right in front of them, they were being unfaithful to God—they were choosing to follow their own ideas and agenda.

Jesus refuses to give them a sign beyond what is before them—until later. The ultimate sign is coming for them and for all the world, Jesus assures. This sign—his death and resurrection--would confirm that he, Jesus, is indeed the Messiah, the Son of God. The sign of His resurrection would prove who He is and what His death was all about. Those who refused to believe would in their opposition to Jesus see him crucified. The very “sign” that they wanted would come from their own crime against Him. They would be guilty of His death. Out of that death would come the resurrection, their opportunity to believe.

But even then, when Jesus was dead, lying in the tomb, they would remember the coming sign and refuse to see it. They would try to stop it from happening by having Jesus’ tomb guarded. Later when the tomb was empty, we are told that they made up all kind of stories in order to obscure the sign of Christ’s resurrection.

As Christians, we need to appreciate the significance of all of this. Jesus greatest words of warning and judgment are aimed at the insiders—the religious—not the irreligious, not the outsiders—the so-called believers. God’s greatest concern isn’t for the people who miss the signs—it’s for us—those who refuse to recognize what is right in front of us. The only sign that Jesus said we’ll get is the only sign we need: resurrection. Paul said to the church in Corinth that “if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, your faith also is vain… your faith is worthless and you are still in your sins.” We could say it this way; the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the sign of our times—of all time!

And yet the very people who waited their whole life for God to show up, the ones who centered their whole existence of the establishment of God’s Kingdom, the devoted followers who studied, practiced and prepared for the Savior of the world, the Messiah, missed God’s greatest sign. The sign, not just of the times, the sign of all time—the Resurrection happened and they missed it. The greatest tragedy of the Gospel story is that those had the word of God in their hands, those who regularly attended worship, those who prayed diligently, those who gave offerings consistently, missed the punch line of the story.

As we regularly proclaim the Resurrection of Jesus but refuse to live the Resurrection as the Body of Christ, as the Church, are we any different?  


As the world looks for a sign as Christians, who or what are we pointing to?

Advent: The Waiting Is The Hardest Part...

In a world that is all too ready to begin celebrating Christmas, we in the church continue to prepare for the coming of Christ anew in our life and our world. We prepare through the season of Advent by waiting.

Waiting for what we cannot make happen by our own strength. Waiting for the light that we cannot see in all of our darkness. Waiting for the One who we cannot birth by our own will and enterprise.

Waiting does not come easy for most of us. Waiting is not something that we like to do. Research suggests that the average person will spend five years of his or her life waiting in line, two years playing telephone tag, and six months sitting at red lights. That’s over 7 and a half years of waiting—of killing time! Ironically, despite the supposed comfort and simplicity of our technology, often created to lessen the time in between—we still find ourselves waiting...

 Still waiting for that online order we placed over a week ago. Still waiting in line at the self-checkout station at the supermarket. Still waiting for the phone to ring on a Saturday night. Still waiting for the perfect job—any job—to come along. Still waiting for that elusive perfect relationship.

Advent teaches us how to wait. More than this, Advent reminds us that we are not alone in our waiting. I encourage you to light another candle in our vigil and read the words of the prophet Isaiah. In chapter 40, we hear words first spoken by Isaiah and later echoed by John the Baptist several hundred years later. We read these words and remember those who waited thousands of years for their longing to be fulfilled.

 Sometimes people say, maybe you feel this year like, “Christmas isn’t what it used to be.” How can anyone put up a tree, fix a celebration, or sing about “joy to the world” in the midst of death and loss? How do we keep waiting when our heart just isn’t in it anymore? How do we have hope when the world seems hopeless?

Sometimes the hardest part about waiting is losing interest, losing focus or losing touch with the object of our desire. A lot can happen in the time in between—death and loss never conform to anyone’s timetable. In the face of such questions, especially at Christmas, many of us do our best to put on a smile, eat, drink and make merry. We choke down all the holiday cheer not because we really believe there is anything to wait for but in an effort to be comfortably numb as the length of these winter days increases—as the darkness seems to overtake the light.

Through Isaiah, through John the Baptist, God offers words to a people who had lost hope, to a world that, even back then, felt hopeless. Through them, God also offers us a word of comfort. God’s comfort is not what we have made this word—an experience of disconnect, of disengagement, of resignation. God’s comfort is the reassurance of presence, the relief of solidarity—the revelation that God is with us. God has not forsaken us. God has not forgotten his promises. God is with us.

We must not be swallowed up by the darkness of our world. Our world is messed up. We are messed up. But we cannot give up the hope of divine intervention—of a God who keeps His promises, a God who delivers. Our lives are in chaos, the troubles of this world are not a hill, they are a mountain...but there is no mountain high enough which this God cannot level to build a bridge, to come to us in our wilderness.

If we take these words in and allow such desire to meld with our own longings, we join in the waiting of patriarchs, kings, prophets, and priests, for a Savior to come—for the world to be made right again. Through prayer and the signs and symbols of Advent, we anticipate with millions of others, named and unnamed, who yearned for something more complete and more "real" than what they knew.

With them, through them, we learn not only how to wait but how to be ready in the midst of our waiting. For the Advent season is about waiting but it is also about readiness—about keeping one’s eyes on the horizon for the breaking dawn, for the coming of the Light of the world. God’s presence, God's love for us, incarnate in Jesus, is a gift, not a reward. It is grace, not a salary. It is grace and not a question of who’s been naughty or nice. It was not our commitment to God that brings Christmas, it is God's commitment to us. And that commitment simply cannot be broken.

So let us not be so intoxicated by the trapping of the holiday that we forget the event that makes the day, the night, a holy one. May we forsake being comfortably numb in the midst of our Christmas cheer so that we might receive the true comfort of Christ’s presence, of God with us.

The joy the world knows because “Christ has come” is possible only when we know that he is also still coming. He’s coming that death may die.  He’s coming that our loneliness will end.

Wait, do not lose heart and be ready O people of God, for he is coming...

The Church Reformed and Always Being Reformed...

Mention the date, October 31^st and most people start thinking about carving pumpkins, doling out candy from a big bowl and maybe, dressing up in a costume for Halloween. Not too many people associate the date with All Saints Day—the remembrance not of the dead but of the resurrected. Few are left who know, let alone remember, how tickets to heaven (“indulgences” as they were called then), were passed out to the people—for a price—just like Halloween candy. You probably won’t see any kids dressed up like a rotund, Augustinian monk with a hammer in their hands either.

And yet nearly 500 years ago, a simple but passionate Augustinian monk nailed a list of 95 things he wanted to talk about and started a conversation that wound up changing the course of world history. Through Martin Luther’s talking points,  the Holy Spirit kick-started a dialogue that would continue through countless others. Philipp Melanchthon.  John Calvin. John Knox. Thomas Cramner. Menno Simmons. 

It was a conversation that didn’t just reform the Church--it reshaped the world. Education. Science. Politics. Everything changed. Nothing would ever be the same again. At its heart though, the dialogue that began at the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany emerged from the timeless question of what it means to be the Body of Christ—what it means to be the Church.

It is a conversation that hasn’t finished yet. In fact if you study the course of the history of the Church, you can’t help but notice that every five hundred years, the Church goes through a major cycle of change and upheaval—if you will, reformation. Hence the famous catch phrase of the Great Reformation: “The church reformed and always being reformed.”

Reverend Mark Dyer, an Anglican bishop once humorously referred to this trend as being like a giant rummage sale! Phyllis Tickle’s recent book (which we highly recommend), The Great Emergence: How Christianity is Changing and Why, in referencing Dyer’s comments, writes of the pattern this way:

“...about every five hundred years the empowered structures of institutionalized Christianity, whatever they may be at that time, become an intolerable carapace that must be shattered in order that renewal and new growth may occur.”

In our own day and age, we are walking through yet another period of change and reform. The look, the feel, the practice and yes, in some quarters, the theology of what it means to be the Body of Christ is changing. The decline of the mainline church. The rise of the emerging church. The return of the house church. The blend of the ancient-future church. The call to a new monasticism. If you read the headlines this past week, the Catholic Church is welcoming home disaffected Episcopalians and Anglicans!! Whether we like it or not, the Church is changing and sometimes it does indeed feel like a huge rummage sale!

But being reformed is part and parcel of what it means to be followers of Jesus. Let us not forget that we are pilgrims both in terms of our identity and our destination in Christ. The Great Reformation didn’t begin with the proposals of Martin Luther, it began with the revelation of the Gospel. Together we are not just journeying towards being with God, we are also gradually being shaped into the person of Jesus. As the Scriptures remind us, Christ in us, the hope of glory!

What Ever Happened to Sola Scriptura?

Many of my congregants have asked me what I thought of our denomination’s recently passed social statement on sexuality: “Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust” beyond its assertions about homosexuality and the church. Here is a link to the social statement if you are not familiar with it: http://www.elca.org/What-We-Believe/Social-Issues/Social-Statements-in-Process/JTF-Human-Sexuality.aspx

Be warned it is LONG!

I affirm that the statement attempted to take a broader view of human sexuality in light of the Christian faith beyond the issue of homosexuality. This is long overdue in the church’s conversations about faith, ethics and morality in regards to sex. I specifically appreciated what the statement expressed relative to sexual harassment, abuse, addiction and commercial trafficking and exploitation. The reality of sexual slavery and addiction is not being acknowledged or engaged enough by the body of Christ.  



That being expressed, I was deeply troubled by the social statement's approach to Scripture. Interestingly, the statement makes an appeal to the Lutheran Confessions, naming the Reformation Principles of solus Christus (Christ alone), sola gratia (by grace alone), and sola fide (by faith alone) as guiding the authors in their understanding of what is sin. However, what is surprisingly left out in the statement is the very starting point for understanding God’s plan of salvation for a fallen humanity--the foundational principle of sola Scriptura (by Scripture alone). Generation after generation of Christians from all denominations believed that the revelation of God, our understanding of who Jesus is, our self-awareness of our human condition comes through the Bible. Our Protestant heritage is built on the conviction that Holy Scripture is the sole source and norm for all Christian teachings. 


I also found the theological premise of the document to be flawed. The statement seeks to ground the ethics of human sexuality solely on the gospel of the incarnation of Jesus Christ and justification by faith alone. While these are both central aspects of our understanding of salvation, Christian ethics is and has always been also based on the law of God, which comes to us through two channels, through the Bible and through the structures of creation. By reason and conscience people can know the difference between right and wrong, good and bad, by the way “things have been made.” (Romans 1:20) 



While we need Jesus to fully know God's character and will, we do not need to believe in Christ to learn what is against God's creative design and intent, the law of nature. Put another way, non-Christians can be quite moral (note I didn't write GOOD) people without confessing Christ. The Scriptures, both the Old and New Testaments are clear that when God created the world and human beings, he designed all things to obey certain laws.



To ignore the Law of God and to replace it with the Gospel is not biblical. Jesus himself revealed that he came not to abolish the Law but to fulfill it. Martin Luther echoed this when some of his closest disciples said that since we are saved by faith in the Gospel, we are free from doing the works of the Law. Traditionally, the Lutheran denomination of which I am a part, has understood there to be a three-fold purpose for the Law of God relative to the Gospel, that of a mirror, a curb, and a guide. 



First, the Law serves as a mirror in that it reveals the depths of our sin and drives us to despair. Only when, in our despair, we realize our total inability to save ourselves are we prepared to turn to the life-giving Gospel and receive the gift of salvation that is freely ours in Jesus Christ. Second, the Law also serves as a curb on sin, protecting individuals and society from the horror of total anarchy that would prevail if God simply abandoned us to act on our sinful natures. Third, the Law provides a guide for living out our new lives in Jesus according to the will of God as revealed in Holy Scripture. If you read the recently passed social statement, the authors of this document openly dismiss this traditionally understood third use of the Law. 


Here's a great example from the social statement itself, of why a high regard for Scripture and some appreciation for the third use of the Law are both so vital. The social statement expresses that “Promiscuity and sexual activity without a spirit of mutuality and commitment are sinful because of their destructive consequences for individuals, relationships, and the community.” Logically would it not then follow that promiscuity and sexual activity entered into with a spirit of mutuality and commitment would not be sinful because the spirit of mutuality and commitment would remove the destructive consequences?

Beyond the issue of homosexuality, many heterosexuals embrace and celebrate being “swingers" or "playing the field" often defending that their actions are entered into with a spirit of mutuality and commitment. If we ignore or discount the biblical injunctions forbidding such behavior, how can we argue against such behavior?

And there's the rub. Promiscuity is sin because God forbids it, without regard to the “spirit” with which the sinner enters into such activity.

Throughout the document, ‘trust’ is listed as the paramount value in determining what is right. Here's a direct quote: “Central to our vocation in relation to human sexuality, is the building and protection of trust in relationships.” I would argue that the fundamental basis of trust in human relationships is our trust in our relationship with God. The basis of that trust in God derives from God's revelation, from God's Word. To establish a basis for trust on another other foundation is to put the wisdom of man ahead of the wisdom of God.

Before You Pack Your Bags and Leave

Given the recent actions taken within the denomination I serve, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA), many have asked, “How can and why should a church remain a part of this denomination?” Similar questions have been and continued to be raised in my denomination of origin, the Presbyterian Church of the United States of America (PCUSA). As the cultural winds of change persist in blowing through one denomination and into the next, there are churches and individuals packing their bags and looking to leave for greener pastures. Some hope to create a smaller offshoot of their denomination. Others aim to find some other gathering of Christians that they can affiliate with.

At some point in the future, the church I pastor, Grace Lutheran may pursue a similar course of action--but not now. For as troubling as these recent decisions by our denomination are, I believe that the disunity of the church is just as grave a sin any other. Scripture attests and we affirm that there is one faith, one body, one holy, catholic (universal) church called into existence and sustained by God in Jesus Christ. The splintering of the church is the tragic legacy of our Protestant heritage.

Lutherans as well as other children of the Protestant Reformation would do well to remember that in our story Martin Luther never sought to leave the Roman Catholic Church. Even in the face of great abuses of power and huge differences in understandings of Scripture, Luther did not deem it his prerogative to leave the church. He believed God’s call for him was to keep talking and praying so as to be a means of reform from within. Ultimately, Luther didn’t end the conversation—the Catholic Church did.

Like Luther, we can’t give up on the conversation or the prayers for the branch of the church that we are a part of. Shopping around for another church is not a solution. It is a romantic notion to think that there is a more perfect church out there. Every one has its own share of problems.

In the end, where are you going to go? You can get away from the ugly reality of Lutherans, Episcopalians, Presbyterians but you cannot escape from the bride of Christ. She is often beautiful but she can be a whore. She is often unfaithful but she is forever betrothed to the one who has called her, to the one who will redeem her—the groom, Jesus Christ. As with any other marriage, divorce is never to be initiated or desired as an option but should come as a last and final resort.

 Prayer remains our greatest asset in these times. Pray unceasingly for our denomination, for our church and for the world we are called to serve. Let us also hold fast to the counsel of the very Scriptures we seek to honor and protect:

"Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." -2 Corinthians 4:16-18

As for me and my house, as long as the ELCA affirms the right of individual congregations to be “bound by their conscience,” Grace will continue to operate in accordance with her convictions as to Scripture. When and if this freedom is in jeopardy from within the ELCA, we will regretfully consider other options. Until then I stand with my brother Martin Luther convinced that our best means of fostering change, of bringing reform, is from within.

Sexuality and the Church

I am pastor in the midst of an ecclesiastical quagmire.

As many of you know, I am a Presbyterian (PCUSA) pastor serving a Lutheran congregation (ELCA). While my denomination of origin remains unresolved as to how it will navigate the cultural, ethical and theological tensions raised by the questions of sexuality and the church, my denomination of call has made its decision.

It is a decision that is not surprising and yet controversial. It is a decision to agree to disagree, a decision to try and ignore the elephant in the room even though the elephant makes it impossible to know the way in or out.

Last week the elected representatives, both lay people and ordained pastors, from congregations throughout the United States gathered together in Minneapolis to pray and discern God’s will for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). Here is a summary of what happened:

1. The assembly approved a social statement, which is a declaration of belief on human sexuality, including but by no means limited to homosexuality. Sexual harassment, commercial sexual exploitation and slavery and the AIDS pandemic were other issues also discussed in the statement. Here is a link to the social statement: http://www.elca.org/What-We-Believe/Social-Issues/Social-Statements-in-Process/JTF-Human-Sexuality.aspx

2. The assembly agreed: “that the ELCA commit itself to finding a way for people in such publicly accountable, lifelong, monogamous, same-gender relationships to serve as rostered (a.k.a. ordained) leaders of this church.” 

3. The assembly agreed: “that the ELCA commit itself to finding ways to allow congregations that choose to do so to recognize, support, and hold publicly accountable life-long, monogamous, same-gender relationships.” 

4. The assembly agreed to “respect the bound consciences of all,” thus allowing those willing to agree to disagree to remain united under one organization.

5. Lastly, the assembly allowed for individual churches to be flexible in their implementation of the previous resolutions while directing formal changes that needed to be made to implement the previous agreements. 

What does all this mean? In essence, the denomination I serve has implemented what might be called a “local option.” As a whole, the ELCA will not exclude anyone who is in a “life-long, monogamous” relationship from being called as a pastor—including gays and lesbians. However, individual congregations within the ELCA that believe that homosexuality is sin do not have to embrace same gender unions as well as calling pastors in such relationships.

With these changes the ELCA is seeking to allow the church to agree to disagree in our reading of Scripture as well as how to live out the Scriptures. This is an unrealistic expectation since our shared understanding of the Scriptures is the core basis of our affiliation as a denomination. Our theology is the basis of our identity and what holds us together as Lutherans or Presbyterians.

“Live and let live.” “Agree to disagree.” “To each his own.” These are proverbs of old that remain very contemporary. While these adages sound great in theory, they prove to be most difficult to put into practice. Pithy sayings do not a viable solution make. While they appear to offer wisdom and hope, they sacrifice the very building blocks of relationship and community: conflict, accountability and dialogue. It is analogous to a married couple that is having problems choosing to look the other way or to just not talk about the issues that keep them at odds.  

Don’t get me wrong. We’ve been having this conflict over sexuality for a LONG time in the church. No one would love to move on from this issue more than I would. But moving on by not talking anymore, moving on by looking the other way, isn’t moving on at all. All we are doing, like that married couple having problems, is burying something—something toxic, something unstable, something that will eventually seep to the surface or worse, explode from within.

There is no reason to stop talking. At the end of the day, our situation as the church is not altogether bleak and hopeless. We can trust that God will create movements for renewal and reform, as he has always done in the past. We have his promise that the gates of hell will not prevail against the church. Ordinary people, sinners and saints both, like you and I, still have the gift of an extraordinary message. It is a message of the life, death and rising of Jesus and that all who believe in him share in the healing, the hope and the salvation of the Kingdom he brings.

It is because of that Gospel—that good news—that we cannot afford to agree to disagree. The stakes of life and death are too high. The riches of grace that is ours in Jesus is too costly to be converted into the tawdriness of tolerance. The unconditional love we have received in Christ is worth far more than conditional niceties of political correctness.

For the sake of the Kingdom, I take the risk of stating the following convictions:

I believe that the possibility for a full and healthy sexual relationship exists only within the confines of the covenant of marriage between one man and one woman. 

I believe that Scripture clearly defines homosexuality as a sin, contrary to God’s creative design and intent and thus are a reflection of our broken humanity.

I believe that those who are called to serve in leadership in the church are to aspire to live a life in obedience to  Scripture, in accountability to the church body and repentant of any self-acknowledged practice defined as sin.

However, I believe homosexuality, like all sexual brokenness is but one of many manifestations of the tragic nature of our humanity. I do not elevate sexual sin above other sins and I affirm God’s forgiveness of all sins in Jesus Christ.

Furthermore, I believe in the sanctity, dignity and defense of all human life, no matter what gender or sexual orientation. We have a responsibility to be good and proactive stewards of the peace, wellbeing, shelter, nurture and care of all persons—particularly those with whom we disagree.

For the sake of the Kingdom, I remain open to listening and talking with those who read the Scriptures differently. Let the dialogue continue...

 

 

Resurrection Ripples...

 
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
-T. S. Eliot, “Little Giddings” from Four Quartets

Have you ever experienced déjà-vu?

You know what I mean, the experience of thinking that a situation that you find yourself in has occurred before? It is that moment when familiarity and uncertainty collide. Where you are is a place that feels both old and new at the same time. At first glance, that is what some of the disciples are going through at the start of the 21st chapter of John.

When six of the disciples decide to join Peter on a spontaneous fishing trip, their intent seems to be passing the time. Jesus told them to wait for him in Galilee. They’ve had two encounters with the risen Christ already. Who knows if there will be a third or a fourth visit? Jesus assured them that there was more to come but when would it arrive? When would Jesus appear again? What was next for them?

Time passes faster and waiting gets easier when you go back to something familiar.  Together they went back to the life they had left and a trade that they had spent most of their lives learning and mastering—fishing. They returned to their past, to a time before Jesus called them to follow him. Where they ended up was not where they expected but was nonetheless a place with which they were very familiar.

Technically the definition of déjà-vu is “the illusion of having already experienced something actually being experienced for the first time.” For the disciples, what happened that morning by the shore of Galilee was no illusion. And as night gave way to dawn, it was not the first time they experienced such an encounter together.

Night fishing. Empty net. Been there, done that. A voice from the shore tells you to recast just one more time. At the sun breaks through the horizon, you make the catch of the day—the kind of haul that threatens to sink your boat and burst your nets. We’ve heard that one before.

As you labor to bring the weight of your bounty to the beach, you believe that you are the founder of the morning’s feast. But the sight of a charcoal fire and the smell of broiled fish knock you to your senses. Loaves and fish. This reminds us of something. And then that same voice from the shore calls out “Bring what you have but breakfast has already been prepared!” All of this--it feels like the first time but it’s different even as it is familiar.

Encountering the dead man walking is like that. You’ve seen Jesus before, you recognize him, but all the same you want to ask, “Who are you?” You get so fixated on how different he is that you miss what is really going on—Jesus hasn’t changed, Jesus is changing you.

Resurrection life is like that. We become so engaged in the day-to-day rhythm of our lives that we barely notice what happens in the brief transition from night to dawn—when the death gives way to life, when the extraordinary breaking through the ordinary. Living a post-Easter existence means being reoriented by the presence of the risen Christ. It is having our senses heightened to the ripples of grace that are cascading into the smaller moments of our existence. It is realizing that our nets are empty until God fills them, that what we bring before Jesus isn’t something he is lacking but something that he’s already provided. It is answering the invitation to join a meal that has already been prepared and a table that has already been set.

The Benefit of the Doubt

Father Brendan Flynn: “You haven't the slightest proof of anything!”

Sister Aloysius Beauvier: “But I have my certainty…”

This series of quotes is from the recent movie “Doubt.” Based on a Tony and Pulitzer Prize award winning play, “Doubt” centers around the conflict between the principal of a Catholic school, Sister Aloysius, and the new priest assigned to the parish, Father Flynn. Specifically, they are at odds over the truth about what happened to a student in the school. More broadly though, their disagreement is about old and new, the status quo and change, conviction and uncertainty.

The presence of doubt in a world of certainty is part of the human condition. When confronted by the witness of his fellow disciples about the resurrection of Jesus, Thomas had his doubts (John 20:24-30). He insisted upon having physical proof—the ability to not only see but also touch the wounds of his crucified master. Thomas got more than he bargained for—an encounter with the living Christ, a Spirit-filled confession of faith and a label that has stuck with him ever since—Doubting Thomas.

Poor Thomas. How would you like to become a cliché, a nickname associated with every person with who persists in being a skeptic? Thomas doubted. Don’t be like Thomas. Doubt is bad. Belief is good.

We often champion giving each other the benefit of the doubt. We recognize and protect another person’s uncertainty--his or her need for more information. There is perceived advantage in not rushing to judgment. Suspending belief for the sake of more investigation is a sign of prudence, isn’t it?

Why then doesn’t Thomas get the benefit of the doubt?

Interestingly, Thomas does not get the short shrift outside the church. For outsiders to the faith, for skeptics and those disenfranchised from the church alike, Thomas is a breath of fresh air. Thomas represents the permission to question, to have reservations and to remain uncertain. Maybe, just maybe, the more pointed question that Thomas’ story draws out for us is this, why is there no benefit for doubt in the church?

We in the Christian community pride ourselves on writing and signing faith statements as a basis for membership and even employment within the church. Much of our evangelism is built on the principle of evidence that demands a verdict. Belief in God, belief in the risen Jesus, belief in the presence of the Holy Spirit is often reduced to small, simplistic equations.

We rarely if ever, invite let alone provide space for doubt. Can you imagine putting an addendum on a faith statement for listing the doubts of the community? Much of popular Christian apologetics offers no quarter for skepticism. Like the other disciples, we tell the Thomases in our lives, “We have seen the Lord!” The proofs, we argue, are obvious, all one has to do is accept and believe. We frown disapprovingly as Thomas turns to us and says “I have my reservations, my doubts. I need to see more.”

Such unbelief is very unattractive to many of us. Skepticism carries negative connotations within the body of Christ but are doubt and unbelief the same thing?
Is Jesus rebuking Thomas when he says “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” or is there something more to his words?

Maybe we need to listen a little more closely to the dead man who is walking among us--the risen Jesus Christ. I don't perceive a rebuke in his words, I perceive a beatitude--a word of blessing. Jesus blesses those who will wrestle with doubt, who will not have the point of contact that Thomas does. They will not be rebuked for their doubts, they will be blessed with belief in the midst of their doubts.

Resurrection life is not divorced from doubt, it emerges from out of uncertainty. This world of skepticism that we live in, this world that many of us lament over, is just the kind of world that God is looking for—it is just the kind of world that Jesus brings resurrection life out of. Belief is not a human effort, it is a response to a divine gift. Belief is not a possibility apart from the revelation of God in the risen Christ.

Blessed are those who realize that there is not as much distance between their certainties and their doubts as they might have expected. Blessed are those who discover that the burden of proof is a heavier weight to carry than the benefit of doubt. Blessed are those who when confronted by the living Jesus, are empowered to confess with Thomas, even in the midst of their skepticism, "My Lord and My God!"

Dead Man Walking...

 No one expected Jesus to be resurrected. Death was always a possibility—not a likely one if he was the Messiah—but no one expected the resurrection of Jesus. If you read the Gospels carefully you’ll notice two repeated comments that support this assertion. Fear is the consistent reaction of the disciples. Alarmed. Startled and frightened. They were not prepared for a dead man walking…

The second comment made by every Gospel writer except for John is that Jesus had to open their minds so that they could understand what had happened to him. Jesus had to take the disciples through the Scriptures so that they could understand the meaning of the resurrection. What had happened to Jesus and its significance were not self-evident—it defied conventional wisdom and yes, even religious belief.

We in the Christian community try to paint the resurrection of Jesus as such an obvious expectation of the Scriptures. No one saw it coming in Jesus’ day and time but everyone ought to read the Bible and get it right away. We portray the implications of Jesus’ resurrection as being so easy not only to accept but also to surrender one’s life before. No one who was there knew what to make of Jesus’ resurrection—how it changed their own lives, let alone the world. But everyone should understand how things are different, how we are different because of the empty tomb, how the world is different.

The boilerplate formula looks something like this:

Jesus’ resurrection = Jesus went to heaven = believe in Jesus = you’ll go to heaven.

Unfortunately this formula isn’t as self-evident in the Scriptures as one might think. More importantly, this formula falls way short of encompassing what Jesus commanded his disciples to witness to with their lives. This formula doesn’t even come close to what the Holy Spirit inspired the early church to proclaim by their existence.

We need to let go of slogans and formulas and spend some time reflecting on the dead man who is walking among us. We ought to listen and talk to the risen Christ rather than trying to resurrect the Church through the latest marketing campaign or evangelistic crusade. To know the risen Jesus is to know that resurrection life isn’t merely a future expectation, it is a present reality with implications for the future. Following the resurrected Christ is more than keeping one’s eye on heaven, it is witnessing and participating in the intersection of heaven and earth now. It is living into the future as it breaks into the present.

Living between the times has never been easy. Like all births, the birth of a new creation can be overwhelming---not always what you expect or what you are ready for. Nothing can be more frightening than when our formulas for life break down or when our frameworks for perceiving the world become too small. Old habits, old patterns, old lives—all die hard. Living by resurrection can be more challenging than we realize. Running scared is often more tempting than facing our fear.

We are being called to embrace our fear of a new creation rather than running scared from the promise of resurrection life. We are being challenged to discover what the risen Jesus reveals and the Holy Spirit continually affirms even now. Living the resurrection doesn’t begin tomorrow and it isn’t the life of tomorrow—
resurrection life begins today.

Resurrection Reality...

Today we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ!
Today is the vindication of the suffering love of a crucified God!
Today is our assurance that today is not the end of the story---it is only the beginning!
Today is the beginning of a new heavens and a new earth!
Today is Easter Sunday!

"Seven Stanzas at Easter"
by John Updike

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.

The Space Inbetween: A Reflection For Holy Saturday

Today is awkward. It is the day after. Yesterday Jesus was mocked, killed, nailed to a cross of wood, and left to die like a common criminal – while we watched. The evidence of our crime, of our sinful humanity is a broken and lifeless body. Our fingerprints are all over it. It is the day of desolation. Yesterday as nails pounded flesh in wood, as each breath became more labored, as a heart stop beating, all our dreams were shattered. The hopes we once had have been wrapped in linen, their memory lingers in the perfume and spices we have prepared.

The day after death. God is dead and yet we live. Without God, we have become the living dead. Living only to wait for death. As we roll the stone over the tomb of Jesus, we feel the weight of the stone before our own future. Our days are numbered. Our time is short. Holy Saturday, Easter Eve – the day has an empty feel about it.

Jesus’ absence from this physical space today confronts us directly.  It forces us to ask ourselves many questions as we seek to discern God’s will for us and struggle on with life’s uncertainties. On this day, we consider the possibility that our faith can lose its meaning, that we can “lose Christ” through our own faulty choices.  Today, we realize our limits, the questions for which we do not have an answer, the problems for which we have no solution. Here is the aftermath we finally stop and reflect on the meaning of it all.

A bloody cross. A lifeless body. The stillness of death. We are spent. He has paid it all but we are spent. He has carried the weight of our anger and our sorrow. He has confined himself to the limits of our logic and creativity. We have exhausted all possibilities. We have put it all on him. We have nailed all of it to the cross. And we have nothing left.

We have nothing left—but to wait. Today is the Sabbath. There is no work to be done. There is only waiting. We hope in the face of hopelessness. We long for meaning before that which appears to be meaningless. God is dead. His eyes are closed. He is not breathing. He is not here. Today is the Sabbath. We rest even though we feel restless.

We sit suspended between the tragedy of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter Sunday. We rest in the crucible of faith. In the midst of our puzzlement, we believe that today is a pregnant pause and not an epilogue. We hope because we dare to believe that the death of God in Jesus Christ, God’s revelation of his uncompromising solidarity with us is the most certain evidence that all is not lost, that there is more to the story. We may have nothing left but the riches of God’s grace are inexhaustible. We may not have an answer but the foolishness of God is wiser than our greatest wisdom.

And so we wait. We wait through the failure of Friday, through the silence of Saturday, for the answer of Sunday. We are right where God wants us to be--with nothing left to lose. Maybe now that we’ve lost everything we can gain a full understanding of all that Jesus truly was, of all that life and death truly meant. Maybe now that God has died for us—the idol we try to make God into, maybe now we can perceive the God who is infinitely greater and more than we dare allow God to be. Maybe now that we’ve lost our voice, now that all the screaming and shouting is over, the demands for proof, we can hear God in the whisper of an empty tomb, we will see God in the risen Christ.

We close with the verse of T. S. Eliot:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing…

In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
    You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
    You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
    You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
    You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

-Excerpt from Four Quartets, “East Coker”

Getting Back To The Heart Of Worship

What is worship? Why does it matter?

Where’s the line between true worship of God and false worship—idolatry?

How does liturgy, style and preference factor into how we worship God?

These are the questions that I've been wrestling with through the scriptures lately.

For most of us, worship is a noun. Some people tend to think and speak of worship as referring only to that portion of the service when we have extended singing. Most of us define worship in light of our personal preferences or emotional responses to the elements meant to lead us into worship. If my preference, my evaluation and my critique are the limits of what defines worship then worship becomes something that is done for me, rather than something that is done for God.

Ironically, worship is primarily a verb – something that we do! As a word, “worship” has its origins in Old English. The original word essentially was “worth-ship”. Worship is about affording worth or value to something or someone. The object of our worship is worth or deserving of our focus, our adoration and our allegiance. In essence, when we worship we are responding to the worth or value of that which
holds our attention.

But worship is more than this--the act of worship is ultimately an act of submission. When we worship something or someone we are surrendering before that object or person. We are bowing down or lowering our will and our value before the will and value of that object or person. As Christians, our worship is a response to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ, to the grace, love and truth of the Gospel. Worship is about our engagement with this God, our participation in this Gospel.

While there can be no denying that we all have various tastes in terms of how we worship, we must not allow those preferences to obstruct or deny the object and subject of our worship, which is the Triune God. Liturgy (“the work of the people”) is a long-standing word in the vocabulary of the Church. The notion of liturgy reminds us that our worship is response to God’s revelation and not a product of our own initiative. As a concept, liturgy affirms that we have to taught how to worship by God—just as our lives are ordered by God, so is our worship.

Our exploration of the experience and meaning of worship has implications that reverberate beyond what we do together on Sundays. Each and every day we live our lives before the face of God. We seek to live in response to God's grace--to live in Jesus Christ ought of the conviction that through the Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ lives in us. The larger message therefore that I believe that God has for us is that worship isn’t one of things that we do as Christians.

As followers of Jesus, worship is to be our way of life, of engaging God, each other and the world. We are made for worship. We exist first and foremost as worshipers. We are created for worship—to give glory to that which is greater than ourselves, to the one who created us. We are compelled to worship in order to find wholeness, to be complete as human beings. Worship then ought to shape and inform how we approach our lives out in the world between the Sundays.

Regular church attendance does not make us worshipers, just as getting up in the morning doesn’t mean that we really face the day and live the life we have been given. The questions we ought to ask ourselves every weekend at church are the same questions that we ought to ask ourselves every day of our lives.

“Did you worship while you were there—in the time that was given to you?”
“Did you seek to encounter God or to just be part of a gathering—to observe but not participate?”

When A Dead-End Becomes A New Beginning...

Have you ever felt cornered by the circumstances of your life?

You had such great plans. You had it all worked out. Each detail. Each step. You knew where you were going and you were almost there. And then, something unexpected happens—something you didn’t anticipate, something you couldn’t foresee. All your plans take a major left turn and you find yourself seemingly heading straight into a dead-end.

There’s no time to wait. You’re going to crash into a wall. You’re convinced that your life is going to fall apart unless you run in the opposite direction out of harm’s way. The fear of the unknown convinces you to act now. There’s no time to wait.

Joseph, the young man betrothed to Mary, the would-be adopted father of her child, can relate. He never speaks a word in the entirety of the Gospel story but one can guess what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Where did it all go wrong? How did it come to this? His life and reputation are about to be ruined by the actions of the young maid to whom he bound himself in the covenant of marriage. Shame, dishonor and ridicule are about to come upon him.

Mary is obviously pregnant. The child she is carrying is obviously not his. To marry her would be to admit that he played a part or at the very least affirmed her adultery, her breaking of the Law of Moses. To divorce Mary is to sentence the girl that he loves, the person he has committed his life to, to alienation, to disgrace and ultimately, death. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Joseph looks to exit the scene quietly, to run away and not look back.

But then an angel comes to Joseph in a dream. God’s message is simple and direct: don’t be afraid, wait and believe. Don’t be afraid that you don’t understand what God is up to. Wait to see how God is fulfilling what he promised a long time ago. Believe that what seems like a dead end in your life is really God’s new beginning. In other words, God says, “Trust me.”

With Christmas less than a week away, is your life on or off schedule? Are you struggling to understand God’s will and purpose in the circumstances of your life? Are you being tempted to cut your losses and run even as God is calling you to stand fast and trust in what you cannot see?

The season of Advent dares us to wait and to believe with Joseph. In the time we are given let us face our fears and confront the perceived dead ends in our lives. Together may we find that Joseph’s dream of God’s promise is our dream too. Together may we learn as Joseph did that in Jesus Christ, the dream becomes a reality. 

Hearing the Story of Advent...

Have you ever heard or read a story so many times that you think you know everything about it? You can recite it from memory. You can picture all of the details in your mind’s eye. The continuing appeal of the story is found in the nostalgia of remembering it, of replaying the events in your mind. As a means of revealing something new or teaching you something, the power of the narrative is long gone and the story becomes simply an event.

For many of us, part of the difficulty of waiting for Christmas to come is that we are too familiar with the story of Advent. “We know how it all ends,” we think, “so why the delay? Let’s get on with it!” But maybe part of the reason we have to wait is so that we might hear the story afresh.

After all, the basic contours of the story are so ingrained in our consciousness through various carols, cards and decorations that it is all too easy to skim over the details. Even those who don’t believe this Jesus stuff actually happened know the facts of the Christmas story. It’s a rare Scrooge indeed whose heart isn’t moved by the sentiment of the Christmas message—of Emmanuel, of God with us.

But does the story of Advent and Christmas have any relevance to our lives today?

Is there more to the story than we realized or remember?

Has the event of Christmas eclipsed the story of Advent as we prepare to celebrate?

When Mary received the announcement of God’s favor and presence, she pondered the meaning of such news. As God’s story of salvation and redemption continued to unfold in the midst of the story of her own life, through the pregnancy and birth of a son, she continued to reflect on the significance of it all. For Mary, time was a grace that enabled her to ponder the message proclaimed through God’s story. It was in the waiting that Mary found the space to reflect upon what such news meant for her life, the life of her son and the world at large.

As we draw closer to Christmas, may we wait and ponder with Mary. Let us hear afresh her story as we draw closer to Christmas. Together may we discover that there is more to her than just the reverent figure aglow in blue and white that adorns our manger scene. Together may we find that we have more in common with Mary than we dared realize, that her story is our story too.

What Are You Waiting For?

Advent means “arrival” or “coming,”--Christ coming into the world, coming into our lives.  Advent then is a season of waiting - waiting for the coming of our Lord, waiting for the arrival of God’s promise to be Emmanuel, to be God with us.

Like it or not, most of us spend a lot of time waiting. We wait for a parking space. We wait in lines at stores. We wait for someone to return our call. We wait for friends and family to notice a change in our lives.

Sometimes waiting is all we can do, and our hearts become heavy from all the waiting. We wait for answers to our deepest questions; we wait for God to do something about a concern that we have.

And yet, waiting is an essential part of faith. In the Gospel of Luke we read that Zechariah and Elizabeth were engaged in a particular kind of waiting. They had been waiting for the blessing of being able to conceive a child together. They were still waiting for the fulfillment of God’s promise to change the world.

What are you waiting for?  What are you anticipating? What are you hoping for?
These questions come to us most poignantly during the season of Advent.

Sometimes we can be waiting so long or waiting with such intensity that we actually fail to see the arrival of what we have been waiting for. Our preoccupations, our fears and our perspective of life can often lead to our words eclipsing the very revelation of God’s Word. So it was for Zechariah. In response, God thrust Zechariah into a prolonged period of silence—an act of judgment to be sure but also a gift of grace.

As we continue to share the journey of Advent, may we enter into the waiting and the silence of Zechariah and Elizabeth. Together with them we will wait and see the Word of God come to fulfillment at the proper time.

Let us be alert to the coming of Christ long ago, here and now and one final time when this world as we know it, comes to an end. May we find hope in our waiting and wisdom in the silence. May we live in anticipation for the light that is about to break forth!

A New Year Begins With Waiting...

 
And so the first day of a new year is upon us…

For the rest of the world, New Year’s Day is still a month away but for the Church, a new year dawns with the first day of Advent. Unlike the later observance of New Year’s, with its indulgence in celebration and preoccupation with making resolutions, the season of Advent heralds the new year by waiting. We begin a new cycle of time not by doing, not by resolving, not by celebrating but by waiting, by remembering, by anticipating.

We remember the story that gives us life and that gives life meaning. Even though we know the outcome of this story; there is still revelation and wonder to be shared in its unfolding. We anticipate the end even as we remember the beginning. Lighting a candle each week, we pause and wait for the return of the King even as we joyfully recall the miracle of his birth. We wait in the darkness without fear as we remember the blood, the pain and the suffering woven into the tapestry of the story of the Christ child. We wait in the darkness without fear because we anticipate the birth of hope, the arrival of the Light that is greater than the darkness. The new year is pregnant with possibility because the Word waits to be spoken yet again: Emmanuel, God with us.  

So are you waiting for Advent or hurrying towards Christmas?

Are you embracing the possibilities of a new season of time or spinning through an old cycle of habits and expectations?

Are we preparing for a holy day, the day we remember who was once born among us, the day we anticipate who will one day return or are we taking control of the holiday, planning and scheduling so much that we leave no space for waiting?

We begin a new year in the story of Advent, waiting with those who expected the coming of the Messiah. Together over the next few weeks we will wait with them in their patience, their humility, and their expectant hope. Together we will remember when new possibility broke into the cosmos as creation became a fitting vehicle for God's redemptive work, as God the Word became human in Jesus Christ.

Through prayer, worship, sacrament, and the signs and symbols of Advent, another year begins, the Gospel is proclaimed anew and the creation draws ever closer to its final redemption in Jesus Christ. As we remember what has been, let us also anticipate what will be, as we cry out “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”

Fear Not: It's All Hallows Eve!

Many Christians today view the celebration of Halloween from a position of staunch defiance or a guilty pleasure. Some argue that it is not appropriate to glorify fear and fixate on death. Others stress that it’s just a harmless and nostalgic observance, a chance to dress up, to share candy and to mark the arrival of the fall. Certainly there can be excess at Halloween, any celebration can be marred by over-indulgence, but in and of itself the observance has value, particularly in the context of the holy day with which it shares a date on calendar.

While many of the popular Halloween customs date back to the pre-Christian Druids of Ireland and Britain, the name and the date of Halloween come from the story of the Church. October 31st is All Hallows Eve or All Saints Day—the Church’s memorial day as we remember those who have gone before in the faith of Jesus Christ. Interestingly enough, Halloween and All Saints Day have much more in common than a name and a date.

Both celebrations dare to confront the reality of evil and death in this world. Both celebrations are concerned with the hope of life beyond the grave. Both celebrations choose to laugh in the face of death and fear. Halloween seeks to face our fears and laugh at them through parody and mischievous humor. All Saints names our fears and points to the answer to them on an empty cross that mocks the sting of death.

Whereas Halloween affords us a healthy reminder not to deny death, as we adults are often want to do, All Saints reminds us that we do not have to fear death. On Halloween, we acknowledge that there are monsters in the closet, but All Saints takes us further in believing that by grace we can be set free from them. Christ has conquered the powers of darkness and revealed the old gods, the old monsters to be nothing. We remember and celebrate this, the Gospel, through the testimony of the lives of those believers who have gone before us. Their journey of faith assures us in our own time that where once adults shuddered in fear and tried to deny death, now even children can laugh, playfully dress up and gather candy in triumphant joy.

As we celebrate the feast of All Saints, let us hear again the Gospel that brings the dead back to life. Let us remember that it ain't no trick as we relish the treat that in Jesus Christ--we don’t have to be afraid anymore!

God And The Question of Why?

It’s a difficult time for the community I serve here in Normandy Park, Washington. In a week’s time, we have been forced to confront the fragility of life as well as the violation of death both in its slow, menacing approach and in its sudden and shocking intrusion. In the aftermath of it, we are left with many questions, countless thoughts and the need to talk without knowing exactly what to say. For many of us, the life that we often take for granted becomes more precious, more of a gift that we ever acknowledged before. For others, the sting of such loss awakens old wounds and latent fears of staring into the shadow of death. It is in moments like these that we believe and who we believe in become most clear.

Many of the questions in the face of such loss cannot be answered, particularly the biggest question of all, “Why?” We’ll never know why. Nonetheless, it is okay to ask questions which we cannot answer. Oftentimes it is in facing the questions that we cannot answer, that the healing begins. And our questions while they may acknowledge a lack of understanding, do not betray a lack of faith in God. God meets us in the questions we cannot answer. God sits with us even in the doubts we confess about him.

If we ask the question, “Where, where was God in all this?” we can be assured that God was in the suffering body of Jesus side by side with those we lost. God grieves with all of us over the ambiguity and perversion of his creation—of diseases like cancer and the imperfection of planes. And he does so not from a distance but from the painful and incomprehensible intimacy of the cross. The witness of Jesus on the cross, of God experiencing profound suffering on the cross, is all we need to know that God was with our loved ones through it all—even as God sits with us now in our own grief.

And yet our hope in the midst of it all, that which builds a bridge between the fragility of life and violation of death, is more than just a suffering God. We believe, we cling to a God who in Jesus Christ promises resurrection. Ours is a saving faith, ours is a story that doesn’t end with a suffering body on the cross, doesn’t end with death. We know that three days after Jesus suffered and died, he rose from the dead, he walked out of his tomb, opening the way to life beyond suffering, beyond death for all. Our hope rests upon the God of resurrection, the God made known in Jesus Christ. In him, we are assured that suffering and death do not now and will not ever have the final word in our life or in the life of those departed from us.

Through the tears and pain of absence, we look forward to an eternal glory beyond our momentary troubles, beyond the shadow of death. The glory we cling to, that enables us not simply to survive but to keep on living is God’s assurance that all that we have lost will be redeemed; all that has been broken will be made new.  Therefore, as we grieve together over those we have lost and wrestle with our questions as to why and what will be, let us also abide in the one whose greatest desire is for our redemption. Let us rest in the presence of Jesus who gave his own life to ensure that the eternal possibility of our lives would be realized before his Father. Let us believe that his victory over death is our victory over death and therefore perceive that we are facing not a dead-end but a transition. Those we have been forced to let go off, God holds eternally in the clasp of his hands. Their names, their faces, their hopes, sorrows and joys will never be forsaken—and neither will ours. Their pilgrimage of faith continues and one day, our paths will again cross in eternity.

Life in the Fast Lane...

I've challenged and encouraged our faith community to engage the three classic spiritual disciplines that have been associated with Lent: prayer, fasting and almsgiving (helping those in need). The response thus far has been fairly positive. Many people are stepping out in faith and learning more about some ancient practices of the church.

There have been a couple of questions along the way. I thought I'd share one of the most common ones as a means to reflect on the spiritual disciplines in general and fasting in particular. The question is "I decided not to give anything up for Lent. Is that bad? Why should I bother?"

Here are my thoughts...

When someone speaks of not giving up something for Lent, I assume that he/she is referring to fasting. Fasting is one of the spiritual disciplines. It has been practiced throughout early Judaism, in Jesus' day and during much of the church's history.

In the history of the Christian church, spiritual disciplines have been practices, relationships and/or experiences that intend, that are borne out a desire to turn away from sin. Unpacking this a bit, such practices or disciplines were engaged so as to draw closer to the person of the Triune God and to live more deeply out of God’s heart for the world. Each discipline was meant to serve as a tool really, a means for  reflection, self-examination and reorientation specifically in terms of our relationship with God and others.

Like all things in the church, the spiritual disciplines have fallen victim to both incorrect teaching and abusive practice. As a result, many today are turned off by the idea of spiritual disciplines. These practices were never meant to be understood or engaged as a magic formula for becoming like Jesus. They were not designed to earn points with God or a superior status among fellow believers. And the disciplines will not live up to the hype if they are sought as a means of mastering or perfecting the Christian life.

Rightly understood, the spiritual disciplines are a means to learn something about who we are in Christ, who we are becoming in Christ, and about those before us and around us through whom Christ is present in this world. These practices can help us carve out space for the Holy Spirit to speak into our lives. These practices can open us to the rhythm of God’s presence and grace. These practices can promote our relational realignment so that we can better keep company with Jesus.

So then, if fasting is a spiritual discipline, why do we fast? Fasting or giving something up is as much as about the individual as it is about God. We fast because sometimes our appetites and desires can overwhelm us. Sometimes we can take the provision and fulfillment of our needs by God for granted. Fasting or abstaining from a particular food, beverage, media, or habit can enable a person  to confront the nature of his/her attachments. Fasting  helps a person be more aware of his/her triggers in terms of sin; to realize where attachments have become addictions or idols.

The idea is that as we fast, we divert and devote the craving, the energy, the longing for what we desire towards God. We recognize in that moment that all we enjoy and love comes from God--that God is all that we truly need. As we fast we may realize that some of the things that God provides don't point us back to God, they own or control us rather than bringing joy and freedom, they negatively rather than positively impact our relationship with God and with others. And so we pray and seek through God's grace to have those appetites and desires realigned or if need be, to be released from them.

One ought not to fast out of a sense of obligation or guilt. Fasting should derive from one's desire to let go of something in order to grab a deeper hold of God and God’s purposes for our life, our neighbor and our world. Fasting is about realignment. It's about putting us in an orientation or exposing us to an alternative habit so that we more exposed and influenced by the ways of God than we are the ways of sin.

So it is bad when a person chooses not to giving anything up for Lent? Only the individual can answer that question. My response to this question though is to turn the question on its head. Based on a proper understanding of the spiritual disciplines and of fasting in particular, would it have been good for that person to give something up for Lent? If the answer is yes and one chose not to anyway, then yes, it is bad....for that person. Free will sucks, doesn't it?

We should be assured though that one's choice to fast or not to fast is not bad in God's eyes. God wants the best for us. He's not looking to torture anyone through fasting or giving something up. Grace abounds. Fasting is a tool and not a commandment.

In many ways what Jesus said about observing the sabbath (which was a commandment!) applies to the discipline of fasting and all of the spiritual disciplines. Jesus said, "The Sabbath was made for man, man was not made for the Sabbath." Fasting was made for man, man was not made for fasting.

Amen to that!

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

  Today is Ash Wednesday. The beginning of the Lenten journey. Here is the meditation that I shared with our community last night. In many ways it revisiting and expands on some thoughts I had in my very first post on this blog...

Being raised Catholic, I was, of course, very familiar with the tradition of Ash Wednesday. It was a ritual that I never really understood as a child and quickly began to resent as a teenager. Nothing provokes more awkward stares or humiliating snickers than having a crooked cross of ash smeared across your forehead.

It's even worse when you can't really explain to your Jewish friends why it's supposed to be there. Misery loves company though. Growing up on Long Island, New York, there were many fellow Catholics students with whom I found solidarity.

When I came over to "the other side" as a Protestant, the churches that I attended never observed Ash Wednesday. No service. No ashes. No real mention of Lent until Palm Sunday.  My days of sackcloth and ashes (ok, just ashes!) were over---or so I thought. While attending Fuller for my seminary education I was reintroduced to the observance of Ash Wednesday. It was there in an ecumenical setting that I learned the meaning of the practice as well as experienced the significance of the tradition.

 As the initiation of Lent, the 40 days (excluding Sundays) before Easter Sunday, Ash Wednesday recalls the early practice of the 4th century church in marking worshippers’ heads or foreheads with ashes. This act of being branded with ashes was meant as a sign of humility and repentance before God. Ashes also serve as a symbol of lament and mourning amidst the death that sin brings into the world. Configuring the ashes on one's forehead in the sign of the cross served as a reminder of the consequences of sin as atoned for by the sacrificial death of Jesus. Creation, fall and redemption. Life, death, and resurrection. All juxatpositioned in the giving and receiving of ashes. 

 Traditionally, the ashes for Ash Wednesday came from the burning of the palm fronds from the previous year’s Palm Sunday celebration. This tradition was established to again point both our lament and our joy back to Christ’s death on the cross. When Jesus entered Jerusalem the people rejoiced his arrival by waving palm fronds only to demand his death by crucifixion a week later. Note the juxtaposition of lament and joy--they purposed to kill him without realizing that he had come for that very purpose--to die for their sins.

Interestingly the early church did not provide ashes to everyone. Only those believers making a public confession and repentance were able to receive the imposition of ashes. As each year passed, more and more people came forward, identified themselves as sinners and asked to be marked with ashes. Eventually a practice reserved for a select few became a service of worship in which all were called and invited to embrace their brokenness individually and communally. And so the tradition continues today...

 A little later, I will have the privilege of marking your foreheads, the forehead of sinners just like me. Through the repetition of a simple phrase:

 "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, from ashes you have come and to ashes you shall return..."

 I will invoke, you will hear and together we will confront the origin of life and yet the inevitability of death. No doubt it will be a humbling and strange experience for many of us as we look each other in the eyes and face the reality of our own brokenness and the pain of a world drenched in sin. There is much to lament about this world, there is much to confess and let go of in our lives and hearts. Acknowledging fault, turning around, facing death, these are not easy things to do…not in our own strength, not even when we do them together.

 And yet in the same moment, through the tip of my finger dipped in a pasty mixture of ash and oil, I will again and again have the honor of inscribing on your forehead, of your flesh not just the blackness of sin or the darkness of death, but also the assurance of forgiveness, the promise of redemption in the shape of a cross. A benediction will be attached to that simple phrase: "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, from ashes you have come and to ashes you shall return

 ...but in glory. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, go in peace."

I will declare, you will listen and together we will be embraced by the assurance of forgiveness and the promise of wholeness that is ours in Christ. Together we will breathe the freedom that is borne of the grace of suffering. Our eyes will widen, maybe even water, and we will exchange a look of awe as we behold a love that is enfleshed around the brokenness of this world, a love that is willing to be forsaken in order to reclaim the goodness of creation. There is much to rejoice about this world because it is God’s world and therefore it is good—he faced death rather than destroy it. There is much to be reconciled to with each other because we belong to this God and therefore each life is sacred—he forgave us so we must forgive each other. And there is much to hope for because death is not the final word and renewal is God’s calling card—Christ will come again. Seeing goodness, forgiving each other, expecting the best is yet to come, these are not easy things to do either, not in our own strength, not even when we do them together.

But you and I are not alone through this journey of Lent. Though the road ahead for us is unclear, our destination is certain and our leader, our Lord, our Savior, Jesus Christ goes before us and with us each step of the way. And so as the journey of Lent begins once again, let us be assured and encouraged as we travel upon a familiar and yet narrow road and as we follow in the footsteps of the one who authored our life as well as its redemption. On this road we remember our origin as well as our destiny. We confront the agony of our shame and the power of God's grace. Or as Paul once wrote so profoundly..."We are crucified with Christ in order that we might no longer live alone but that Christ might live in and through us." Hallelujah.

On the Eve of the Incarnation

So here we are…on the eve of another celebration of Christmas. The presents are wrapped.

The stockings have been hung by the chimney. The cookies are made. The tree is decorated and the lights are working. Cards have been mailed out. The feast has been planned. Carols have been sung. As this season of Advent draws near its climax, here we are waiting…in the silence.  

In a season marked by expectations as it is by preparations, it is ironic that for many of us the latter has come to eclipse the former. As someone shared with me recently when I asked them, “What are you looking forward to this Christmas?,” they looked befuddled as they responded, “I’ve got so much to do, I haven’t had a moment to spare to actually look forward to anything.” Sadly this person perhaps speaks for us all. We have been so busy preparing for Christmas that we’ve found little time to wait, to truly expect anything on this holy day.

What an odyssey, what a strange journey it has been for us to get this far, to make it here tonight, to reach the heart of Bethlehem. The path we’ve taken to get here is much different than Mary and Joseph’s, but our travel has felt just as long, just as treacherous and just as exhausting as theirs. Thankfully at last, we have reached, with Mary and Joseph, our shelter from the storm, a moment’s peace inside the walls of a stable. Free at last from the chaos of shopping malls and holiday traffic. Victims no more of the never-ending barrage of holiday advertising, of daily specials that are out of stock and long lines in every store and supermarket.

And so here we are, ready to receive the reason for the season, to be reminded of what all the fuss is about, to finally consider the greatest gift that we have been given. And what do we find? What have we heard? A story? A legend? A fable? A myth?
 
Depending on where you’ve come from this night and what your journey to Bethlehem has been like, our answer may vary. After all, each of us is here for different reasons. For some, their presence tonight is borne out of obligation. To keep Mom or Dad happy. To be with the family. Others of us have come following a lingering memory of Christmas’ gone by; being here is a part of the nostalgia, the ritual of the Christmas holiday. Many are present this evening in faith, in the conviction that what we herald this night is not only true but means everything. And then there are those who sit somewhere in between, warmed by the sentiment but uncertain as to the relevance of all it all.

Whatever your reason for coming one more time to Bethlehem, it does not matter. What does matter is that you are here. What matters most of all is what waits for you here in Bethlehem. For what lies in the manger is an invitation. What is born again in the heart of humanity this evening is contrary to all the stress and demands that have filled the days we have spent this season leading up to this moment. Before us in the silence, in the cry of a baby and the hallelujah of angels, is an invitation. Not another obligation. Not another thing to check off our holiday list. Not another tradition to experience. An invitation…to receive something; to receive someone. An invitation to know Immanuel, to know God with us. A invitation to enter into the mystery and majesty of Incarnation, to become acquainted with the character, the mind and the will of God enfleshed in the person of Jesus Christ.

We are invited to look into the eyes of this Jesus and know the depths of divine love, as the God who called creation into being through his word accommodates himself to the limitations of human language and must learn how to speak. We are invited to grasp the hand of this Jesus and feel the indescribable riches of divine grace, as the God who is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega, confines his eternality into the finitude of human flesh and must learn how to crawl before he can walk. We are invited to consider the infinite, eternal, and unfathomable glory of the Creator of all things beheld in the fragility, the vulnerability, the poverty, and the limitations of a human infant.

What lays before us in the musty straw and warm blanket of the manger is an intimate paradox of grace that draws together the poorest of shepherds and the riches of kings together in worship and adoration, that defies the giftedness of the greatest artisans to capture through words, painting, or music, that levels the intellect of the scholar and the common man alike. Nonetheless, let us take a moment to hear the invitation before us as expressed through the unique artistry of a poem.
 
Luci Shaw: “Mary’s Song”

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small hot naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest…
you who have had so far to come.)
Now nearness satisfies
the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so slight it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world. Charmed by doves’ voices,
the whisper of straw, he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes.
he is curtailed who overflowed all the skies,
all years. Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended,
I must see him torn.

 Do we realize the scandal that draws us together tonight, the seeming absurdity upon which all of our revelry is founded? Is it any wonder that so many scoff at this invitation, that some ridicule it and countless others across the globe kneel in awe before the proclamation? Dare we receive this invitation and press on beyond our skepticism, our laughter and our wonder, to ask in the thick of it all, but what if it were true?

What if…the joke wasn’t on us? What if the fable were fact?

What if our celebration meant more than passing the holiday cheer?

What if this night was holy and changed everything?

What if this story was the story, your story, my story, our story?

What if our identity was not wrapped up in the presents we give and get, in the love received or rejected through gifts, in our being labeled as naughty or nice?

What if we were to find ourselves, to discover who we truly are, in the reality of being known by a God who desires us to know him? A God takes the first step, who takes the risk of self-disclosure, the vulnerability of intimacy, who becomes what we are so that we might become what he is? What if it were true?

 What if our destiny was not limited by the ghosts of our Christmas’ past, by the grinches that fester within our own hearts, by the lumps of coal that stain and weigh down the stockings of our lives? What if mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more should die? What if we were to realize that our journey is his journey, that his life becomes our life? What if we didn’t have to find our own way but just had to follow the one who comes before us in Jesus?

What if it were true?

 What if faith were not a blind leap into the darkness but a bold step into the light?

What if hope did not disappoint us but stood before us as something we could rest our lives upon?

What if love could be perfected rather than lost or forsaken? What if love could conquer fear?

What if peace on earth was a promise that would be kept rather than a dream to be wished?

What if you really can go home again? And what if we didn’t have to walk that path alone?

What if we could be carried there along the way by this God known in Jesus, by a God who authors meaning and purpose in every step we take? What if it were true? What if it were true?

 These are questions that fill the silence and holiness of this night. At the end of each question, the invitation still remains. The gift is still given waiting to taken in. The radiant star of Bethlehem continues to shine in the night sky to point the way. Christmas is more than a holiday; it is a holy day that judges our humanity in the very same moment that it begins to redeem it. The truth is, what we perceive as the end of our journey here in Bethlehem, is only a beginning. Ours is a summons to go further. Ours is a call to follow this one born in a manger into the inauguration of a Kingdom, the sacrifice of a cross, the vacancy of tomb, the comfort of the Spirit and the engagement of a bride.

For Christmas is our wedding invitation—to be loved by God, to live into the fullness of our humanity, to be the bride. Here at Bethlehem in the gift of his Son Jesus, God extends to us once more his marriage proposal. Later on, at Jerusalem in the giving of his Son Jesus, God will once again seal the vows of his marriage covenant with us. And one day soon, when we least expect it, proposals and vows come together in an actual wedding feast. The gift and giving of Jesus will be made complete in his return and the marriage of God and humanity will be consummated. The invitation of Christmas is a call to be ready as much as it is to remember. We are to keep an eye on the horizon as much as we look back towards the star.

So here we are on the eve of another Christmas celebration. All our planning, our preparations come to this. For the last 23 days we have bowed before the gods of Christmas, tonight let us humble ourselves before the God of Christmas. For tonight, God invites us to know him and to know ourselves in Jesus Christ. Tonight, God beckons us to follow him and to live into our destiny in Jesus Christ. Tonight we are proposed to, words of love and promise are spoken to us, we are asked to become a bride. Tonight the world begins again as time shifts, history changes, and spiritual realities converge upon our material existence. And before the absurdity of it all, the seeming impossibility, the contradiction, the mystery, we are invited to put behind us “what ifs” for “what is”; we are invited to believe.

Struggling with Exodus 20:5 and Generational Sin...

We've been going through the book of Exodus as a community.  When we arrived at the God's articulation of the Ten Commandments, many people were unsettled and frankly, bothered by the contents of Exodus 20:5 wherein God speaks of visiting the sins of one generation onto the next. Many asked, "How can this be?" "How can God claim to be a loving God who is full of grace and yet operate this way?"

If an effort to answer this question I returned to the scriptures. After much study, reflection and prayer, I offered the following response. As always, my interpretation of this specific passage is in light of the immediate context in which it was given as well as with a consideration of the overall message of the Gospel. I hope that my perspective assists any who read this as they continue to wrestle with the meaning of God’s word.

To begin with, there are four passages in the Old Testament that speak of God "visiting the sins of the fathers unto the third and fourth generations of those who hate God": Exodus 20:5; 34:7; Numbers 14:8; Deuteronomy 5:9. 

Exodus 20:5 reads: "You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.”

Initially, reading or hearing these words can be very disturbing.  Many people have interpreted this passage and the others that echo it, to reveal the inevitability of what is often called generational sin. Generational sin is characterized as curses which are inflicted on one’s children as a result of one’s own sin. Needless to say, this is a hard and troubling concept to embrace. After all, how can children, especially those yet to be born, be held responsible for the choices of their ancestors--for actions which they had no knowledge or ability to influence?

Is this how we ought to understand God’s meaning in this passage? I don’t think so. Given the context of Exodus 20 as well as the context in which these same words are repeated throughout Israel’s journey through the wilderness with God, the point of this declaration is not to communicate the number of generations who will be blessed versus the number who will be cursed, but rather to communicate that God's mercy far exceeds His wrath. What stands out in here is the contrast between God’s judgment and God’s mercy. God’s judgment only extends to the third and fourth generations whereas God’s mercy carries to the thousands of generations. Notice the specific number, exactly how far God’s mercy carries, is never given. This is significant and heightens the contrast.
God’s judgment and mercy go hand-in-hand. Mercy means nothing without judgment. But in God’s economy, judgment is not as valued as mercy—God’s mercy is without measure! It has always been ironic to me that many people cite these verses as evidence of the harshness of God’s wrath while missing the broader impulse towards compassion that God states here. But let’s go further in considering this passage.

If one were to take this passage literally, as prescriptive (i.e. do this and God will do this, do this and God will do that), one would expect to witness evidence of this idea throughout the story of Israel. And yet we find exactly the opposite! Consider David. David killed a man and committed adultery, but we don't read of Solomon doing the same. The outcome of their lives was quite different. Or consider the kings of Judah. King Hezekiah was Judah's most righteous king next to David (2 Kings 18:4), but his son Manasseh was the most evil! Manasseh's grandson, Josiah, however, was a righteous king who brought a revival of worship and faith in God to his people! What happened to the mercies God promised to show on Hezekiah's descendants for thousands of generations? What happened to Manasseh's curse to the third and fourth generation? They do not exist!! Given these examples from Israel’s own story, I would argue that we ought to interpret Exodus 20:5 and passages like it, as descriptive (i.e. revealing or declaring what God is like—the greatness of God’s mercy over and against his judgment) rather than prescriptive (i.e. about time limits on God's mercies and punishments).

Added to this, I would encourage you to review Ezekiel 18:1-4, a text which explicitly counters the idea that God punishes the children for the fathers' sins: “The word of the LORD came to me: "What do you people mean by quoting this proverb about the land of Israel: "'The fathers eat sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge'? "As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, you will no longer quote this proverb in Israel. For everything living soul belongs to me, the father as well as the son--both alike belong to me. The soul who sins is the one who will die." 

The saying that Ezekiel quotes here was a common proverb in Israel. The  proverb's meaning for Israel had come to imply that the judgment they were facing from God was a result of the sins of their parents. No doubt they had been struggling with God’s earlier words as we have! And yet, note how in these verses and the verses that follow this passage how God pointedly declares through Ezekiel that if the son of an evil man does not repeat His father's sins (an idea that implicitly contradicts the fatalistic, generational curse interpretation of the passages that the children are destined to repeat their fathers' sins!) he will not be punished, but only the father. The same goes for the corollary in which a righteous man's son commits evil--the father will be blessed, but the son will be punished. Ezekiel’s conclusion here is worth noting:

Ezekiel summed up the matter by proclaiming:
“The soul who sins is the one who will die. The son will not share the guilt of the father, nor will the father share the guilt of the son. The righteousness of the righteous man will be credited to him, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against him. "But if a wicked man turns away from all the sins he has committed and keeps all my decrees and does what is just and right, he will surely live; he will not die.”

I would argue that this passage, given later in Israel’s history, clearly refutes a fatalistic, generational sin, interpretation!

Notice that punishment mentioned in Exodus 20:5 is for those “who hate God” whereas blessing is given to those “who love God and keep his commandments”. The distinction between persons made here is between those who hate and those who love God, those who don’t keep God’s commandments and those who do. If we were to apply a hyper-literalistic interpretation of this passage from our Christian faith, we’re all in trouble! On one’s own without the initiative of God’s grace in Jesus Christ and through the person of the Holy Spirit, we do not love God and cannot keep his commandments.

After all, part of the way we understand sin is as an inherited disease. We believe that the human will is bent—we are not naturally inclined towards the person or purposes of God. Pride and self-interest reign in the unredeemed life. Hence while we were created good, in the image of God, we do not actualize the goodness of who we are called to be as God’s image bearers. We inherit a twisted and broken humanity from our ancestors and pass it on to those after us. We cannot help but lay claim to that inheritance as we relive the fall of humanity in our own lives through abuse, addiction and neglect. In this sense then, Exodus 20:5 also describes (not prescribes!) a fact of human existence, the vicious cycle of psychologically and socially-influenced negative behavior patterns that tend to be repeated from one generation to the next. There IS a human tendency is for children to repeat the sins of their parents…and this tendency is the consequence of our sin, our separation from God. Such a cycle is not due to God’s mandate, from God cursing humanity so that we must repeat the same sins. Such a cycle is due to God’s allowance of our human freedom, so that we choose to repeat the same sins or if you will, pattern of living apart from God’s person or purposes.

Finally and perhaps most important, we ought to consider what Jesus had to say about all this. Consider Jesus' statement in John 9:1-3:

“As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”

Contrary to the disciples' belief and a common belief at that time, this man was not paying for his ancestors’ sins. In fact, his blindness was unrelated to their sins or his own. By inference, Jesus suggests that the man’s blindness was a byproduct of a broken world, a world tainted by sin, thus it provided a means of revealing God’s desire to heal and redeem the world….it was for the glory of God!

And this brings me to Paul’s reflections in his letter to the Galatian churches. Paul, a Jew who grew up struggling with the same question we are wrestling with, reconciling God’s judgment with God’s mercy, perceived the answer to this question be found in Christ: “All who rely on observing the law are under a curse, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law." Clearly no one is justified before God by the law, because, "The righteous will live by faith." The law is not based on faith; on the contrary, "The man who does these things will live by them." Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.” He redeemed us in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit.” -Galatians 3:10-14

Note “the law” that Paul is referring to includes Exodus 20:5 as well as the rest of the Ten Commandments! Worse case scenario, if my interpretation is wrong, if sin was to be understood as a fatalistic curse, an infection that passes on from generation to generation no matter what, the fact is that Jesus bore our curses by being made a curse for us. If any such thing as a generational curse does exist, that curse over our life has been broken by Christ. But I don’t’ think we need to go here. Instead I read Paul as saying that in Christ we have the ultimate, definitive manifestation of what God articulates in Exodus 20:5. In Christ, we receive both the judgment and the mercy of God. In Christ, the curse, the punishment of sin is received but it is overcome, eclipsed by the forgiveness, the victory of God’s love. We've been going through the book of Exodus as a community.  When we arrived at the God's articulation of the Ten Commandments, many people were unsettled and frankly, bothered by the contents of Exodus 20:5 wherein God speaks of visiting the sins of one generation onto the next. Many asked, "How can this be?" "How can God claim to be a loving God who is full of grace and yet operate this way?"

If an effort to answer this question I returned to the scriptures. After much study, reflection and prayer, I offered the following response. As always, my interpretation of this specific passage is in light of the immediate context in which it was given as well as with a consideration of the overall message of the Gospel. I hope that my perspective assists any who read this as they continue to wrestle with the meaning of God’s word.

To begin with, there are four passages in the Old Testament that speak of God "visiting the sins of the fathers unto the third and fourth generations of those who hate God": Exodus 20:5; 34:7; Numbers 14:8; Deuteronomy 5:9. 

Exodus 20:5 reads: "You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.”

Initially, reading or hearing these words can be very disturbing.  Many people have interpreted this passage and the others that echo it, to reveal the inevitability of what is often called generational sin. Generational sin is characterized as curses which are inflicted on one’s children as a result of one’s own sin. Needless to say, this is a hard and troubling concept to embrace. After all, how can children, especially those yet to be born, be held responsible for the choices of their ancestors--for actions which they had no knowledge or ability to influence?

Is this how we ought to understand God’s meaning in this passage? I don’t think so. Given the context of Exodus 20 as well as the context in which these same words are repeated throughout Israel’s journey through the wilderness with God, the point of this declaration is not to communicate the number of generations who will be blessed versus the number who will be cursed, but rather to communicate that God's mercy far exceeds His wrath. What stands out in here is the contrast between God’s judgment and God’s mercy. God’s judgment only extends to the third and fourth generations whereas God’s mercy carries to the thousands of generations. Notice the specific number, exactly how far God’s mercy carries, is never given. This is significant and heightens the contrast.
God’s judgment and mercy go hand-in-hand. Mercy means nothing without judgment. But in God’s economy, judgment is not as valued as mercy—God’s mercy is without measure! It has always been ironic to me that many people cite these verses as evidence of the harshness of God’s wrath while missing the broader impulse towards compassion that God states here. But let’s go further in considering this passage.

If one were to take this passage literally, as prescriptive (i.e. do this and God will do this, do this and God will do that), one would expect to witness evidence of this idea throughout the story of Israel. And yet we find exactly the opposite! Consider David. David killed a man and committed adultery, but we don't read of Solomon doing the same. The outcome of their lives was quite different. Or consider the kings of Judah. King Hezekiah was Judah's most righteous king next to David (2 Kings 18:4), but his son Manasseh was the most evil! Manasseh's grandson, Josiah, however, was a righteous king who brought a revival of worship and faith in God to his people! What happened to the mercies God promised to show on Hezekiah's descendants for thousands of generations? What happened to Manasseh's curse to the third and fourth generation? They do not exist!! Given these examples from Israel’s own story, I would argue that we ought to interpret Exodus 20:5 and passages like it, as descriptive (i.e. revealing or declaring what God is like—the greatness of God’s mercy over and against his judgment) rather than prescriptive (i.e. about time limits on God's mercies and punishments).

Added to this, I would encourage you to review Ezekiel 18:1-4, a text which explicitly counters the idea that God punishes the children for the fathers' sins: “The word of the LORD came to me: "What do you people mean by quoting this proverb about the land of Israel: "'The fathers eat sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge'? "As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, you will no longer quote this proverb in Israel. For everything living soul belongs to me, the father as well as the son--both alike belong to me. The soul who sins is the one who will die." 

The saying that Ezekiel quotes here was a common proverb in Israel. The  proverb's meaning for Israel had come to imply that the judgment they were facing from God was a result of the sins of their parents. No doubt they had been struggling with God’s earlier words as we have! And yet, note how in these verses and the verses that follow this passage how God pointedly declares through Ezekiel that if the son of an evil man does not repeat His father's sins (an idea that implicitly contradicts the fatalistic, generational curse interpretation of the passages that the children are destined to repeat their fathers' sins!) he will not be punished, but only the father. The same goes for the corollary in which a righteous man's son commits evil--the father will be blessed, but the son will be punished. Ezekiel’s conclusion here is worth noting:

Ezekiel summed up the matter by proclaiming:
“The soul who sins is the one who will die. The son will not share the guilt of the father, nor will the father share the guilt of the son. The righteousness of the righteous man will be credited to him, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against him. "But if a wicked man turns away from all the sins he has committed and keeps all my decrees and does what is just and right, he will surely live; he will not die.”

I would argue that this passage, given later in Israel’s history, clearly refutes a fatalistic, generational sin, interpretation!

Notice that punishment mentioned in Exodus 20:5 is for those “who hate God” whereas blessing is given to those “who love God and keep his commandments”. The distinction between persons made here is between those who hate and those who love God, those who don’t keep God’s commandments and those who do. If we were to apply a hyper-literalistic interpretation of this passage from our Christian faith, we’re all in trouble! On one’s own without the initiative of God’s grace in Jesus Christ and through the person of the Holy Spirit, we do not love God and cannot keep his commandments.

After all, part of the way we understand sin is as an inherited disease. We believe that the human will is bent—we are not naturally inclined towards the person or purposes of God. Pride and self-interest reign in the unredeemed life. Hence while we were created good, in the image of God, we do not actualize the goodness of who we are called to be as God’s image bearers. We inherit a twisted and broken humanity from our ancestors and pass it on to those after us. We cannot help but lay claim to that inheritance as we relive the fall of humanity in our own lives through abuse, addiction and neglect. In this sense then, Exodus 20:5 also describes (not prescribes!) a fact of human existence, the vicious cycle of psychologically and socially-influenced negative behavior patterns that tend to be repeated from one generation to the next. There IS a human tendency is for children to repeat the sins of their parents…and this tendency is the consequence of our sin, our separation from God. Such a cycle is not due to God’s mandate, from God cursing humanity so that we must repeat the same sins. Such a cycle is due to God’s allowance of our human freedom, so that we choose to repeat the same sins or if you will, pattern of living apart from God’s person or purposes.

Finally and perhaps most important, we ought to consider what Jesus had to say about all this. Consider Jesus' statement in John 9:1-3:

“As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”

Contrary to the disciples' belief and a common belief at that time, this man was not paying for his ancestors’ sins. In fact, his blindness was unrelated to their sins or his own. By inference, Jesus suggests that the man’s blindness was a byproduct of a broken world, a world tainted by sin, thus it provided a means of revealing God’s desire to heal and redeem the world….it was for the glory of God!

And this brings me to Paul’s reflections in his letter to the Galatian churches. Paul, a Jew who grew up struggling with the same question we are wrestling with, reconciling God’s judgment with God’s mercy, perceived the answer to this question be found in Christ: “All who rely on observing the law are under a curse, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law." Clearly no one is justified before God by the law, because, "The righteous will live by faith." The law is not based on faith; on the contrary, "The man who does these things will live by them." Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.” He redeemed us in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit.” -Galatians 3:10-14

Note “the law” that Paul is referring to includes Exodus 20:5 as well as the rest of the Ten Commandments! Worse case scenario, if my interpretation is wrong, if sin was to be understood as a fatalistic curse, an infection that passes on from generation to generation no matter what, the fact is that Jesus bore our curses by being made a curse for us. If any such thing as a generational curse does exist, that curse over our life has been broken by Christ. But I don’t’ think we need to go here. Instead I read Paul as saying that in Christ we have the ultimate, definitive manifestation of what God articulates in Exodus 20:5. In Christ, we receive both the judgment and the mercy of God. In Christ, the curse, the punishment of sin is received but it is overcome, eclipsed by the forgiveness, the victory of God’s love.

There Ain't No Cliff Notes...

So someone once asked me…

"How do we know when a teaching is specific to the audience of the original writing and when is it applicable to all?"

For me, the shorthand answer to this question: is we don't know per se. Through prayer and study, we engage the scriptures as God has given them to us, relying on the Holy Spirit to lead us into the truth of the text. But through it all, we are always and everywhere interpreting scripture and in so doing, are continually engaging in the journey of faith.

And yet while interpreting scripture is a journey of faith, we can discern when we are closer to the meaning or truth of the scriptures versus farther from it.

For example, suppose I were to quote Luke 8:19-21 as follows: ¹⁹ Now Jesus' mother and brothers came to see him, but they were not able to get near him because of the crowd. ²⁰ Someone told him, "Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to see you." ²¹ He replied, "My mother and brothers are those who hear God's word and put it into practice." 

Given this text, I might suggest that a correct interpretation implies rejecting and even abandoning one's own family for the sake of Jesus. If your parents, wife, husband, children, etc. refuse to hear God's word or to put it into practice--i.e. live according to it, you should put leave them outside of your life and refuse to be with them....like Jesus does.

I'd expect most people to challenge this interpretation as being incorrect or at better put, not in the trajectory of what Jesus meant. But why? What is the basis for rejecting this interpretation as being farther from the truth of the Gospel rather than closer to it? This, I believe, is the heart of the question…

Answering this question, begins with the discipline of mind, with a commitment to spending time in and studying God's word so as to understand it. In light of such a commitment, the guiding principle for discerning the essence of a biblical passage, is to interpret scripture in light of scripture. Put another way, is the proposed meaning of a given passage specifically consistent with other passages that address the same issue or topic AND generally in continuity with the whole of the Gospel message?

Take the above example, are other passages wherein the scriptures explicitly speak of how one is to relate to and treat one's family in line with my interpretation of Luke 8:19-21? No. Is the Gospel message of reconciliation, forgiveness, redemption and grace in Jesus Christ in line with my interpretation of Luke 8:19-21? Of course not.

When it comes to understanding scripture, we need to hold the macro and micro view of God’s Word in balance. We also need to retain a measure of humility and a sense of mystery as we engage God’s grand narrative. There are no cliff notes for this book. This is not an instruction manual that we hold in our hands. This is the entry point into a relationship. It is the definitive guide but it is a product of divine self-disclosure that we apprehend and comprehend only by the grace of God’s spirit…

"For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." -1 Corinthians 13:9-12

 

 

A Prayer for Holy Week...

Son of Man, Son of God,

Lord of all creation, Savior of all humanity,

On this night of Passover, during this appointed time as we gather together with you as you once gathered with your disciples in an upper room, we come before you bearing the sores and scars of an indifferent and broken world. We are well groomed but not well kept. Despite the fragrance of our worship, the scent of our sin still lingers in the air….

Like your first disciples, we confess that we are more fixated on questions of greatness; we are more consumed by matters of position and authority than we are on your example of humility and your call to service.

Like Peter, we confess that we so often speak rather than listen, we ask for more rather than being content with what you provide. We promise you everything only to find ourselves cursing you through our denials; running from the guilt of commitments we could not keep.

Like Judas, we confess that amidst the intimacy of our community with you, our tendency leans towards betrayal. It is all too easy to abandon you in exchange for the assurances of self-help philosophies. It is all too simple to hand you over to be tried, tortured, and recast into the idol of what we want you to be rather than to bow before the image of who we really are.

As you did in the beginning,

Spirit of God, once again speak order out of chaos.

Remain true to your promise,

Do not let these floodwaters of judgment overtake us;

Deliver us yet again from the storm that will not end.

Show us the rainbow of your grace and your mercy.

Let there be Exodus O God…

...out of the bloody mire of our rebellious and violent tendencies.

Let there be Exodus O God…

...out of the repeated drought of our indifference and sloth.

Let there be Exodus O God…

...out of the continual plagues of our consumerism and gluttony.

Let there be Exodus O God…

...out of the habitual slavery of our prejudices and addictions.

Let there be Exodus O God…

...out of the endless darkness of our suffering and despair.

O Incarnate Word,

O Shepherd of the Nations,

the Anointed One,

By your word and your touch we find the healing of eternal life. Comfort us through the anointing of oil and the ministry of prayer. Affirm the dignity of your image within our humanity despite our sickness. Instill within us your assurance of the redemption of our suffering. Mend the brokenness of our relationships through the joy of your Trinity—your unity as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Help us to enter into your unending circle of peace and joy; into the reciprocal dance of your love. Teach us the steps of faith and the song of community so that our mourning will turn into dancing.

O Lamb of God,

O Son of David,

the Christ,

In your presence we discover who we are.

Remind us in the breaking of bread of our need and of your sufficiency. Give us a taste of the tender bread from your creation’s table; bread newly taken from your heart’s oven. Refresh us and make us whole with the cup of forgiveness. Allow us to drink of the sweet fruit of salvation’s vine; wine freshly poured from the harvest of your mercy.

O Prince of Peace,

O Suffering Servant,

the Messiah,

As you wash our feet, we begin to understand what it means to follow you. Refresh our sense of discipleship through the witness of the basin and the towel. Shape our hearts according to the message of your Gospel. Renew our minds to the values of your Kingdom. Train our lips to speak words of truth and forgiveness. Guide our movements so we are joined together hand in hand, working and sharing, suffering and forgiving, hoping and rejoicing as one; the sacrament of your body, your wounded and yet still redeemed people. May all the world may be drawn into your blessings of your mercy and grace. 

All this we ask by the power of the Spirit, to the glory of Father, and for the sake of you, Jesus the Son. Amen.

Spiritual Sudoku

It all started with a simple conversation--a casual addendum to a larger talking point really. Commenting on my fascination with cryptograms, my friend Dave asked if I knew anything about Sudoku. I answered that I didn't--other than noticing its occurrence as a regular feature of my newspaper or being overwhelmed by the large display of the puzzle books at the local Borders. A few days later for no specific reason that I can recall I bought a Sudoku book at the grocery store. Nearly four months later an impulse purchase has become a daily ritual. I'm hooked...

Sudoku is a contraction of the Japanese phrase "suji wa dokushinsha ni kagiru" [or "digits by themselves"]. The standard sudoku puzzle is a grid made up of nine boxes, each box containing nine squares. Taken together the nine boxes are arranged to form nine rows and nine columns. The challenge of the puzzle is to complete the grid so that every box, row, and column displays the numbers 1 to 9, in the proper sequence. "Proper" is defined by adherence to the following rule:each box, row and column must contain only one instance of each of the numbers 1 to 9. With each puzzle, a few squares are filled in by the puzzle's creator, however the number of squares filled does not necessarily determine the level of difficulty of the puzzle.

The key to Sudoku is not mathematical ability per se. The numbers serve as symbols and do not have any numerical value within the puzzle. In a way, Sudoku is just another variation of the cryptograms that I enjoy...maybe that's why I took to Sudoku so quickly! To solve a puzzle demands the disciplines of patience and logic. There is an order inherent to each puzzle. A rhythm to discover. A pattern to discern. Guessing is pointless and often leads to added confusion and frustration. Puzzles are typically designated as Easy, Mild, Difficult, and Fiendish. My current level of interest and ability resides somewhere between Difficult and Fiendish.

For me, the appeal of Sudoku stems more from arriving at the solution than it does from the journey to get to that solution. Granted, it is difficult to separate the two experiences--they are interrelated. And yet it is in that moment of accomplishment, of finishing the puzzle, that I find the greatest satisfaction. The promise of a solution has been realized. What once appeared to be chaos can now been seen from another perspective. Everything is clear. It all makes sense.

In a world like ours, this can be a very liberating moment. After all, life is messy. There is no such thing as a typical day. What you expected to do at the start of a given day rarely aligns with what you encounter--let alone what you accomplish. Read the paper. Scan the news on the net. Talk with a friend on the phone. "People watch" as you eat your lunch. The busyness. The frantic pace. The impatience. The stress. Identifying markers of the tyranny of the urgent and the pursuit for purpose and meaning are everywhere. The brokenness that we witness generally outweighs the glimmers of potential that we can see. How can this all be reconciled? How can any of this be held together so as to make any sense? And so, we try to make it all fit. To craft our own solution. But it just doesn't work.

Suduko affords me a measure of order and completion in an otherwise chaotic world. But more than this, believe it or not, my daily ritual of Suduko points me back to the Gospel. Just as there is order amidst the irreconcilability of a Suduko puzzle, God can and does redeem the brokenness of this cryptic world. Just as there is a rhythm amidst the seeming randomness of a Suduko puzzle, God can and does reign, God's purposes prevail despite our confusion on this side of life's equation. There is another perspective beyond the chaos of our sin for viewing the playing field before us. A pattern can be discerned. It is the shadow of a cross. From that perspective, we begin to see less of the puzzle and more of the solution. It is a solution that cannot be achieved by our own creativity and guessing. Try as we may, we cannot make things "fit" or avoid the more challenging aspects of the puzzle. Only in patiently adhering to the pattern of the cross, can we enter into the solution that God laid out before the puzzle itself was even created. And the promise of this solution, of God's answer, begins to be realized by us through the light of an empty tomb....

Sharing Our Faith or Sharing The Faith?

Recently I had the opportunity to speak at a weekend retreat for families. Together we discussed what it means as parents or family members to share faith with our kids. A core theme in my leading of this dialogue was distinguishing between "sharing our faith in Christ" versus "sharing the faith of Christ".  For me this delineation is a significant one.

All too often we approach faith as if it were a possession or a goal. In terms of our kids, we speak in terms of "passing on our faith" or "sharing our faith" or "I want my kids to have faith". Expressed in these terms, faith is static--something we cultivate or maintain by our effort. A set of moral precepts that we identify with and subscribe to. A pattern of behavior or practice that we affirm and reflect through our own actions. 

The implications of defining faith in this way are huge. Faith is a byproduct of a human definition. We determine what does or does not constitute faith. More importantly, faith is reserved only for those who have the mental and/or moral ability to embrace the precepts or practices that are outlined. Are we spiritual beings from birth or empty vessels needing to have faith poured into us? Can one who is mentally, physically, or emotionally challenged have an authentic faith?

These are hard questions to answer if faith is understood in this way. But if we shift the focus from "our faith" to "the faith," a light breaks through darkness. Faith is not something we manifest. Faith is a gift from God. Faith is not a goal or a possession. Faith is a transformative. Faith is fluid. And while faith needs to have an object, we don't create or validate the object. God reveals himself to us in Jesus Christ. The object affords the faith that we have. "Our faith" is only possibel because of "the faith" of Jesus Christ. Faith as a gift means it isn't something we possess unless or until God provides it.

Put another way, our faith doesn't make God real or true. We know that God is real and true because God reveals himself to us--through the gift of faith. We need, we are called to respond to the object (God) who affords such faith. Hence we need and are called to be faithful. To respond to the faith of God in Christ.

While we should talking about a relationship with Christ to our kids (and to anyone else for that matter), we ought not to present such a relationship as a goal or a possession but rather witness to that relationship as an opportunity  that is already there in a person's life. Everyone has a relationship to Christ in that we are all created in God's image and that Jesus died so that all the world might be saved. We are hard-wired with the faith of God in Christ.

Our role as parents and as fellow pilgrims is to both reflect and cultivate our spiritual awareness (our faithfulness, our response) to God in Christ already present in our lives and in our world. God's revelation and presence in our lives is not contingent upon us, upon our choice. God is always there. Christ died for all persons. But the nature of that relationship (how much we enter into and exercise the benefits of that relationship) has very much to do with our response to the gift of faith, of that relationship.

A few parents at that retreat articulated a valid concern regarding how people are willing to talk about faith but there is a lot of confusion about what people are putting their faith in. To me, what makes the Christian definition of "faith" unique is that in every other context, we afford faith to something else. We put our faith in money. We have faith in our own good deeds, etc. We give the object meaning or value by placing our faith in it or behind it. But for a Christian, we don't put our faith in God--God puts his faith in us. Is it important that we believe in Jesus Christ? Yes. But our ability to believe is a response that is only possible because Jesus first believed in us.