[Warning tender readers: this entry is mildly rant-like...]
Okay, so I joined the ranks of the Twitterati more than a month ago. I'm not sure what inspired this shameless foray into hipness, but I did it. I have six people following me, most of whom I don't know, which is weird. Especially weird when you consider that my updates are 1) infrequent; and 2) boring.
Anyway, I joined Twitter and among the two or three people I follow is cycling legend Lance Armstrong. I feel ambivalent about this, honestly. On the one hand, I've been following Lance in general since his first Tour de France victory in 1999. I bought a Trek carbon fiber bike that year, the same frame ridden by Lance to victory. We have a bond.
Since then, at Christmas, I've been given a VHS video/DVD of every Tour victory of his. I have seven in all. I guess that makes me a fan... I am now following Lance's comeback to pro cycling with mixed emotions. Part of me, as an aging midlifer, is exhilarated by his pluck and courage. His sheer chutzpah. But the rest of me wants to say, "Lance, give it a rest." Focus on your kids, your anti-cancer campaign, something else. It's time for a new leader.
So, I come to his and other "tweets" (those 140 character or less posts that update each Twitter account) with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. I'm interested in his jet-setting cycling lifestyle, his exotic training rides in Hawaii, Nice, and now Aspen. But do I really need to know that he and his kids had a pizza for dinner last night? Do I really care what new shoes Nike has made for him? Or do I need a new angle on his custom Trek Madone bicycle? Give me a break!
Twitter allows us common folk unprecedented entry into the life of the rich and famous. Doesn't Shaq now have more than half a million followers? Hasn't Ashton Kutcher surpassed CNN in subscribers? Sheesh. As "twitterati" we feel a bond with the "glitterati." But give me a break: at some point the sheer banality of Twitter will reveal that they are just like us--and frankly, not that much more interesting. Maybe that's the point. Maybe Twitter levels the playing field and creates the ultimate democracy. But still, there's this amazing arrogance among celebrity Tweeters: they honestly think that we hang on every detail of their lives. And maybe we do. But that's unfortunate.
The fact is, all of us, whether celebrities or simple folk, are uniquely special and we matter to God. So let's beware the arrogance (and the voyeurism!) and realize that God plays no favorites. God loves each one of us.
Holy Saturday
My younger son asked me tonight on the drive home from the Good Friday service, "Dad, is there a name for tomorrow? I know today was Good Friday and Sunday is Easter. What's tomorrow called?" Such thoughtful theological inquiry, and from a nine year-old--I love it!
Tomorrow's called "Holy Saturday" and most of us Protestant Christians don't know what to do with it. Maybe it's a day for Easter Egg Hunts? For setting out the clothes we'll wear Sunday? Or getting the ham or lamb ready for the big meal to come? The more traditional, ancient churches have liturgies and services for this day. But we latecomers to the party don't have much to offer. Maybe that should change...
Holy Saturday commemorates Jesus in the tomb. Really dead. As the Creed says, "He descended into hell." Whether that refers to his complete spiritual and psychological alienation from God (John Calvin) or to a more shadowy "harrowing of hell" in which he went to the abode of the dead to preach to them the gospel, we don't know. What's clear is that Holy Saturday is quiet and unassuming. No anguish like Good Friday; no joyous celebration like Easter Sunday. It's the in-between holiday. Not much goes on. That we can see.
Holy Saturday reminds us that God is still at work even when there's not much evidence. It's like a long winter in which the seeds of daffodils lie fallow beneath the cold, hard soil. Doesn't mean nothing's happening. Just means we can't see it. Sometimes God's best work happens when we least see it. It's then we need to trust that life is pulsating beneath the ground, ready to burst forth in bright colors, if we will only be patient. "Wait for the Lord," the psalmist urges. And so on Holy Saturday, or anytime we can't see God, we wait...and we trust...and we hope. Life is right around the corner...
Tomorrow's called "Holy Saturday" and most of us Protestant Christians don't know what to do with it. Maybe it's a day for Easter Egg Hunts? For setting out the clothes we'll wear Sunday? Or getting the ham or lamb ready for the big meal to come? The more traditional, ancient churches have liturgies and services for this day. But we latecomers to the party don't have much to offer. Maybe that should change...
Holy Saturday commemorates Jesus in the tomb. Really dead. As the Creed says, "He descended into hell." Whether that refers to his complete spiritual and psychological alienation from God (John Calvin) or to a more shadowy "harrowing of hell" in which he went to the abode of the dead to preach to them the gospel, we don't know. What's clear is that Holy Saturday is quiet and unassuming. No anguish like Good Friday; no joyous celebration like Easter Sunday. It's the in-between holiday. Not much goes on. That we can see.
Holy Saturday reminds us that God is still at work even when there's not much evidence. It's like a long winter in which the seeds of daffodils lie fallow beneath the cold, hard soil. Doesn't mean nothing's happening. Just means we can't see it. Sometimes God's best work happens when we least see it. It's then we need to trust that life is pulsating beneath the ground, ready to burst forth in bright colors, if we will only be patient. "Wait for the Lord," the psalmist urges. And so on Holy Saturday, or anytime we can't see God, we wait...and we trust...and we hope. Life is right around the corner...
What Makes This Friday Good?
It's a good question, isn't it? Whatever got into the minds of the Church Fathers (and Mothers) who named the day of Christ's Crucifixion "Good Friday"?! How can a day filled with such injustice, torture, sadism, gore, and seemingly, waste be "good"?
If all we had was this day, it wouldn't be good. If all we had was the cross, we'd have an act of heroism, even altruism, by an outspoken first-century Palestinian Jewish prophet named Yeshua bar Joseph. His death would join all the others in the long line-up of would-be Messiahs killed for a cause too radical for their contemporaries. That wouldn't be good.
This Friday is good only because it doesn't stand alone. In fulfillment of ancient Jewish prophecy, Yeshua is the Suffering Servant of God written about in the Prophet Isaiah, Chapter 53. And, according to eyewitnesses, he didn't just die and be buried. Come Easter Sunday, he rose again from the grave, proving God's favor and vindication and indicating the great turning of the ages: Christ is Risen, He is Risen Indeed! With his defeat of death, life begins to flow, seeping slowly, into our world. A great reversal begins: death will be killed off; sins will be covered; lives will be mended; the poor will be cared for; justice will be served--and a new heaven and a new earth will be coming. This is the beginning of new life. That's good.
I drove past the North Boulder Olde Stage Fire burn zone today. Right after that scary fire in early January, which burned nearly 3000 acres and threatened numerous homes, I rode my bike through the area. Blackened ground, charred landscape, smoky air filled my senses. It was devastating. Could life flourish here again? If so, how soon? Today, the burn zone is green with new growth--greener, in fact, than the unburned areas around it! What an illustration in nature of how life triumphs over death--and how out of the fires of suffering and devastation can come new life. That's good, too.Good Friday is good because we have a God who refuses to dwell in a space remote from our pain and suffering. Our God gets messy with our sin, suffers for it, joins us in it, and refuses to let us go. Christ's outstretched arms on the cross are the divine embrace of us all, just as we are. That's really good.
Marvelous Moisture!
This week brought much-needed snow to Colorado's parched Front Range. In one storm we received more precipitation than we had all winter long! The total for our part of Boulder County: over 20 inches in 48 hours! Now it's melting and a bit of green grass is peeking out from the snow-covered lawn out front. It feels good to look out the back window and see the pond full and the stream that feeds it overflowing with run-off.
As tech-savvy as we may be in the early 21st century, we still can't provide for our own precipitation. We're pretty dependent for that--on weather systems, at the least--or better, on God. A Bible verse which has come to mind repeatedly this week is from the Book of Isaiah: "For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it" (55:10-11). At the end of the day, human beings (even we sophisticated ones!) are dependent on God's provision and gift of life--whether literally, though the gift of moisture to water the earth; or spiritually, through the sustenance of God's Word, the divine wisdom and way to life given through Scripture.
God's wise creation of eco-systems, gentle and even fragile as they are, provides for our well-being. So too does God's Word, speaking into us life and refreshment, peace and hope, guidance and direction. Like the receptive earth beneath the snowpack, let us drink deeply and be thankful!
This Frail Mortal Flesh
Maybe it's because I'm firmly in mid-life now. Maybe it's because I serve as a pastor of a large church and am more in tune with reports of illness and death in the congregation. Maybe I'm just more sensitive to it all now. I'm not sure. But all that seems to strike me of late is the frailty of our human flesh. Positive diagnoses for cancer have abounded recently; life seems to be flying by (my wife has now known me longer than I was alive when I first met her!). My 30th anniversary of my high school graduation is only two years away. My oldest son is my size and he's only 14. Wherever I turn there are reminders of time passing by, the body aging, life moving along--and the frailty of our mortal flesh. Heck, even the indomitable Lance Armstrong just had a major crash racing in Spain and will be off the bike with broken bones for the next six weeks or so. I'll bet that being 37 will make it harder for him to recover. Aging does that.
So what does one do with the inevitable onslaught of mortality? Some would say "eat and drink for tomorrow we die" (that's a biblical quote, by the way, but of the pagan world at the time of the early Church). Others might throw themselves into their work or family or other activities to either attempt to leave their mark or simply to distract themselves from the inevitable. As for me, I want to realistically face my mortality and acknowledge that this is indeed the human condition. And as I affirm these things, I'm aware...that we are in Lent. Lent, the season of the church year where on Ash Wednesday we mark worshipers with ash in the shape of the cross and intone over them, "You are dust and to dust you shall return." Mortality. Frail flesh. Very clear! And then we add something extremely important: "But thanks be to God for the resurrection of Jesus Christ!"
So let's go back to that pagan quote from the Bible. It's preceded by the apostle Paul's very important condition. Hear it again in its entirety: "If the dead are not raised, 'Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die'" (1Corinthians 15:32). With Paul and the early Christians and, indeed, with biblical Christians everywhere who affirm that Christ is risen from the dead, I choose to celebrate the resurrection amidst the mortality of my flesh. Yes, I'm aging and I will die--and so are you and so will you who read this. "But thanks be to God for the resurrection of Jesus Christ." Lent leads us to Easter. We know how the story will end--and it ends very well indeed.
So what does one do with the inevitable onslaught of mortality? Some would say "eat and drink for tomorrow we die" (that's a biblical quote, by the way, but of the pagan world at the time of the early Church). Others might throw themselves into their work or family or other activities to either attempt to leave their mark or simply to distract themselves from the inevitable. As for me, I want to realistically face my mortality and acknowledge that this is indeed the human condition. And as I affirm these things, I'm aware...that we are in Lent. Lent, the season of the church year where on Ash Wednesday we mark worshipers with ash in the shape of the cross and intone over them, "You are dust and to dust you shall return." Mortality. Frail flesh. Very clear! And then we add something extremely important: "But thanks be to God for the resurrection of Jesus Christ!"
So let's go back to that pagan quote from the Bible. It's preceded by the apostle Paul's very important condition. Hear it again in its entirety: "If the dead are not raised, 'Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die'" (1Corinthians 15:32). With Paul and the early Christians and, indeed, with biblical Christians everywhere who affirm that Christ is risen from the dead, I choose to celebrate the resurrection amidst the mortality of my flesh. Yes, I'm aging and I will die--and so are you and so will you who read this. "But thanks be to God for the resurrection of Jesus Christ." Lent leads us to Easter. We know how the story will end--and it ends very well indeed.
The Denial of Death...and the Tour of California
Professional cycling mirrors much of the drama of human life. Cycling's ethos of pain and suffering, along with its promise of triumph and victory, seems to reflect a common human longing--as well as reinforce a potent myth.The first two stages of the recent Amgen Tour of California, now America's biggest stage race, were ridden in horrid conditions--cold, wet, and rainy. Crashes abounded. Asked what it felt like racing in this mess, eventual winner Levi Leipheimer vividly remarked, "You wanna know what it feels like? Turn on your shower as cold as it gets and stand underneath it for four hours." Actually, more accurately, race up and down wet roads at breakneck speed, try to avoid crashes (and if you crash, shrug it off, jump right back on your bike and keep on pedaling). Brave a strong wind off the coast, try to stay warm with minimal clothing, and do it for four to five hours each day for 7-8 days. To hear most of the racers describe it, is to hear their overuse of the customary word "bit": as in, "It was a bit cold." Or: "It was a bit tougher than we'd anticipated." Or even: "I'm a bit sore." Pro cycling is steeped in a culture of toughness, of suffering, frankly, of an almost overeager masochism which motivates the rider to push himself to the limit of human physical endurance.
In 1973, cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker published a now-famous book entitled The Denial of Death. His thesis was that human beings are never comfortable with their mortality. The sure and certain prospect of death is terrifying, wrote Becker, therefore, humans have constructed hero myths and the cult of the superhero as ways of trying to transcend the grave. We revel in heroes and heroines, dramatic death-defying feats, and anything else which hints at the possibility of overcoming death. I think cycling plays right into that. To watch lycra-clad racers subject themselves to all kinds of suffering, from training to crashes, and to watch them get up--from bed or the ground or the hospital room, shake off the pain and do it again, is great fodder for our collective denial of death. Maybe aging isn't inevitable, we say. Look at Lance! He's making a comeback at age 37. Maybe we can overcome cancer, we say--again, look at Lance! Maybe with the right training, discipline, technology, whatever, we can in fact triumph over the grave.
I was blown away, watching the last stage over Mount Palomar in Escondido: I saw several fathers running at breakneck speed alongside the race leaders, holding up their infants as they ran, almost as if to ask their blessing from the passing pantheon of cycling gods. Was it a strange baptism they sought? A champion's christening for their young? Some guarantee against the grave? Weird, weird moment. Kind of Michael Jacksonian, too, if you know what I mean.
It's great to be drawn into the epic story of a cycling stage race. It's a stage all right, a stage on which is played out much of the human saga of tragedy and triumph. But let's be clear: cycling victories notwithstanding, death is still 100%. Only one person beat death. And only one person can help us beat death. And his name isn't Lance.
A Tired Template...and An Exciting New Comeback!
I've been too serious in these postings lately, so it's time for something superficial! So what does a pastor do to unwind, to relax with his family, to distract his attention from weighty matters? This pastor watches American Idol--and follows the comeback of recently un-retired Lance Armstrong. They're similar and oh-so different, it seems to me.
American Idol...where do I begin? This is a show well past its prime, in my opinion. Why I tune in week after week in this Season 8, I really don't know. Sure, they've added a new judge, Kara. What she really contributes, I'm not sure. The voting of the judges, I've concluded, has nothing to do with the talent of the contestants. That's become patently obvious. What they vote upon is the creation of cast of contestants that will assure them viewership, particularly in certain demographics. Among the more serious contenders, they inexplicably choose the most eccentric contestants, presumably because they will provoke viewers and add some dramatic tension or ridiculous entertainment to the mix. I've gotten to the point of turning the TV off--it's become, for me at least, that predictably bad. The only thing that keeps me tuning in, is that it's a show the whole family can watch together, sharing groans and all. SpongeBob Squarepants might come close--but my wife fails to appreciate its subtle, sophisticated humor.
What Idol is teaching me is that there really is a shelf life to creative ideas. Slavishly working the program year after year doesn't yield the same results. What was fresh and dynamic a few years back has now become tired and predictable--even if you do move the judging venue to the "judges' mansion" (isn't that the same place The Bachelor was filmed?!) and have a sing-off or two. Ugh. Gag. The taste of milk past its spoil date...
Contrast this to Lance's comeback in cycling. Now, I'm not an early adopter of The Return, a big fan of the comeback from the get-go. I confess it all feels very Dara Torres-ish to me, if you know what I mean. I suppose that publicity for Lance's anti-cancer Livestrong campaign is noteworthy and admirable, but I still think this is about the Alpha Dog getting some fresh meat. But to his credit, Lance is an exceptionally gifted athlete who instead of reworking a thoughtless, predictable template, is coming back after three years out of racing and facing an enormously strong competition and racing races he judiciously avoided before (Tour Down Under in Australia, the Giro D'Italia, and a bunch of others before Le Tour). Lance's reign on the bike is probably as long as American Idol's run, but Lance can't just rely on old ways of doing things . He's got to adapt and risk and reinvent himself. This feels "formula-free." Therein lies the freshness which a stale Idol season desperately needs.
American Idol...where do I begin? This is a show well past its prime, in my opinion. Why I tune in week after week in this Season 8, I really don't know. Sure, they've added a new judge, Kara. What she really contributes, I'm not sure. The voting of the judges, I've concluded, has nothing to do with the talent of the contestants. That's become patently obvious. What they vote upon is the creation of cast of contestants that will assure them viewership, particularly in certain demographics. Among the more serious contenders, they inexplicably choose the most eccentric contestants, presumably because they will provoke viewers and add some dramatic tension or ridiculous entertainment to the mix. I've gotten to the point of turning the TV off--it's become, for me at least, that predictably bad. The only thing that keeps me tuning in, is that it's a show the whole family can watch together, sharing groans and all. SpongeBob Squarepants might come close--but my wife fails to appreciate its subtle, sophisticated humor.
What Idol is teaching me is that there really is a shelf life to creative ideas. Slavishly working the program year after year doesn't yield the same results. What was fresh and dynamic a few years back has now become tired and predictable--even if you do move the judging venue to the "judges' mansion" (isn't that the same place The Bachelor was filmed?!) and have a sing-off or two. Ugh. Gag. The taste of milk past its spoil date...
Contrast this to Lance's comeback in cycling. Now, I'm not an early adopter of The Return, a big fan of the comeback from the get-go. I confess it all feels very Dara Torres-ish to me, if you know what I mean. I suppose that publicity for Lance's anti-cancer Livestrong campaign is noteworthy and admirable, but I still think this is about the Alpha Dog getting some fresh meat. But to his credit, Lance is an exceptionally gifted athlete who instead of reworking a thoughtless, predictable template, is coming back after three years out of racing and facing an enormously strong competition and racing races he judiciously avoided before (Tour Down Under in Australia, the Giro D'Italia, and a bunch of others before Le Tour). Lance's reign on the bike is probably as long as American Idol's run, but Lance can't just rely on old ways of doing things . He's got to adapt and risk and reinvent himself. This feels "formula-free." Therein lies the freshness which a stale Idol season desperately needs.
The Gift of Repentance
"Now I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because your grief led to repentance; for you felt a godly grief, so that you were not harmed in any way by us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death."2Corinthians 7:9-10
We've all seen those sandwich-board signs (or their cartoon counterpart) where someone invokes us to "Repent for the End is Near." Repentance, if we think about it at all, tends to be negative--it's the rude, shrill exhortation of a self-appointed prophet claiming to care about our eternal life, but coming across to us instead as shaming and judgmental. Can "repentance" be a good word? Can it, in fact, be life-giving and holistic? I think it can.
These past few weeks I've been teaching on the goodness of the Christian message, the gospel as we call it. Tracing its origins from the Old Testament to its radical nature in the preaching of Jesus Christ (particularly in Mark 1:15), my goal is to blow our understanding of the gospel out of the water, to smash old categories of thought in which this glorious message has been confined, and to give us a sense of its radical, cosmic implications. Can't get into all that here (you'll have to go to www.fpcboulder.org/early_devo.html to dig further, I'm afraid); but let me just probe for a bit this word "repentance."
For much of its use in the Bible, "repentance" is a pretty secular, non-religious word. It just means "make a U-turn." Seriously! You're headed west on Canyon Boulevard and you realize you've missed the 29th St. Mall. You need to make a U-turn at 15th Street and head east. It can also mean "change your mind or heart" about something. We used to feel one way about something (a candidate or an issue, for example); now, in light of new knowledge, we change our minds.
When we reach the religious realm, "repent" means to quit heading one way (the wrong way, away from God), to turn around instead, and head the other way. It means turn--turn from death to life, from self-centeredness to other-centeredness. It means to turn away from all that is ultimately futile and empty to that which brings fulfillment and joy.
Now here's the big point: repentance is not a once and for all event! It's not like you do it only once, upon your initial conversion or turning to God. No, the best way to understand repentance is to see it as ongoing, a lifestyle of learning to turn away. It means to detect on increasingly deeper levels that which is unhealthy inside us and to turn instead to God's better way in Christ. At first, this means for us who come from other backgrounds (I wasn't raised Christian), that we need to turn away from the grosser forms of immorality and damaging self-centeredness. It means initially identifying those self-defeating patterns of gossip or rage or impatience or substance abuse or sex and turning those over to God in pursuit of health and wholeness.
But as we progress in the Christian spiritual life, God takes us deeper, down into the morass of our sin-soaked lives. We begin to address our age-old issues of motivation: we see how pretense and hypocrisy can characterize much of our Christianity. We then learn to cop to pride and vanity and arrogance, much of these played out--sadly, we realize--on the stage of our church activity. As we go on repenting, God peels off layers of sin in our lives like desiccated onion skins. One after another and sometimes painfully, God scours off the hardened husks of our false lives, stripping us down to the fresh newness he longs to expose in us. And repentance, this ongoing lifestyle of turning from attitudes and behaviors, thoughts and habits, and turning to God's new life, is our means of participating.
To use another metaphor, it's like pumicing off an old callous or even brushing and flossing our teeth--routine behaviors which we do because we know that health lies beneath.
The added benefit to all of this is that the character produced by ongoing repentance is winsome and approachable, humble and tender. People softened by sincere, repeated repentance (and the consequent experience of God's grace) have about themselves an attractive, welcoming spirit. This spirit draws Christian and non-Christian alike. Out of characters softened by repentance and new life, God is able to do some incredible things in us and through us. I suspect that it is to the degree that we are regularly repenting that we will grow in grace and be spiritually transformed.
The Power Source
Power--and the transfer of power--is on everyone's mind these days as we ready for the old presidential administration to leave and the new one to take office. What are the limits of power? Its benefits? Responsibilities? Opportunities? These questions of power are real and relevant, particularly in a troubled economy where the use of power may or may not provide a solution to a recession and increased unemployment. These questions of power are also pressing in a place like Gaza, where the use (and abuse) of power (whether by Hamas or Israel) is hurting innocent, captive civilians.
Today's lectionary readings focus on power: where does ultimate power rest? In whom is the proper use of power found? First, the psalm of the day, Psalm 146 makes a bold statement: "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that day their plans perish" (verses 3-4). Whether voted in by a majority, protected by the Secret Service, or armed with sophisticated weapons, a new presidential administration's power is limited. Barack Obama, George W. Bush, it doesn't matter: these are mortals whose power is not ultimate and whose office cannot provide for our deepest longings and desires. By contrast, the psalmist urges people to invest their aspirations elsewhere: in the God whose power will never change. "Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God" (v. 5). What follows is a list of God's work for justice, the comfort of the oppressed, the release of captives, the restoration of sight to the blind and finally a declaration: "The LORD will reign forever." Here's true power, a power that liberates and is used consistently for the good of all.
The epistle reading today centers this power in Jesus Christ, as the apostle Paul prays that his readers will be able to grasp this, trust this, and be reassured (Ephesians 1:15-23). If you've got a Bible handy, look at the many times "power" is referenced here. In particular, note verses 20 and following: "God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion...[God] has put all things under his feet." This is the focus of the final reading this morning, Mark 1:15-28, as Jesus, in verse 15, preaches his first public sermon (his inaugural address, if you will). Here it is: "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."
True power, the best power, the power that liberates and provides justice, that gives peace and hope for all, rests not in a new president or a clever economic policy. It rests in the King who's come to regain his rightful reign over the citizens of earth. This king comes for the first time in humility and gentleness, offering all who will hear his voice the chance to change their other allegiances and willingly submit to his peaceable kingdom.
Today's lectionary readings focus on power: where does ultimate power rest? In whom is the proper use of power found? First, the psalm of the day, Psalm 146 makes a bold statement: "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that day their plans perish" (verses 3-4). Whether voted in by a majority, protected by the Secret Service, or armed with sophisticated weapons, a new presidential administration's power is limited. Barack Obama, George W. Bush, it doesn't matter: these are mortals whose power is not ultimate and whose office cannot provide for our deepest longings and desires. By contrast, the psalmist urges people to invest their aspirations elsewhere: in the God whose power will never change. "Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God" (v. 5). What follows is a list of God's work for justice, the comfort of the oppressed, the release of captives, the restoration of sight to the blind and finally a declaration: "The LORD will reign forever." Here's true power, a power that liberates and is used consistently for the good of all.
The epistle reading today centers this power in Jesus Christ, as the apostle Paul prays that his readers will be able to grasp this, trust this, and be reassured (Ephesians 1:15-23). If you've got a Bible handy, look at the many times "power" is referenced here. In particular, note verses 20 and following: "God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion...[God] has put all things under his feet." This is the focus of the final reading this morning, Mark 1:15-28, as Jesus, in verse 15, preaches his first public sermon (his inaugural address, if you will). Here it is: "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."
True power, the best power, the power that liberates and provides justice, that gives peace and hope for all, rests not in a new president or a clever economic policy. It rests in the King who's come to regain his rightful reign over the citizens of earth. This king comes for the first time in humility and gentleness, offering all who will hear his voice the chance to change their other allegiances and willingly submit to his peaceable kingdom.
Transitions and New Leadership
Ah, the delectable lectionary (see my earlier post)! My spiritual breakfast this morning began with a familiar passage: Joshua 1:1-9, which has become very personal for me over the years (that's another blog entry, I'm afraid!). God seems to use Joshua 1 with regularity to reassure me of his abiding presence in the midst of transitions. A quick recap: young Joshua is taking over the leadership of God's people from newly deceased Moses, a giant of the faith. It's a time of turbulence and uncertainty and great challenges abound as Israel is called to cross the Jordan and go into the land to take possession. With Obama's inauguration right around the corner and with our senior pastor's last sermon preached yesterday, this text seems providential. The drumbeat reassurance God gives is this: "Be strong and courageous! Do not be frightened or dismayed. For the Lord God is with you wherever you go" (Joshua 1:9). It's a good word for new leaders and for a people being newly led.
Now get this: the epistle of the morning was Hebrews 11:32 - 12:2, where a long litany is recited, describing God's faithful leaders. It details the famous and the obscure, all of whom led under great hardship and failed to receive the reward. However, as the text makes clear, they led with vision and faith, trusting that the ultimate fulfillment of their leadership lay in God's hands and, indeed, encompassed future generations (that means us!). The big point of the passage is the exhortation at the end, to keep our eyes fixed firmly on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. That's vision! That's proper navigation. That's our strength and encouragement in transition. Jesus (the New Testament Joshua!) leads us into the new places God has for us. His presence is our reassurance and keeping our focus on him is the way to stay steady in unforeseen turbulence.
It couldn't get any clearer with today's gospel lesson: John 15:1-15! It's the famous "vine and branches" parable. Here Jesus reminds us that we are the branches, he is the vine. Our fruitfulness (in life, ministry, witness, service, justice, and more) lies in our abiding in him--our dwelling consciously and by faith in his living presence, our obedience to his commands to love one another and our world. This posture of quiet trust and relational closeness is the key to transitions and to faithful discipleship as we step into new places (and indeed a new year).
One sidebar comment: over the past week or two I've been thinking a lot about Gideon and the ridiculously limited resources God purposely gave him as he took over leadership (see Judges 6-7). I'm going to reflect on Gideon in another post sometime soon. But for now, believe it or not, here's how this morning's Hebrews 11 passage began: "And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon..." Delectable!
Now get this: the epistle of the morning was Hebrews 11:32 - 12:2, where a long litany is recited, describing God's faithful leaders. It details the famous and the obscure, all of whom led under great hardship and failed to receive the reward. However, as the text makes clear, they led with vision and faith, trusting that the ultimate fulfillment of their leadership lay in God's hands and, indeed, encompassed future generations (that means us!). The big point of the passage is the exhortation at the end, to keep our eyes fixed firmly on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. That's vision! That's proper navigation. That's our strength and encouragement in transition. Jesus (the New Testament Joshua!) leads us into the new places God has for us. His presence is our reassurance and keeping our focus on him is the way to stay steady in unforeseen turbulence.
It couldn't get any clearer with today's gospel lesson: John 15:1-15! It's the famous "vine and branches" parable. Here Jesus reminds us that we are the branches, he is the vine. Our fruitfulness (in life, ministry, witness, service, justice, and more) lies in our abiding in him--our dwelling consciously and by faith in his living presence, our obedience to his commands to love one another and our world. This posture of quiet trust and relational closeness is the key to transitions and to faithful discipleship as we step into new places (and indeed a new year).
One sidebar comment: over the past week or two I've been thinking a lot about Gideon and the ridiculously limited resources God purposely gave him as he took over leadership (see Judges 6-7). I'm going to reflect on Gideon in another post sometime soon. But for now, believe it or not, here's how this morning's Hebrews 11 passage began: "And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon..." Delectable!
Like Shooting Fish in a Barrel
Heartbreaking. That's the only word I have for the most recent round of Israeli-Palestinian violence. As I write, Israeli F-16s have retaliated for Hamas-initiated rocket fire on innocent Israeli suburbs. The death total at the moment: 225 Palestinians killed (400 injured), 1 Israeli dead from rockets. While we can debate about what constitutes the just use of force and the morality of eye-for-an-eye retaliation, the sheer imbalance here is overwhelming. Israel possesses the fourth strongest army in the world, is a nuclear power, and is far and away more powerful than the Palestinians and their Arab neighbors combined. The Gaza Strip is one of the world's most densely populated areas, called the largest penitentiary in the world: over 1.5 million Palestinians live enclosed here--they cannot come or go at will. For Israeli jets to bomb Hamas strongholds in Gaza is to guarantee the death of scores of innocent Palestinian bystanders, who, through no choice of their own, live all around the militants. The death of these noncombatants, by anyone's standards, is not just. The Gazans--Muslim, Christian, radical, moderate--have nowhere to go: they are surrounded by Israeli military and cannot leave their tiny enclave. Their water and power are turned on and off at the whim of the Israeli military. Their sources of food and medicine are extremely limited. Gazan Palestinians are desperate and theirs is a humanitarian crisis. What Hamas has done is not justifiable, particularly when it targets innocent civilians. But what the Israeli Defense Force and its jets are doing right now is tragic and unjustifiable as well. It's like shooting fish in a barrel.
No Vacancy?
When I was a little kid, our family used to take car trips across the Southwest. We’d get in the station wagon (remember those?) and we’d drive out to Utah, or Arizona, or New Mexico. We never camped. We always stayed in motels. Sometimes we ‘d drive until way past dinnertime and arrive in a small town looking for a place to stay. We’d pass the nicer motels, the Best Westerns, even the Motel 6, and always, at that hour, the same red neon sign warned us away. What’d it say? “No Vacancy.”
Mary and Joseph had walked and camped for about a hundred miles just to get to Bethlehem. They were tired, Mary was in pain and ready to give birth—and the same sign met them: “No vacancy.”
You see, in Jesus, God travels all the way from heaven to earth to get close to human beings. God literally comes to live within us, to re-connect us with himself. The New Testament says that Jesus came in order that he “might dwell in our hearts through faith” (Ephesians 3:17). As with Hotel Bethlehem, there’s a dramatic tension: will there be room in our hearts for Jesus? Or will we already be full up?
So many things compete for residency in our hearts.
Our jobs, our families, our health, the economy, our retirement savings, the world—all of them demand entry and cry out for room
But in Bethlehem’s home there was found no room for thy holy nativity.
O come to my heart, Lord Jesus, there is room in my heart for thee.
Wrapping Lessons
Are you good at wrapping presents? I'm not. I stink at it. Unless they are books or CDs. Those I can do. I don't think I'm the only one who's wrapping-challenged. I was at the Boulder REI the other day, where I heard a man on the PA system announce that a gift-wrapping seminar was soon to be offered. Wrapping goes with the Christmas season, whether we're good at it or not.
At Advent our family usually has some form of nightly devotion together. For our boys, the prospect of playing with matches (a.k.a. "lighting the Advent candles") and scarfing down chocolates (a.k.a. opening the Advent calendar windows) is too good to pass up. Anyway, this sporadic seasonal spirituality, when it works for us (which sometimes it does), can be very enlightening. The other night we were reading from Luke's Gospel, where, in Chapter Two, verse 7, we heard that Mary "gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger." For whatever reason, the verbs "wrapped" and "laid" leaped out at me.
Quickly flipping to the end of the gospel, sure enough, I saw them again, this time applied to Joseph of Arimathea, who took down the crucified body of Jesus, "wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb" (23:53). "Wrapped" and "laid" again! It's the perfect bookend to the life of Jesus: he enters this world (most likely) in a cave, where he's wrapped and laid for the hope of the world. He then exits this world in cave/tomb, where he's wrapped and laid for the sins of the world. The wrapping of God's gift! Christmas entry, Good Friday exit, the life and death of the Son of God in a perfect symmetry. The unwrapping of the gift we read about a bit further in the gospel, where on Easter the linen cloths that wrap Jesus' body are empty and Jesus is risen.
It's given me pause, this reference to wrapping: I wonder if the next time I'm muttering over my crinkled wrap-jobs and pesky Scotch tape, I will take time to consider the wrapping and careful placement of God's greatest gift. What a whole new way of looking at it!
At Advent our family usually has some form of nightly devotion together. For our boys, the prospect of playing with matches (a.k.a. "lighting the Advent candles") and scarfing down chocolates (a.k.a. opening the Advent calendar windows) is too good to pass up. Anyway, this sporadic seasonal spirituality, when it works for us (which sometimes it does), can be very enlightening. The other night we were reading from Luke's Gospel, where, in Chapter Two, verse 7, we heard that Mary "gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger." For whatever reason, the verbs "wrapped" and "laid" leaped out at me.
Quickly flipping to the end of the gospel, sure enough, I saw them again, this time applied to Joseph of Arimathea, who took down the crucified body of Jesus, "wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb" (23:53). "Wrapped" and "laid" again! It's the perfect bookend to the life of Jesus: he enters this world (most likely) in a cave, where he's wrapped and laid for the hope of the world. He then exits this world in cave/tomb, where he's wrapped and laid for the sins of the world. The wrapping of God's gift! Christmas entry, Good Friday exit, the life and death of the Son of God in a perfect symmetry. The unwrapping of the gift we read about a bit further in the gospel, where on Easter the linen cloths that wrap Jesus' body are empty and Jesus is risen.
It's given me pause, this reference to wrapping: I wonder if the next time I'm muttering over my crinkled wrap-jobs and pesky Scotch tape, I will take time to consider the wrapping and careful placement of God's greatest gift. What a whole new way of looking at it!
The Church as a Christian Nordstrom?
It's time to rethink the role and nature of the local church, particularly the full-service, "one stop shopping" larger church. In my opinion, one of the problems with a large program church is that it's easy for a culture of consumerism to penetrate its walls. Often this is subtle and unintentional. Let me explain: Large, well-maintained, highly professional, and well-organized churches can send off what I might call a "spiritualized Nordstrom" vibe. The staff and leaders of the church may strive to develop an attractive facility with high quality goods and services. The church becomes an oasis of respite from the world (we can almost hear the tinkling of the piano greet us in the lobby!). Polite professional people offer to help us and they present a high quality ministry designed to meet our needs. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. But there can be a shadow side: for those not deeply vested in the church, for those who mainly visit it for its services, they may be tempted to default to an unconscious Christian consumerism. As with their purchasing habits in other areas, they can become discerning church consumers looking for the best deal on the dollar. When the quality of goods and services dips, they may look elsewhere.
Interestingly, in this consumerist paradigm, a curious co-dependence can form between leaders and church members: the more professionalized, on-top-of-things, and in-control the leadership of the church appears, the more the membership may be tempted to retreat into the role of savvy spenders, carefully weighing the quality of services and programs in the free market economy of churches in the area. The more active and professional the leadership presents itself, the more passive and consumerist the congregation becomes. Not always, thank goodness, but sometimes.
Times of change and upheaval in a church (just like an uncertain economy for a high-end department store) challenge the paradigm and poke holes in it. What's occurred to me recently, is that the bigger church is not so much like a spiritual Nordstrom, but more like a big family. Like all of our families the church can be a place of successful nurture and celebration, safety, and predictability. But, like our very real families, sometimes the church, even the large one, is a place of brokenness and dysfunction, struggle and sin, uncertainty, vulnerability, and weakness. This is no reason to leave it for a better deal elsewhere--think what happens to families when family members do that! No, the church as family, as opposed to the church as Nordstrom, is the place of deepened commitment and growth. When challenges come, we re-commit, we work together, we try to communicate more effectively, we even call for outside help as needed. Church as family? Or church as department store? If it's the latter, "buyer beware!"
Interestingly, in this consumerist paradigm, a curious co-dependence can form between leaders and church members: the more professionalized, on-top-of-things, and in-control the leadership of the church appears, the more the membership may be tempted to retreat into the role of savvy spenders, carefully weighing the quality of services and programs in the free market economy of churches in the area. The more active and professional the leadership presents itself, the more passive and consumerist the congregation becomes. Not always, thank goodness, but sometimes.
Times of change and upheaval in a church (just like an uncertain economy for a high-end department store) challenge the paradigm and poke holes in it. What's occurred to me recently, is that the bigger church is not so much like a spiritual Nordstrom, but more like a big family. Like all of our families the church can be a place of successful nurture and celebration, safety, and predictability. But, like our very real families, sometimes the church, even the large one, is a place of brokenness and dysfunction, struggle and sin, uncertainty, vulnerability, and weakness. This is no reason to leave it for a better deal elsewhere--think what happens to families when family members do that! No, the church as family, as opposed to the church as Nordstrom, is the place of deepened commitment and growth. When challenges come, we re-commit, we work together, we try to communicate more effectively, we even call for outside help as needed. Church as family? Or church as department store? If it's the latter, "buyer beware!"
The Delectable Lectionary
Since last month, after an encounter with some Presbyterian liturgical devotional practices at a training event, I've found myself curiously drawn to a widespread Christian practice: reading the Daily Common Lectionary. For those not familiar with it, the Revised Common Lectionary is a cycle of Scripture readings for personal devotion (it includes a morning and evening psalm, an Old Testament passage, a New Testament epistle selection, and a gospel reading). It's a bit of a workout, admittedly, but well worth it. The lectionary is developed and used by many mainline denominations, including my own, but it tends not to get much reading in more evangelical circles. What I like about it is that it exposes me regularly to a much broader selection of the Bible than I would tend to read on my own--and, better yet, it allows me to share the readings with a wide, though invisible, circle of Christians, not just in the United States, but around the world. With this new discipline, I'm experiencing a freshness in reading the Bible and I awake more eager each morning to see what spiritual food God has in store for me. As the day unfolds, it's amazing to watch how individual passages end up speaking to the practical realities I experience--it's uncanny, really.
Granted, this is only a season of reading I'm in, and this is only one tool among many I can reach for devotionally; however, I'm finding that it draws me out beyond the narrow confines of my personality, presses me to move outside my pet themes and passages, and reminds me of the grand sweep of God's activity historically. I'm really enjoying it and for those who'd like to give it a try, may I suggest you go to http://www.crivoice.org/advent1.html. There you'll see what I'm reading and you might try it yourself. And, if you're comfortable, please circle back to give me your take on the practice. Happy reading!
Granted, this is only a season of reading I'm in, and this is only one tool among many I can reach for devotionally; however, I'm finding that it draws me out beyond the narrow confines of my personality, presses me to move outside my pet themes and passages, and reminds me of the grand sweep of God's activity historically. I'm really enjoying it and for those who'd like to give it a try, may I suggest you go to http://www.crivoice.org/advent1.html. There you'll see what I'm reading and you might try it yourself. And, if you're comfortable, please circle back to give me your take on the practice. Happy reading!
True Thanksgiving
This past Sunday our senior pastor gave a very helpful sermon on "Jesus in Our Celebrations." In anticipation of the Thanksgiving holiday, he closed his message with an illustration of the 17th century German hymnwriter Martin Rinkart, who composed the famous Thanksgiving hymn, "Now Thank We All Our God." Apparently, this pastor-hymnwriter wrote the hymn during the Black Plague and the 30 Years' War. The point, we were told, was to give thanks to God despite our circumstances, knowing that God was indeed good to us no matter what.
After the service, I was approached by a church member leading in tow at least 7 Sudanese "Lost Children" who are refugees connected to our congregation. I had the privilege of praying for them after the service and then one of the men remarked to me: "I really liked the pastor's point about giving thanks in all circumstances. That's a good lesson. That's what I want to do." Considering all he'd been through, the horrible atrocities and the violent uprooting from his country, I was moved to tears. If he can give thanks despite the human rights violations, the terrible injustice, his separation from friends and family, so can we. His sincerity and spiritual focus were staggering. What an example and challenge he gave me. Now thank we all our God, indeed.
After the service, I was approached by a church member leading in tow at least 7 Sudanese "Lost Children" who are refugees connected to our congregation. I had the privilege of praying for them after the service and then one of the men remarked to me: "I really liked the pastor's point about giving thanks in all circumstances. That's a good lesson. That's what I want to do." Considering all he'd been through, the horrible atrocities and the violent uprooting from his country, I was moved to tears. If he can give thanks despite the human rights violations, the terrible injustice, his separation from friends and family, so can we. His sincerity and spiritual focus were staggering. What an example and challenge he gave me. Now thank we all our God, indeed.
Help Wanted: Savior
For many in our country, the feelings of hope surrounding the election of Barack Obama were palpable. Who will forget the shining faces of old and young, black and white, Asian and others, who gathered at Grant Park in Chicago on Election Night? Surely, this hope (audacious or not!) was sharpened by the grave circumstances surrounding the election: Americans were sobered and scared by plunging, catastrophic Dow industrial averages, wholescale destruction among lenders, as well as an automotive industry brought to its knees. Add to these things two simultaneous wars against global jihad, the challenges of climate change, and hope in these circumstances has a desperate tinge to it. More than ever, Americans want a leader to rescue them, to deliver them from these threats and re-establish peace, prosperity, and security. Would it be too much of a stretch to say that in Obama, some (consciously or not) are looking for a Savior?
"Desperate times call for desperate measures." They also call for talented leaders. But talented or not, there's a limit to what leaders can deliver, particularly in these times. I'm all for audacious hope; I'm deeply encouraged by the promise of Obama's leadership. However, I know that beneath these hopes and longings for a leader to deliver us lies something much more ancient and profound. You see, our challenging times only reveal certain aspects of a much more desperate predicament: we are living in a world under siege by enemies, not greedy corporate executives or wild-eyed religious fanatics, but enemies of the human race which afflict it in every way--in sickness and disease, in poverty and injustice, in drought and famine, in war and holocaust, in abuse and torture and unspeakable brutality. We have needed a deliverer ever since we were evicted east of Eden. Obama can't be our Savior; neither could Churchill or FDR or Jack or Bobby Kennedy. The problems are too profound; the crisis too desperate. These moments of vulnerability we're feeling today are teachable moments for us: these recent crises have knocked us off our high horse. We realize now just how fragile our American dreams are--and along with them, our lifestyle of privilege and expectation.
Some of you familiar with the Bible will recall the story of Israel's deep desire for a king amidst some turbulent, uncertain times. Granted, they always had the Lord to lead them as their king, but they wanted something more tangible, more tactical. They wanted a tall, strong leader--broad shouldered and handsome; Saul, in this case, was their man. And the Lord warned them against it. The rest would be history--tragedy, really. Saul didn't deliver and, on the balance, neither did Kings David or Solomon. Only one coming King could meet the need, the one born in Bethlehem. It's this coming King we may lean our hopes upon. His kingdom is without end and his reign will rid us of those greatest afflictions.
As we move into the season of Advent (and this Sunday, November 23 is Christ the King Sunday!), may we use the hope and longing we feel so powerfully in our country now, to steer us to this King who will not fail.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures." They also call for talented leaders. But talented or not, there's a limit to what leaders can deliver, particularly in these times. I'm all for audacious hope; I'm deeply encouraged by the promise of Obama's leadership. However, I know that beneath these hopes and longings for a leader to deliver us lies something much more ancient and profound. You see, our challenging times only reveal certain aspects of a much more desperate predicament: we are living in a world under siege by enemies, not greedy corporate executives or wild-eyed religious fanatics, but enemies of the human race which afflict it in every way--in sickness and disease, in poverty and injustice, in drought and famine, in war and holocaust, in abuse and torture and unspeakable brutality. We have needed a deliverer ever since we were evicted east of Eden. Obama can't be our Savior; neither could Churchill or FDR or Jack or Bobby Kennedy. The problems are too profound; the crisis too desperate. These moments of vulnerability we're feeling today are teachable moments for us: these recent crises have knocked us off our high horse. We realize now just how fragile our American dreams are--and along with them, our lifestyle of privilege and expectation.
Some of you familiar with the Bible will recall the story of Israel's deep desire for a king amidst some turbulent, uncertain times. Granted, they always had the Lord to lead them as their king, but they wanted something more tangible, more tactical. They wanted a tall, strong leader--broad shouldered and handsome; Saul, in this case, was their man. And the Lord warned them against it. The rest would be history--tragedy, really. Saul didn't deliver and, on the balance, neither did Kings David or Solomon. Only one coming King could meet the need, the one born in Bethlehem. It's this coming King we may lean our hopes upon. His kingdom is without end and his reign will rid us of those greatest afflictions.
As we move into the season of Advent (and this Sunday, November 23 is Christ the King Sunday!), may we use the hope and longing we feel so powerfully in our country now, to steer us to this King who will not fail.
Praying for Our President-Elect
234First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings should be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. This is right and is acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour, who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.
Paul's First Letter to Timothy
Regardless of your political persuasion, last night was an historic occasion. As a nation, we've just elected a new young leader and the first African-American president in our history. It seems Obama's campaign was won on the promise of change and a new way of doing politics. He now faces some of the most daunting circumstances of any new president. As Christians, we're always called to pray for our leaders. Perhaps now more than ever, I feel that need to pray...to pray God's wisdom be given Obama beyond his years and experience. To pray for discernment in appointing cabinet officials and key leaders. To pray for a sense of timeliness and insight in setting priorities. To pray for his physical health and safety--and that of his family. The burden of leadership can be crushing, and never more than in the current circumstances. So, if you're a praying person, would you join me in lifting Barack Obama before the throne of grace? Scripture commands it and the circumstances necessitate it. Thanks.
One More Trip to The Shack
For those of you who have read Paul Young's The Shack (or for those considering reading it), please go NOW to the following link, which offers two of the author's testimonies from two Sunday morning services at the Crossroads Church in Denver. You'll need to scroll down on the page to the lower right hand corner and I'd recommend listening to the second message first. Here, Young tells the story of his broken life, touched, loved, and healed by the love of God in Christ. It's a very moving story and one that despite its uniqueness will resonate with your own story, I'm confident. Here's the link and it's worth your time (and if you're in a book study with others reading The Shack, consider playing the MP3 file for one of your next gatherings):
http://www.crossroadsdenver.org/weekend_message.shtml
I hope you'll find this as helpful and inspiring as we did!
http://www.crossroadsdenver.org/weekend_message.shtml
I hope you'll find this as helpful and inspiring as we did!
"Religionless Christianity"
I've just finished giving a sermon on "Jesus in Our Politics" and a particular quote from John Stott has stayed with me. Stott wrote many years ago in Issues Facing Christians Today, "Our God is often too small because he is too religious." Stott was challenging our tendency to confine God to an airless spiritual box called "religion." It's the old mistake of the Greek dualists: to elevate things "spiritual" while denigrating things "material." Spiritual, good; material, bad. Stott's plea in this section is for Christians to regain the traditional Judeo-Christian view of God's holistic commitment to all that he has made. Because God declared his creation "good" (see Genesis, Chapter 1's resounding refrain) and because God took on human flesh in Jesus, God's creation and redemption honor all things--things "spiritual" and things "material." In fact, as we look forward to the world to come, we need to be reminded that God will create a new heaven AND a new earth (Revelation 21:1). The goal of God's salvation project in Jesus is not to rescue us from the burning house called earth (or to deliver us from our bodies); rather, God's goal is to rebuild the house altogether and give us even better bodies!
If you think about it, this is pretty exciting. It's also captivating, both for the Christian imagination ("Wow, heaven will have even better mountains to hike and rivers to enjoy...") and for our Christian witness (our unchurched friends might be attracted to this idea of their potential future).
I heard someone say recently, "I hope heaven isn't just one long hymn-sing..." Don't worry. The Bible tells us it's going to be a whole lot more than that!
If you think about it, this is pretty exciting. It's also captivating, both for the Christian imagination ("Wow, heaven will have even better mountains to hike and rivers to enjoy...") and for our Christian witness (our unchurched friends might be attracted to this idea of their potential future).
I heard someone say recently, "I hope heaven isn't just one long hymn-sing..." Don't worry. The Bible tells us it's going to be a whole lot more than that!
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