Life Everlastin'

Earlier this week I discovered and read a short play by one of my favorite authors, The Sunset Limited by Cormac McCarthy. I'm still ruminating on the work, and have yet to make any definitive judgments. At times it was heavy-handed; at times it was illuminating. It certainly deserves and rewards further thought.

The setting of the play is simple: two unnamed men, one white and one black, are sitting in the black man's apartment having a conversation. They know very little about each other and were only brought together earlier that morning when the black man "saved" the white man from jumping in front of a train, the Sunset Limited, to commit suicide. The black man, an ex-con who had a vision of Jesus in prison, tries to detain the white man, a professor whose education has slowly led him to a stubborn nihilism, because he fears the man will make a second attempt to take his own life.

The conversation ranges widely, revealing tid bits about each man's past along the way. The black man persistently prods the white man in an attempt to uncover the reason he wishes to kill himself until the white man finally erupts in a nihilistic tirade in the last pages of the play. At the end, the nihilist appears unchanged, and the play closes on the black man questioning God.

For the record, I don't believe McCarthy to be a nihilist. How could a nihilist go to the work of creating great art? What would be the point? He certainly gives full voice to that position, however, in this and other works. His purpose, I believe, is to explore what he believes to the malaise of our age, a steady loss of a moral foundation in a post-Christian culture. He explores the problem by incarnating nihilism in various forms in his novels, and the white man in The Sunset Limited is the baldest expression belief in nothing.

I write this post to share a thought-provoking statement the black man makes as he tries to diagnose the white man's problem. The white man repeatedly asserts there's nothing wrong with him. He simply sees the meaninglessness of it all, he claims, and chooses to do the only sane thing: kill himself. The black man never accepts this answer, however, and he continually digs for another reason for the white man's despair. Maybe it's a total lack of community or the loss of his father or a string of bad luck. About mid-way through the play, the black man shows his cards and reveals what he thinks is the source of the white man's pain.

BLACK: Suppose I was to tell you that if you could bring yourself to unlatch your hands from around your brother’s throat you could have life everlastin?
WHITE: There’s no such thing. Everybody dies.
BLACK: That aint what he said. He said you could have life everlastin. Life. Have it today. Hold it in your hand. That you could see it. It gives off a light. It’s got a little weight to it. Not much. Warm to the touch. Just a little. And it’s forever. And you can have it. Now. Today. But you dont want it. You dont want it cause to get it you got to let your brother off the hook. You got to actually take him and hold him in your arms and it dont make no difference what color he is or what he smells like or even if he dont want to be held. And the reason you wont do it is because he dont deserve it. And about that there aint no argument. He dont deserve it. (He leans forward, slow and deliberate.) You wont do it because it aint just. Aint that so? (Silence.) Aint it?

The black man comes back to this premise briefly near the end of the play:

I got to say that if it was grief that brought folks to suicide it’d be a full time job just to get em all in the ground come sundown. So I keep comin back to the same question. If it aint what you lost that is more than you can bear than maybe it’s what you wont lose. What you’d rather die than give up.

The theological validity of the black man's position is open question to me at this point. He's clearly the voice of Christianity in the play, but I'm not sure how closely McCarthy's depiction of Christianity adheres to the real thing. Nor am I sure how closely McCarthy intends it to adhere. It's too early for me to decide. What do you think? Does the black man, in his attempt to diagnose the white man, express something true about human nature? Does he give voice to a Christian understanding of the human situation? More importantly, does that voice powerfully address the challenge of nihilism?

Travel Agent or Tour Guide?

I recently finished Simple Church by Thom Rainer and Eric Geiger (and, yes, I realize I am probably late to this particular party). The book was skim-worthy and overly colloquial for my tastes, but I found myself repeatedly nodding my head. I might not embrace the answers they propose in their case studies, but they push church leaders to ask the right questions: What do I expect "disciples" to look like in my congregation, and what process will help people become disciples?

Rather than offer a full review of the book (I'm sure many thorough reviews have already appeared since the book was published in 2006), I'd just like to relate one convicting metaphor:

"There is a major difference between a travel agent and a tour guide. . . . A travel agent spouts out intellectual information, hands you some brochures, and smiles. A travel agent tells you to enjoy the journey. 'Nice to meet you. Enjoy the trip.' A tour guide is different. . . . Unlike the travel agent who hands you a brochure, he goes with you on the journey. 'Nice to meet you. Get in. Let's go.'

"People need spiritual tour guides. They have had plenty of spiritual travel agents. Be a tour guide through the process of spiritual transformation in your church. Take people on a journey with you."

As church leaders, we must constantly ask ourselves if we are telling people to enjoy the journey or joining them on it. Does my ministry consist of brochure making or actual trekking?

On the Occasion of a New Birth

Like lightning in the humid night sky
Blessing flashes brightly in a moment
And gratitude swells and rolls
Like thunder rumbling below the stars.

Thank you thank you thank you
For sending your rain on the righteous
And the wicked.

Beauty Redefined

My family is currently preparing for its newest addition: a new baby brother who will be born via C-section on March 30. Grandparents start arriving tomorrow; and by this weekend, we'll have a houseful of family members anxiously waiting for the arrival of the first Barbarick boy of this generation. It's exciting and intimidating. What am I going to do with a boy?

Preparing for his arrival has led to following reflection on the last four years with my little girls.

I'm not sure what served as my paradigm for feminine beauty the first twenty years of my life. It was undoubtedly a mixture of my mother, my sister, the "ideal" woman projected by movies, TV, and advertisements, and the opinions of my friends. Regardless of the paradigm's origins, I've recently noticed it's slow erosion. It started about eight years ago, no doubt, when I started dating the woman who would become my wife; but the slow erosion has progressed into a full-scale crumbling collapse over the last four years. And in its place I find a new pattern.

I've heard fathers say that their girls are the most beautiful women in the world, and I've often thought they must be faking such sentimental drivel. Surely they're saying it just because they know they should. That's what you're supposed to say. That's what you're supposed to believe. But now I'm starting to understand . . .

The most moving scene (for me) in the recent film The Bucket List is when Jack Nicholson's character finally scratches off the last item on his list of things to do before his dies: "Kiss the most beautiful woman in the world." He marks it off after giving his toddler granddaughter—whom he has just met for the first time—a peck on the cheek. I'm not afraid to admit that I balled. Because now I'm starting to get it. It's not mere sentimental hyperbole. To their daddies (and maybe even more so to their granddaddies), little daughters are the most beautiful creatures in the world. I can look at each of my little girls, who are unique in their own ways, and declare with straight-faced honesty: "God has achieved perfection. Here is beauty embodied!" Hence the heart-melting power of their sparkling eyes, intoxicating smiles, and irresistible pouts.

My little girls are now my paradigm for beauty. They are the standard by which all others are judged (and left wanting!).

I'm excited to experience the joys of raising a boy (it's amazing to feel the pride swelling even after the first sonogram!). But how can it compare to raising little girls?

Hymns are Hip

Based on some recent reading, I'm prepared to announce that hymns are hip again.

Check out the Page CXVI for some free downloads of recently recorded hymns. The artists' purpose is to make the rich meaning and beauty of older hymns accessible to a new generation.

See also the the interview in the Winter 2009 edition of Leadership with Keith and Kristyn Getty. They are resisting the drift toward "praise and worship" music, choosing instead to write "hymns." And they're being well received! The interview includes the following introduction to the song-writing couple:

"At just around 30 years old, Keith and Kristyn Getty are both fashionable and energetic. They look as if they could be the next big thing in pop music. But they are committed to a higher calling: writing modern hymns in a contemporary idiom that teach the faith and bring the generations together in worship." I like it.

Finally, check out this article published in Time (Jan 2008). It describes a growing movement among the young and hip who gather to sing the four-part a cappella hymns in the Sacred Harp songbook. (The article warmed my Church-of-Christ, a capella-loving heart when I read it.)

So, little church, don't abandon the hymns to ape the latest trends in pop music! Our musical tradition has something valuable to offer to our culture, both theologically and artistically.

Teaching as Sharing

I planned for today's post to be the second part of what I started yesterday, but I came across a quote today that I felt compelled to share.

Seneca was a first century Roman philosopher who is known to us by his essays, plays, and copious letters. I'm currently reading through some of his 124 published letters as I research the relationship between precepts and examples, and this morning I read a short letter (Ep. 6) written to a friend who had requested Seneca to share some of the things he had been reading. "Give me also a share in these gifts which you have found so helpful," his friend implores. Your life is changing for the better, in other words, and I want to join you.

Seneca responds in his letter that he is anxious to "heap these privileges upon you" because:

"I am glad to learn in order that I might teach. Nothing will ever please me, no matter how excellent or beneficial, if I must retain the knowledge of it to myself. And if wisdom were given me under the express condition that it must be kept hidden and not uttered, I should refuse it. No good thing is pleasant to possess, without friends to share it."

As someone who aspires to teach for a living (or better yet, who feels called to teaching as a vocation), I resonated with Seneca's words.

He's not advocating, I'm confident, a type of utilitarian learning in which I learn only so that I have something to teach. (Preachers know this temptation: I study scripture only so that I have something to preach.) Seneca's writings clearly reveal that he loves learning; it is a great joy for him, but he doesn't want to keep that joy to himself. He wants to share it. Only then will the joy of learning fully bloom.

Seneca's attitude also protects him from the insidious elitism that can easily ensnare professional learners. If knowledge is power, as some have said, then we must beware of the temptation to hoard that power in an attempt to inflate the self. In this way, teaching is self-denying. I share freely (or for the modest price of tuition) what otherwise I could keep to myself. I heap on others the privileges which I could otherwise greedily amass for myself. I take the knowledge that would make me unique or special if I kept it to myself, and I give it to others. And I don't do so begrudgingly: I do so anxiously because no good thing is pleasant to possess without friends to share it.

Teaching is sharing. Teaching is selfless generosity. At its best, teaching heals the learner from a dropsy of the intellect: rather than greedily swelling with retained knowledge, the teacher denies his claim to the knowledge, releases it, and experiences the joy and freedom of sharing. In this way, teaching is a cross-shaped activity.

(Or course, the immediate gratification of students' adulation can lead teachers into another trap of self-aggrandizement, but I'll leave that subject for another day.)

So, when I read Seneca's words this morning, I couldn't keep them to myself. I've been blessed with the time to read Seneca, and I'm anxious to share his wisdom with you.

(The icon of Christ the Teacher)

Must I Be Impotent to be Empowered? (1)

One of my chief research interests involves New Testament soteriology and ethics, specifically in the Pauline writings and in 1 Peter. The following post addresses one of the persistent problems in soteriology and ethics: the relationship between divine and human agency. In other words, if God is the one who saves and empowers, am I left powerless in the whole process? Or maybe we work together (synergism)? I'm quite positive that my own power can't accomplish my salvation and right living (legalism), but I do sense that my choices and actions are free and that doing good requires a fair bit of my own will power. How does it all fit together?

I'll set the stage by recounting an important movement in biblical criticism, and I'll pick up the story in the year of my birth.

In 1979, E. P. Sanders redefined the "pattern of religion" typical of first-century Judaism. His important work challenged the gross caricature of Judaism as a legalistic religion. Instead, Judaism fit into what he called "covenantal nomism," a pattern of religion in which one "gets in" to the people of God by grace, but "stays in" by obedience to the law (to oversimplify his thesis). His findings had an immediate impact on Pauline studies. In Galatians, for example, whom is Paul battling? The letter had traditionally been understood as his strong rejection of Jewish legalism (righteousness from works of the law); but if Judaism isn't legalistic, then what's going on? Has Paul misunderstood his Jewish opponents? Or is legalism not the issue? Sanders' new understanding of Judaism demanded a reassessment of Paul's letters and his own pattern of religion.

Some argued that Paul himself adhered to a type of "covenantal nomism." He is a Jew, and his "conversion" to Christianity did not result in a major shift in his pattern of religion. Some important details may have changed, but the pattern remains the same. One still "gets in" to the people of God by grace (Gentiles included!), and one "stays in" by obedience to the law (which does not include Jewish identity markers like circumcision or food laws).

Others maintained that Paul's thought does not fit within the "covenantal nomism" pattern. Charles Talbert, my dissertation advisor, outlined a pattern of religion based on Pauline theology that he called "New Covenant Piety." In this pattern, one "gets in" by grace and "stays in" by grace. Obedience to the law of Christ is a requirement of staying among the people of God, but that obedience is empowered by the Spirit of God. God saves, and that involves both calling and empowering.

Talbert's proposal rings true to me and seems to best summarize Paul's theology (see Gal 2:20-21, my favorite verse in the NT if forced to pick one). And yet, almost every time I articulate "New Covenant Piety" to someone, I sense resistance. My interlocutors seem to balk because they sense NCP paints humans as completely passive agents, and that doesn't jive with their theology or their experience.

They're both right and wrong. Humans are not impotent in matters of soteriology and ethics, but we don't have to be impotent to be empowered. And I'm not advocating a kind of synergism in which I do my part, God does his part, and it all works out. God saves and empowers completely. And yet I'm not left a passive agent in the process.

Our misunderstanding of power confuses the issue. People chafe against the New Covenant Piety pattern of religion because they have (unconsciously) bought into the Competitive Power Rule (to borrow a phrase from another of my teachers, Ron Highfield). But more on that tomorrow. . . .

Singing Comfort

Below is the introduction to a sermon on Isaiah 40 that I gave at the Robinson Church of Christ this morning. I'd share the rest, but, based on the drooping eyelids in the congregation this morning, it got worse after this.

* * *

I want to start with a quiz. I'll start a verse, and let's see if you can complete it.

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will . . . ."

That’s right! They will “soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” This may be one of the best-known passages in scripture. You can find it on t-shirts, car bumpers, and blogs. I dare say it may be underlined or highlighted in a fair number of Bibles here this morning. It may even rank as your favorite verse; I’ve certainly heard it named as such before. And for good reason! It’s poetic and uplifting; it speaks of the renewal we all need. We read it and can almost feel the wind beneath our wings lifting us to soar, the very Spirit of God renewing and re-energizing our weary bodies and souls.

If you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know me too well. But I don’t want to disrupt your love for this verse this morning—it’s certainly worthy of regular reading and meditation. I just worry that sometimes, we take this verse out of its larger context.

First, we can be guilty of neglecting the shadows that give relief and beauty to the painting’s bright colors; we ignore the dark coldness that makes the fire so warm and bright. While Isaiah 40 is certainly an encouraging chapter, it’s not all good news! The people of Israel are compared to more than soaring eagles in Isaiah 40. The prophet also likens them to (among other things) flowers, dust, and insects—none of which has a particularly positive connotation. We can’t ignore those less favorable comparisons in Isaiah 40 and fully grasp its last verse.

Second, by taking 40:31 out of its context, we can take the message of comfort and apply it to any-old-place we need to be comforted. I’m physically exhausted this week or I’m fatigued by a difficult co-worker or I’m feeling a touch of the doldrums; so, I turn to Isaiah 40:31 for a pick-me-up. God can certainly provide healing in those situations, and he may even do so through this verse, but I don’t think that’s the thrust of Isaiah 40. This morning we’re going to take a quick flyover of Isaiah 40 and hopefully see why Isaiah is comforting his hearers and thus where he can be a comfort for us.

At the risk of deflating the swelling drama of my sermon, I’m going to go ahead and reveal my take from the beginning: in chapter 40 Isaiah isn’t comforting a people who are physically tired or exasperated by annoying acquaintances or beleaguered by the blues. He’s singing comfort to a people who have been exposed, judged, and punished. When we’re ready to identify with that group, then we can hear his words at their most assuring and uplifting.

Why I'm a Broncos Fan

My wife teases me about my devotion to the Denver Broncos. She can't understand that when you've sat in Mile High Stadium, felt the building shake with the rhythmic stomping of the crowd, watched John Elway lead the team from certain defeat to unbelievable victory, and jumped around and high-fived with your dad, you develop a certain emotional attachment to a sports team. When a boy and his dad and a stadium of 75,000 people share the exultation and suffering of cheering for the Broncos together, a strong, lasting bond is formed.

She also doesn't understand why I cry at some movies. "It's not real," she complains, "why do you care?" Well, it's not that I care overmuch about the characters in a movie or book, but they have the power to evoke potent memories, both positive and painful, that overwhelm my emotional capacity and overflow the body in tears.

She would have been truly befuddled if she witnessed me reading this article from ESPN about a 13-year-old whose visit to a Broncos game helped him heal after the death of his father. What can I say? Sometimes its good to be a fan of the Broncos and John Elway. Pride in my Broncos and memories of cheering for John Elway with my dad welled up in my chest and, yes, a tear or two squeezed out.

As soon as I finished the article, I e-mailed it to my Dad.

An Ideal Constellation of Friends

Here's another installment from the Robinson Church of Christ's recent study based loosely on Darryl Tippens' book, Pilgrim Heart.

* * *

After Saul’s experience on the road to Damascus, his baptism by Ananias, and his preaching in Damascus, the Christians in Jerusalem were still afraid to accept him into their community. And for good reason! As Paul himself tells us, “I intensely persecuted the church of God and tried to destroy it” before being called by God’s grace (Gal 1:13-15). But God provided Paul an advocate: “Barnabas took him and brought him to the apostles. He told them how Saul on his journey had seen the Lord and that the Lord has spoken to him, and how in Damascus he had preached fearlessly in the name of Jesus. So Saul stayed with them and moved about freely in Jerusalem, speaking boldly in the name of the Lord” (Acts 9:27-28).

Have you ever “taken up for someone” like Barnabas did for Saul? Were you rewarded or burned?
Has anyone ever vouched for you when your abilities or character were in doubt? How did you respond? Did you reward their faith in you?

Barnabas didn’t stop at merely vouching for Saul. When the church in Antioch begins to grow, the leaders in Jerusalem send Barnabas to nurture the young Christians. After encouraging the believers in Antioch for a short while, he takes a brief detour: “Then Barnabas went to Tarsus to look for Saul, and when he found him, he brought him to Antioch. So for a whole year Barnabas and Saul met with the church and taught great numbers of people” (Acts 11:25-26). Saul’s preaching in Jerusalem had made some dangerous enemies, and the church had sent him back to his home town of Tarsus to hide out. But Barnabas isn’t satisfied to leave him there. Presented with a growing and encouraging work in Antioch, he seeks out Saul and invites him to join in his ministry.

Do you have “yoke-fellows” in the areas in which you serve? How did you come to work together? Did one of you seek out the other?
How does having a co-worker affect the success of your ministry? How does it affect your satisfaction with the ministry?
In what areas are you trying to go it alone? In what areas are you hording the encouragement and blessings of ministry? Whom can you invite to join you?

Barnabas and Saul continue to allow their ministry team to grow. When the church in Antioch sends them on a mission to Jerusalem to relieve those suffering from a famine, they come back with a helper, John Mark. And when the church sends them on missionary journey to the west, they bring John along. At this point, Saul enjoys an ideal constellation of friends. He has an advocate/mentor in Barnabas and a helper/mentee in John Mark. He has both someone to raise him up higher and someone for him to lift up. Can you identify these same types of friends in your life?

One last point about mentoring: As a mentor, you should long for your student to surpass you one day. Mentoring should not be an “ego trip” that inflates your sense of self-importance. You cannot feel threatened by the success of your student and be a good mentor. Mentoring is an act of humility in which you recognize gifts in another that you want to help develop in order that he may surpass what you have accomplished.

Barnabas is again an excellent example. At the beginning of their ministry together, the pair is always called “Barnabas and Saul,” clearly placing Barnabas in the position of importance. He leads the team. A transition takes place in Acts 13:9, however, and it corresponds with the alteration of Saul’s name. Saul, filled with the Holy Spirit, boldly confronts a Roman official and blinds him. The proconsul is convicted by the powerful demonstration, and the ministry team is never the same. What was once always “Barnabas and Saul” becomes in 13:13, “Paul and his companions.” Barnabas isn’t even named! Thereafter, with only a couple of explainable exceptions (14:14; 15:12, 25), the ministry team is always called “Paul and Barnabas.” Paul has gone from being the student to the “chief speaker” (14:12), but their ministry continues to flourish. Barnabas must have been an exceptional man.

How many preachers do you know who would stick around after being supplanted by a young up-and-comer? Probably only those that embraced the green preacher as a mentor and hoped and prayed that “he must become greater; I must become less” (John 3:30).

Three Stones Support the Pot

(Photo by Michael K. Nichols, http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/places/photos/photo_congo_congo.html)

I mentioned in a previous post that Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible had influenced my thinking about our recent church survey. Read on to see how.

Kingsolver's novel imagines the clash of cultures that occurs when a Georgia preacher intent on saving Congolese souls drags his wife and four girls to the village of Kilanga on the Kwili river. Nathan, a tireless proclaimer of the gospel with a forehead of flint, stubbornly insists on imposing his understanding of the world on the Congolese villagers. From his first attempt at a garden (which is promptly washed away by the first rain because he refuses to use the Congolese method of mounding his seed beds), Nathan tries to raise the Congo to his higher, American standards. As his daughter notes, however, "It's like he's trying to put rubber tires on a horse" (284).

Of course, Nathan's struggle with the Congo is a microcosm of what happens on a much larger scale when the Congo is opened to the West. As the West, blinded by cultural elitism, imposes its ways of thinking and acting on the Congo, its people must decide to resist or acquiesce. Both decisions yield dire results.

In the novel, "elections" are a flash point for this conflict. When the Belgians grant independence to the Congo, they organize an election so that the people can choose their new leader. But Belgium's idea of a fair election defies Congolese sensibilities. "To the Congolese," one of the daughters narrates, "it seems odd that if one man gets fifty votes and the other gets forty-nine, the first one wins altogether and the second one plumb loses. That means almost half the people will be unhappy, and in a village that's left halfway unhappy you haven't heard the end of it. There is sure to be trouble somewhere down the line" (265).

The Congolese system of reaching consensus through extensive dialogue could never adequately decide nation-wide elections, of course. But the Congolese don't think in nation-wide terms; they think on a village-sized scale.

In one scene, the chief of Kilanga, Tata Ndu, tries to use Western ways to achieve his ends. He opposes the missionaries' attempts to convert his village to Christianity. He worries that their actions are angering the gods and prolonging a deadly drought. So, he appears in church one Sunday, interrupts the sermon, and announces, "Now it is time for the people to have an election." The subject of this impromptu act of democracy? "We are making a vote for Jesus Christ in the office of personal God, Kilanga village" (330).

Nathan objects to the blasphemy, but the villagers respond, "you thatched your roof and now you must not run out of your house if it rains."

While the "parishioners" are casting their votes by placing pebbles in voting bowls, one for Jesus and one against, Tata Ndu drives home his point:

"Our way was to share a fire until it burned down, ayi? To speak to each other until every person was satisfied. Younger men listened to older men. Now the Beelezi tell us the vote of a young, careless man counts the same as the vote of an elder."

In the hazy heat Tata Ndu paused to take off his hat, turn it carefully in his hands, then replace it above the high dome of his forehead. No one breathed. "White men tell us: Vote, bantu! They tell us: You do not all have to agree, ce n'est pas necessaire! If two men vote yes and one says no, the matter is finished. A bu, even a child can see how that will end. It takes three stones in the fire to hold up the pot. Take one away, leave the other two, and what? The pot will spill into the fire" (333).

* * *

I suppose you can see why my interest in the whole idea of a "church survey" soured after reading this. We needed to make a decision: would we have Bible class first or worship first? And we choose to address that decision with a "vote," a survey that would determine what the majority of people wanted and thereby what the proper decision and course of action would be. That seems to me a gross misapplication of a nation-wide system for a village-sized issue.

A 2-to-1 result in our survey would be a substantial majority. So, do we follow the will of the majority, make the decision, discard one stone, and watch the pot spill? I've seen decisions happen that way in churches. In this case, I think we have something to learn from our "unsophisticated," un-industrialized, un-democratized brothers in the Congo. Having long talks until the fire burns down, giving weight to the words of our elders, and waiting for consensus to build seems like a wise course of action.

Of course, that calls for patience atypical of "a young, careless man." I see a problem, a way to make it better, and I want to act immediately. Waiting only allows the problem to persist! Ponderously discussing the problem only delays the remedy. I must realize that I may be wrong about the solution, however; and even if I am right, swift action may leave half the village unsettled and unhappy.

I hope our "church survey" results in the best possible outcome (more on this in the next post). For now, we've made an initial decision. It's a decision that defied the majority, and maybe that's a good sign (though I wouldn't want to make that a rule!). But the decision also encouraged further conversation, and that's probably the best sign. Our little village will continue to talk and argue together, balancing the pot in the fire, and I suppose that's even more important than agreement.

Little Rivers

I apologize for the paucity of posts this week, but I have had my nose buried in the aforementioned surveys we conducted at our church on Sunday. The idea of a church survey is becoming increasingly strange to me, and I have more to say about that (including a an insight from Barbara Kingsolver's beautiful novel, The Poisonwood Bible). Today, however, I pause to remind myself not to take myself too seriously.

I came across the following paragraphs in a collection of Henry van Dyke's essays, Who Owns the Mountains? Classic Selections Celebrating the Joys of Nature. Van Dyke was a Protestant pastor at the turn of the twentieth century who produced theological works, poems, hymns, and essays. The book I have been reading is a collection of his nature essays. I know next to nothing about van Dyke, but the title of the book resonated with me.

In "Little Rivers," an essay celebrating the unique beauties of little, local streams, he closes with the following meditation.

"It is not required of every man and woman to be, or to do, something great; most of us must content ourselves with taking small parts in the chorus, as far as possible without discord. Shall we have no little lyrics because Homer and Dante have written epics? Even those who have greatness thrust upon them will do well to lay the burden down now and then and congratulate themselves that they are not altogether answerable for the conduct of the universe. 'I reckon,' said a cowboy to me one day, as we were riding through the Badlands of Dakota, 'there's someone bigger than me running this outfit. He can 'tend to it well enough while I smoke my pipe after the round-up.'

"There is such a thing as taking ourselves and the world too seriously, or at any rate too anxiously. Half of the secular unrest and dismal sadness of modern society comes from the vain idea that every man is bound to be a critic of life and to let no day pass without finding some fault with the general order of things or projecting some plan for its improvement. And the other half comes from the greedy notion that a man's life does consist, after all, in the abundance of the things that he possesses and that it is somehow or other more respectable and pious to be always at work making a larger living than it is to lie on your back in the green pastures and beside the still waters and thank God that you are alive."

I don't think that I typically fall into the trap of taking myself too seriously, but I have of late. I needed to hear van Dyke's poignant reminder. May we all be protected from the twin sources of dismal sadness: being a critic of life and greedily accumulating possessions. May we also enjoy the remedy for such sadness: resting in the green pastures beside the still waters in the care of the Good Shepherd.

The Prophet Speaks of Marriage

For a Valentine's Day meditation, I offer the passage from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet. For the setting of the book, Gibran imagines a prophet leaving a city to sail back to the island of his birth. Before leaving, Almustafa, the prophet, answers some last questions from the city's inhabitants. Find below his comments on marriage. Gibran does not write from a Christian perspective (and that will be obvious at points), but his prose is beautiful and his insights have the ring of truth.

Then Almitra spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

I thank God that he has given me someone I can love my whole life. I pray that the sea of love will never stop moving between our souls and the winds of heaven will never cease dancing between us. I pray above all, however, that God himself will ever remain our first love.

Walking in the Light

Below is another installment from our current series at the Robinson Church of Christ based on Darryl Tippens book, Pilgrim Heart.

1 John 1:5 – 2:11

The elder asserts that we cannot walk in darkness and have fellowship with God, who is light.

We’ve discussed the metaphor of light and darkness in a past lesson, what do you think walking in darkness means to this particular author? Committing evil actions? Hiding from God?

The rest of the passage gives us a pretty clear idea of what walking in the light (and conversely walking in darkness) means and what it yields.

What it means: 2:6, 9-10
Obedience in the form of loving one another marks the person who “walks in the light.” Those who “obey his word” and walk as Jesus did stroll in the light (one should hear here echoes of Jesus’ command in John 13:34: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another”), and those who hate one another stumble in the darkness.

What it yields: 1:7, 2:5-6
Those who “walk in the light” live in God (and his love is made complete in him). The blood of Jesus purifies their sin and they enjoy fellowship with one another.

So, how do we go from one camp to the other? How do we cross the threshold from an isolated, stumbling through the dark to a shared fellowship in the light? The central part of our passage (1:8 – 2:2) holds the key: “If we confess our sins . . . .” Don’t deceive yourself and claim to be sinless. Instead, confess and rely your advocate, the same one who has already died for you.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer explains in Life Together: “In confession the light of the Gospel breaks into the darkness and seclusion of the heart.” Sin withdraws a person from the community and isolates him, and the isolation only strengthens the destructive power of sin. “Sin wants to remain unknown. It shuns the light. In the darkness of the unexpressed it poisons the whole being of a person. This can happen even in the midst of a pious community.”

On the other hand, “in confession the break-through to community takes place.” The sinner can confess and find true fellowship for the first time. “The sin concealed separated him from the fellowship, made all his apparent fellowship a sham; the sin confessed has helped him to find true fellowship with the brethren in Jesus Christ.”

Does your church enjoy true fellowship? Why or why not?
What keeps us from confessing to others? To whom should we confess?
What would your church look like if you started being confessional people?

Weekly Challenge:

Since Bonhoeffer warns that confession as a “pious work” or “routine duty” is spiritually harmful, the weekly challenge can’t simply be “Confess to someone.” Forced confession is hardly confession at all. Instead, engage in the following challenge that hopefully leads to healing confession at some point in the future.

This week, find some time to practice “journaling.” Prepare like you are entering into prayer: find a place where you can focus and allow for some time of silence to transition from your daily activities. Take as much time as needed to write your response to or meditation on the following statements:

Everyone who lives is deeply hurt by others.

Everyone who lives has deeply hurt others.
I have wounded and offended my God, the one who loves me and created me.

Respond to only one statement at a time. Feel free to spend multiple “sessions” (be they five or fifty minutes) on one statement.

After completing the journaling activity, ask yourself, “Is there something for which I need to confess? Is there someone to whom I can confess?”

NPR's "All Songs Considered"

I recently discovered a treasure trove of free music, and it's not right that I keep it to myself. NPR's "All Songs Considered" posts complete, live concerts on their website, and you can download them for free. Of course, not all the shows fit my musical interests, but there are some gems. I recommend the Fleet Foxes concert, and I also enjoyed Jim James at the Newport Folk Festival. Radiohead, Sigur Ros, and The White Stripes are next on my list; but even if you don't share my taste in music, I'm sure you can find something to please your ears. And you can't deny that the price is right!

Just the Facts

Our church is preparing to conduct a survey in order to help make decisions about changes in our worship and Bible class format. The goal, it would seem, is to gather objective data ("facts") that will aid the leadership is making an objective decision. As I prepared the survey (yes, I am involved and therefore complicit), I couldn't help think of what G. K. Chesterton might say about such an endeavor.

In The Club of Queer Trades, Chesterton relates the adventures of the mysterious Basil Grant. The tales fit within the detective story genre, but Basil is the anti-Sherlock Holmes. He is a one-time judge who "lost his interest in the law" and started talking "more like a priest or a doctor." He started ignoring the legal crimes of the criminals in his courtroom and instead accused them of things like "monstrous egoism, lack of humor, and morbidity deliberately encouraged." He even tells one defendant, "Get a new soul. That one's not fit for a dog. Get a new soul."

Most people assume Basil has lost his mind, and he retires from public life. The rest of the short book asserts, however, that Basil is afar from insane. With his satirical wit, Chesterton drives home a favorite theme: in this insane world, the most sane people will appear insane. Chesterton playfully explores that theme by tweaking the detective story genre. He replaces the fact-worshipping detective character typical of the genre with a mystic poet who solves impossible mysteries that baffle his companions.

When he makes a snap judgment about a man on the street, for example, his partner complains, "this is very fanciful--perfectly absurd. Look at the mere facts. You have never seen this man before."

"Oh, the mere facts," Basil interrupts. "The mere facts! Do you really admit--are you still so sunk in superstitions, so clinging to dim and prehistoric altars, that you believe in facts? Do you not trust an immediate impression?"

Early in the book, Basil offers a short soliloquy on his unique approach to mystery solving. When Basil concludes that a suspicious letter is not criminal in nature, the following interaction ensues.

"It is. It's a matter of fact," cried the other in an agony of reasonableness.

"Facts," murmured Basil, like one mentioning some strange, far-off animals, "how facts obscure the truth. I may be silly--in fact, I'm off my head--but I never could believe in that man--what's his name, in the capital stories?--Sherlock Holmes. Every detail points to something, certainly; but generally to the wrong thing. Facts point in all directions, it seems to me, like the thousands of twigs on a tree. It's only the life of the tree that has unity and goes up--only the green blood that springs, like a fountain, at the stars."

The content of this speech indicates what I think Chesterton might say about our church survey. Even if the survey is well written and the sample is large enough and the results clear, what will we do with the "facts" it yields? They'll likely point in all directions, and they might even obscure the truth. At the very least, the results of the survey, those neat little objective facts, should not be given undue authority. Wise leaders will need to interpret the facts and try to access the truth behind them. In order to honor that truth, they may even need to make decisions that seem to contradict the facts. Then, how will those wise leaders be viewed? As despots and tyrants pushing an agenda and ignoring the people? Or as mystics and poets straining for truth?

When we analyze the survey, may we humbly look through the thousands of twigs pointing in different directions to see the life of the tree behind them.

(P.S. I certainly recommend reading The Club of Queer Trades. The puzzling mysteries and Chesterton's satirical wit make it a joy to read.)

A Modest Proposal

Below is the brief proposal which I will submit to the New Testament faculty today. Should it be approved, I will then put together a longer proposal which includes an outline for the dissertation and a lengthy bibliography. It seems some small bit of productivity slipped through a crack in my wall of procrastination.


In 1 Pet 2:21, the author encourages servants to remain faithful through the suffering they endure at the hands of unjust masters, “because Christ also suffered on your behalf, leaving an example for you, so that you might follow in his footsteps.” The metaphor of “following in his steps” receives a warm welcome in popular Christian thought,[1] but it is often kept at an uncomfortable distance by exegetes and theologians who perceive a dangerous path toward Roman Catholic imitatio piety hiding in the image.[2] Some overcome the discomfort by claiming 1 Pet 2:21 speaks not of “imitation” but of “discipleship.”[3] Thus, they attempt to save 1 Peter from possible accusations of legalism and restore the theological standing of this exegetical step-child.

I do not fault the theological and exegetical inclinations of writers who resist the legalistic connotations of imitation language: neither 1 Pet 2:21 nor the letter as a whole supports a legalistic pattern of religion. Elliott rightly reminds the reader of 1 Peter that “Christ the enabler is Christ the exemplar.”[4] The latter proceeds from the former in 1 Peter, and the two should not be separated. The metaphor of imitation need not be avoided, however, in order to protect 1 Peter from slipping into “works righteousness.” I propose to salvage the metaphor of imitation in 1 Peter by placing it in its proper first-century setting and then hearing the metaphor anew.

In antiquity, pictures of imitation were colored with the language of enablement. Students of a philosopher were enabled to imitate their teacher by being with him.[5] When they gazed upon their deities, devotees of the gods were transformed and empowered to imitate them when they returned to daily activities.[6] Those who studied carefully the lives of great men had implanted in them the desire to copy those worthy patterns in their own lives.[7] The imitation language in 1 Pet 2:21 fits within this milieu.

The metaphor should not be limited to this one unique passage in 1 Peter, however. The whole letter subtly builds a case that the narrative of the believer’s life is a type of the archetypal narrative of Christ’s life. It is a life enabled by the God who calls, and a life sustained by the God who gathers, heals, and shields. The metaphor of imitation in 1 Peter provides both the pattern to be copied and the power by which it can be accomplished.


[1] See as evidence Charles Sheldon’s bestseller In His Steps and the ubiquitous WWJD? paraphernalia based on the central question of his book, “What would Jesus do?”

[2] See John Elliott’s short survey of the reception of 1 Pet 2:21 in “Backward and Forward ‘In His Steps’: Following Jesus from Rome to Raymond and Beyond. The Tradition, Redaction, and Reception of 1 Peter 2:18-25” in Discipleship in the New Testament (ed. Fernando F. Segovia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 200.

[3] For example, Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 199.

[4] “Backward and Forward,” 202.

[5] Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2.24-28: “So long as they were with Socrates, they found him an ally who gave them strength to conquer their evil passions.” See Charles Talbert, Reading the Sermon on the Mount: Character Formation and Decision Making in Matthew 5-7 (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 2004), 39.

[6] Seneca (Ep. 94.42) cites Pythagoras: “our souls experience a change when we enter a temple and behold the images of the gods face to face.” See Talbert, Reading the Sermon on the Mount, 39-40 for other examples of transformation by vision of the gods.

[7] Plutarch writes in the introduction to his life of Pericles that morally good acts are a stimulus to the reader, and the intellectual perception of virtue inspires and impulse to imitate it.

Jack London, meet Iris Murdoch

I'm currently working through an omnibus of Jack London short stories, and I came across the following gem in one of his stories about Hawaii, "The House of Pride." The main character is a self-absorbed, self-righteous, self-assured land baron who has just learned that the free-spirited, ukulele-playing, village playboy is his half-brother. When the image he has constructed of his father crumbles, his own self-image is threatened. London captures the moment of weakness.

"And in that moment, flashing and fleeting, it was given him to see his brother tower above him like a mountain, and to feel himself dwindle and dwarf to microscopic insignificance. But it is not well for one to see himself truly, nor can one so see himself for long and live; and only for that flashing moment did Percival Ford see himself and his brother in true perspective. The next moment he was mastered by his meagre and insatiable ego."[1]

For a brief moment, the light of truth peeked through a crack the fantasy he had constructed about himself and his family, but the power of self-deception is not easily overcome. He quickly spackles the crack and stabilizes his delusion.

The passage from Jack London immediately called to mind another writer who explored the power of the "fat relentless ego."[2] Iris Murdoch was a novelist and philosopher who spent a career writing about the human propensity for self-delusion. Her novels regularly feature protagonists who live contentedly in consoling fantasies. The challenging of these fantasies is the main conflict of the novels, and the shattering of them the climax. For one of the best examples, see her Booker Prize-winning novel, The Sea, the Sea.

What her novels show, her philosophical essays explain. "The chief enemy of excellence in morality," she writes, "is personal fantasy: the tissue of self-aggrandising and consoling wishes and dreams which prevents one from seeing what is there outside one."[3] Self-knowledge isn't necessarily the answer to the problem, as we might think. "Self-knowledge" is itself usually a delusion, and so what one needs is to truly see what there is outside oneself.

For Murdoch, seeing properly is essential to moral action (while fantasy, on the other hand, clouds vision and leads potentially to immoral action). "True vision occasions right conduct," she asserts. And elsewhere: "Freedom is not strictly the exercise of the will, but rather the experience of accurate vision which, when this becomes appropriate, occasions action."[4] When one sees others as they really are, she is free from the shackles of fantasy and thereby free to act rightly.

London and Murdoch agree on the importance of true sight as a ground for right action. And they also agree that such vision is nearly impossible for humans to sustain. I'm not sure about London's religious leanings, but I know that Murdoch remained a (very Platonic) atheist her whole life. They both see clearly the human condition, however, whether they're grappling with the "meagre and insatiable" or "fat relentless" ego.

I might give it a different name--the old self, the flesh, or Adam--but I would affirm the clarity of their vision. And I appreciate their powerful, insightful, and beautiful expressions of that vision.

May we be people who keep our eyes fixed on Jesus (Heb 12:2) and attend to the true and noble things (Phil 4:8) in order to clarify our vision.

[1] Jack London, "House of Pride" in Short Stories of Jack London (eds. Labor, Leitz and Shepherd; New York: Macmillan, 1991), 307.

[2] Iris Murdoch, "On 'God' and 'Good'" in Existentialists and Mystics: Writings on Philosophy and Literature (ed. Conradi; New York: Penguin, 1997), 342.

[3] "On 'God' and 'Good,'" 347-8.

[4] "On 'God' and 'Good,'" 353 and 354.

A Free and Friendly Space

Below is the third installment from the current series we are doing at the Robinson Church of Christ. My posts have not followed the order we covered the material at our church, but hopefully, dear reader, you can still glean something from them.

For the following lesson, the focus was on "Welcoming," and our class members were challenged to follow up the lesson by inviting someone into their homes, either someone from the church whom they do not know well or someone from their neighborhood whom they expect could not return the favor.

Luke 14
In the parable in Luke 14:15-24, Jesus uses the biblical imagery of a great banquet to describe how God welcomes us into his presence. A certain man has prepared a great feast, and now that it’s ready he eagerly sends out his servant to call the invited guests. He receives surprising responses, however. It seems the guests are all too busy with fields and family to attend the banquet. They simply can’t squeeze table fellowship with the master into their cluttered calendars.

Maybe you've tried to identify the “fields” and “oxen” and “wives” that press on you with their urgency and pull you away from what’s truly important. Maybe you've tried to reprioritize so that you don’t miss the precious time at the banquet with our Lord. And yet . . .

Can you identify one or two things that consistently distract you from being with God? They don’t have to be meaningless things like TV watching or Internet surfing; they can be important things like managing your livelihood and attending to your family. What in your life continually challenges your commitment to seek first the kingdom of God?

The material that precedes this parable reveals that Jesus is concerned with much more than our coming to the banquet. Those who have been welcomed should themselves be welcomers. As Jesus enjoys a Sabbath meal at a prominent Pharisee’s house, he makes various comments about “feasting.” Along with parable, he also calls his hearers to a radical hospitality: “when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind” rather than your friends, family, or prestigious neighbors. Offer hospitality that honors the root of the word: philo-zenos, “love of strangers.” Henri Nouwen defines hospitality as the “creation of a free and friendly space where we can reach out to strangers and invite them to become our friends” (Reaching Out, 55).

When we practice “hospitality” is it typically “love of strangers”? Who is the “stranger” to us?

What is our goal for hospitality? To be a good Christian? To minister to someone? Or to open ourselves to the blessings of genuine relationship?

Nouwen also warns, “As long as someone feels that he or she is only an object of someone else’s generosity, no dialogue, no mutuality, and no authentic community can exist” (Gracias, 21).

Have you ever felt that you were the object of someone’s ministry duty? How did that feel?

Now we are getting to the real point in Luke 14. It isn’t just about feasting with God or showing hospitality. It’s about humility: don’t seek the seats of honor (14:7-11); don’t throw a party to enhance your image (12-14); don’t assume your salvation and the other’s damnation (15-24); give up everything and take up the cross (25-33). Humility of this kind is an essential element of hospitality; otherwise, it can slip quickly into condescension and self-aggrandizement. You aren’t opening your home to the stranger because you are in a superior position from which to dole out blessing; you are opening yourself to be blessed because you need the stranger as much or more than he needs you.

Jesus welcomed you just as you are, one of the poor, lame, crippled, and blind, into a place of safety, healing, and genuine relationship. Dare you do the same?

A Pedagogical Trick

I discovered that dry-erase markers will not erase off of Scotch tape, and that discovery led to the following Bible class illustration.

Before the students arrived, I stuck Scotch tape to the white board in the shape of a cross. The tape was not totally invisible on a white board, but it wasn't readily visible either. Nothing a little misdirection couldn't cover, anyway.

Then, during class I drew a big box on the board (around the hidden cross) to signify the amount of time we have in a given week. I then asked the students to brainstorm all the many things they do in a week. I prompted them when necessary by giving them some categories of activities to think about. "What kind of activities go into playing a sport?" (practice, working out, games) or "What kind of activities are connected to school?" (clubs, homework, college applications) or "What do you do when you're just hanging out?" (TV, video games, Internet, texting) or "What kind of activities are connected with church?" (worship, Bible class, devos, retreats).

As they named activities, I would write them inside of the box, taking little care to write them in a neat or orderly way. When we were done, I had a box filled with words that I then scribbled on to indicate how we go from one activity to another to another to another with little time for rest. I made the point that even though many of the things on the board are good activities in which to be involved, we have to beware of over-filling our schedules. We need the rhythm of rest and work in our lives. Sometimes we need to declutter so that we can focus on what's most important. At this point in the lesson, I wiped the eraser through the box on the white board. The words were all wiped away, and the shape of the cross remained.

The trick accomplished its goal. The students were surprised and impacted, and I hope it will be something they remember long after they've forgotten who was even teaching class that morning.

A Nightless Day of Activity

Last week I posted the text from a Bible class curriculum that I have been creating for our church. Below are the notes from the class that preceded the lesson on "Refilling." It prepares for the lession on "Refilling" by focusing on "Decluttering." The two obviously go together: our lives are often too cluttered to allow us time to be refreshed by God's presence. We need to declutter before we can refill.

Mark 6:6b-13, 30-31
The first part of this passage ties closely with our theme from last week: emptying. Jesus instructs his disciples to travel light. Take only what is absolutely necessary; forget about food or money or stores for tomorrow; rely on God for security, sustenance, and success. The disciples had to empty themselves of any excess before being sent out to preach and heal.

And preach and heal they did! They drove out many demons, anointed many people, and healed many sick. It was a frenzy of ministry, and they were excited to tell Jesus about it when they gathered around him again. But the frantic pace didn’t slow when they returned: there were so many people coming and going that they didn’t even have a chance to eat!

Have you ever missed a meal due to an over-booked schedule? How often does that happen?How does your life compare with the frenzied pace of life the disciples seemed to be living?Where does the frantic pace creep into your spiritual life?
Note: the disciples weren’t busying themselves with selfish timewasters. They were pouring themselves into ministry. What contributes more to your busy pace? Selfish timewasters (TV, internet, etc.) or selfless service?

Hear Jesus’ words to his disciples: “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” We need to hear those words. Too often our lives are lived at warp speed: we add more gadgets to make ourselves more efficient so that we can do more work. Any time we free up we fill with noise. Where is silence in this clutter? Where is rest? Our lives are meant to be lived in a rhythm of work and rest (see the creation story!), not a nightless day of activity. Jesus called his disciples to establish that rhythm, and we need to welcome rest back into our lives.

Why are we resistant to decluttering or rest?

Maybe we think it’s a selfish, irresponsible escape from duty. Maybe we worry that things will fall apart without us. Maybe it just sounds lazy. Rest isn’t productive (in the ways we normally measure porductivity), and we prize productivity. We receive significance and meaning from what we accomplish; and if we rest, we won’t accomplish as much. We’ll lose a sense of significance from having less to show for ourselves.

Engaging in rest, therefore, is a way of dying to self. We let go of that part of ourselves that strives to find meaning and value in a list of our accomplishments. When we rest, we loudly declare: "My accomplishments are not what makes me valuable! I am valuable not because of what I do, but because of what God has already done."

What are some ways you can declutter or rest?

Notable Sighting

Last night as we hurridly drove to church for a night of meetings and worship, a state trooper pulled up behind me and flashed his lights. "Well," I thought, "I guess my children have to witness their father receive a ticket at some point. Now they won't think I'm perfect." But when I slid over into the right lane, the trooper shut off his lights and proceeded to leisurely pass our mini-van. (And yes, it slightly pains me to admit I drive a mini-van. You should know, however, I still have a pick-up I never get to drive.)

As I puzzled over the trooper's strange behavior, a black Chevy Tahoe also started to slowly pass us. "What tiny windows," I thought at first. Then, "And how strange that those people in the back seat are sitting backwards." And lastly, "Hey, I think I recognize that person sitting backwards and looking out that tiny window." Tali confirmed it: "That's Laura Bush!"

Tali also saw and recognized the woman sitting next to the former-First Lady, though she couldn't name her at the time (since Tali is completely uninterested in the world of Baylor athletics). We later learned that George and Laura Bush were accompanying Kim Mulkey, head coach for the Baylor women's basketball team, to the Ferrell Center for the clash between the highly ranked Oklahoma and Baylor women's basketball teams.

We didn't see former-President Bush, but, based on the next car that passed us, I assume he was in the Tahoe facing forward and unseeable through the tiny windows. Another black Tahoe with rear-facing back seats followed the first, and in this car sat several men with shooter's ear muffs and imposing rifles. To make the scene even more surreal, they drove down the street with the windows down, stern expressions on their faces, and the butts of their rifles hanging out of the windows.

Security was obviously still high, but it seems secrecy is no longer a top priority for the former-President and his "secret" service entourage. I guess once you leave office you get downgraded to cars without tinted windows.

We are the Branches (Part 2)

(Below is a second selection from a sermon of mine. See the first part here.)

Spring is a beautiful time of year, and we mark its arrival in different ways. For some, spring is announced by the call of a bird returning from its winter in the south. For others, seeing the ground finally peek through the winter-long blanket of snow signals the beginning of spring. For most everyone, however, spring is marked by sprouts of new growth on winter-bare trees. Vibrant green leaves shoot from grey branches, and buds open into bright, scented blooms. The dreary winter landscape is transformed into the dramatic colors of spring.

We need times of spring in our spiritual growth. Times of dramatic, joyful bursts of life. I hope everyone reading has experienced that kind of spiritual newness. It often catches us unawares.

Sometimes it’s just a moment: we’re singing a song and suddenly we hear all those around us and it’s like we’ve been transported into God’s heavenly presence and the angelic chorus is singing all around us; we reflect back on our life, catch a glimpse of God’s artful plan for us, and cry humble tears of gratitude; we see a reddening sunset or a star-filled sky or a delicate bloom or a souring mountain and we fall to our knees in awe of the Creator; we hold a child or grandchild tightly in our arms and know, suddenly and more certainly than ever before, God is good. Moments of renewal, sudden freshness.

Sometimes it’s a season of growth. A summer of youth activities, a couple of months in which prayer seems easier and more urgent, several weeks in which God’s word seems to daily reveal something new and wonderful about Him, a period in which the Spirit seems to be empowering us to break free from old habits. God feels so close.

We need spring-like spiritual growth—the sudden, vibrant, joyful surges of life—but, of course, that’s not what typifies our spiritual lives. The leaves turn red and fall. Winter comes. We’re not in heaven, yet. We can’t enjoy the permanent, unmediated presence of God. At times He will feel far away. Sin will seem too powerful. Prayers will be dry; singing will be hollow. Doubt will assail us. Winter is cold and lonely.

But the winter tree, the leafless one surrounded by snow—it isn’t dead. It’s very much alive and assuredly growing . . . but slowly. It’s a different kind of spiritual growth.

John of the Cross, a sixteenth century monk, warns about this stage in our spiritual lives: “At a certain point in the spiritual journey God will draw a person from the beginning stage to a more advanced stage. . . . Such souls will likely experience what is called ‘the dark night of the soul.’ The ‘dark night’ is when those persons lose all the pleasure that they once experienced in their devotional life. This happens because God wants to purify them and move them on to greater heights.” Winter is the time for cleansing, purifying, pruning.

Such slow growth may not be the most vibrant, but it is the most lasting. The shiny green leaves will come and go, but the trunk will keep slowly, steadily broadening and strengthening. This is truly the transformative growth. It’s the kind of growth that can’t be seen in the moment, but after years have passed, you’ll sit under the canopy of a mighty shade tree and marvel when you think of the sapling you planted so long ago. You’ll see a picture of yourself in an old photo and marvel at what God has done over the long years. You’ll praise him for the bursts of spring and the prunings of winter.

I hope you’re enjoying some spring-like spiritual growth right now. I hope you're experiencing that kind of explosion of spiritual life. But if you aren’t, don’t worry. Even the branches attached to the vine are pruned in winter. Even those who are abiding in Christ must be cleansed. Rest in the blessed assurance that the loving vinedresser is at work, and he is trustworthy.

We are the Branches (Part 1)

(Below is part of a sermon reflecting on John 15. A second selection will follow tomorrow.)

The old, blue eyes squinted into the rising Mediterranean sun and peered down a long line of vines. They had only recently been stripped clean of their clusters of round, dusty, deep purple fruit. Only recently his family had celebrated the culmination of a year’s worth of hard work with feasting and drinking and thanking God.

No sooner does the sun set on the celebration, however, than the dawn of next year’s work arrives. He squeezed his hand tightly around the handle of the pruning knife. This part he liked the least. You spend all year tending and nurturing the vine, cheering the new growth in the spring, encouraging the vine’s maturation through the summer, praying for just enough rain, just enough sun. In the fall, you finally reap the rewards of your long effort, basking in the joy of harvest. Then winter comes. Time for pruning, time for cutting back and cutting away, time for cleaning the healthy branches and burning the dead. But it must be done.

He drew in a quick breath, taking in the fragrant seaside air, and raised his knife to his beloved vine.

Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me."

Note the progression in the metaphor: the vinedresser doesn’t kill the branch he cuts off; he merely completes the process that has already begun. The branch is already fruitless—it is already separated from its source of life. The vinedresser simply finalizes the separation for the health of the whole vine.

How does this happen to us? Why would anyone who has experienced the love of Christ, who has had it flowing through her veins, want to be separated from it? Surely it’s not an active desire. It must be something that happens gradually, almost stealthily, over time. Maybe it’s a grief that cuts deep enough to almost sever the branch from the vine. Maybe it’s a sin so persistent that it poisons the branch like a mold. Maybe a drought of apathy threatens to suck the life from the branch. Whatever the reason, don’t give up.

God can do wondrous things with dead stumps. Isaiah sings about the shoot of new life that will come up from the stump of Israel that had been left for dead in Exile; fruit will again blossom from the dormant roots. God can do it. He did it with Israel. He can do it with you and me.
The vinedresser also has work to do on the fruit-bearing branches. Dead wood is cut away in the winter, but even in the spring useless growth is pruned back in order to nurture the vine. Even those who abide in Christ’s love require God’s continued cleansing.

Here’s a place where our English translation lets us down a little. Jesus says, “every branch that does bear fruit he prunes,” and the verb used there is katharizo, a verb that—outside its technical usage in the field of viticulture—is usually translated, “he cleans.” The word is echoed in the next verse, though we might miss it in the English translation: “every branch that does not bear fruit he cleans so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.”

We need continual cleansing, and it is accomplished through Christ’s convicting word. His command, “Love one another as I have loved you,” and his perfect demonstration of that love on the cross, cuts us to the quick and exposes our sin—it brings to light the parts we would rather leave in the dark, the diseased parts of the branch that need to be removed.

Where do you need to hear that convicting word? What needs to be pruned? I’ve often heard that one shouldn’t pray for patience: the answer to that prayer is sometimes unpleasant. I think I have a prayer we should offer with even more trepidation:

“God, prune me. It must be done, but I know it is going to hurt. I want to be healthy, I want to bear a bumper crop of fruit, but I know cleansing is needed. The fine, spring pruning is needed; the severe, winter stripping is needed. So, I trust myself to your hands, the hands of the vinedresser who tirelessly and lovingly cares for his vine. Be gentle, but do what must be done.”

Pepperdine Plug

It's nice to hear praise for one's alma mater. See John Stackhouse's recent post about his trip to Pepperdine to give the distinguished Frank Pack lectures (you'll have to excuse him for referring to them as the Frank Park lectures).

He lists Pepperdine as one of three schools (the other two being Hope College (MI) and Notre Dame) that "have become significantly more Christian, rather than letting that heritage and mission slip away." No higher praise could be offered!

#1 Christmas Album

This box set was actually released in 2006, but I just discovered it this year . . . and I'm glad I did!

If you're already familiar with the music of Sufjan Stevens, good for you. If not, then you need to take a listen. He's got a great, folky sound that can be both peppy and haunting. Combine those qualities with nice harmonies and creative instrumentation, and you've got a great album. It's also a fantastic value: the box set of five EP's (over two hours of music!) sells for a measely $16 on iTunes.

I've forced myself to stop playing the album (since it is now almost February) and keep it a special Christmas treat, though I plan to leave the beautiful arrangements of "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing," "Amazing Grace," and "Holy, Holy, Holy" in my playlist all year round.

If you can't wait until Christmas for your Sufjan fix, I recommend one of his other albums: Come On Feel The Illinois. It's the second installment in his ambitious plan to make a CD for every state in the nation (his first effort honors his home state of Michigan). I listen to it while I'm driving, walking, reading, thinking, writing: it seems to enhance every activity.

The Shadow

Below is the text from this week's Bible class curriculum that I have been preparing at our church. We are currently engaged in a congregation-wide study that ties together the sermons and all of our adult classes (including junior and senior high). We are basing the study loosely on Darryl Tippens' recent book Pilgrim Heart: The Way of Jesus in Everyday Life. Each week, I prepare the Bible class curriculum and the teachers meet on Wednesday night to discuss it together.

Each teacher has the freedom to shape the material for his audience, but we all commit to reach the same point: a challenge to engage in a concrete activity during the week. Each class breaks into small groups at the end, and class participants commit to call one another during the week and ask about the weekly challenge. This week's focus is "Refilling," part two of a two-week focus on rest. Last week we focused on "Decluttering" and asked people to carve out a two-hour block of time and get away from the clutter of life. This week we are challenging them to carve out the same two hours, but use that time to give attention to God.

David Hunter, our preacher, is teaching on Sabbath in his sermon; my class is meant to compliment his lesson. Last week we were getting away from something; this week we are going to be with someone. With that long introduction behind us, here are the notes I gave our teachers:

(NB: Thanks to my good friend, Luke Tallon, for starting my thought in this direction. See his post about his new daughter's name, Avra.)


What comes to mind when you think of the word “shadow”?

Often the word has negative connotations: things lurk in the shadows, hiding from the light, waiting to pounce on us. Shadows are tucked into dark corners where one sneaks to avoid the light. The biblical authors utilize this imagery. To be in God’s presence is to be bathed in pure light that chases away all darkness, all shadow (see Job 12:22; 1 John 1:5-7; Rev 21:23-25). Everything is exposed; nothing remains hidden.
Sometimes resting in God’s presence is like being washed in light. Our souls are revealed; the darkness therein is driven back. We feel enlightened and illumined.

Are you a person who prefers light and airy spaces, or dark and cozy ones?
What type of mood does most church architecture set? Light or dark? How does that affect your worship?
In which type of setting do you feel closer to God? Why?

Maybe you’ll experience the light of God’s presence this week during your rest time: you’ll come back filled with light. I want to offer another image, however, a different way of understanding “shadows,” that may appeal to those who prefer the dark, cozy places.

Psalm 91 reads, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. They will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’ He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” Rather than being a den of darkness, the shadow is a place of protection. In the shadow, one is sheltered, covered, and shielded from the “terror of the night” and the “pestilence that stalks in the darkness.” The shadow is a place one can rest, a refuge from the arrows of life. And once protected, those in the shadow can thrive. Under the shadow of her wing, the mother hen cares for her young and nurtures them to maturity. God longs to shelter you there (Luke 13:34), to protect you and nourish you in his shadow. May we find rest and joy there; may we rejoice with the psalmist, “I sing in the shadow of your wings” (63:7).

This week, we are going to rest with a purpose. We won’t simply be taking a break; we’ll be engaging in sacred idleness. We’re not merely stepping back from the world; we’re fleeing to the shadow of God’s wings to find protection and nurture. We’re emptying our schedules to be filled by his presence.

Language is a Toy

Language is a toy meant to be enjoyed through play.

Rarely do I reflect on the divine blessing of language, but it must rank high among the beauties that God has created. With a few sounds, the flesh can express the ethereal: joy, grief, anger, love. Ands it's not just that the words point to meaning; the sounds themselves mean something. Language is a metaphor of the incarnation: an indissoluable fusion between the body and spirit. I worry sometimes, however, that we allow language to become a mere purveyor of information, a tool worth little more than the pack animal that carries the precious cargo. Language is certainly useful, but it has a beauty to be enjoyed in its own right--enjoyed in novels and plays and poetry, in punchlines and irony and alliteration.

Language is a toy, not just a tool. Enjoy God's blessing by indulging in a little play today.