What Caused the Storms?

There's another storm brewing in Alabama. While this one is of the political/theological variety, it does have to do with the hurricanes that recently ravaged the Gulf Coast. Senator Hank Erwin (R-Montevallo) publicly has stated, and written, that these storms were God's punishment for the rampant sin--especially gambling--associated with Mississippi and New Orleans. Prior to his election as state Senator, Hank Erwin was host of a local Christian talk show. Erwin was known for his strong, conservative, evangelical stand regarding a host of moral, and doctrinal issues.

Of course, Erwin's comments have been not so well received, by Christians and non-Christians alike. Christians, appalled by his comments, sadly, have belittled his intellect, and even questioned his interpretive integrity. A number of things have struck me while observing this controversy. First, Christians who take issue with Erwin must do so in an appropriate manner. We should not transgress Christian ethics when disagreeing with another brother.

Second, I, too, take issue with the dogmatic manner in which Erwin confidently ascribes the hurricanes as God's judgment on specific sin. At the same time, the concept of God's judgment in the space-time continuum is not outside the boundaries of biblical theology. There are instances in scriptrue--especially the prophets--where God punishes His people for the injustices in the nation. Amos, in particular, excoriates the people for oppressing the poor and threatens the impending judgment of God. He even mentions how God had held rain from one city, causing people to migrate to another, only to find insufficient water to quench their thirst (4:6-8). The concept of God's punishment through "natural" means is, therefore, not inconsistent with biblical revelation.

Third, the question of theodicy is a complex question to which the Bible gives equally complex answers. In other words, the Bible does not present only one answer to the question of suffering in its various forms. It offers a number of possibilities. Sometimes, as indicated above, God does punish His people. At other times, Satan brings about natural calamaties (Job). Still again, their are times when there is no apparent reason for one's suffering (John 9). It is irresponsible to dogmatically assert only one of these possible reasons for natural disasters when, obviously, there are other possibilities.

Finally, regardless of the etiology of the natural disaster, the body of Christ is to respond with the love of God. If the hurricanes had something to do with God's punishment, it wasn't just for the Gulf Coast residents, nor for a particular sin. It should serve as a wakeup call for our entire nation, and especially the church. While Hank Erwin mentions specifically gambling, perhaps the real sin has to do with oppressing the poor--something God despises. Has the church become numb to the plight of the oppressed in our society? Are we really concerned with the "least of these?" If God has passed judgment, perhaps we should look at these more insidious expressions of sin. In the end, though, it is not up to us to determine why. Jesus' disciples once wondered aloud why a man was born blind. They assumed that either he or his parents sinned to cause his congenital blindness. Jesus rejected sin as the source of such suffering. He simply said: "this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life" (John 9:3). Whatever the reason for the storms, may all those displaced by the storms experience the work of God in their lives. And, may the body of Christ be the conduit of His powerful grace.

The Dirty Grays of Compassion

I ran accross this most descriptive phrase while reading an article giving a fresh--and provocative--look at the abortion issue from a evangelical Christian perspective. In a nutshell, the article articulated a prophetic vision for this admitted societal blight. For years, it seems that pro-life ministries have focused on the unborn child, marshalling compelling arguments that the fetus actually is human life. And, I personally think this conclusion is incontrovertible.

This article, on the other hand, focuses on the mother. It asks the compelling question: "What have we really accomplished when we've condemned abortion by demonstrating the humanity of an unborn child?" The article makes the point that while the fetus' humanity is now beyond medial dispute, attitudes really haven't changed.

As I reflected on this conversation, which really is representative of all brokenness in our world, several things came to mind. First, the church need not back away from the startling reality of sin. At it's heart, sin is a self-oriented approach to life that separates us from experiencing the dynamic life of God. This fallen reality needs to be exposed in whatever form it takes. Second, simply exposing sin does not necessarily lead to change. The article said that 1 in 6 abortions are by Christians. Most women, even those who have abortions, don't think it's a good thing. Sounds exactly like Paul's struggle with the reality of sin at work in his own body (Romans 7). Finally, the answer to the abortion question--and other equally complicated ones--is not simple. In the end, however, the body of Christ is to respond to sin in all it's presentations as Jesus did: enter into the dirty grays of compassion. He did this when he "ate with and received sinners" (Luke 15:1-2). He did this when he said to the woman taken in adultery: "Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more" (John 8). As we are known to put it: we really are to love the sinner and hate the sin.

BTW, have you ever wondered how to do this? As C.S. Lewis taught, there is one person with whom each of us enters into this dirty gray of compassion every day--the person in the mirror.

In His Presence: It's Reward Enough

What will heaven be like? There likely are as many answers to that question as their are inquirers. Biblical writers used imagery familiar to their day to capture the essence of the eschaton. City with no gates. Transparent gold streets. No tears. No death.

One's station in life tends to influence one's perspective of heaven. Many hymns that extol the opulence of heaven emerge, understandably, from the depression era. I can understand a depression era migrant worker thinking of "mansion awaiting for him...at the end of life's troublesome way." I'm not so sure, however, that the blessing of heaven has to do with any material reward.

I learned what I think heaven really is about just this week. My mom and dad came for a visit this past week. They came primarily to see Zach, our 14 year old son, march in the Spain Park High School Band. Like his other siblings, he's a very gifted musician. Following in the rhythmic steps of his ole dad, he's a drummer--and quite a good one. Along with this, he, unlike his dad, is also a gifted vocalist, but I digress.

While my parents were here, my dad and I had a chance to go fishing together for a few hours on Thursday evening. While I was growing up, my dad and I fished together quite a bit. It was a special treat for me to engage in this shared experience with my dad again and, we had a blast.

Interestingly, we didn't catch very many fish. I caught two, embarrassingly small bass and my dad caught none. As we were packing up to leave, I express to my dad how bad I felt that he didn't catch a fish. Now, my dad isn't very expressive. When he speaks, however, it's from the heart.

In his matter of fact, but very tender way, he said: "Catching fish isn't what makes this fun, just being with each other makes the trip worth it." He couldn't have said it any better. That's when I realized an important truth. While we're trying to figure out all the trappings of heaven, I believe, once we're there, that we'll understand it's true blessing: just being with each other in the Father's presence will be reward enough.

"What is my hope, our joy, or the crown in which we will glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when he comes? Is it not you? Indeed, you are our glory and joy (1 Thess. 2:19).

Send Your Rain, O Lord...Just Not When I'm Painting

The temperature in the Southeast over the last few weeks has been stifling hot. While the actual temperature has been in the 90's, the heat index pushed the virtual mercury well over 100. Leaving the mechanically cooled air of inside facilities, it has felt as if you've strolled into a convection oven.

Many have been the days when I've prayed for a cloud to provide a brief shower, or at least to give some shelter from the sun's direct rays. Yesterday was an exception to this daily desire.

Our house is in desperate need of a coat of paint (probably two coats). This became very apparent several weeks ago when we noticed a rotting window sill on one of the front, dormer windows. Each time I drove in the driveway, the exposed, black wood framed by pealing paint seemed to beg for my attention. With great resolve, I simply looked the other way.

Yesterday, I finally took some action. I purchased a replacement sill from Lowe's (these home improvement stores have everything!), cut it to size, removed the rotted sill, and installed the new one. Just as I was carefully applying the second coat of paint, a dark cloud moved in. I began to pray, "Please, Lord, don't let it rain." Now, I don't know if my prayer was ineffective or if someone else's was effective, but the cloud opened up and dropped it's liquid treasure on the parched earth.

I learned a few things yesterday. First, if you need rain, just start painting the exterior of your house! Second, and more seriously, I tend to view the world through the narrow lenses of my own, immediate needs. What I'm doing at the moment, ought to be as important to everyone else--especially God--as it is to me. Surely God could hold back the rain until I finished painting these newly installed window sills. After all, this task was as urgent a world hunger! Third, I'm grateful that my greatest worry yesterday was a rotting window sill. For, it implied that I had a window, which was attached to a house. On that same day, I saw a homeless man with a shopping cart loaded with his worldly possessions huddled under an overpass, trying to get some relief from the hot sun. I wonder if he welcomed the rain that I had so cursed? Perhaps the rain that streaked my newly painted window sill was intended to bless one of the "least of these" brothers of Jesus?

Send your rain, O Lord, to your people!

WWJD: Beyond the Bracelet

For centuries, Christians have excelled in iconography as a means to remind them of their core beliefs, express their faith, and motivate them to a faithful walk with God. Crosses. Fish. IHS. Various symbols and monograms have been used in association with the Christian faith. These icons have both positive and negative potential. On the positive side, they can accomplish the purposes described previously. On the negative side, they can become mere pieces of jewelry or art with little or no practical meaning (ever seen someone with a fish on the car's trunk flip somebody off?). They can become things we admire, rather than reminders of the One Who we worship. Also, they can be used as near talismans as attempts to manipulate the divine for our own prosperity or protection.

I remember a few years ago when the various colored WWJD bracelets were the fad. And, I actually liked them. I went through several of these, never taking them off until they literally deteriorated (or became so dirty I had to remove them). That says a lot for a guy who still can't bring himself to wear a watch--I just can't stand something on my wrist! As you recall, this bracelet was to remind its wearer to ask the all important question before taking any action: "What Would Jesus Do?" Admittedly, I often failed to ask myself the question despite the reminder that donned my wrist like an ancient phylactery.

Recently, I re-read the book that gave rise to the WWJD bracelet craze. Bearing the title: What Would Jesus Do?, Garrett Sheldon retells in contemproary language the phenomenal book, In His Steps, written by his great-grandfather, Charles Sheldon. While the book is fictional, it's informed by actual events in the lives of believers. As I read through this book once again, I was deeply convicted.

Though written over a decade ago, the message rings with relevance. It begins with a description of a busy pastor, leading a very large, successful church. Quite frankly, it describes to a "t" any number of American churches in suburbia. The pastor enjoyed a comfortable existence, in an afluent church that boasted large attendance numbers and, more importantly, huge contribution figures. Everything is "well" at First Church...until. Until a needy, pregnant, black woman interrupts the well-managed lifestyles of the pastor and the church members. At first, the church simply sends her away, not knowing what to do. The desperate lady attends church the following Sunday, pleading for assistance when she begins hemorhaging and faints before the church. Subsequently, she dies, leaving a small little girl behind.

This tragedy begins a spiritual odyssey for both the pastor and the church. He challenged the church to take a year-long pledge that, before anyone would make a decision, they would ask the question: What would Jesus do? What I like about this book is two-fold. First, it moves Chrisitanity from the realm of theory to praxis. It focuses, not on doctrinal nuances, but on actual service in the name of Jesus--something the church in America is in desperate need of. It challenges the insidiuous hubris that so grips our churches, and calls for self-denial and humility.

Second, the book is not a thinly-veiled strategy for prosperity in Jesus name. In fact, the folk who dared to make decisions based upon the life of Jesus met with severe opposition. Job losses. Economic reversals. Personal opposition and criticism. Why, there was even a movement within the church to fire the preacher over his new, fanatical views. Following in the steps of Jesus, remember, ultimately leads to the cross.

I think every church in suburbia ought to re-read--or read for the first time--this compelling book. In fact, I'm working on a strategy to get this book into the hands of every family at CrossBridge. We need to be reminded of our true mission. We need to be reminded that God's heart is with the poor, the disenfranchized, the outcast. Too often we've shielded ourselves from the mess of the world and in so doing have failed to work with God toward it's redemption. In the end, the book moved me to repentance. Perhaps it will do the same for you as well.

WWJD. It's more than just a bracelet...or is it?

5 People in a Tent for 4

Tomorrow, our kids return to school. It always feels as if summer flies by. This year, it seemed to break the sound barrier. This was one of those summers whose frenetic schedule prohibited a vacation for the Brantley family. And, I'm really not complaining. Trying to find time for a trip is a problem that most people in the world never face. So, we're blessed beyond measure.

At the same time, we look back with regret when we've not been able to spend focused, extended time with our kids. Facing this reality, Carol and I did something we've never done before. This past Sunday evening, we loaded up our small tent, fishing gear, a few groceries, and what little camping equipment we have (basically a flash light and sleeping bags), and took off for an overnight camping excursion. My oldest son, Allen (who's home from Oklahoma Christian for a few days), our youngest daughter, Miranda and I left first to set up camp. Carol remained behind until our youngest son, Zach returned home from an overnight trip to a friend's lake house. By 7:30 p.m., they joined us at our camp site.

We pitched our small tent on the banks of a beautiful, 3 acre lake owned by Steve Wilson, a great friend and brother. This lake is teeming with large mouth bass. We fished late into the evening, built a fire, and ate our fill of beanie weanies (this may be a uniquely southern dish).

Around midnight, we ambled in the darkness to our tent for a night's rest--at least that's what we thought. Now, please understand. Carol purchased this tent for $40.00 at Academy Sports a few months ago. The occasion was a father/daughter campout at this very sight. This tent claims to sleep four--but they must have meant four small infants! Somehow we managed to sandwich all five of us into this little tent.

I learned a few things that evening. First, it's nearly impossible to sleep when you're cheek to cheek with the people you love. Second, there's no greater feeling in the world than to be cheek to cheek with the people you love. Third, there's no place I'd rather be than cheek to cheek with the people I love.

In the stillness of the night, and the squirms of 5 uncomfortable people trying to sleep, God speaks powerfully. He reminds us of what's important. He reminds us of who's important. The enemy delights in distracting us from the important, attempting to nudge us toward the urgent. Sometimes, it takes 5 people jammed in a tent for 4 for God to get our attention. Thank you, dear Lord, for speaking to me in this extraordinary way through rather ordinary means. Grant us all eyes to see, and ears to hear you in unexpected ways.

The Wilderness: A Place of Refocusing

I haven’t posted a blog in quite some time. While I could blame this blogging lacuna on mere lack of creativity, I know there was a deeper reason for it. I simply haven’t had the spiritual energy to produce much worth reading—as if I ever have!

The past several months have been particularly difficult on me. The death of my beloved father-in-law in March, along with a number of staffing issues over the past several months have left we bewildered, wondering about my own ministerial focus. For several months, I’ve been in the wilderness and have felt the hot breath of the lion that constantly prowls around seeking whom he may destroy. Some of you know what I mean.

These have been painful, confusing, and frustrating days. In this process, however, I’ve discovered several things. First, time in the wilderness, while frightening and frustrating, is an essential part of our spiritual formation. Strangely, immediately after God issued His divine pronouncement of approval at Jesus baptism, the Holy Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted. Now, please don’t misunderstand. I am not attempting to equate my, or anyone’s, ministry with Jesus’ mission. At the same time, this story says something about the essential tutorial nature of wilderness moments. These lonely times force us to face the reality of our human weakness, and to clarify our ultimate allegiance. Will we follow our own pursuits or will we seek God’s will above our own?

Second, I’ve learned how easy it is to allow peripheral issues to distract us from kingdom business. Satan has the uncanny ability to use our concept of church to his own, devastating advantage. The American church seems to struggle with a collective hubris fueled by our consumerist culture. When we infect church with our consumerist mentality, the body of Christ is reduced to a Christian corporation whose purpose is to serve its patrons. Rather than increasing the kingdom of God, this mentality causes us to focus on keeping the Christian customers pleased so they will continue to patronize us. Satan has a hay day with this. Ministers who desire to preach the good news, and see souls save become disenchanted as they are forced to become managers of our Christian malls.

Finally, I’ve also learned that most Christians are equally dissatisfied with the status quo. Over the past few weeks, God has demonstrated that the people at CrossBridge are searching for ways to serve others in substantive ways. Rather than bemoaning the state of the church, God is calling bold leaders to invite others to travel in the way of the cross. I am grateful that God has, and is bringing, new focus, not only to me personally, but to the CrossBridge church collectively. I await with great anticipation the new thing God is birthing among us…and to see it come to maturity.

I’m so blessed to be in this community of faith whose heart stands poised in the direction of the fatherless, widows, and strangers in our world.

Embracing the Storm

I haven't posted a blog in a couple of months. This personal blogging lacuna was the result of a number of things. Strangley, though a minister's occupation evolves largely around words, sometimes its difficult to put two of them together to make a sensible thought. For some, difficult circumstances provide verbal fodder for some. For others, it tends to shut down the creative juices. I'm the latter of the two, I suppose. It's been pretty difficult around here the last few weeks. At the same time, it's been refreshing.

Storms seem to be that way. They are ominous with real, potential destructive power. Here in the Southeast, thunderstorms often erupt this time of year, producing flash floods, felling trees, leaving thousands without power. Despite these negative results, storms bring much-needed moisture to parched ground, and remind our arrogant minds of our ultimate vulnerability to powers much greater than ourselves. Without storms, life could not exist and, quite frankly, would be rather dull.

I've learned that as God begins His move in communities disruption, not peace, typically occurs at first. Let's face it. Humans generall resist change. Even the slavery of Egypt looks compelling against the risky business of following God. When God moves in a community, it can be painful. Changes do occur. Irritations arise. Ultimately, however, those who trust in the Lord mount up with wings like eagles, they run without becoming weary, and they walk without fatigue.

Perhaps you are in such a place. And, your storm is unique to you. While I don't think God is the immediate cause of everything in our lives, He is the final redeemer of it all. As Joseph, who in retrospect could see the hand of God in the extreme circumstances of his life, I look with great anticipation to understanding the mysterious, poweful, redemptive work of God beyond the storms. Give us eyes to see your sufficient grace, O Lord...and be glorified.

Be Exalted, O, Lord

If I were to be categorized religiously, I supposed I'd find myself within the broad boundaries of evangelical Christianity. Of course, within that category are many, and varied, subcategories. From this Protestant perspective then, I suppose what I'm about to say might sound strange. I've found myself drawn repeatedly to the media's coverage of Pope John Paul II's death and upcoming funeral.

Admittedly, I am intrigued by Catholicism's traditions and religious mysteries. Who is the secretly named cardinal that was held "in pectore" (in the heart) by the Pope? If there really is such a person, will the documents left by the John Paul II reveal his name? What political winds blow through the college of cardinals as they elect a new pope? And, what's the actual signicance of the white puffs of smoke sent up, signaling the election of the Church's new leader?

While there are serious theological differences between Catholics and Protestants (and serious differences between Christians in these broad categories), the death of this pope has created something glorious--the name of Jesus Christ will be heard throughout the world over the next few days. It might be said in the stoic tone of a detached reporter, or spoken with deep fervor from believers. Either way, the name of Jesus will be heard. For that, I am grateful.

May Your name, O Lord, be exalted. And, may you draw all people to Your Son through whom there is forgiveness and grace.

Why Are You Weeping?

I read an article by Steve Fry, pastor of the Belmont Church in Nashville, that spoke deeply to my heart during this special Christian season. The power of the thought emerged from the current circumstances of my life. I continue to grieve the death of my dear father-in-law. Moments of an overwhelming sense of loss continue to surprise me at unexpected moments. Normal sights and sounds remind me of his presence, and I'm struck by his absence.

When I received the article via email, it was surreal. It was as if the article was written specifically for me. After I contemplated this thought, I began to wonder how many people felt the same way. Isn't that the power of the gospel, though? One message, one savior, one God meeting each person uniquely?

Steve's article referred to Jesus' first, post-resurrection words uttered in the gospel of John. The words, strangley, took on the form, not of a command, but a question. And, the question centered not on Him, but on her--Mary Magdelene. "Why are you weeping?" Rather than a veiled criticism of an "highly emotional woman," these words speak to the priority of Jesus' heart--her hurt became His. He entered fully into the place of her pain.

Strangely, she thought Jesus was the cemetery gardener. A gardener? I've often wondered if Mary's sense of mistaken identity derived from the confusion of her grief aided by the shadows of early morning. Or, did Jesus' "ordinary" form contribute to the mistake? Wouldn't you expect the risen Lord to appear in such a glorious form that there would be no mistake of his identity? Certainly those closest to him (as was Mary) wouldn't mistake him for an ordinary gardener!

Perhaps that's part of the power of the resurrection, though. Jesus still comes, not in an unapproachable posture, but one that continues to identify with "ordinary" humans. For, rather than revealing Himself to the privileged, powerful, and politically connected, Jesus comes to a woman with a past. And, in so doing, He demonstrates to her--and us--not only the power of his resurrection, but the priority of His heart--I will meet you in your pain...now and always. "Why are you weeping?"

"Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Maranatha

Back to "Normal"

As I indicated in my previous post, my father-in-law died last Friday. His funeral and interment were on Monday--a sad day framed in hope. I was so proud of my children and dear wife on that day. Allen spoke powerful, though tender, words about his grandfather. Amber and Zach both read with eloquence some of their Poppa's favorite Scriptures. All three of these older children of ours sang with LifeSong during the service, as did Carol, my wife, and only child of her daddy.

I watched with amazement as Carol praised God in His sancturary under such sad circumstances. Her sanctuary wasn't the place we call the auditorium. It was a quite place of inner strength where she met her God and delivered her father's soul to His loving care. With every ounce of her being, she sang songs that were dear to her father. It appeared that with each lyric, phrase, and musical note, she gained strength in the presence of her Father. What a testimony!

Miranda, our sweet 10 year old met the day with her tender faith. She had spent many hours in the lap of her Poppa, and she misses his "jiggly laugh." I was touched by the way she held her siblings, and gained strength from their aggregate faith. My mother-in-law, Rose Allen, demonstrated great strength. Not the stoic, false strength of the world, but a godly strength that allowed her to weep unashamedly as she bid her husband of nearly 50 years "so long," anxiously awaiting when she would "see him again." Faith. Hope. Love.

It is now Wednesday, two days after the funeral. Strangely, I'm having a tougher day today than I did on Monday. I suppose I was so focused on the event, and how my family would hold up that I really didn't grieve. I am now. It seems that everything should be "back to normal." And, it's not. As I walked into my office and saw my desk strewn with hand made sympathy cards from the kids at our church along with several notes from dear friends, I wept. I realized the depth of my loss. "Poopah" was not only my father-in-law, colleague in ministry, brother in Christ, father of my wife and grandfather to my children, he was my friend. No, he was more than a friend. He was my buddy. I delighted in our time together.

I more deeply long for the kingdom of God to come in its fullness. I more fully understand the sting of death. And, I more completely desire the resurrection when Christ will unfurl his nail pierced hands, cup our cheeks and wipe the tears away. Until then, we walk by faith, not by sight.

Maranatha.

Present With The Lord

The last few days have been some of the most difficult ones of my life. I've watched my beloved father-in-law, whom I affectionately called, Poopa, slip into the arms of God. During this process, I hurt for my dear wife, Carol. An only child, her daddy loved her deeply, and she love him with equal devotion.

I witnessed her struggle of faith--she didn't want her daddy to die, but neither did she want to deny him the joy of being present with the Lord. In these moments, faith doesn't tidy up the struggle. The pain is real. Faith does provide a perspective that transcends the immediate and sees divine realities. Carol's faith moved her to embrace the promise of God for herself and her dad. I am completely amazed at this woman of God, and am grateful to share in her life.

Tomorrow will be another difficult day. She will sing with LifeSong (along with Amber, Allen and Zach) at her father's funeral. Allen, who is named after Poopa, will share some thoughts. Amber and Allen will read some of their grandfather's favorite texts and I, only with the strength that God provides, will deliver the eulogy. In all that we attempt, we desire to glorify our God--the one in whom Poopa lived...and died. Though absent from us in the body, we are delighted that he is present with the Lord.

Waiting Room Theodicy

As Greg Miles has posted on the LifeSong Notes blog site, my father-in-law, Howard Allen has been in the hospital for three weeks. This past week, he was in ICU due to complications from a procedure that nearly took him from this life.

While in the waiting rooms of these critical areas, you see and hear a lot of things. I overheard one particular conversation in which two men were discussing their loved one's medical condition. After discussing her serious, medical status, their conversation turned to theology.

"My preacher told me that God was in control of everything and that for some reason beyond our comprehension, He's put her in this shape. I just don't know about that," the son of the woman said with eyes heavy with tears. "No, I don't agree with that," her brother interjected. He began to provide his particular understanding of theodicy--explaining suffering in light of the existence of God. Eventually I joined the conversation and enjoyed my discussion with these men of obvious faith, and deep hurt.

I really don't remember all the theological points that were argued, because they ultimately didn't matter that much. I remember making some reference to C.S. Lewis' work after cancer caused the untimely death of Joy, his wife. Prior to that emotional experience, Lewis gave rational answers to the question of suffering. And, they were biblically centered and continue to be helpful. However, Lewis expressed his own emotional dissatisfaction with his own answers while he was in the throes of grief.

What I do remember is seeing a 53 year old, distinquished gentlemen (the woman's brother) break down and unashamedly weep. At that moment, something happened. It was as if his grief and mine connected us at a deep level. Not even knowing the man's name, I walked over and embraced him. "I'm so sorry about your sister," I whispered in his ear. "I don't understand all the complexities of our world; why this is happening at this moment to your sister. This I do know--God is not unaffected by your grief. He weeps with you." "I never thought of God weeping with me," he said. "Strangely, that thought helps."

In the end, theological systems and biblical concepts are insufficient for the hurting soul. And, thank God that's not what He offers. The biblical text, rather than a sterile list of do's and don't's from a cosmic despot, is His self-disclosure to a creation He desperately loves. He enters our struggles. He both touches and is touched by us. He has become vulnerable to our rejection of Him. The world is not as God intends. At least not yet. As Paul describes in Romans 8, the entire creation is groaning, awaiting ultimate redemption--the ultimate moment when God's redemptive work is consummated. At that moment, God will cup our cheeks in His holy hands and wipe the tears away. Until then, God uses His body to embrace the hurting, and mingles His tears with theirs. Somehow in those holy moments, healing begins. Such is the nature of waiting room theodicy.

Thanks to my CrossBridge brothers and sisters who have cried with us over the past few weeks. Your tears have brought healing to our hurting hearts. They remind us that God is fully present in the midst of such struggles.

Putting Herod back into Christmas

I realize that Christmas is over. Lights are being removed from yards. Discarded trees litter the streets. People are getting back to "normal." Yet, Christmas isn't merely a day; it's a new reality. Jesus has come...and remains.

The following article, written by Joy Carrol Wallis, an Anglican Priest, was sent to me by Jan King, a good friend and reflective thinker. It's a reminder of what our culture has done to Christmas, and why Christians need to think more seriously about the gospel story. I hope it will give you pause to think about the redemptive work of Christ as we begin a new year.


How people love Christmas carols! When I was a priest back in London, carol singing around the parish really seemed to get everyone in the mood for Christmas. We always had a real accordion and an old-fashioned lantern on a pole; we were always wrapped up warmly, and we would stop and sing carols under selected streetlights. It was a scene fit for a Christmas card.... People came out in droves, mostly non-churchgoers, to listen and put money in our collecting box for the homeless. When we were finally all sung out, we would trudge back to someone's house for mulled wine and minced pies...all very English! Great memories.

But we need to beware! Our culture loves a sentimental Christmas, and the Christmas carols that we sing are a big part of that. The words often paint an idyllic picture of sanitary bliss that has very little to do with the reality of what Jesus came into this world to do. This week Jim was reading the Christmas story to our son Luke. He read of how Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem on the donkey, that there was no room in the inn. But there was a stable, and, as Jim read, "the stable was warm and clean!"

But this sanitization of the Christmas story is a relatively recent development. It's interesting that before the Victorian era, Christmas songs were much more likely to reflect the reality of Jesus' entry into our world. Carols would not hesitate to refer to the blood and sacrifice of Jesus or the story about Herod slaughtering the innocent children. As an example of the contrast, read through the words of "Away in a Manger." Jesus is the perfect baby, and "No crying he makes...." My guess is that Jesus cried a lot. We know from the gospels that the more Jesus saw of the world in which he lived, the more he mourned and wept regularly. A Jesus who doesn't weep with those who weep, a Jesus who's just a sentimental myth, may be the one that our culture prefers, but that Jesus can do nothing for us.

In Britain there's a very popular musician called Cliff Richard. About 10 years ago he released a Christmas song that reached the top 10 in the charts. The lyrics of "Saviour's Day" reflected his Christian faith and included lines such as, "Life can be yours on Saviour's Day, don't look back or turn away...." I picked up a teenage pop magazine where there was an article reviewing the season's Christmas songs. When it came to "Saviour's Day," the writer said, "This song is OK, but there's no holly, no mistletoe and wine, no presents around the tree, no snow, no Santa, in fact this song hasn't got anything to do with Christmas at all!" A radio DJ in this country once said, "What Christmas is all about is the celebration of living in a great nation like this." It's not a celebration of this "great" nation; it's about Jesus Christ. It's so easy to let the world reduce our spirituality to nostalgia and sentiment. As Evangelical Covenant Reverend Dr. Michael Van Horn said, "We must be careful not to lose the connection to the truth of the story because it is that story that shapes our identity as the people of God."

Another danger of sentimentality is that we tend to lose interest in the parts of the story that are not so comfortable. We smile at the warm cozy nativity scene, but have you ever spent a night in a barn? Or given birth in a barn? The reality is very different. Most scholars suggest that in Luke's account it's not just that the inns were full but that Mary and Joseph were forced to take the barn because their family had rejected them. Joseph has relatives or friends of relatives in Bethlehem. So rather than being received hospitably by family or friends, Joseph and Mary have been shunned. Family and neighbors are declaring their moral outrage at the fact that Joseph would show up on their doorsteps with his pregnant girlfriend.

No sooner have the wise men left the stable then King Herod plots to kill Jesus. He is so determined that he is willing to sacrifice many innocent lives in order to get to this one baby. Herod recognizes something about Jesus that in our sentiment we fail to see: that the birth of this child is a threat to his kingdom, a threat to that kind of domination and rule. Jesus challenges the very power structures of this evil age. Herod has all the male infants in Bethlehem murdered. Not so cozy. This is the Jesus who entered the bloody history of Israel, and the human race.

But we don't want to think about Herod. Van Horn calls him the "Ebenezer Scrooge without the conversion, the Grinch without a change of heart." We Christians like to talk about putting Christ back into Christmas, but let's not forget to put Herod back into Christmas.
Herod represents the dark side of the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression. Jesus was born an outcast, a homeless person, a refugee, and finally he becomes a victim to the powers that be. Jesus is the perfect savior for outcasts, refugees, and nobodies. That's how the church is described in scripture time and time again - not as the best and the brightest - but those who in their weakness become a sign for the world of the wisdom and power of God.

It's Been A While

I haven't posted a blog in a month. This is due in part to the busyness associated with the Christmas season, but primarily because I simply didn't have much to say. "Blogger's Block," I suppose. Before Christmas, however, I wanted to share some things about the implications of the incarnation.

Last evening, we held our annual candlelight service, which is always moving for me. There's something about a darkened room being illuminated by small flickers of light that fittingly represents the coming of the Light of the World. As usual, and under Greg Miles' exceptional leadership, LifeSong did a superb job in capturing the essence of what this means. I don't say it enough, but LifeSong is such a blessing to CrossBridge. And, Greg Miles is the force behind it.

At our candleight service, I shared the following:

In his introduction to The Message, a popular translation of the New Testament, Eugene Peterson made the following observation.

The arrival of Jesus signaled the beginning of a new era. God entered history in a personal way, and made it unmistakably clear that he is on our side, doing everything possible to save us. It was all presented and worked out in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It was, and is, hard to believe—seemingly too good to be true.

But one by one, men and women did believe it, believed Jesus was God alive among them and for them. Soon they would realize that he also lived in them. To their great surprise they found themselves living in a world where God called all the shots—had the first word on everything; had the last word on everything. That meant that everything, quite literally every thing, had to be re-centered, re-imagined, and re-thought.

As we enter into the Christmas season, these words by Peterson are extremely relevant and worthy of sustained reflection. We must resist allowing the consumerist frenzy associated with this season to eclipse the astonishing events that Christmas represents for the Christian. It signals that God did “enter history in a personal way,” demonstrating that God truly is “on our side.” Yet is also reminds us that God’s continued presence means things have changed and that everything must be “re-centered, re-imagined and re-thought.”

As we enter the holiday season let’s take some time to intentionally reflect on what it means personally to us that God has entered, not only history, but our hearts. What needs to be re-centered or re-thought in our lives? Anything need to be re-imagined? God came to rule in the hearts of women and men—the very domain of His kingdom. May Christmas be a time when we acknowledge His lordship and re-centered our lives around Him. In so doing, we embrace the true gift of Christmas, and re-enter the beginning of a new era for our lives.

My prayer is that all will come to know the One Who knows us intimately and is forever for us. May Christmas signal the beginning of a new era for you.

Coming Together

This past Sunday (November 21), CrossBridge participated in a community-wide Thanksgiving Service. Several different churches came together to express our thanksgiving to God for His unspeakable gift.

The New Hope Church (A Cumberland Presbyterian fellowship), under the leadership of Donny Acton, hosted the event. Along with the praise band at New Hope, Donny and his wife led us in some powerful praise and worship, centering on the grace that is ours in Christ Jesus. Clark Skelton, pastor of Indian Springs Baptist Church, guided the assembly in a period of testimonials. Church leaders from other churches read scripture, led in prayer, and spoke words of blessing. I was given the honor, and responsibility, of speaking on this occasion. Whether the message was any good, other, more objective folks will need to judge, but I sensed a sweet, accepting atmosphere in that place.

After the service, the New Hope church provided refreshments. I talked to so many people from different Christian churches that I've forgotten all the "flavors" I was able to sample. One thing, however, stood out. There was a sincere love for God and one another in that room. For the first time, I really sensed what God is doing throughout His kingdom. Barriers are being broken down. Jesus is being exalted. And, God's people are coming together.

"I pray that they all may be one, as you, Father, are in me, and I in you; that they also may be one in us, that the world may believe that you sent me." May we all work to answer this prayer of God!

Love: Beyond Language

As I wrote in an earlier blog, my son, Zach, and I hiked from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to the Colorado River and back in one day. We did this along with my sister, brother-in-law, and my dad. There were so many memorable sights, experiences, and conversations that I'm still processing them all. As I was meditating this morning, while looking at a picture of Zach against the stunning backdrop of the Grand Canyon, I was reminded of one story that came from our trip together.

We started our descent into the Canyon just before 6:00 a.m. Since one of our group was having a pretty difficult time (I won't give my brother-in-law's name), we dragged ourselves out of the Canyon at 7:30 that evening. Zach and I were the first to emerge from the Bright Angel trail. As we came out, there was a very concerned-looking, older lady standing at the trail head. When I passed, she asked, in broken English with a very thick German accent, if I had seen her husband. Once again in broken English, she described him as a tall gentlemen with gray hair (at least, that's what I interpreted her words to mean). I told her that I thought I saw someone of that description farther down the trail, but couldn't be positive.

After this brief exchange, I walked over to a bench, dropped my backpacks (I had to carry not only mine but two others of our group as well), and headed for the portable toilets. As I was making my way back to the bench, I saw this tall, older gentlemen who obviously was looking for someone. "Could this be the woman's husband?" I thought to myself.

I must confess that, at first, I just started walking back to the bench. I was entirely too tired to get involved, thinking that they'd eventually discover each other anyway. I even walked passed him several steps then, as if an invisible hand stopped me, I turned back. "Sir, Sir. Are you looking for your wife?" I said. "No sprechen sie Englisch," he said (or something like that). Since I took only two semisters of Theological German for reading purposes, needless to say my conversational German was woefully deficient for such a conversation. So, whether I've written correctly what the gentelman said or not, I knew what he was saying--he did not speak English. I responded, "No sprechen sie Deutsche," trying to let him know that I didn't speak his language either.

I tried to communicate anyway. "Are you looking for your wife?" I said slowly and loudly. (Isn't it strange how we think speaking slowly and loudly miraculously transcends language barriers?) He looked confused. I showed him my wedding ring and made a gesture with my hands in the shape of an hour glass, thinking that was the universal symbol for woman. (I know it was kind of sexist on my part, but I was desperate!). Strangley, he even looked more confused. I pointed to his ring and said "Wife, Wife" and made my (sexist) gesture again. Something clicked. "Fief, Fief?" Not sure of the exact German dialect, that sounded close enough to wife for me. Forgetting what language we were speaking, I said "Ci, Ci," then laughed. "I mean, Ja, Ja."

Now I was in a quandry. What if the woman I saw wasn't even his wife? I might be starting something that God would hold against me in the judgment! I just had a hunch, though, that these two belonged together. I tried to tell him to stay where he was and I would go get the woman I thought was is "fief" (sp?). I went to where I initially saw the woman and she was gone. Zach said she'd walked down the path to the road, so off I went to find her. Since it was now pitch dark, I was looking for her with a flashlight. Nowhere to be found. There was a row of parallel-parked cars near the walkway, so I began shining my light into the windows. I knew this really looked suspicious, but I kept shining anyway.

Eventually I spotted a woman sitting in her car. I shined the light on her and tapped on her window. I don't know what she thought. Here she was in a foreign country, her husband is lost, and now she's about to be abducted. As I shined the light on her, I sensed the confused fear in her eyes. Hoping to calm her, I shined the light on my own face and said "husband, husband." In retrospect, I wondered what I was actually conveying to her...and I really don't want to know.

Luckily, she recognized me, got out of her car and walked with me. I kept thinking, what if these two don't even belong together? Despite my doubts, we trudged ahead. When we got to the place where I told the German guy to remain, he was gone. I asked Zach if he saw where he went. "He walked down that way," Zach said, pointing down a paved walkway. I told the woman, whose English was slightly better than her alleged husband's to stay put. I took off down the trail and found the guy searching for someone. I don't know why, except that it was apparently the only word we seemed to understand between us, but I called out "Hey, fief, fief." He looked in my direction and I motioned for him to follow me, which he did.

The woman was walking down the path toward us (German folk just don't stay put when you asked them to, or is it worried folk don't stay put?). I was praying, O, Lord, please let these two belong to one another. Before I said amen to this very brief, but eanest prayer, they spotted each other. Immediately, by the German "hoops and hollers" I knew they belonged together.

They embraced. They kissed. They spoked in relieved and joyful tones to one another. They both looked at me and said repeatedly "Danke, Danke, O, Danke." The man gave me a knowing look with a smile on his face and said "fief," and made a gesture of an hour glass with his hands. We nearly fell out laughing. We couldn't communicate by words, but the hugs, the laughter, and the eyes spoke clearly enough. It felt as if we knew each other, as if something spiritual had taken place between us all. As they walked away arm in arm, I said, remembering a smattering of German, "Gute Nacht, und Gesundheit," Good night, and health.

In that moment, I realized that love transcends language. There is a human longing for connection at an intimate level, something God has placed within us all. Despite our differences, despite our inabilities to articulate our positions, despite barriers that exist between us, love transcends them all, binding human hearts together. Perhaps that's why Paul would say, "And over all these virtures put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity" (Col. 3:14). In the emerging culture, we have trouble speaking each other's language. Love, however, can do what even the best-crafted, most articulate sentence never can accomplish--communicate to our hearts, bridge the cultural divide, and forge lasting relationships.

"I Owe You An Apology"

At some level, and in some fashion, all of us have felt the sting of negativity. It might be a "teeth bared" diatribe or the more insidious compliment followed by a "but..." Regardless of its expression, negativity takes its toll on our spirits.

Last Sunday, I approached a sweet lady who I knew used our building for a birthday party the day before. After our usual embrace and greetings, I asked about the party. "It was absolutely wonderful, except for the building." "What do you mean?" I asked. "When we got there," she continued, "the building was a mess. We had to take several loads of trash out to the dumpster. The stench was horrible." "I am so sorry," I responded with sincere regret. "Our cleaning crew comes in on Saturday evenings due to the high level of activities we have in our facilities. I do hope, however, that the party went well." She assured me that, not only did the party go well, but she and her family were so grateful for the use of our facilities.

Admittedly, I was a little down, but shook it off pretty quickly. You learn to do that when you're a minister. After all, I had a sermon to preach and many other people to greet. By the end of service, I had completely forgotten about the conversation. Afterward, this dear sister came up to me and, with tears in her eyes, said she needed to talk with me. Not really sure what was wrong, I gave her my attention. She began; "I owe you an apology, brother." "For what," I replied. "When you asked me about the birthday party, it was sinful of me to be negative. Jesus taught us about careless words and that's exactly what they were. I'm so sorry. I should be building you up, rather than tearing you down. Please forgive me."

I told her that she had done nothing to forgive. With stern, but caring eyes, she said, "No, brother, I need your forgiveness. Would you please forgive me?" Tears now welled up in my eyes. "Yes, dear sister, I forgive you." "And," I added, "thanks for demonstrating to me what a real godly heart is like."

I wonder what our world--no our churches--would look like if we adopted this attitude? We just might start resembling the "body of Christ."

Back from the Pit

No, this isn't a blog about a recent spiritual struggle from which God rescued me in psalmist fashion. Last weekend Zach, my 13 year old son, and I traveled to the Grand Canyon for what appears to be becoming an annual pilgrimage for the Brantleys. We met up with my mom and dad, and sister and brother-in-law at this historic site. Everyone but my mom (she has the brains in the family) set out to hike down the South Kaibab trail to the river and out via the Bright Angel trail in, once again, one day (yes, there are reasons why signs warn folks from attempting this).

We started down the South Kaibab trail at 5:55 a.m. and dragged ourselves out of the canyon at 7:30 p.m.--it was a pretty long day, but well worth it.

Last year, we went down to the Colorado river and back via exclusively the Bright Angel trail. While it provides some great views of the Canyon, it doesn't compare to the South Kaibab trail in this regard. Unlike the Bright Angel trail which follows a fault line down into the canyon, the South Kaibab follows a ridge line, offering spectacular views.

Zach and I had a great time together. Standing on a precipice with him, looking into this magnificent wonder of nature, you sense a bond of mutual experience that is inexplicable. You know that you are in the presence of something large, mysterious, powerful. I'm glad that my son and I could share this experience together. We have stories that we forever will tell.

I'm attempting to upload some pictures taken of our trip. I hope I'm successful. If not, it's great to be back from the pit...though priorities become much clearer when your at the bottom with those whom you love. I think I'll blog about that in the future.

Blue Like Jazz

Last weekend, I had the privilege to experience once again the ZOE worship conference. Greg Miles wrote his typically articulate thoughts about this great event. The theme Desperate captured in many ways the status of our postmodern culture. It appears that many worship leaders, as evinced by the Worship Leaders' track, are acknowledging this desperation, not only in our culture but in churches as well. This is good. Too often we've attempted to press hurting hearts into a thanksgiving worship mold.

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes, just as the psalmists, the turn toward thanksgiving in the midst of alientation, hurt, and suffering, is a necessary step toward healing. At the same time, the hurt must first fully be embraced, and expressed to our God. Hence, the imprecatory psalms (those that actually pray for the defeat or death of the psalmist's enemies, e.g. 109), throb with human emotions of vengeance. Only until these adequately are expressed, is there a move toward trust in the God who holds sole governance over the province of vengeance. So, language of lament, brokenness, alienation is legitimate in our worship.

Since I wrote a doctoral dissertation largely dealing with postmodernity's impact on the modern foundations of evangelical Christianity in general and Churches of Christ in particular, Brian McLaren's thoughts were especially of interest to me. I applaud the ZOE group and Woodmont Hills for including in these events those who emerge from divergent Christian tribes. As Brian said on several occasions, each denomination holds certain treasures that need to be shared with the larger body. Amen. Unfortunately, church history has not been one of sharing our portion of heavenly treasures, but of arrogantly assuming no other treasures exist beyond our own denominational troves. Thanks to Brian for sharing his treasures with us.

Typically, when I leave the ZOE conference, I'm on a "high" from the weekend. Not this time. I really couldn't put my finger on it either. (By the way, I've grown beyond thinking if I didn't get this nebulous "high" feeling after a worship event that, somehow, the event was deficient. The Church has entirely too much of this self-absorption, and I still struggle with it, though.) No, God worked mightily on me during this event, and still is.

I began identifying what I was feeling (or thinking or experiencing) when, after the conference, I read through Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz. This is a book on Christian Spirituality, very much postmodern in approach. It's not a "how to" or "self help" book so typical of many Christian books (many of which are excellent). The feel of this book is messy, authentic, raw. Real struggles with real people attempting to come to grips with Jesus. I highly recommend this book--it gives a depiction of the culture to which we have been called to minister.

Miller states his dislike of institutions, but also admits his personal benefit from their existence (like a Starbucks on nearly every corner). Miller struggles with how one lives consistently in a messy world. Answer? Despite one's best efforts complete consistency is an elusive goal.

In our weekly staff meeting (more like conversations), I referred to this aspect of Miller's book. It seems that we're always (and legitimately) struggling with how to reach each emerging generation. It appears to me that, among other things, the emerging culture is much like Donald Miller's description in Blue Like Jazz. They're not easily impressed. Can spot a fake a mile away. Neither do they care much for institutions. They're not so much interested in being entertained, as they are participating in something larger than themselves. Yet, this generation suffers from the same infection of self-absorption as those before it.

So, how do we respond? CrossBridge, and other emerging churches, have taken a more "contemporary" (what does that really mean?) direction. For this, I'm personally thankful. It's so refreshing as a minister to be able to share God's word without forever having to parse words to keep them within the prescribed parameters of "orthodoxy." Further, worship, under the capable direction of Greg Miles, is a meaningful experience in which God truly is encountered.

At the same time, we must be careful that we're not just exchanging one form for another. I think this was where I've been struggling. It kind of reminds me of the current Hardy's commercials (that's a fast-food chain in this part of the country). Understanding the suspicious nature of the emerging generation, their current marketing strategy is self-deprecating. They admit that Hardy's is not the place most people think of when they want a great burger--and they're right. Seems pretty authentic. And, there's the rub. Authenticity is now a great marketing strategy. When will one's (or a church's) authenticity become just another empty strategy to hook folk?

A paragraph in Don Miller's book nudged me down this path, and helped clarify my recent struggle:

A friend of mine, a young pastor who recently started a church, talks to me from time to time about the new face of church in America--about the postmodern church. He says the new church will be different from the old one, that we will be relevant to culture and the human struggle. I don't think any church has ever been relevant to culture, to the human struggle, unless it believed in Jesus and the power of His gospel. If the supposed new church believes in trendy music and cool Web pages, then it is not relevant to culture either. It is just another tool of Satan to get people to be passionate about nothing (p. 111).

Believe me, neither Miller nor I am suggesting the removal of cool Web pages or trendy music. They have their place. If, however, the church once again supplants the power of God's gospel for another human strategy, what real good have we done? And, unless we fully embody this good news, few folks will take notice. Perhaps the first place to start, before we break out the latest music, and create the coolest Web site, is for all Christians to repent of our self-absorption and fully enthrone Jesus in our hearts as Lord. I suspect that this action would put the church in a the best position to love our world, even as God does. When this happens, the world will know we are Jesus' disciples. And, then, we actually can be relevant to our culture and real human struggles.