Ach. It's probably midlife again. You hit that tipping point and you realize that soon, if not already, you're on that downward slide. Mortality is real. You and your friends begin losing parents. Kids leave home. You or those you love have health problems. You look around you: same job, same house, same car. Restlessness. Sometimes regret. It's a new stage of life with new temptations and new challenges--for everyone, including the person of faith. I'm realizing that for me, at least, the diagnosis might be discontent or dissatisfaction. With that awareness, a recent quote hit me while reading. It's from Miroslav Volf's A Public Faith:
"[A]lmost paradoxically, we remain dissatisfied in the midst of experiencing satisfaction. We compare our 'pleasures' to those of others and begin to envy them. The fine new Honda of our modest dreams is a source of dissatisfaction when we see a neighbor's new Mercedes. But even when we win the game of comparisons--when we park in front of our garage the best model of the most expensive car--our victory is hollow, melancholy...marked as we are by what philosophers call self-transcendence, in our imagination we are always already beyond any state we have reached. Whatever we have, we want more and different things, and when we have climbed to the top, a sense of disappointment clouds the triumph. Our striving can therefore find proper rest only when we find joy in something infinite. For Christians, this something is God" (p. 63).
Perhaps, for you, it's not "the fine new Honda." Maybe it's the promotion. Or the new house. Or the kitchen remodel. Or the bike. Or the PR on the favorite race, run, or ride. Or the book that's finally published. Whatever it is, it fails to satisfy, at least deeply. The restlessness, the striving, the gnawing remain.
St. Augustine put it timelessly, as he wrote his prayer to God in his Confessions: “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.” The Christian can easily say at this point: "But I've received Christ; I've walked with Christ for years. And I'm still restless!" I sympathize with this anguish. My only advice at this point is "onionskin." Keep peeling back the sources of your restlessness:
• Is there some standard externally imposed by our culture (or your education or career trajectory) which defines success and nags at you because you haven't reached it? Re-examine this.
• Are you comparing yourself with your friends and family? Beware this!
• Are you, perhaps unconsciously, seeking to fulfill expectations someone in authority (a parent, teacher, or Christian leader) has given you? Reflect on this.
• Do you struggle with insecurity, inferiority, inadequacy and seek to bolster your self-esteem by your accomplishments? Be gentle and honest with this.
I suspect that we need to not only peel back, but to dive deeper: to open ourselves up more fully and honestly to Jesus. Perhaps we need a "spirituality for the struggling." Let's pray our discontent. He knows it already. He won't shame us in it. He'll open his arms and embrace us. John 15:4-5 continues to resonate:
"Abide in [live, dwell, remain, get your life and identity from] me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing."
Spirituality in a Digital Age: Some More Questions...
"For God alone my soul waits in silence..." Psalm 62:1
As a pastor for spiritual formation, it makes me wonder: when we immerse ourselves in instant communication, do we lose our ability to distinguish between the urgent (that dinging text message) and the important? When we actually sit down with another person, at a meal or coffee, are we really present to them--or does the cell phone vibrating in our pocket destroy our ability to focus? Furthermore, are our attention spans dramatically decreasing (and our need for an adrenalin hit from freshly updated screens increasing) when we uncritically acquiesce to this digitally-wired lifestyle? What lasting, yet unforeseen, impacts will screen technology have on brain function and personality development?
Oh so many questions roll around in my mind...Will we ever again be able to unplug and enjoy a walk in the woods? Or will that be too "old school"? Will we be able lose ourselves in a good book? Or is that just something grandma does? Will we be able to discern the deeper issues and needs that drive our lives? Or will the constant distraction of digital media make that impossible? Will we be able to pray and listen to God? Will we cultivate patient waiting? Or will these things seem ever more elusive, irrelevant, and, frankly, a waste of time? What will the role of silence be for us--a welcome friend or a stranger who makes us fidget uncomfortably?
What will a 21st century spirituality look like for us, one that isn't Luddite, but gazes clearly and deeply at the issues and opportunities right before us, courageously naming both the costs and benefits of constant digital communication?
Marriage, DOMA, and a Silver Anniversary
Marriage was on our collective minds this past Wednesday. For me, it was the celebration of my silver wedding anniversary: my wife and I had been married twenty-five years on that day and I couldn't be more grateful. For most of America, however, this past Wednesday, June 26, was a day in which the U.S. Supreme Court struck down several provisions of California's "Defense of Marriage Act" (DOMA), Proposition 8. The door is widening in our country to allow more and more same-sex couples to move toward legally-sanctioned and -supported marriages. Some are overjoyed. Some are outraged. For some this is an equal-rights moment akin to other moments in national history. For others this is a harbinger of social apocalypse.
I was surprised by the tone of several evangelical spokespersons, who commented on last week's historical decision. Where I would've expected stridency, angst, and hand-wringing, I saw soul-searching and a welcome humility. This excerpt from Christianity Today was particularly noteworthy:
I was surprised by the tone of several evangelical spokespersons, who commented on last week's historical decision. Where I would've expected stridency, angst, and hand-wringing, I saw soul-searching and a welcome humility. This excerpt from Christianity Today was particularly noteworthy:
" 'The gay and lesbian people in your community aren't part of some global 'Gay Agenda' conspiracy. They aren't super-villains in some cartoon. They are, like all of us, seeking a way that seems right to them," said Russell Moore, the Southern Baptist Convention's voice on ethics and political issues. 'This is no time for fear or outrage or politicizing.'
"Moore, like Focus on the Family president Jim Daly and others we heard from, wanted to talk about the court decisions as opportunities, not defeats. They agree that same-sex marriage is a large-scale social experiment that's likely to have negative consequences. They agree that the biblical image of marriage and the shifting reality of marriage have significantly diverged. But that means that Christians have a chance to have different marriages that bear witness to the redeeming, sacrificial gospel. 'The single greatest argument we can present to the world on this issue of marriage is to personally live out marriage in all its God-ordained fullness and radiant beauty,' said Daly. Moore agreed: 'We have the opportunity, by God's grace, to take marriage as seriously as the gospel does, in a way that prompts the culture around us to ask why.'"
--“The Right Side of History Is Full of Rewrites”, Christianity Today, June 27, 2013
This seems right to me. In the church, while we may have different opinions on gay marriage, we're certainly challenged to put our own house in order first: to give attention to the way our heterosexual marriages are (or are not) giving witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ. With our Christian divorce rate no better than secular society, we are often rightly accused of hypocrisy when it comes to preaching on the sanctity of marriage as a union between a man and a woman. I'm challenged to reinvest in my marriage. I'm humbled by my shortcomings as a husband. Most of all, I want this next twenty-five years to be more effective in blessing others as my wife and I use our marriage as a place of ministry, caring, and compassion. That marriage will not need to be defended. Hopefully, it will speak for itself.
YOLO Philosophy at Midlife
I think it's worth examining. On the one hand, YOLO is full of gusto and go-for-it. It's what can make a person try sky-diving, backcountry skiing, extreme sports. YOLO, no doubt, has led to some epic moments and, likely, some serious morning-after regrets. YOLO is filled with Sturm und Drang, or more vividly, piss and vinegar. It's youthful philosophy.
But does YOLO have a dark side? I think it might. It could be kind of nihilistic. Like "this is all there is, nobody gets out of here alive, better make it count while I still have breath." Rather than liberating, YOLO could be oppressive or downright depressing. Perhaps it all depends on how you look at it.
If this material, earthly existence is all there is, then there is this existential angst and pressure with it: "I've got to live life to the fullest NOW!" Awareness of our mortality can have that effect. I confess I feel some of that in midlife right now. Gosh, where did the years go? I wonder. I'll never be this young again. What changes or adjustments should I make? Life's "bucket list" of bike rides and adventures grows more specific each day. On the one hand, that could be a good thing, if it causes me to live with greater focus and gratitude for each day I have.
But YOLO doesn't satisfy me ultimately. It can cause me great regret: what about the time I've wasted? The missed opportunities? The water under the bridge? Ugh! The regret, the pressure, the ultimate finality of this mortal flesh--is that all there is? There's got to be more.
And the good news is, there is more! As we make our way to the cross and empty tomb in this Holy Week we consider the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. As far as we know, he only had about 33 years here on earth--but, boy, did he make them count! Thirty of those years he "wasted" working his trade in the carpenter's shop. Or did he waste them? He learned deeply what it means to share life with people, to embrace joys and sorrows, to feel humanity's pulse throb and surge. Jesus saw first hand the YOLO mentality and the depressive resignation his fellow Jews must've felt under Roman rule. He witnessed firsthand our human longing and desperation. And then, in three short years he made it all "count": proclaiming the hopeful in-breaking of God's gracious kingdom, healing the sick and disabled, touching the leper, raising the dead, confronting injustice, welcoming the outcast. He did it all not because of YOLO but because of something way more substantial and hopeful. God's coming Kingdom breaks through the despair of mortality and suffering. God's light illumines the darkness of death. And, as we will celebrate this Easter, the unstoppable life of Jesus cannot be contained by a tomb. No, friends, in Jesus Christ you don't only live once. You live forever. Therefore, begin living now like you mean it. Let the values and life of Jesus take flesh in your own life. Live with bold confidence that nothing can separate you from the love of God shown in Jesus Christ--not even death (see Romans 8:38-39). Live now as if you're going to live forever. Because in Jesus Christ you will.
The Cold Sins of Midlife
In medieval Catholic teaching on morality, a distinction was made between "hot" and "cold" sins. According to one helpful blog post:
"The 'hot' sins are sins of
the moment, the sins of passion. They are often obvious to others,
and easily make us feel ashamed. The 'cold' sins
are more calculated. They are often overlooked, or even admired and
encouraged, by others. Whether hot or cold, these sins
lead us away from God."
Hot sins are the sins that get the most attention, things like anger, gluttony, and lust. Hot sins spring from the furnace of the flesh. They are the spawn of unbridled passion. Cold sins, by comparison, are the quiet, subtler ones: envy, resentment, bitterness, or a critical spirit. Hot sins are typical of younger people; cold sins often set in later in life. Cold sins are particularly prevalent among those who've been around the block a bit; they metastasize quietly in midlife and later. For these more mature adults, the bloom is off life's rose; the fresh wonder of the world has wilted. Kids have left home. Parents are aging or are in need of care or have died. The career is stalled, boring, or unsatisfying. One's mate (and, if we're honest) one's self is past their prime. Cold sins grow in the bleak tundra of life's second half.
Of course this is the classic crucible for the midlife crisis. It's what drives middle-aged people to rush out in desperate pursuit of the hot sins--the sports car, an affair, or some adventure that promises to put the spring back in our step. It's a desperate attempt to assuage the accidie and ennui so typical of this stage. I like the way Christian writer and pastor Gordon MacDonald once described midlife: it's the season of the "sames". Same job, same house, same spouse.
It would be easy, especially on a bad day in midlife, to draw attention only to the difficulties of this season. It would be even easier to do this when feeling the effects of pervasive popular culture, which focuses almost solely on younger adults. As one middle-aged friend said, "I feel invisible."
This is a challenging stage and it can sneak up subtly or suddenly.
What I'd like to do in subsequent posts is unpack the challenges and opportunities of midlife. I'd especially like to reflect on the spiritual retooling this stage calls for in the maturing disciple of Jesus Christ. Do stay tuned.
Lance's "Confession"?!
As I write this, I've just heard a news report on NPR (based on a recent New York Times article) that ex-cycling champion Lance Armstrong is weighing whether or not to confess to doping in order that he might be permitted to continue competing as a triathlete. This involves serious legal maneuvers to avoid prosecution in civil court for a variety of allegations (the most serious, that he and the U.S. Postal Service pro cycling team used federal funds to finance their systematic doping program).
That "thud" is my jaw hitting the floor. Where I come from "confession" is serious business. It's not something you cynically manipulate for your desired purposes. At least it shouldn't be. To me, this reveals the world Lance has been living in all along: "Lance's World"--a win-at-all-costs world where rules are bent to insure your victories, where you crush your competition and obliterate those who get in your way. It's a world where the ends always justify the means, where the public is taken for fools. Give me Marion Jones any day: she at least showed some visible remorse with her tears and did some time in prison for her offenses. One hopes her character has grown and benefited and that she's a better person for all of this.
Confession literally means "to agree." It's to agree that what we've done is reprehensible and wrong and to sincerely admit that we're sorry for it. Confession involves humble recognition that we've missed the mark, that we've transgressed a serious standard, that we are sorry and now seek to make amends and live differently. Confession can lead to liberation and personal renewal. Above all, confession is not just another way to "lawyer-up" and come out victorious. If you're the praying type, pray for Lance's genuine, heartfelt confession and the necessary contrition to go with it. There's so much more at stake here than sports. And apparently he's just not getting it.
That "thud" is my jaw hitting the floor. Where I come from "confession" is serious business. It's not something you cynically manipulate for your desired purposes. At least it shouldn't be. To me, this reveals the world Lance has been living in all along: "Lance's World"--a win-at-all-costs world where rules are bent to insure your victories, where you crush your competition and obliterate those who get in your way. It's a world where the ends always justify the means, where the public is taken for fools. Give me Marion Jones any day: she at least showed some visible remorse with her tears and did some time in prison for her offenses. One hopes her character has grown and benefited and that she's a better person for all of this.
Confession literally means "to agree." It's to agree that what we've done is reprehensible and wrong and to sincerely admit that we're sorry for it. Confession involves humble recognition that we've missed the mark, that we've transgressed a serious standard, that we are sorry and now seek to make amends and live differently. Confession can lead to liberation and personal renewal. Above all, confession is not just another way to "lawyer-up" and come out victorious. If you're the praying type, pray for Lance's genuine, heartfelt confession and the necessary contrition to go with it. There's so much more at stake here than sports. And apparently he's just not getting it.
Tomorrow's "Mayan Apocalypse": A Call to Readiness
"But about that day and hour [the precise timing of the End] no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father...Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming...Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour." --Jesus, Matthew 24:36, 42, 44
If our old friend Harold Camping was wrong about the timing of the End of the world (and he, though steeped in the Bible, seemed to miss Jesus' very obvious points, above), then could the ancient Mayans be right? Could tomorrow, December 21, be the end of the world? (Of course, the media has reassured the public that this cannot be the case, since the Long Calendar of the Mayans only indicated an ending that day, implying a cyclical new beginning the next day.) Still, perhaps we have an opportunity to engage in a little apocalyptic reflection--and consider how it might impact our lives.
Jewish, Christian, and Muslim theologies all teach that the world will not roll on endlessly. Each of these monotheistic religions (at their basic level) look ahead to the end of the world and a final judgment. This couldn't be clearer to a pilgrim visiting the Old City of Jerusalem. As you look westward from the top of the Mount of Olives (the site of Jesus' ascension into heaven in The Book of Acts, Chapter 1), you're overwhelmed with tombstones in the Jewish Necropolis, the cemetery in the prime position, Jews believe, to participate in the resurrection on Judgment Day. These are stadium seats, the best seats, for the faithful as they look ahead.
Across the Kidron Valley, on the slopes of the east edge of the Temple Mount, is a Muslim burial ground. They too believe that here, in the Valley of Kidron, will come the end of the world and the resurrection of the dead. And Christians have traditionally believed the same: that though the signs of the end and specifically of Jesus' second coming, will be universally visible, Jesus will likely return to the place from which he ascended: this very same place above the Valley of Kidron in Jerusalem (see Acts 1:11).
Now we can debate the specifics of this 'til the cows come home. The point I want to make is one that seems so appropriate for Advent: the call to live in a state of readiness. Advent, for Christians, is a season where we reflect that we live "between the times"--of Christ's first coming in humility as a baby in Bethlehem and Christ's second coming in glory at the end of the world. Advent calls us to look backward in thanksgiving, wonder, and worship; it also calls us to look forward in hope, anticipation, and appropriate eschatological readiness.
Eschatta what?! It's a recognition that Jesus could come back at any moment. And, if his words are correct, we won't know the moment. For that reason, I doubt that tomorrow's the day. Because of this "reverent agnosticism" about the End's timing, we must live in readiness, on tip-toe. This doesn't mean living with anxiety or fear: no, if Jesus is our friend, Savior, and Good Shepherd, his return for believers will be great joy. My favorite verse to remind me of this is John 14:3 "And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also." I love that!
So what does readiness look like? First of all, especially for the not-yet-believer (and I hope there are some reading this), it means getting to know Jesus, drawing close to him, speaking with him honestly about where you are (and are not) in your faith journey. Ideally, if you're ready, it means kneeling before him and praying a simple prayer of surrender. It could be something like this: "Jesus, I'm learning that I can't--and I don't want to try anymore to--run my life by myself. I mess it up. I grow fearful, empty, and confused. Deep down I realize I need you. I want you. Come into my life. Save me from all the things I've done that I regret. Save me from missing so many opportunities to love and do good. Be my Savior. Lead my life. I open myself to you. Amen." Praying that prayer, or something like it, if you haven't done so already, is the best way to get into a posture of readiness.
For those of us who are already Christ-followers, the best ways we can live in readiness are:
1. Keep short accounts. If there are patterns of sin or rebellion in our lives, if there are damaging habits or harbored resentments, bitterness or unforgiveness, we must confess them--first to God in Christ and then, if and as God leads, to those we may've injured. This helps us travel light through life--and be ready.
2. Seize the Day. Today's all we've got. Yesterday's gone. Tomorrow's not here yet. What opportunities does God give us to love someone today? How might we speak a word of encouragement today? Help a neighbor? Give generously of our time and money? Do it today!
3. Invest in relationships. "Love God, love people, the rest is just commentary." That's a paraphrase of ancient Jewish and Christian wisdom. Strive to create or mend or otherwise build up your relationships. Don't live in regret.
Jesus said to his followers: "Servants are fortunate if their master comes and finds them doing their job" (Matthew 24:46). We don't know when the Master will return. We have no say in that. What we do have a say in is how we will live: will it be in readiness, doing our job faithfully?
The Lessons of Two Fridays
It strikes me that Friday, December 14 and Friday, December 21 have something in common--and taken together give us an invaluable, if painful, reminder. Last Friday, December 14 a deranged 20 year-old gunman broke into the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, massacring 20 first-graders, several teachers, and prior to this, his mother. He then took his own life. This horror has shocked the nation and the world; and yet it seems that incidents like these are on the rise. Gun control debates are heating up; schools are implementing stricter security measures; legislatures are looking for increased mental health screening and funding. We're desperate to do something, anything, to stop the violence. And that's a good and right impulse. But...after taking the appropriate steps, if we're able, we must also acknowledge: there is no such thing as perfect safety. The human problem behind the Sandy Hook shootings goes much deeper than gun control. Our world and we who live in it are deeply broken. To think that we can solve this problem in our own brokenness is deluded. It doesn't mean that we shouldn't institute wise measures or seek to protect the weak and innocent in our midst. It's simply to acknowledge: these are bandaids on the problem. We are not the ultimate solution to our own problems. The crisis is too deep for that.
And then there's this Friday, December 21, the supposed end of the world, according to the ancient Mayan "long calendar". While we can lump this eschatological prediction together with other mistaken prophecies of the end, we might want to pause a minute. I suspect I'm not the only one who's wondered in quiet moments, "Hmm, you never know...what if this really WAS the end of the world?" I believe there's a latent end-times anxiety in many of us. If there weren't, we wouldn't be seeing such broad coverage of this in the news. The idea that the world might end unexpectedly is so deeply-rooted in Western thought that it fuels everything from the rise of self-appointed prophets leading millenarian cults to apocalyptic box-office gold. Sure, we can say to ourselves, "I'm sure this Friday will just be one more failed prophecy." And, likely, it will be. But...let's not make the materialist mistake in believing that, on the contrary, the world will roll on forever. And let's not foolishly think that somehow we can shape, prevent, or otherwise avoid any kind of End (through environmental, militaristic, economic, pacifistic, or legislative means). That's back to the arrogant assumption that we, in our brokenness, can solve the world's brokenness. Bandaids on the wound, again. The crisis is much too deep for that.
The bottom line is we're not in control. There's in us and among us an inescapable, pervasive brokenness (what the Bible calls sin) that is too deep and too profound for us to change in our own strength. We may pass laws on gun control. We'll still have tragic shootings. We may think that history cycles on endlessly (the ancient Sumerian thought this) but even astrophysics teaches us that the world will end someday. We can either grow more anxious about these limitations of ours...or we can confess our desperate need to control our lives and world and acknowledge that even in this scary place there's an invitation: to kneel before God and recognize our dependence--and the biblical testimony to God's faithfulness. We need the words of Psalm 46, especially verse 10: "Be still, and know that I am God!" Only God--and the hope God offers in Jesus Christ and his resurrection--is big enough to handle the crises behind these two Fridays.
And then there's this Friday, December 21, the supposed end of the world, according to the ancient Mayan "long calendar". While we can lump this eschatological prediction together with other mistaken prophecies of the end, we might want to pause a minute. I suspect I'm not the only one who's wondered in quiet moments, "Hmm, you never know...what if this really WAS the end of the world?" I believe there's a latent end-times anxiety in many of us. If there weren't, we wouldn't be seeing such broad coverage of this in the news. The idea that the world might end unexpectedly is so deeply-rooted in Western thought that it fuels everything from the rise of self-appointed prophets leading millenarian cults to apocalyptic box-office gold. Sure, we can say to ourselves, "I'm sure this Friday will just be one more failed prophecy." And, likely, it will be. But...let's not make the materialist mistake in believing that, on the contrary, the world will roll on forever. And let's not foolishly think that somehow we can shape, prevent, or otherwise avoid any kind of End (through environmental, militaristic, economic, pacifistic, or legislative means). That's back to the arrogant assumption that we, in our brokenness, can solve the world's brokenness. Bandaids on the wound, again. The crisis is much too deep for that.
The bottom line is we're not in control. There's in us and among us an inescapable, pervasive brokenness (what the Bible calls sin) that is too deep and too profound for us to change in our own strength. We may pass laws on gun control. We'll still have tragic shootings. We may think that history cycles on endlessly (the ancient Sumerian thought this) but even astrophysics teaches us that the world will end someday. We can either grow more anxious about these limitations of ours...or we can confess our desperate need to control our lives and world and acknowledge that even in this scary place there's an invitation: to kneel before God and recognize our dependence--and the biblical testimony to God's faithfulness. We need the words of Psalm 46, especially verse 10: "Be still, and know that I am God!" Only God--and the hope God offers in Jesus Christ and his resurrection--is big enough to handle the crises behind these two Fridays.
"What Does Christmas Have to Do with Easter?"
Hi Everybody,
At our staff devotions yesterday our new pastor/head of staff at First Presbyterian Church in Boulder read the following poem, assisted by a female reader. It addresses the above question, which may particularly be helpful for those who might attend services only at Christmas and Easter (pretty much someone like me when I was young).
I hope you'll find it as moving and helpful as we did.
Advent blessings,
Carl
"Enchantment--The Christmas Connection" by Lee Magness
Female voice: "So God stopped time for 33 years/And he pitched a tent of flesh/Which he unfolded one night/And enfolded the next.
Male voice: "And that moment in which God tread time/Lasting from the darkness to the darkness/From the sunrise to the sunrise/Was called Jesus Christ--
F: In great pain Mary labored over God/And suddenly in merciful agony--
M: A man burst forth from the courtroom/Into the yard filled with a vicious mob--
F: And the mother knelt down/To wrap the baby in swaddling clothes--
M: And they ripped them from his body/And kneeling down, gambled them away--
F: And because there was no room in the inn/She gently laid him--
M: On the wooden beams of a cross/Where they nailed his reaching hands--
F: And the animals heard the baby/And they drew close hoping to be fed--
M: And they bleated and bawled/"Crucify him, Crucify him"
F: And the shepherds on the hillside/Came to see this thing--/Which they thought would soon be past--
M: And asked, "Are you the King of the Jews?"
F: And the wise men came to see Jesus/One brought spices, another perfumes/And a third removed his golden crown
M: And jammed its thorns into his brow--
F: And in that dark Judean night/The new-born baby cried out/Wanting protection from the cold wind--
M: "My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me?"
F: And as the star stopped over the manger
M: There was a darkness over the whole land
F: And just before the baby fell asleep
M: He softly cried, "It is finished."
Both: And in that moment of ghastly glory/When Mary lay exhausted with an empty tomb/He said, "I am the resurrection and the life,"/And in the next moment He redeemed the time.
At our staff devotions yesterday our new pastor/head of staff at First Presbyterian Church in Boulder read the following poem, assisted by a female reader. It addresses the above question, which may particularly be helpful for those who might attend services only at Christmas and Easter (pretty much someone like me when I was young).
I hope you'll find it as moving and helpful as we did.
Advent blessings,
Carl
"Enchantment--The Christmas Connection" by Lee Magness
Female voice: "So God stopped time for 33 years/And he pitched a tent of flesh/Which he unfolded one night/And enfolded the next.
Male voice: "And that moment in which God tread time/Lasting from the darkness to the darkness/From the sunrise to the sunrise/Was called Jesus Christ--
F: In great pain Mary labored over God/And suddenly in merciful agony--
M: A man burst forth from the courtroom/Into the yard filled with a vicious mob--
F: And the mother knelt down/To wrap the baby in swaddling clothes--
M: And they ripped them from his body/And kneeling down, gambled them away--
F: And because there was no room in the inn/She gently laid him--
M: On the wooden beams of a cross/Where they nailed his reaching hands--
F: And the animals heard the baby/And they drew close hoping to be fed--
M: And they bleated and bawled/"Crucify him, Crucify him"
F: And the shepherds on the hillside/Came to see this thing--/Which they thought would soon be past--
M: And asked, "Are you the King of the Jews?"
F: And the wise men came to see Jesus/One brought spices, another perfumes/And a third removed his golden crown
M: And jammed its thorns into his brow--
F: And in that dark Judean night/The new-born baby cried out/Wanting protection from the cold wind--
M: "My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me?"
F: And as the star stopped over the manger
M: There was a darkness over the whole land
F: And just before the baby fell asleep
M: He softly cried, "It is finished."
Both: And in that moment of ghastly glory/When Mary lay exhausted with an empty tomb/He said, "I am the resurrection and the life,"/And in the next moment He redeemed the time.
Morals Matter
Hey Folks!
Sorry I've been silent for so long--launching our eldest off to college and adjusting to three, not four plates, at the dinnertable is a major reason why. Let me throw some grist into the mill for a brief thought or two today...
We've been hit in the headlines recently with two significant falls from grace, both involving Alpha Males in their respective fields: General David Petraeus in the military/intelligence realm and Lance Armstrong in pro cycling. The consequences of their catastrophic choices have offered spectacular crashes, plummetting them from the heights of fame and power to places of public scorn and ridicule. There's a parable here, a morality play of sorts, for those willing to listen.
I suspect (and I'm only surmising) that in each case, the power of these two individuals elevated them to a rarefied realm where they were surrounded by people who largely profited from agreeing with them, rather than challenging them or confronting them. Power isolates even as it elevates. It removes us from relationships of parity and mutuality, where we can receive the hard word when needed. Along with this, power and influence often create their own world around the privileged, a world where rules are bent, twisted, and broken to suit the needs of those in power. "The ends justify the means", a Lance Armstrong might say. "Everybody's doping. This is what's needed to compete--and to win--at the top level. Besides, this success allows me great influence in the worldwide battle against cancer. That can't be wrong." And who can argue with success, right? Right?
David Petraeus might've had his own version of this self-justifying monologue: "Given the great responsibilities and the sacrifices I'm making to serve my country away from my family, I deserve this little indulgence, this little thing on the side. That can't be wrong, right? Right?"
Wrong. The moral of the story in both cases is that power and influence carry their own occupational hazards: they can isolate us, they can elevate us beyond others to a point where (even if unconsciously) we believe the rules don't apply to us. It's lonely at the top--and sometimes dangerous. If we're not grounded in deeper realities, realities well beyond our personal success and power, we're far more vulnerable to a fall. And given the height of prominence, that fall can be spectacular indeed.
"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that he may lift you up in due season," writes the Apostle Peter. Living under the reign of God and God's healthy guidelines in his Word can grant us an inner humility and self-awareness, which, when combined with close friends and colleagues who can call us to account when we're tip-toeing into dangerous territory, may save us and those we lead.
Sorry I've been silent for so long--launching our eldest off to college and adjusting to three, not four plates, at the dinnertable is a major reason why. Let me throw some grist into the mill for a brief thought or two today...
We've been hit in the headlines recently with two significant falls from grace, both involving Alpha Males in their respective fields: General David Petraeus in the military/intelligence realm and Lance Armstrong in pro cycling. The consequences of their catastrophic choices have offered spectacular crashes, plummetting them from the heights of fame and power to places of public scorn and ridicule. There's a parable here, a morality play of sorts, for those willing to listen.
I suspect (and I'm only surmising) that in each case, the power of these two individuals elevated them to a rarefied realm where they were surrounded by people who largely profited from agreeing with them, rather than challenging them or confronting them. Power isolates even as it elevates. It removes us from relationships of parity and mutuality, where we can receive the hard word when needed. Along with this, power and influence often create their own world around the privileged, a world where rules are bent, twisted, and broken to suit the needs of those in power. "The ends justify the means", a Lance Armstrong might say. "Everybody's doping. This is what's needed to compete--and to win--at the top level. Besides, this success allows me great influence in the worldwide battle against cancer. That can't be wrong." And who can argue with success, right? Right?
David Petraeus might've had his own version of this self-justifying monologue: "Given the great responsibilities and the sacrifices I'm making to serve my country away from my family, I deserve this little indulgence, this little thing on the side. That can't be wrong, right? Right?"
Wrong. The moral of the story in both cases is that power and influence carry their own occupational hazards: they can isolate us, they can elevate us beyond others to a point where (even if unconsciously) we believe the rules don't apply to us. It's lonely at the top--and sometimes dangerous. If we're not grounded in deeper realities, realities well beyond our personal success and power, we're far more vulnerable to a fall. And given the height of prominence, that fall can be spectacular indeed.
"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that he may lift you up in due season," writes the Apostle Peter. Living under the reign of God and God's healthy guidelines in his Word can grant us an inner humility and self-awareness, which, when combined with close friends and colleagues who can call us to account when we're tip-toeing into dangerous territory, may save us and those we lead.
What Are You Looking For?
"'What are you looking for?'"
--Jesus, in John 1:38
John the Baptist had the ministry of pointing. If he was a dog, of course he'd be a pointer. His job, under the guidance of God, was to sniff out messianic movements in first-century Judea, find the right one, and make sure everyone around him heard about it. John pointed to Jesus. "Look," John kept exclaiming, "here he is!" He pointed to Jesus, this unassuming, unknown, unacclaimed carpenter from backwater Galilee. "Here he is!" That was John's main message. And we know from the Fourth Gospel, that at least two of his disciples took his message to heart. They followed Jesus. I mean they literally walked after him. When Jesus became aware of their stalking presence, he turned and asked them, "What are you looking for?" That is the question they needed to be asked. That's the question we need to be asked now.
"What are you looking for?" Jesus asked those two disciples: are you looking for a military-political leader to guide occupied Israel to its former independent greatness? In other words, are you looking for a new King David? Are you looking for an exciting new rabbi with tantalizing teaching to tickle your tastebuds? What are you looking for? Is it a prophet to stun you with miracles and a fresh word from God? They seemed tongue-tied by Jesus' question. All they can stutter out in response is "Where are you staying?" A question answered by a question. Typical Jewish interaction in the first-century, but this time, not terribly profound. Jesus is kind in his response: "Come and see." Even though they can't articulate an answer to his probing question, Jesus doesn't turn them away. He invites them in for a closer look. So gracious.
What are we looking for today? Are we looking for Jesus to give us Ten Tips for Successful Living? Is it self-improvement techniques from a top-notch motivational speaker that prompts us to consider him? Or, are we looking for the ultimate affirmation, that in following Jesus, we are indeed a good girl or good boy, after all? Is it religious (or even psychological) reassurance we seek? Is it the comforting haven of religion? What are we looking for?
We need to be asked this question from time to time. It gets at the root of who we are and what we need at the deepest level. What motivates us, deep down, to follow Jesus? Why do we want to draw near to him? What do we need or expect from him? Are we even in touch with this core of who we are? These aren't questions just for the so-called "seekers" who haven't yet made a decision about Jesus. These are questions for those of us who are Christ-followers, especially those of us who've been at it a long time. We can get grooved into our holy habits (not necessarily a bad thing) and begin to lose sight of our heart's longing. What do we look for in following after Jesus?
Here's how I answered that question today in my journal: "I am looking for closeness to you, Lord Jesus. I want to know you and feel your love for me, flawed person that I am. I want your love and grace and Holy Spirit-power to so flood my life that I am truly taken on a journey of transformation into the ultimate wholeness that can only come from you."
"What are YOU looking for?" How do you respond?
The Fruit of Discipline
"You...have...got...to...be...kidding...me!!" Those were my first thoughts looking at a recent training plan from my cycling coach. (Yes, I now have a coach who's providing me with customized workouts based on my goals, which are fairly humble: to turn back time, prevent aging, and stave off midlife.) My coach is pushing me into harder workout zones, helping me notch up my functional threshold power (that elusive, theoretical number that estimates what kind of wattage you could put out for an uninterrupted hour of pain on the bike). His alchemy for structuring these workouts astounds me: he pushes me just to my breaking point and then backs off with a rest day. Each week he increases my workload, in terms of hours, intensity and duration of intervals, etc, and then allows me rest, cementing my gains and getting me ready for the next training phase. After a month of hard workouts, he builds in a week of recovery and regeneration.
This particular workout was open-ended. He wanted me to climb a canyon in a wattage range that I would find challenging for 20-30 minutes. But this sustained climb, by my estimate, under the best conditions, would take me 90-120 minutes! What the heck?! Yet, with my Teutonic genes, I submitted to his coachly authority and undertook the assignment. It nearly killed me! I blew up after about 35 minutes. Each time he pushes me like this, I face obstacles I never thought possible. And this particular one, was, in fact, impossible. But I later found out he was testing me to see what I could do in that particular week of heavy training. I learned much about my body and its limits (as well as my propensity to mutter under duress).
"No pain, no gain." We've all heard that before. To a large extent, especially considering the distinction between good pain and bad pain, this adage is true. Good pain forces us to grow and adapt. In the hands of an experienced coach who knows us and cares for us, good pain makes us stronger and better. Good pain stretches us and, with proper rest and recovery, good pain takes us to another level of performance. (Bad pain, by contrast, is the result of overdoing it without a plan or can come under the auspices of someone who doesn't know us, know what they're doing, or particularly care. Bad pain tears us down; good pain builds us up.)
I'm learning much about spiritual formation as I pursue this training on the bike. I am realizing how beneficial it can be to have a coach who cares about us and accompanies us in a challenging period of growth. I'm realizing that we can't expect to grow without being pushed--sometimes to our limit. I'm also realizing that pain, in the hands of Someone wise and thoughtful, can be used to develop us into people we never thought we could be.
My cycling coach is trained, experienced, and knowledgable. His workout plans are tailor-made for me. His communication via email is compassionate and encouraging. He often ends his notes with, "The main thing is to be sure to have fun!" That particular day, I felt like saying, "Yeah, right."
But I got through that day and that week. In fact, the very next day, with another challenging climbing assignment, I actually felt better. Nietzsche, that very non-Christian philosopher, was once reported to say, "That which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger." Without buying into his philosophy, I think he was on to something. Under God's gracious care, the discipline that life doles out, while seeming painful at the time, can often yield fruit we never thought possible. So, hang in there, people. And keep on pedaling.
Praying Amidst the Wildfires
Many of us are doing a lot of praying right now: with wildfires devastating the Fort Collins area to our north and the Colorado Springs area to our south, and yesterday's lightning-strike fire (still going) behind the Flatirons above Boulder, this is a vulnerable time. We've had record-breaking heat (over 5 days of 100+ degrees and humidity in the single digits) which has made our state a tinder box. And so, we watch and we pray. And we look for ways to be good neighbors to those in need.
On my bike ride today, my intervals took me back and forth in clear view of our Boulder fire. I'd pray each time I saw the plume of smoke and felt the kick of the west wind. It's caused me to reflect on the mystery of prayer. The Bible clearly shows us that God wants us to pray and to pray unceasingly (1Thessalonians 5:16-18, e.g.). Biblical examples abound of ardent intercession--and God's faithfulness in response. And yet prayer remains a mystery. I cannot imagine the amount of prayer going up in Colorado Springs (sometimes called the Vatican City of American evangelicalism). Surely, there's been a ton of prayer there...yet, news reports recently are nearly apocalyptic, with devastating scenes of countless homes going up in flames. Isn't prayer working?!
Again, prayer is a mystery. My working hypothesis is this: God, in his sovereign grace, invites us to join his mysterious work of redemption with our lives and with our prayers. In some cases, God will respond immediately and specifically to our prayers; in other cases, God may be using this praying process to shape and mold our hearts to fit his own: to feel his compassion, to suffer alongside the afflicted, to bend our wills to God's. Even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying three times that the cup of his imminent suffering should pass, submitted to God's inscrutable will: "Not my will, but yours be done." Perhaps prayer also puts us on our knees, literally and figuratively, before God--an indispensable posture of humility and dependence. Wrestling with the mystery of prayer, we once again face the fact that we are not god; only God is God...and we are God's servants, especially in our prayers.
Two final thoughts: first, sometimes I worry that our prayers can descend into folk religion, a sort of magical praying. "God, zap down a response to this need!" "God, change me (this person, this situation) right now!" God is not a magician or a spiritual vending machine; genuine transformation often takes a lifetime. Are we willing to enter into this kind of watching and praying? Are we willing to wrestle and persevere in prayer like that? God can indeed change the weather patterns. Yet, sometimes, God does not. There may be a bigger plan at work, a deeper possibility of redemption and transformation. Only God knows.
Lastly, I've found that as I lift up the same need repeatedly in prayer, I can come to a point where it feels as if God says to me, "I've heard you. I am faithful. Trust me." Then my prayers undergo a shift: from petition (over the need), to praise (for God's faithful character). God is a loving heavenly Father, a compassionate, suffering Savior in Jesus Christ. My prayer then is: "Lord, help me--help us--to trust you and to cling to you in faith." Let's keep wrestling in prayer together. Amen.
On my bike ride today, my intervals took me back and forth in clear view of our Boulder fire. I'd pray each time I saw the plume of smoke and felt the kick of the west wind. It's caused me to reflect on the mystery of prayer. The Bible clearly shows us that God wants us to pray and to pray unceasingly (1Thessalonians 5:16-18, e.g.). Biblical examples abound of ardent intercession--and God's faithfulness in response. And yet prayer remains a mystery. I cannot imagine the amount of prayer going up in Colorado Springs (sometimes called the Vatican City of American evangelicalism). Surely, there's been a ton of prayer there...yet, news reports recently are nearly apocalyptic, with devastating scenes of countless homes going up in flames. Isn't prayer working?!
Again, prayer is a mystery. My working hypothesis is this: God, in his sovereign grace, invites us to join his mysterious work of redemption with our lives and with our prayers. In some cases, God will respond immediately and specifically to our prayers; in other cases, God may be using this praying process to shape and mold our hearts to fit his own: to feel his compassion, to suffer alongside the afflicted, to bend our wills to God's. Even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying three times that the cup of his imminent suffering should pass, submitted to God's inscrutable will: "Not my will, but yours be done." Perhaps prayer also puts us on our knees, literally and figuratively, before God--an indispensable posture of humility and dependence. Wrestling with the mystery of prayer, we once again face the fact that we are not god; only God is God...and we are God's servants, especially in our prayers.
Two final thoughts: first, sometimes I worry that our prayers can descend into folk religion, a sort of magical praying. "God, zap down a response to this need!" "God, change me (this person, this situation) right now!" God is not a magician or a spiritual vending machine; genuine transformation often takes a lifetime. Are we willing to enter into this kind of watching and praying? Are we willing to wrestle and persevere in prayer like that? God can indeed change the weather patterns. Yet, sometimes, God does not. There may be a bigger plan at work, a deeper possibility of redemption and transformation. Only God knows.
Lastly, I've found that as I lift up the same need repeatedly in prayer, I can come to a point where it feels as if God says to me, "I've heard you. I am faithful. Trust me." Then my prayers undergo a shift: from petition (over the need), to praise (for God's faithful character). God is a loving heavenly Father, a compassionate, suffering Savior in Jesus Christ. My prayer then is: "Lord, help me--help us--to trust you and to cling to you in faith." Let's keep wrestling in prayer together. Amen.
A New Fitness Regimen
"Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." 1Timothy 4:7-8
"Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it. Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air; but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified." 1Corinthians 9:24-27
For my birthday earlier this spring, I received some money that I've used towards something new in my life: cycling training with a coach. If you've read my posts here before, you know that in addition to fine coffee, cycling is one of my life's passions. Deep, I know.
Recently, I decided to take this passion up a notch and, with this coach's help, I've been training more purposefully. It almost feels like I've begun a different sport. In the past, I'd just go out for a ride. It might be some hill-climbing, some rollers, or a flat spin on the plains. Time, weather, and how I felt usually set the agenda. Yes, I'd push it occasionally, getting out more frequently, going longer miles or hours, or pushing faster up a hill. But that was it. Now, I've got a monthly schedule devised by my coach: each day has something purposeful in it, even if it's just rest and recovery. I've got interval workouts finely tuned to set zones, intensities, and durations. I've got increasing hours on the bike, multiple climbs prescribed, things that are pushing me harder than ever. I can feel my body adapting to the training stress and as hard as it is sometimes, I like it.
Training. Discipline. Daily devotion to a consuming passion. Building a lifestyle to support new goals for living. If you've ever trained in the gym with a personal trainer, or had a coach in any sport, or a devoted teacher or mentor or therapist who's pushed you to grow, you know what it's like. You're inspired and empowered to be transformed in positive ways. That's cycling for me now. And it's a window into something else.
Cycling is indeed a worthy pastime. In fact, as I tell myself frequently, I could be into much worse! The friendships, the fitness, the fun (the coffee afterwards!)--it's all good. But this new kind of training has me thinking about spiritual disciplines. For Christians who seek to grow in Christlikeness, for those who want to be transformed from their old lives into the new, the spiritual disciplines serve as aids to growth. They put us in a place where transformation, by God's Spirit, becomes possible.
Physical training is like that: we do the disciplined workouts, which--along with rest and healthy eating--allow a mysterious adaptive process in our bodies to take place. Particularly as we rest, our bodies knit new tissues, mend tiny tears, and lay down new networks of fresh capillaries. We really do become transformed! Our heart rates slow, our body fat disappears, our blood pressure drops, and our endurance expands. Why, before we know it, we've become fit!
Spiritual growth is similar: by attending to our spiritual health, by nourishing ourselves on healthy thoughts harvested from Scripture, by aligning ourselves with lifestyles that promote the good of ourselves and others, by putting off destructive habits, we slowly conform to a new self--a self born in Jesus and awakened in his resurrection from the dead. Daily prayer teaches us an intimate fluency with God. Bible reading corrects mistaken notions of ourselves, others and the world. Faith, as we rely on it more and more, grows like a muscle. Serving others teaches us loving endurance. Most of all, obedience--putting into practice these Christ-centered lifestyles and behaviors--presents our bodies and entire selves to God that we may be reshaped--forever. It's spiritual fitness.
As the apostle Paul puts it above, "physical training is of some value." Indeed it is! But, as he goes on to write: "godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." I live in Boulder, Colorado, a place known for its physical fitness. May I--may we, wherever we live--dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of a spiritual fitness as well--both for now and forevermore.
"Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it. Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air; but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified." 1Corinthians 9:24-27
For my birthday earlier this spring, I received some money that I've used towards something new in my life: cycling training with a coach. If you've read my posts here before, you know that in addition to fine coffee, cycling is one of my life's passions. Deep, I know.
Recently, I decided to take this passion up a notch and, with this coach's help, I've been training more purposefully. It almost feels like I've begun a different sport. In the past, I'd just go out for a ride. It might be some hill-climbing, some rollers, or a flat spin on the plains. Time, weather, and how I felt usually set the agenda. Yes, I'd push it occasionally, getting out more frequently, going longer miles or hours, or pushing faster up a hill. But that was it. Now, I've got a monthly schedule devised by my coach: each day has something purposeful in it, even if it's just rest and recovery. I've got interval workouts finely tuned to set zones, intensities, and durations. I've got increasing hours on the bike, multiple climbs prescribed, things that are pushing me harder than ever. I can feel my body adapting to the training stress and as hard as it is sometimes, I like it.
Training. Discipline. Daily devotion to a consuming passion. Building a lifestyle to support new goals for living. If you've ever trained in the gym with a personal trainer, or had a coach in any sport, or a devoted teacher or mentor or therapist who's pushed you to grow, you know what it's like. You're inspired and empowered to be transformed in positive ways. That's cycling for me now. And it's a window into something else.
Cycling is indeed a worthy pastime. In fact, as I tell myself frequently, I could be into much worse! The friendships, the fitness, the fun (the coffee afterwards!)--it's all good. But this new kind of training has me thinking about spiritual disciplines. For Christians who seek to grow in Christlikeness, for those who want to be transformed from their old lives into the new, the spiritual disciplines serve as aids to growth. They put us in a place where transformation, by God's Spirit, becomes possible.
Physical training is like that: we do the disciplined workouts, which--along with rest and healthy eating--allow a mysterious adaptive process in our bodies to take place. Particularly as we rest, our bodies knit new tissues, mend tiny tears, and lay down new networks of fresh capillaries. We really do become transformed! Our heart rates slow, our body fat disappears, our blood pressure drops, and our endurance expands. Why, before we know it, we've become fit!
Spiritual growth is similar: by attending to our spiritual health, by nourishing ourselves on healthy thoughts harvested from Scripture, by aligning ourselves with lifestyles that promote the good of ourselves and others, by putting off destructive habits, we slowly conform to a new self--a self born in Jesus and awakened in his resurrection from the dead. Daily prayer teaches us an intimate fluency with God. Bible reading corrects mistaken notions of ourselves, others and the world. Faith, as we rely on it more and more, grows like a muscle. Serving others teaches us loving endurance. Most of all, obedience--putting into practice these Christ-centered lifestyles and behaviors--presents our bodies and entire selves to God that we may be reshaped--forever. It's spiritual fitness.
As the apostle Paul puts it above, "physical training is of some value." Indeed it is! But, as he goes on to write: "godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." I live in Boulder, Colorado, a place known for its physical fitness. May I--may we, wherever we live--dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of a spiritual fitness as well--both for now and forevermore.
The Odd Ring of Truth
There's something so counter-intuitive about Jesus...and especially the last week of his life on earth. I mean, if you and I were to write the story, there would be triumphalism all over the place: he'd have ridden into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday perched high on a mighty steed, a warhorse! The crowds would've coalesced around his charisma; Jerusalem's elite would've rallied to his cause; why, even the Romans would've cowered before him. Stone Cold Steve Austin, Jason Statham, Daniel Craig, tough guys like these would've had nothing on Jesus.
And on this day, the Thursday of Holy Week, Maundy Thursday as we're accustomed to calling it, Jesus would've had a victory meal...and those disciples would've washed their OWN feet, and his too. No somber foreshadowing; just joyous, anticipatory celebration!
And all that stuff in the Garden of Gethsemane, are you kidding me? There would've been last minute plans for sure, logistics locked into place for the big overthrow to come: in the mighty power of God the corrupt religious leaders would be put down, the Roman occupying armies crushed. Good Friday would've been obviously good--a victorious battle, decisive, overwhelming in the power of the hosts of heaven. Easter might've come two days early.
That's how we'd write the script.
But that's not what happened. Palm Sunday showed a humble king, mounted on a donkey, his feet barely clearing the ground. That's not high and mighty. The crowds were fickle as crowds usually are. The Last Supper was full of anxiety and foreboding and yet a strange calm covered Jesus. A friend betrayed him in his moment of need--and he was so anxious in the Garden that he sweated blood and prayed for God to deliver him from the suffering to come. This "king" was arrested, then he shuffled off in chains, the ultimate perp walk. The religious leaders trumped up false charges and no one defended him. The Roman governor handed him over to be tortured. He was crowned with thorns; his throne was a rough wooden cross. He was mocked and pierced and died. He even felt God had abandoned him and he said it out loud. This is NOT how we would write the story! Then he was buried in a borrowed tomb. Bad ending.
But then, on Easter morning, the stone covering to the tomb was rolled back by an earthquake and an angel. He wasn't dead--he was alive! Uh, wait a minute...
The story of Jesus' last week, in fact, the whole story of Jesus, for that matter, has a human implausibility about it. We couldn't have made this stuff up. It's just not like us. It's counter-intuitive. For that very reason, it has an odd ring of truth to it, doesn't it? And when you see how the scared fishermen who followed Jesus rose up after the resurrection to boldly proclaim the faith, when you see how they spread the Gospel throughout the Roman Empire (talk about implausible!), and especially when you see Peter, James, John, Paul and others go to their deaths out of loyalty to their Lord--well, this just defies our imagination.
That's why it's worth pondering again--and getting inside the story yourself.
And on this day, the Thursday of Holy Week, Maundy Thursday as we're accustomed to calling it, Jesus would've had a victory meal...and those disciples would've washed their OWN feet, and his too. No somber foreshadowing; just joyous, anticipatory celebration!
And all that stuff in the Garden of Gethsemane, are you kidding me? There would've been last minute plans for sure, logistics locked into place for the big overthrow to come: in the mighty power of God the corrupt religious leaders would be put down, the Roman occupying armies crushed. Good Friday would've been obviously good--a victorious battle, decisive, overwhelming in the power of the hosts of heaven. Easter might've come two days early.
That's how we'd write the script.
But that's not what happened. Palm Sunday showed a humble king, mounted on a donkey, his feet barely clearing the ground. That's not high and mighty. The crowds were fickle as crowds usually are. The Last Supper was full of anxiety and foreboding and yet a strange calm covered Jesus. A friend betrayed him in his moment of need--and he was so anxious in the Garden that he sweated blood and prayed for God to deliver him from the suffering to come. This "king" was arrested, then he shuffled off in chains, the ultimate perp walk. The religious leaders trumped up false charges and no one defended him. The Roman governor handed him over to be tortured. He was crowned with thorns; his throne was a rough wooden cross. He was mocked and pierced and died. He even felt God had abandoned him and he said it out loud. This is NOT how we would write the story! Then he was buried in a borrowed tomb. Bad ending.
But then, on Easter morning, the stone covering to the tomb was rolled back by an earthquake and an angel. He wasn't dead--he was alive! Uh, wait a minute...
The story of Jesus' last week, in fact, the whole story of Jesus, for that matter, has a human implausibility about it. We couldn't have made this stuff up. It's just not like us. It's counter-intuitive. For that very reason, it has an odd ring of truth to it, doesn't it? And when you see how the scared fishermen who followed Jesus rose up after the resurrection to boldly proclaim the faith, when you see how they spread the Gospel throughout the Roman Empire (talk about implausible!), and especially when you see Peter, James, John, Paul and others go to their deaths out of loyalty to their Lord--well, this just defies our imagination.
That's why it's worth pondering again--and getting inside the story yourself.
"I'm not dead yet..."
Seriously. I know my cyber-absence has concerned some (Hi Mom!), but rest assured I'm alive and well. The reason for my paucity of penmanship online...hmmm...well, busyness most certainly (fall had lots of new activities outside my immediate comfort zone--teaching our church's Men's Life, which starts at 5:45AM Tuesdays, and tutoring my Columbine Elementary first-grader were some of the top new items, both of which have been significant blessings, to me at least). Beyond busyness (which I'm sure any of us could cite) I'd add parenting a senior in high school (weekly football games--Go, Coyotes!) as well as parenting a pre-teen, both of which make me feel my middleagedness. Thankfully, I've got a great parenting partner in my wife, who's a fabulous mom.
I think, more deeply, that some of my reticence for going online has been a certain innate bashfulness. No, really. I want to have something worthwhile to say here and when I'm busy or otherwise distracted, I find it hard to dig deep, write thoughtfully, and take your time to read it. There's an inevitable self-promotion in blogging (and other social media). When my creative juices are flowing in other directions, I find it tough to justify putting just anything up here. Capisce?
Beyond that, I'm finding that given some free time, I would prefer to read, ride my bike (weather permitting), or simply be quiet. The internet beckons incessantly for our attention and now that I've got an iPad and wireless keyboard (both of which are very cool), it would be much too easy to stay immersed in digital media, which doesn't feel all that healthy, to be honest.
So, it's a new year and it's a chance to look backward with thanksgiving and forward with hope. From both vantage points I'm grateful for your readership. More soon--hopefully!
I think, more deeply, that some of my reticence for going online has been a certain innate bashfulness. No, really. I want to have something worthwhile to say here and when I'm busy or otherwise distracted, I find it hard to dig deep, write thoughtfully, and take your time to read it. There's an inevitable self-promotion in blogging (and other social media). When my creative juices are flowing in other directions, I find it tough to justify putting just anything up here. Capisce?
Beyond that, I'm finding that given some free time, I would prefer to read, ride my bike (weather permitting), or simply be quiet. The internet beckons incessantly for our attention and now that I've got an iPad and wireless keyboard (both of which are very cool), it would be much too easy to stay immersed in digital media, which doesn't feel all that healthy, to be honest.
So, it's a new year and it's a chance to look backward with thanksgiving and forward with hope. From both vantage points I'm grateful for your readership. More soon--hopefully!
The Challenge of Hybrids
Of course, hybrids aren't without their challenges, apparently. They tend to be more costly than regular cars, less widely available, and offer slower acceleration. Plus, they're often smaller and less safe in collisions. They even need their batteries replaced at some point, which can be costly. Hybrids are great; but they have their challenges.
I've been thinking about human origins recently. As I tend to read the creation accounts of Genesis 1-2 theologically, instead of literally, I've wondered about homo sapiens and its development from other hominids. If we accept evolutionary hypotheses, what, for instance, is the common ancestor we would have had at one point with the apes? At what time did God possibly breathe into human beings a living soul (Genesis 2:7)? Could this have been the point at which the image of God in human beings was sealed and confirmed? If so, then we are hybrids of the highest order: eternal souls from God indwelling created bodies which share many features in common with lower animals. We are rational, spiritual...and carnal creatures, every one of us. And herein lies the challenge of hybrids.
Our animalistic urges, possibly those lodged in the so-called "Reptilian brain", that section where fear and other primitive impulses originate, move us to breed, fight, dominate, and slake our appetites. Our higher qualities, those which stem from our origin in the image of God, move us toward morality, self-sacrifice for another's good, altruism, and unconditional love. We are eternal spirits inhabiting animal bodies. We soar...and we crawl. We sacrifice for others...and we serve ourselves. Human history is the narrative of these challenges. Without the superintending of our higher selves, we can yield to animal behaviors. This is the challenge of living as hybrids. But this challenge is exacerbated by what the Bible teaches as "original sin." Created as hybrids in the image of God, we were given freedom to choose loving relationships of service to God and others. However, the Bible says we've abused our freedom, chosen to worship and serve ourselves and into our hybridized challenges we've injected sin, this self-serving, destructive impulse. Sin, infecting our human spiritual DNA, makes it even more challenging for us now to reign in the animal impulses which course just beneath our consciousness.
This is our reality, as hybrid human beings. And it's into this reality that the Ultimate Hybrid comes, the God-man Jesus Christ. He is the one who bears the untainted image of human beings made in the image of God (he's fully human, in the best sense). And he is the one who uniquely bears the image of God (he's fully divine--Colossians 1:15). He alone can reign over the history of turmoil between these higher and lower impulses, especially the strife created in our fall from grace due to original sin. Jesus alone, in his life, death, and resurrection, can fully heal, redeem, purify, and perfect the hybrid human being. It's a process which begins now in this life as we come to him in humble faith; and it's one that will thankfully be fulfilled in the life to come.
Earth-shaking Theology
Like many of us, I heard the news of this week's Virginia temblor with surprise: "What?" we all wondered, "an earthquake on the East Coast?!" Turns out it was the largest earthquake in more than 40 years. Added to this seismic strangeness was the unexpected rumble in our own state: southern Colorado also had a decent earthquake the same day as the Virginia shaker. Hmmm...
As I've mentioned here before, I grew up in Southern California, spent much of my young adult life in the San Francisco Bay Area, returned to greater LA for seminary, and served a church for ten years back in the Bay Area. I've felt my share of earthquakes, including some really big ones I thought were THE Big One. In our Oakland home, we had to sign papers at the purchase acknowledging we were in the "special study zone", a deceptively benign phrase meaning our home was built over a branch of the notorious Hayward Fault. Like our neighbors, we retrofitted our home to protect us in the event of a quake: we sheer-wall paneled the frame of the house in the basement, to spread out the stresses of the shaking; we also drilled and bolted the beams of the frame deep into the concrete foundation. These measures don't eliminate the risks; they merely mitigate them and give residents greater peace of mind. You see, no matter how well you prepare, earthquakes still make you feel small, vulnerable, and out of control. Usually, it's a bad feeling. There's no advance warning and there's no respecting of persons--everyone's affected.
When earthquakes hit places like Indonesia, Japan, or even the West Coast of the U.S., we feel bad for those involved, but we tend to expect these phenomena. But Virginia? Colorado? Hello?! Something about these quakes tends to get my apocalypse meter twitching...
I'm no Harold Camping, no alleged Bible prophet. Far from it. But I know enough about earthquakes in the Bible to know these key points: 1) as a metaphor, earthquakes point to the transcendent power of God, often in judgment for sin. The smallness we feel--the vulnerability induced--from earthquakes reminds us that God is in control and we are not. Earthquakes catch our attention and wake us up; God does that too. How we live matters. And being related well to God is vitally important in this; 2) Earthquakes are signs which Jesus says will accompany the end of the world, "the beginning of birth pains" for the new heaven and earth he will create. Rather than predict his timetable (a notoriously foolish thing to do), I'd rather just say, "Live in readiness." Life's not going to march on endlessly. History is not like a wheel rolling ever onward. History's headed someplace; it's heading, ultimately, to Someone.
So bolt yourself into the Foundation. Relate yourself well and deeply to the God who loves you in Christ. Trust in him and cling to him--and you'll weather whatever quakes should come.
Dress-Up and Make Believe
--Paul's Letter to the Colossians 3:9-10, 12
At the risk of seeming cheap and shallow, I begin with a cycling illustration. I've realized that cycling's appeal for me is three-fold: 1) it offers great cardiovascular exercise; 2) I get to do it in the great outdoors and enjoy creation; and 3) it's got cool gear. Today is about #3. Bear with me.
The cool gear piece is fascinating to me. I love the technology of bike design and production. I geek out over measuring my efforts in watts, mile-per-hour averages, beats-per-minute, and gradient percentages. I think the style and traditions of pro cycling, including the cycling kit (uniform) design and function, are intriguing. In fact, I would go further: getting into the cool gear and experiencing its performance advantages is a large part of the fun. It could be just "dress-up and make believe" for this recreational cyclist; or it could be more.
This is where the "more" comes in. When I played tennis competitively in high school, I noticed that those who dressed the part usually played better than those who didn't. Could've been just superficial; but I don't think so. When you feel like a tennis player and look like a tennis player, your commitment to the sport (and often your performance) improves. You dress the part and often you end up living the part.
I think cycling is like that, for me at least. When I'm kitted up and riding my Cervelo, I find myself pushing harder, aiming higher, riding better. I dress like a cyclist; I then find myself riding like a cyclist. There's some connection between dress and behavior--and indeed lifestyle.
I think Paul got this right in his Letter to the Colossians. He urges his readers to grasp the fact that they are--at their core, in the ground of their being--new creations in Christ. Their faith in Jesus and his resurrection has transformed them spiritually and eternally. They aren't the same as before. Everything has changed. Paul then asks them to live true to their new identities: to take off (the metaphor is of undressing) their old selves and habits and in their place clothe themselves with their new selves and behaviors. To the outside observer (and occasionally to those practicing this themselves!) this may seem like "dress up and make believe." A "fake it 'til you make it" practice of Christian virtue. But it's not. If we take Paul seriously (and Jesus more seriously still), this conscious clothing of ourselves in new behaviors reinforces and extends our new spiritual identity. We are new; we dress new; we live new. Our spiritual clothing shapes our actual behavior. We live the part we dress. See the connection?
So, paraphrasing C.S. Lewis in his classic Mere Christianity, don't worry if you don't feel like you love others; act as if you did. And, as as you practice this love, as you "put it on", you will find yourself living it. Dress up and make believe may not be so wrong after all.
A Tribute to Uncle John
I was introduced to the writings of "Uncle John" (as he liked to be called) as a newborn college Christian at U.C. Berkeley. His precise prose and lucid Bible exposition through his commentaries on Paul's Letter to the Ephesians (God's New Society) and the Sermon on the Mount (Christian Counter-Culture) not only grounded my newfound faith in solid biblical teaching, they gave me confidence in the intellectual integrity of Christianity in a secular university setting. Stott, along with the writings of C.S. Lewis, the weekly preaching of First Pres Berkeley pastor Earl Palmer, and the caring, creative leadership of college pastor Mark Labberton, launched me on a lifetime of discipleship and crystallized my calling to be a pastor.
After graduating from Cal, I spent a year working as library supervisor at Stott's London Institute of Christianity. I was privileged to get to know Stott personally, being invited to breakfast one on one in his Weymouth Street flat, joining his monthly "Contemporary Christian" discussion group assessing popular culture from a biblical vantage point, and (in the picture above) getting to spend a week with Uncle John and a small work crew at the Hookses, his Welsh cottage where he retreated to work on many of his books. Additionally, I sat week by week under his teaching, whether at the LICC courses or from the pulpit of All Souls Church, Langham Place.
You can read obituaries and glowing tributes to Stott from writers like Tim Stafford. All of these will give you many of the important details of his life. I'd like to offer just a few thoughts on his personal impact on me. First of all, I was deeply impressed by his integrity as a Christian: Stott lived his faith in every setting in which I observed him--whether speaking to a street person or preaching in a large setting. He lived simply and humbly, rarely having more than a few suits or coats. He gave most of the proceeds of his books to third-world Christian scholars; he even learned to hug people (something very hard to do for a British man of his social background!). His was an integrated faith, unreservedly seeking to apply the whole of his mind and life to the life and teachings of Jesus. Secondly, Stott gave me a deep love for biblical learning. His precise words and careful outlines led me and others into the heart of the Bible's message. It was like a clear glass of refreshing water each time I heard him: I came away with thirst slaked for the moment, but curiously thirsting for more. Each sermon I heard impressed me with God and Christ; Uncle John faded into the background. Through him I heard them. This has been an enduring model for me. I loved (and in his writings still love) his economical use of English: like a scalpel, his words sliced evenly and precisely to the point. Stott possessed a brilliant mind and life which stood "Between Two Worlds" (as his famous book on preaching was entitled); his teachings convincingly showed how the ancient Scriptures speak with relevance and challenge to the (now post-)modern world.
During that year in London, whenever I got to be near him, John Stott's love and example touched me. He's shaped me; some of him still lives within me and others I know who've been blessed to be in his orbit. I have felt God's grace in all of this: as a young man from California to be treated so undeservingly to life-changing contact with one of this generation's most gifted Christian leaders, is a great gift indeed. Thank you, dear God. And thank you, Uncle John.
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