Honduras Bound
 
This evening, 16 of our folks from CrossBridge will begin the trek to Tegucagalpa, Honduras for a week-long mission effort. Though I won't be making the trip to Central America, I am driving a portion of the group to Nashville. There, they will join another church group and fly to Tegucagalpa via Miami.
 
My heart will be in Honduras with them. The people in this region are desperately in need of the basics. This group, as many others do throughout the summer months, will build houses (really basic, one room structures), treat the sick (a number are medical personnel), work among the orphans (taking them clothes, shoes and toys), and basically love the children in that region.
 
This trip, and the images that remain forever etched in my heart, remind me of Jesus' statement: "inasmuch as you've done it unto one of the least of these, my brothers, you have done it unto me." Jurgen Moltmann, a German theologian, has written prolifically in the area of ecclesiology. In one of his monumental books, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, Moltmann elaborates on the concept he calls ubi Christus, ibi ecclesia. The basic meaning of this phrase is "Where Christ is, there is the church." Reflecting on the Matthew 25 text, Moltmann highlights the fact that Jesus uses familial language regarding the "least of these" when speaking to those who ministered to the disenfranchised. He called them "brothers." Contrarily, Jesus does not again use the familial modifier when speaking to those who refused help.
 
From this omission, Moltmann argues that Jesus was reminding the Matthean community--and all subsequent Christian communities--that in embracing the "least of these" they were unwittingly embracing Him. And, where he is, there is the church--the people of God. Moltmann, in the liberationist theological tradition, seems to be arguing that the real church, then, is found among the disenfranchised, not among good religious folk.
 
While Moltmann likely pushes the point too far, he does make an important statement. While we talk about "bringing Christ" to the poor in our mission efforts, this text reminds us that, in so doing, we paradoxically find him there. May we see in the aching eyes of everyone in need a reflection of Jesus...and may we embrace Him there.
 
Pray for all Christians everywhere who take mission trips this summer that they might experience Christ among the "least of these."

Figs and Faith
 
Today I attempted to preach on Mark's account of Jesus' cursing the fig tree (Mark 11:12-25). I'm not sure where I heard or read the phrase "Optic Parable," but Mark appears to use them generously. An "optic parable" as I use it, is where Mark presents a historical miracle, which utlimately refers to some spiritual reality. The blind man, for instance, who was incrementally healed by Jesus, stood as a fitting representative of the disciples' distorted vision regarding Jesus' Messiahship (Mark 8:22-26). Like the blind man, they needed a "second touch" to see clearly who Jesus was. Until they understood the true nature of Jesus' Messiahship, they simply could not understand--or see--clearly what discipleship was all about. Between chapters 8 and 10, Jesus juxtaposes teaching about his messiahship, which involved a cross, and discipleship, which equally involved a cross (cf. Mark 8:31-38; 9:39-37; 10:32-45). Until they understood the basic self-sacrificial orientation of Jesus' Messiahship, they would alway struggled with a power-oriented discipleship that would forever have them lusting for positions of privilege in the kingdom.
 
Another literary technique judiciously used by Mark is the "chiasmus" structure. Deriving its name from the Greek letter "chi" (which looks somewhat like the English letter x), this literary device occurs when a particular story is interrupted by another event, after which the initial story is completed. Rather than indicating the Gospel writer's "scattered mind" in telling stories, this technique appears to be an intentional design to bring emphasis to the overall point. In the case of Jesus' cursing the fig tree, for example, Mark tells the initial portion of Jesus' cursing the fig tree for its lack of fruit (11:12-14). The narrative then moves to Jesus' reaction to the moneychangers in the temple complex, prophetically indicting them of transforming God's house of prayer into a den of robbers (11:13-19). After this story, Mark provides the conclusion to the fig tree episode (11:20-21). According to the chiasmus literary structure, the story within the story, rather than a wreckless interruption becomes the focus of the writer's point. If the chiasmus structure obtains in the case regarding the cursing of the fig tree (and I think it does), the barren fig tree and God's people in the time of Jesus had something in common. Just as the fig tree boasted of figs (its foliage implied fruit) but had none, so the religious leaders of Jesus' day presented a display of righteousness, but in actuality, their faith was vacuous. The very people that God intended to "bless the nations," had become a sad display of consumerism, becoming an obstacle to those who sought to draw near to God. Just as Jesus cursed the fig tree, which subsequently withered, so the Jewish nation, due to its "barrenness of faith," similarly would meet its demise.
 
In my sermon today, I wondered about the state of God's people. We have been called to be the body of Christ, salt and light in our broken world. Have we lost our "saltiness?" Have our lamps grown dim? In a postmodern world that is confused, do we boldly point to Jesus Christ, the only one who can save, or do we insist on fiddling with externals? Because we spend an inordinate amount of time arguing about how to correctly "do church," our world does not receive the blessing of Christ's body. I'm afraid that too often hungry people eventually stumble into our presence, but find nothing but leaves.
 
This is true regardless of one's worship style. It can be true of traditional churches as well as more contemporary churches. If we remain focused on such externals, our tree might look inviting, but there is no substance there.
 
The church is to offer the redemptive love of Christ to our world. A love that says "Neither do I condemn you...leave your life of sin." When church becomes a place for sinners authentically to experience such love, then, and only then, are we a fruitful tree. God grant your people the grace to be your body...and start with me!
 
 

An Epiphany at the Feet of Jesus

On Tuesday of next week, a team from CrossBridge will travel to Tegucagalpa, Honduras for its annual mission trip to that region. Unlike the past several years, and due to a conflicting schedule, I will not be able to make the trip this year. As I've been reflecting on this trip, though, I remember an epipahny I had last year while working among the poor in this region.
 
We stayed at a hotel on the foot of a beautiful mountain on whose summit stood a 60 meter high statue of Jesus. With arms outstretched, it appeared as if Jesus were blessing and protecting the large city--exactly the intent of its Catholic architects. In past years, I always saw this statue, but the frenetic nature of the trip never allowed for an excursion up to this moving sight.
 
Last year was different. Our group, on Sunday evening, made our way to the sight of the "Big Jesus" as I affectionately referred to it. As we made the drive up the precariously, twisting roads to this sight, I became increasingly excited, almost nervous. I realize that I wasn't going to encounter the "real thing," but the place seemed to be holy nonetheless.
 
When we arrived at the entrance to the sight, I hurried off the bus and headed down the trail. The group that followed thought I knew where I was going--I really didn't. Just like in the states, a "real man" doesn't ask for directions! We came to a fork in the road. No signs. I couldn't see Jesus. Since the trail to the left continued uphill, I assumed that was the way to go, and off I went. I made it only a few yards down the trail when Steve Wilson, a great friend and member at CrossBridge, spotted Jesus in the direction of the opposite trail. Much to the delight of the crowd, Steve remarked: "Now isn't that just like a preacher, leading us away from Jesus." Yeah, a lot of truth to that light-hearted remark.
 
While that remark itself truly was a convicting truth that pricked my heart, what happened next embedded that nail deeply into my soul. Once we arrived at the foot of Jesus, the entire area was surrounded by a large stone wall that stood about 8 feet high. Embedded in the wall were iron gates. All of them were locked. I then remarked out loud, "Now that's a stunning metaphor of religion. Jesus calls with outstretched arms, 'Come to me,' but us good religious folk build walls around him--and serve as gate keepers to those who wearily come to him."
 
That's when I had the epiphany, and I nearly wept. I began to realize that Christians often do place barriers around Jesus. How we "do church" becomes more important than an encounter with the living Christ. I wondered that day how many of those stones have I placed alongside all my other, well-intentioned Christians from various traditions. I resolved at that moment to turn from worshipping at the shrines Church externals, and fall at the feet of Jesus. I further resolved to redefine my ministry. Rather than serving as the one to allow passage into Jesus presence through my theologically-constructed gates, I want to usher them authentically into the presence of the only One Who can save. Since last year I've learned that the transformation of people's lives occurs, not at the gate, but at his feet. Once there, the very goal of relgion--transformed lives--becomes a reality. "Oh Lord Jesus, give us all the grace to stay out of your way in people's lives, and grant us eyes to see your holy work in hearts...even when it doesn't conform to our religious protocol. And begin with me!"
 
By the way, we did make it to Jesus' feet that night. A well-worn path around the wall led to an opening through which many found access to Jesus. (I'm still not sure it was sanctioned, but we went through anyway). Another epiphany, people who want to get to the Lord will find a path, circumventing our well-thought out, protocols of religious traditions. Reminds of the story when the blind man, because he encountered and accepted Jesus, lost his access to the community (John 9). God save us from this spirit religious spirit!
 
 

Volleyball Theology
 
Once again, I've been playing on a recreational coed volleyball league this season. Our team consists of women and men from CrossBridge. So far, we've won a few and lost just as many. But, we've had a blast--at least I have. Those with a more serious competitive--and capable--edge might not be happy with our season. It's been fun, though, as a minister to get to know my fellow CrossBridgians in this different context.
 
I've learned a few things from this whole ordeal. One person simply cannot do very well. There's too much ground, er, wood to cover. It's also true that whatever happens to one person, happens to them all. While I might have played a stellar game (only in my dreams), if we are beaten, everyone is beaten. Contrarily, even when I play my typical error-ridden game, I get to experience the thrill of victory when that occurs.
 
While these are great lessons for the church, I stumbled across a most important theological reality during last week's game. Typically, a game is lost or won based upon how well a team serves. "If anyone wants to be great, let him be the servant of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and give his life as a ransom for many." Greatness through one's service is true not only of individuals (or volleyball teams) but of churches as well. It's probably time that we heed this basic call, becoming salt and light to our increasing bland and dark society.

A Humurous Tale; A Somber Reminder

I received the following email from a friend. I--and likely many of you--have seen a version of this story. I was reminded again of how Christians are all-too willing to shed blood over nuanced differences in church polity.

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. I ran over to him and said, "Stop! Don't do it!"

"Why shouldn't I?" he said. I said, "Well, there's so much to live for!" He said, "Like what?" I said, "Well. . .are you religious or atheist?" He said, "Religious."

"Me, too!" I said. "Are you Christian or Buddhist?"
He said, "Christian." I said, "Me too! Are you Catholic or protestant" He said, "Protestant."

I said, "Me too! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?" He said, "Baptist."

I said, "Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist church of God or Baptist church of the Lord?" He said, "Baptist church of God."

I said, "Me, too. Are you original Baptist church of God, or are you reformed Baptist church of God?" He said,"Reformed Baptist church of God."

I said, "Me too! Are you reformed Baptist church of God, reformation of 1879, or reformed Baptist church of God, reformation of 1915?" He said, "Reformed Baptist church of God, reformation of 1915!"

I said, "Die, heretic scum," and pushed him off.

This is not intended to identify only one denominational expression of Christianity as suffering from highly nuanced forms of "doing church." It's a reminder that all Christians tend to move in such directions. My own heritage has historically excelled in the area of such a sectarian spirit. May we be one, Father, as you and your Son, Jesus, are one. And, may we love one another as you have loved us...so the world might know that we are your disciples.

Guess What Happened in Church Today?

Depending on one's perspective, this question could be negative or positive. Too often, I've been on the receiving end of such a question, only to hear the querist describe an "uncomfortable situation" he or she experienced. On the other hand, I've also heard this interrogative remark followed by a moving depiction of God at work in an assembly.

CrossBridge is one of those places where the unusual is the usual. Yesterday was an unforgettable first, both for our church and for yours truly. In my 19 years of ministry, I've performed many weddings in a variety of settings, e.g., church buildings, homes, backyards, pool sides, chapels. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to join a loving couple in holy matrimony during our Sunday morning worship.

Admittedly, I wondered about how this was going to work. Was it going to force worshipers to participate in two strangers' marriage ceremony? How would it be received? Would it be a moving moment of experiencing the triune love of God concretely displayed, or would it be perceived as a gimmick, a spectacle of human hubris?

A couple of things coelesced to ease my mind. First, an organization devoted to family values sent out a nation-wide email, urging ministers and pastors to preach on the sanctity of marriage on the Sunday in question. Second, a lunch with the couple revealed their honest desire not to be the centerpiece of the service. They simply wanted to vow their commitment to each other at the end of the sermon.

Though quite different from anything we've ever experienced before, the entire service was a meaningful encounter with God. LifeSong, the worship team at CrossBridge, did an absolutely fabulous job in moving all of us into the presence of God through amazing songs. Jack and Julie exchanged their vows, much to the delight of all. As far as the sermon, someone with a bit more objectivity would need to judge!

Upon reflection, and after hearing many positive responses to the service, I began to better understand why this experience was so generally moving. Paul spoke of the mysterious marriage relationship as a reflection of Christ and His church (Ephesians 5:32). Jack and Julie stood as concrete expressions of the relational mystery between Jesus and each of us--His church. As they said "Yes" to one another, we were experiencing God's "yes" to us in the context of worship. In turn, we all were moved to utter our own unique "yes" to Him as well.

In a day when marriage is under viscious attack, it was a holy moment to see two people, commit to one another in the most appropriate place of all--in the context of a worshipping community. My prayers are with Jack and Julie as they begin their life together as husband and wife. And, I am profoundly appreciative of them both for allowing God to use the rather ordinary recitation of marriage vows to become a catalyst for praise...and transformation.

Guess what happened in church today....

At Peace In The Storm

Have you ever had one of those days when everything—absolutely everything—went, not only as you planned, but exceeded your wildest imagination of the most perfect day? The kids woke up on their own, dressed themselves, and brought you breakfast in bed before they walked to the bus stop? Your presentation resulted in a promotion, 100% pay raise, and won you company-wide accolades—all before 9:00 a.m.? The Reader’s Digest van actually showed up in your driveway with the $1,000,000 prize?

While such astonishing days theoretically are possible, our days typically flow at a frenzied pace, sometimes causing us to struggle just to survive the emotional, physical, and spiritual strains of living. Deadlines. Company sales quotas. Corporate downsizing. Family tension. How can we find peace in the midst of such surging storms?

The world has set forth its prescriptions. Magazines offer “Ten Ways to Beat Busyness.” Corporate trainers promote “proven techniques for stress-free living.” Travel agents claim peace is available in Hawaii—for only $3,000! (This one sounds most promising...until the credit card bill comes due.)
In our candid moments, however, we realize that techniques alone don’t produce lasting serenity. Our excitement over new programs for stress-free living can quickly cool. And, even an island paradise cannot guarantee sustained contentment for a troubled soul.

God knows that peace cannot be compressed neatly into a program or a place, but in a dynamic relationship with a Person—Jesus (John 14:27). While the peace offered by the world is short-lived and shallow, the peace of Christ is immeasurable and eternal. His peace transcends human understanding and earthly circumstances (Philippians 4:7,12).

By remaining meaningfully connected to Christ, we can be at peace when corporate representatives invade our offices. We can experience serenity in the midst of screaming kids, ringing phones, and unexpected visits from relatives. We even can remain calm when our car breaks down on the way to a job interview or when death makes its unwelcome visit.

The real secret to peace during the irritating storms of life is to abide in Christ. Such peace is not an escape from the irritants--or challenges--of this broken world. On the contrary, its fully embracing those irritants and challenges with the faith that our future is secure in Jesus Christ. And, it further reflects a conviction that God's sovereign will utlimately will prevail...on earth as it is in heaven. May God grant us such peace.

Leading as a Bondservant

I've been leading a men's class on Tuesday nights based on a book by Steve Arterburn and Fred Stoeker titled "Every Woman's Desire." Though I've been the one facilitating our conversations, I've been the benefactor of great insights from the men in this class.

The past couple of classes dealt specifically with biblical leadership, and what that actually looks like. Taking their cue from Exodus 21:2-6, Arterburn and Stoeker argue for a bondservant model of leadership. According to this code, a Hebrew who, due to times of hardship, sells himself into slavery was to be released in the seventh year. If, during his years of servitude, he marries a wife and has children, they actually belong to his master. At the end of sevens years, he then has a choice. The man alone could go free, or decide to remain in slavery with his family. The text reads; "But if the servant declares, 'I love my master and my wife and children and do not want to go free,' then his master must take him before the judges. He shall take him to the door or the doorpost and pierve his ear with and awl. Then he will be his servant for life" (v. 5).

While many details of this text raise perplexing questions, heightened by the cultural differences between ancient Israel and contemporary North America, two relevant points stand out. (1) While prevailing circumstances coerced the man initially into slavery, bondservanthood was his choice. (2) The choice of bonservanthood was compelled by his love for his master and his family.

Arterburn and Stoeker, appropriately emphasizing mutual submission in marriage, use this text to underscore the true nature of biblical leadership. They apply the metaphor of "master" to the wife--the one whom the husband has been called to serve (just as Jesus served his bride, the church).

While Arterburn and Stoeker speak relevant truth using this structure, our conversations about this text revealed a subtle, but very important, distinction to their interpretation. The text makes the point that both the man and his family belong to the master. Neither the man nor the wife was "master." They both were owned by the one who purchased them. Therefore, the way he related to his wife and children was dictated by this construct of ownership. The way he treated his family reflected on his relationship to the master. To serve them, then, was an extension of his servitude to his master, whom he loves.

By analogy, we need to keep in mind that we are not our own; we have been bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:19). Additionally, the special people in our lives are not ours, they equally belong to another. My wife and children (brothers and sisters in Christ), then, are my master's. To honor him, I must honor them. Biblical leadership, then, does not derive from one's position of power, but from one's recognition of belonging to another. From that position of servanthood, then, derives the biblical concept of leadership. As with Jesus, authority is expressed, not in being served, but in serving and giving one's life for others (Matthew 20:20-28; John 13:1-5). Such is the overarching paradigm for all leadership...in the home and the church. May God grant us true leaders who understand this basic biblical principle!

Oh, Say Can You See?
Reflections on Independence Day

As I pen these words, July 4th already has passed into the mist of human memory. Since July 4 fell on Sunday this year (thanks to LifeSong for such a memorable worship experience), Monday was the official day off for most folk. Such was the case for me, at least.

The day was filled with very little activity really. It seemed to lazily drag along. There were the usual things. Hamburgers. Watermelon. More Fireworks. In fact, neigbhors at this moment are shooting off the remander of their pyrotechnic stash (I hope they'll be finished by bedtime).

Throughout this rather lazy day, I have reflected on the meaning of Idependence Day. As I watched, and assisted in sending whistling fireballs into the air, I kept thinking about our National Anthem. Not only is the song's range one of the most difficult to vocally navigate, it's words equally are challenging. Not so much their pronunciation or even their meaning. Few folks likely fully understand Francis Scott Keys emotions as he described "Old Glory" intermittently illuminated by the "rockets' red glare," and "bombs bursting in air." From his perch on an unnamed British vessel, where he was detained, 8 miles below Fort McHenry during it's bombardment, Key strained throughout the night to determine the direction of the fight. To his utter delight, the flag remained flying proudly, though tattered, over the fort. This sight inspired him to write the "Star Spangled Banner."

Written to the tune of an English tavern song (Anacreon in Heaven), Key's lyrics to this English tune finally became our national anthem in 1931. While we are most familiar with only the first stanza, there actually are a total of four. The last stanza in particular is of great relevance to our current cultural situation. One can nearly feel the emotions of this Episcopalian swell as he scribbled on a piece of paper these final words to a moving song:

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

In our post-Christian, pluralistic world, perhaps we should dust off this old stanza and reflect on it's sentiments. Key saw our nation (as reflected in the tenacity of Fort McHenry) "heaven-resuced," preserved by "the Power" who should be praised, and one whose motto should ever be "In God is our trust." In reality, then, our "Idependence" was seen by those who fought for it as ultimately "dependent" on our God. May the church universal remind our culture of the One Who holds our nation in His sovereign hands. And, may he preserve us!

World's Greatest Dad: More a Challenge Than a Description

As I write these words, we are barely over a day away from Father's Day. This day always conjures up a mixture of emotions within a community. Some grieve the loss of a dad, either to death, desertion, or estrangement. Others celebrate a wonderful--and continued--relationship with this special guy. I'm one of the fortunate ones in this regard. My dad remains with us, healthy, energetic, and one whom I deeply love. Since I'm a minister, I rarely have the opportunity to be with my dad on this special Sunday. Despite our geographical disconnect, I hold him close in my heart and soul.

On Father's Day, though, there is a deeper, inward mixture of emotions for me. These center around my own inward conflict. Through the years, my kids have given me a range of gifts and cards, often inscribed with something like "World's Best Dad" or "Greatest Dad." The most moving gifts on this day are the thoughtful notes from our kids when they just were learning to write. Riddled with misspelled words, and backward letters, these notes convey a sense of their naive, adolescent affection for dear old dad. I will always cherish them.

So, what's the nature of my conflict? It's the age-old internal battle between who you want to be and who you really are. I want to be the World's Greatest Dad for my kids, and appreciate their expressions to that end. I know, however, that I fall entirely too short of such an epithet. It's the very same struggle that Paul confessed--That which I would do, I do not, and that which I would not do, that is what I do! The answer to this frustrating cycle is not in trying to will ourselves to "do better." Strangley, such an approach does not free us from this downward spiral, but gives it even greater strength over us. We are caught in a vicious cycle of "vowing never to do again," and the numbing shame of stumbling into the same infraction. Paul's--and our--answer must center in Jesus Christ. Not in a system that bears His name, but in a dynamic relationship with the risen Lord that opens us up to His righteousness--and power. To be the World's Greatest Dad then, strangley, begins with admitting our human inability to perform this awesome task. Only in such humility can we point our kids to the only One Who can free them from themselves--our Father God. If I can at least point my kids in that direction, while "World's Greatest Dad" would remain entirely too optimistic an epithet for me, I will have done the most important thing a Father can do for his kids. Guys, I hope you will join me in that fatherly goal.

An Ancient-Future Message

Yes, I admit the title of this blog derives from Robert Webber's book Ancient-Future Faith in which Webber challenges many assumptions about "doing church" in today's postmodern culture. There appears to be fresh winds blowing over the landscape of our Western culture that threatens many of our ecclesial presuppositions. For some, these winds are devastating, stressing the fabric of time honored sails that have transported the church over many turbulent seas. For others, these same winds are refreshing, blowing away chaff that for too long has obscured the kernel of authentic Christianity.

In any paradigm shift, there are dangers to avoid and benefits to enjoy. While postmodernity offers its own challenges to the Christian message (e.g., radical ecumenism; unqualified pluralism; decontructionism; etc.), it equally provides an appropriate critique of modernity that long held the church in its dogmatic grip. Strangely, in an attempt to wiggle free of modernity's grip, the church embraced the very assumptions of it's would-be captor. Such is the basic thesis of a powerful little book that I've recently re-read--The Worldly Church by C. Leonard Allen, Richard Hughes, and Michael Weed.

Though written in 1988, this little book is refreshingly timely. These writers boldly claim that the Church, in response to an increasingly ego-centric culture, developed a prudential gospel--a message that attempted to provide utilitarian reasons for becoming a Christian. Often, people are persuaded to come to Christ so that their marriage might thrive, that their business might prosper, or that they basically can enjoy a peaceful life. While the authors recognize these are possible by products of the Christian faith, they rightfully argue that such is not the call of the gospel. They write:

The call of Christ is not to personal success and peace of mind, but to brokenness, suffering, and service. Neal Plantinga put it well: "We are intended to please God--not the other way around--and the idea that Christianity is something we adopt for what it will pay us in happiness and personal mastery is an idea which must be explicitly discouraged" (p. 61).

In an equally powerful critique of the prudential gospel, these writers correctly remind us:

The scandal of the gospel today is that the gospel speaks only of a God-made person, while our culture glorifies the self-made person. The scandal today is the gospel call to surrender self, to offer self to God and his service, when the world calls only for self-enhancement. The scandal is that the heavens are open; that the sovereign God comes to rule this world and all who live therin; that salvation is by divine power, not human achievement or technique. The scandal is that we must be confronted with the depths of human evil and deceit before we can know the heights of grace" (p. 65).

In my conversation with many postmoderns, this type message seems to resonate. It appears that the up and coming generation, while also struggling with their own expressions of egocentricity, is looking for something authentic. Not a utilitarian-oriented message of self-help and self-enhancement, but one that challenges those leanings. The radical call of Jesus to self-denial is an ancient-future message whose time has returned. The question now is, can churches who have built their very identity around a prudential gospel speak--or even hear--this truth?

Books Worth Reading

I've recently read, and re-read, a couple of books by Gregory Boyd: God at War and Satan and the Problem of Evil. While at times, it's easy to get bogged down in Boyd's philosophical discussions, the book is a refreshing--and fascinating--read.

Basically Boyd writes from an Arminian perspective, but does so with sensitivity to Calvinistic leanings. He argues against the Augustinian blue print world view in which God controls everything that occurs within our world. In such a model, then, our struggle is to determine the good that God is formulating through tragedy--even the most brutal expressions of it.

Against this Augustinian blue print model, Boyd proposes a Trinitarian warfar theodicy in which free will, at least in a finite sense, implies that beings, both human and angelic, have the capability to temporarily thwart the will of God. Boyd argues then, that the question of evil involves more than just humans and God, since our world is inhabited by a host of non-human beings, all of whom have free will. From this perspective, Boyd argues that expressions of evil are not necessarily the result of God bringing about some good. Contrarily, rebellious beings can bring about evil in our world simply because they have the freedom to do so. Not everything, then, according to Boyd, is in harmony with God's purposes. While God's sovereignty is established, it constantly is being challenged by opposed forces, i.e., Satan and his hosts. And, though God ultimately, and completely will triumph over evil (which is guaranteed by Jesus' victory on the cross and resurrection), we live in a virtual war zone in which defeated foes continually attempt to regain that which was lost.

The Christian life, then, is to be primarily viewed from a military perspective. God is at war; we are at war with him. It, therefore, is important for us to be faithful to our post. Boyd, I think, does a good job of fleshing out this perspective, making for a fascinating and provocative read. This is a perspective that the church needs to re-investigate, especially in our largely politically correct North American culture.

The Power of Grace

Grace. It’s a word that elicits any number of competing ideas. For some, its merely what you say before a meal. For others, its something you work hard to earn. For yet others, it’s tantamount to the soft leniency of a super-sentimental grandfather.

Biblically, it appears, that grace provides both pardon and power. It is that expression of a loving God that extends mercy to the sinner, but also provides the means for transformation. In his book, In The Grip of Grace, Max Lucado tells a story that captures this dual provision of grace.

“During the early days of the Civil War a Union soldier was arrested on charges of desertion. Unable to prove his innocence, he was condemned and sentenced to die a deserter’s death. His appeal found its way to the desk of Abraham Lincoln. The president felt mercy for the soldier and signed a pardon. The soldier returned to service, fought the entirely of the war, and was killed in the last battle. Found within his breast pocket was the signed letter of the president.”

Max’s point seems to be that the pardon (grace) extended to the Union soldier by Lincoln emboldened him to fight faithfully through the war. According to scripture, God’s grace not only pardons our sins, but God the Holy Spirit takes up residence in our hearts, transforming us from the inside out (cf. Eph. 1:13, 19-20; 2:4-10).

The soldier in the story told by Max held close to his heart his leader’s words of pardon. This gave him courage—and steadfastness—in the fight. How much more should the words of God’s grace, coupled with the transforming presence of the Holy Spirit give us confidence for life!

There's Got to be a Lesson in This Somewhere

LONDON — A puppy that swallowed a kitchen knife nearly the length of his body is back to his playful self after an operation to remove it.

The baffled owners of 12-week-old Jake took him to the vet when they noticed him vomiting and trying to keep his body in a straight line.

X-rays revealed why the puppy was so reluctant to curl up: A kitchen knife was running through his body, with the plastic handle at the base of his pelvis and the blunted metal point at the top of his throat.

"Dogs are always swallowing strange things, from kebab sticks to corn-on-the-cobs to tape cassettes, but this was particularly unusual because it was such a large knife in a small puppy. It really did run the length of his body," said vet Christina Symonds on Wednesday.

The owner, John Mallett, 22, said he knew something was wrong but had no idea the Staffordshire Bull Terrier cross had swallowed the knife. "He would put his feet on you and put his head back, trying to keep his body in a straight line," said Mallett.

Jake was back on his feet less than 24 hours after the operation on March 30. "He's totally back to his old self," said Mallet.

This has to be up there with Jesus' parabolic rebuke to those who strain at gnats and swallow camels!

Vengeance: Human and Divine

It's now been nearly seven years ago that Judge Hiller B. Zobel made a decision that sparked both anger and relief.

On October 30, 1997, Louise Woodward was convicted by a jury of second degree murder in the death of 8-month-old Matthew Eappen. Arguing that it was time to bring a “compassionate conclusion” to the British au pair murder trial, Zobel reduced Woodward’s murder conviction to man-slaughter and set her free.

I don’t know all the sordid details of this tragic affair. But, there remains one haunting fact that will not be ignored: an 8-month-old, helpless child was killed.

I still think of the parents of that baby. Empty arms. Long nights. Strained relations. It’s situations like this one that make Jesus’ command to “love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you” even more poignant (Matthew 5:44).

This case, and others like it, create in my heart a gnawing ache for justice. And, I know I’m not alone. To use a biblical word, humans intrinsically have a yearning for “vengeance.” While polite society outwardly recoils at these thoughts, all moral beings have a sense of justice.

And, this desire for vengeance is a biblically legitimate one. Certain psalms, for example, throb with an intense desire for retaliatory justice (cf. Psalm 109: 1-19). The Bible, therefore, validates our human longing for vengeance. Yet, on the other hand, it reminds us that vengeance is the sole privilege of God, “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, I will repay” (Hebrews 10:25; Psalm 135:14).

As we struggle with our desires for vengeance, we need to be reminded of several biblical truths. (1) God is not indifferent in a moral Universe. He does take notice of, and responds to, human acts of injustice. (2) Since vengeance belongs to God, it is not personal, human business. (3) As were the psalmists, we are invited to express freely our indignant feelings for vengeance to God.

When we keep these truths close to our hearts, we will be in a better position to live a vengeance-free ethic, and choose to love those on the other side of justice as Jesus commanded—even the Louise Woodward’s of our fallen world.

Easter and the Christus Victor

As I write these words, our military continues to struggle Iraq. Over a year ago, we were given a near front row seat of coalition operations by means of news personnel embedded within military divisions. If you are anything like me, it was hard not to be glued to the TV or radio, listening for any new developments that might signal a quick and decisive end to the conflict.

While the initiall blitzkreig into Baghdad is over, our troups remain in harm's way. Although, the victory over Saddam Hussein's regime was decisive, there is much more dangerous work to accomplish. Nearly each day we hear news of yet another American troup killed in conflict. How is it that, though a decisive victory was won, fighting--and casualities--continue?

This current situation brings home an often overlooked scriptural dimension to Easter: Jesus’ resurrection won a victory over the powers of evil (the Christus Victor—the victory of Christ). As we typically associate Easter with niceties such as egg hunts, bonnets, and new outfits, perhaps we need to be reminded that the work of Jesus had to do with “binding the powers, dethroning the powers, and assuring his disciples and followers that the powers will be utterly destroyed and routed out of the world at the end of history” (Robert Webber, Ancient-Future Faith, p. 46).

Over the past several decades, people largely have abandoned an implicit optimism in humanity—the idea that humans are inherently good and have the intellectual and technological means to make our world increasingly better. Two World Wars, ruthless dictators, and increased acts of brutality--not to mention the tragedy of 9/11--have appropriately awakened our society to the reality of evil.

It’s appropriate for us—God’s people—to appreciate once again the “powers” that Jesus came to bind and dethrone. While Easter is now past, let’s remember that it signaled a moment in history when God engaged in mortal combat with Satan’s hordes and, by the resurrection, won a decisive victory for us (1 Cor. 15:57).

Our hope, therefore, does not lie in our own abilities to make our world a better place. It lies in the fact that Jesus Christ is alive forevermore, and has the keys of hell and death (Rev. 1:18). It is that reality that we celebrate on Easter...and every day. And, may we celebrate--and continue our struggle against evil--as victors with Christ!

Out of Gas?

A number of years ago, a beautiful float in the Tournament of Roses parade suddenly sputtered and quit. Frantic technicians scurried about to see what was wrong. No one could be sure. It appeared that all mechanisms where properly connected, and there was no perceptible reason why the motorized cart should not move the float. It was a mystery...until. Until someone asked the obvious; “Is the float out of gas?”

To everyone’s chagrin, it was. The whole parade came to a grinding halt while someone fetched a can of gas. What makes this story even more ironic—and embarrassing—is that the float was sponsored by the Standard Oil Company. With this company’s vast oil resources, it’s little truck ran out of gas!

While I try to be careful in drawing out spiritual analogies to such stories, I can see some applications to our Christian journey here. Let me suggest two. First, as children of the sovereign King of the universe, there are vast—infinitely vast—resources at our disposal. Too often, we allow our own human limitations to dictate our responses to any given crisis. And, we are limited, weak, and broken. Paul reminds us however, that God’s “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:8).

Second, and I think this is Paul’s point, we must learn to rely on—tap into, if you will—the power of God rather than our own perceived abilities. Only then, can we experience Paul’s conclusion, “For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:10). Through any hardship and trial, God’s grace is sufficient for us. If we don’t learn to make ourselves open to it, however, we, like Standard Oil Company’s float, will simply run out of gas.

Living On Purpose

In one of his Far Side cartoons, Gary Larson depicts a chalkboard, two thirds of which is filled with a long, complex mathematical equation complete with Greek letters, plenty of parentheses, and a healthy number of brackets. The sum total of this contorted symbolic expression is a big fat “zero.” Two middle-aged, “nerdish” scientists are looking at their joint effort with stoic satisfaction. The one to whom the caption implicitly is attributed stands with his hands on his hips. The caption reads: “No doubt about it, Ellington—we’ve mathematically expressed the purpose of the universe. God, how I love the thrill of scientific discovery.”

In Larson’s own unique way, he was able to capture visually the contradiction between arrogant rationalism and the primal recognition—and need—we all have of something (someone) that is larger than ourselves. While the scientists gloated over their nihilistic theory expressed mathematically, God was just as easily—and enthusiastically—evoked and, ironically, praised for the accomplishment.

As I reflected on this cartoon, God put on my heart the words of Isaiah: “Everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made” (Isaiah 43:7). Our human rationality is good, for it also comes from God. It becomes bad when Satan twists it for his own evil purposes. There are many in our world who, like the fictional scientists in Larson’s cartoon, believe that there is no ultimate purpose to the universe and, therefore, to their own lives. From this perspective, we are nothing but a fortuitous combination of molecules in a world of evolutionary confusion. Such a thought inevitably leaves us empty, longing for something else.

As humans, we bear the imprint of God in our souls. We have been created in his image. Despite the loud voices of radical rationalism, we intuitively sense that God exists and, somehow, engages us. And, as Isaiah reminds us, our ultimate purpose for living is to glorify God with soul, body, and mind. May we never forget who we are...and WHOSE we are!!

Humilty and Self-Love: Mutually Exclusive or Mutually Essential?

I don’t know whom they were talking about, but it was obvious that he was in deep trouble. Apparently, this guy had been a real “jerk” to one of them, and these teenage girls wanted his head on a platter.

I observed this scene while at a mall in Georgia where I used to live. They were huddled together, hands on hips, making those head and eye gestures that teenage girls do so effectively. Taken together, their body language said, “He’s disgusting, and we’re going to make his life miserable!”

As I walked past this angry gathering, I overheard one of them say above the din, “Yeah, he’s in love alright...in love with himself!” “Whoa,” I said to myself as I strode down the mall, “He really must be a jerk.” Like those irked teenagers, I agreed all-too-quickly that loving self is intrinsically narcissistic and, quite frankly, disgusting.

To buttress my conclusion, I quickly called to mind several biblical passages that place a premium on humility, and warns against thinking too highly of oneself (cf. Lk. 18:10-14; 1 Pet. 5:6). Yet, as I was mentally dismantling this obviously-insensitive guy, another passage nudged its way into my thinking. “Love the Lord your God... and your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 22:39).

“Love your neighbor as yourself?” Doesn’t that statement imply that we should love ourselves? In fact, doesn’t it imply that without a healthy love for self we cannot adequately love others. It appears, then, that the Bible makes two, mutually-exclusive demands of us: (1) humility; and (2) self-love. How do we reconcile the two?

In response to this apparent dilemma, C.S. Lewis wrote in the Screwtape Letters: “[God] wants to kill [humans’] animal self-love as soon as possible; but it is His long-term policy...to restore to them a new kind of self-love—a charity and gratitude for all selves, including their own.” I think Lewis was right. In the biblical sense, love for self does not suggest a self-centered arrogance. Nor does humility demand a self-deprecating, devaluing of our own self worth.

Taken in tandem, these two biblical principles bring our view of self into proper focus. An humble, self love means we will delight in our own accomplishments—and those of others—as the marvelous work of God in our, and their, lives. As the Holy Spirit develops these biblical traits within us, we truly will “love our neighbors...as ourselves!”

Don't Waddle When You Can Fly

Soren Kierkegaard, a prominent theologian of the 20th Century, tells a parable of a community of ducks waddling off to duck church to hear the duck preacher.

The duck preacher was in rare form as he quacked eloquently—and compellingly—of how God had given the ducks wings with which to fly. “With our amazing wings,” the duck preacher quacked with conviction, “there is nowhere we ducks could not go; there is no God-given task we ducks could not accomplish.” With the rhetorical skill of a master orator, the duck preacher ended on a high note, “With our powerful wings, we can soar into the very presence of God Himself.”

The duck congregation was caught up in the preacher’s words. Shouts of “Amen, brother, Amen!” were quacked throughout the duck assembly as they contemplated the possibilities that existed for their web-footed species.

At the end of this most moving service, the ducks left, quacking about what a wonderful, inspiring message they had heard...and waddled all the way back home. This humorous story packs a powerful punch, doesn’t it? God’s word is replete with messages about the possibilities that exist for His people. Hear just a few...

“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26)

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13)

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us” (Ephesians 3:20)

Wow! What possibilities! God says we can soar. There is no God-given task that we could not accomplish. Now the question is: Are we going to settle for waddling, when we have the power to fly?