Roots and Refreshment

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."
Jesus, in John 15:5

It's been wet and now it's hot in Boulder County, Colorado. Everything's green and the roses out front, despite my brown thumb, are flourishing. We have the mini ones: a burst of more than a dozen in a small handful. I pruned off a spray and put it in a vase on the kitchen table more than a week ago. It's still remarkably well. But as you and I know, it won't be much longer. In fact, it'll wither, grow dry and brown, and the water will turn foul and brackish. That's the way it is with cut flowers. Nice for a short while, then dead and fit only for the garbage can.

How different from their cousins out front, who remain rooted in the front yard! Each morning the sprinklers come on and when one branch of flowers withers, another quickly takes its place. There's renewal and refreshment from their rootedness in soil and sprinklers. It's true: even these roses won't last but a season. But the rose bush itself, rooted deeply in the ground, will survive the winter and return in full flower next summer. That's the way it is with growing things.

And that's the way it is with us. Too often we expect to flourish long after we've removed ourselves from the Source of life and renewal. We live "cut-flower lives"--vital for a season, but subject to withering effects that dry us out and drain us of life. We need to rediscover life in the soil, with roots sunk deep into the rhythms of God. This means rest and refreshment through adequate sleep, exercise, play, and vacation. It means a life-giving, on-going personal relationship with God in Jesus Christ, the "Vine", as he called himself. As he said, we are his branches. Rooted in him, we find vitality, wholeness, hope, and help. We flourish.

But let's be clear: it's not instantaneous. Growing things don't work that way. It takes a while for the life to saturate the branch, for the nutrients to flow into the extremities. There are seasons, too--of flowering and withering, of verdant green and moribund brown. But rooted in the soil, the Life remains--and will triumph over the seasons of time and adversity. Thanks to Jesus Christ, dead but now alive, we too, rooted in him, will die and live again. It's life on the vine. And the great thing is that it's never too late to be grafted back in!

How is it with you? Is it life in the vase or life on the vine? Are you sunk in the soil or sunk in your situation? Let this summer--and the ample illustrations all around us--lead you to Life.

"Suffer the Little Children"

Recently, my wife and I watched "The King's Speech." In case you haven't seen it, it's a tremendous movie about King George VI's rise to the monarchy despite a debilitating speech impediment. It’s a malady he struggles to overcome with the help of his speech therapist, an Australian commoner. While I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, one scene struck me as pivotal: as the speech therapist gently tries to uncover the roots of his stuttering, the then Prince Albert mentions his closeness to his governess and how he and his siblings as children were "presented" to his parents once a day. Presumably, they were washed, groomed, dressed, told to bow and curtsy as they were reviewed by the current King and Queen. Presumably, whatever was deemed unacceptable in the royal presence was hidden from view, denied, discouraged, or dismissed. The tension between his formal relationship with his parents and his inner sense of inadequacy "leaked" out in the stammering of "B-b-b-Bertie" as he was cruelly nicknamed.

Lest we think this was merely the monarch's fate, may I remind us of that unfortunate phrase commonly heard a generation or two ago: "Children are to be seen and not heard." In many of our cultures and backgrounds this applied, even if informally. Children, in their spontaneity and messiness, their lack of manners and polish, their rampant "id" or instinctive urges, were seen as disruptive to the adult world. Many children learned, as a result, to stuff and hide their less acceptable selves. They began to focus on externals: how they looked and spoke, how they performed, what they achieved. But beneath these little adults were children who needed to be loved and accepted for who and what they genuinely were--without the polish and the pretense.

Enter religion. If ever there was an apt analogy, this is it! Like stammering Bertie, how many of us in the church can come to THE King, attempting to present our polished perfect selves for review, doing our best to hide what we fear is unacceptable beneath the veneer. Unsure of the King's reception, we do our best to clean up our language, our behavior, our lives--hoping that we'll be accepted and approved.

Here's where Jesus comes in. To correct our projections of "The King" onto God, God must come down to us and reveal his love in flesh and blood. We see Jesus embrace the outcast, touch the leper, welcome the sinful woman, and then…and then...invite the children to come to him.

"People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.' And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them." --Mark 10:13-16 NRSV

Little children, especially when they are heard and seen, can be messy, unruly, and out of control. Like the disciples, we can speak sternly to them and discourage them from these behaviors, especially in the church, “the King's place”. Like unfortunate Bertie, our little children, at least in the past, were often encouraged to become little adults to in order to gain entry to parental love and acceptance. Jesus, who reveals God more accurately to us, is indignant: no need to clean up your act in order to get to him! No need to have it all together to experience his love! Come--come to him as you are, in all the messiness of your inner child. Bring your true self to him, because that is the one he wants. No pretending! In fact, only this true self can be loved and healed and brought into the kingdom of God. It's this self, in all its messiness, failure and fault, that Jesus takes up into his arms, lays his hands upon, and blesses.

In some respects, we all stutter, stammer, limp, posture and pretend. None of us were raised perfectly (and none of us raise our children perfectly). The good news is that our Father accepts us in Christ just the way we are. And then, in Christ, God takes us on a lifelong journey of transformation, helping us grow into our belovedness, into the family image--from the inside out.

Together we're on this journey, daring to trust in the Father's love. It's a dynamic, ongoing process: bravely acknowledging new levels of our brokenness and need and bringing these into the love and light of Christ--daring to trust in God's gracious acceptance which will never let us go.

People of the Land

Recently, I attended a church event on the far eastern plains of Colorado. Two and a half hours' drive from the Denver metro area, this place seemed at first not much more than a barren, windswept wasteland. Pancake-flat, the horizon seemed to stretch out endlessly in every direction. Without the Front Range to my west, I felt lost and disoriented.

Life seems simpler--and yet more challenging--out on the plains. Those at our meeting were farmers or otherwise tied to the land; they spoke of feeling cut off in many ways from the urban areas to their west. And one person's comment about the weather really stayed with me: "Yeah, that recent thunderstorm! The hail took out a hundred acres of my crops." Wow.

These are people of the land; people who work the land and whose livelihoods are wrapped up in the largely unpredictable patterns of weather and climate. Simpler folk, perhaps; but their humility, persistence, and patience stuck with me.

We city folk go a mile a minute. Our lives zip along at the speed of the Internet. Our livelihoods are tied up in the economy; but we're not at the mercy of the latest hailstorm, tornado, or drought. Too easily we can feel ourselves masters of our own destiny. Too easily we can forget our contingency on things beyond our control--as well as our need for God's grace at every turn. A certain subtle hubris sets in.

The people of the land I met seemed more humble, more (dare I say it) down to earth. It would've been easy for me to dismiss them as country bumpkins. I'm glad I didn't. I think I (and perhaps we) have much to learn from them.

The Blessed Simplicity of Telling the Truth

"Let your word be 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'; anything more than this comes from the evil one." --Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:37)

Retired pro cyclist Tyler Hamilton's testimony on last night's CBS 60 Minutes was riveting. Clearly uncomfortable at Scott Pelley's pointed questions, but compelled to answer them nonetheless, Hamilton alleged multiple occasions of doping by Lance Armstrong and the US Postal Service Pro Cycling Team. He included himself in just about every example he gave. I turned off the TV feeling sad and empty. Clearly, there's been a pattern of lying and deceit somewhere. And on whom you pin the blame lies largely with your loyalties. If you're a cancer survivor, you hope and pray Lance is innocent. He's your inspiration, after all, and if he can fight the disease successfully, maybe you can too. If you've spent much time following pro cycling and have seen the avalanche of indictments, confessions, and bans as a result of doping in cycling, you are jaded and cynical: how can Lance NOT have been doping, you mutter. Wherever you stand, you're witnessing painful untruths by someone somewhere.

A wise friend said to me earlier this day, "Denial is a lot like alcohol abuse: it seems to work in the short term to solve your problems; but long-term, it wrecks your life." Clearly, in pro cycling there's been a pattern of denial and deception in the ranks. Now we don't know whom to trust and the taint of scandal will continue to linger over cycling victories, marring the performances and raising suspicions. I hope we can move through this. Maybe it's a good reminder to recognize that lying and deceit may work in the short run, but they have a habit of catching up with you eventually. And when they do they can wreck your life. Jesus's advice is to keep it simple: tell the truth and your life works better down the road. It's hard to put a price on integrity.

The Problem with Numerology

If I'm not mistaken (and, granted, I live in a later time zone), the End of Days has not occurred today, May 21, 2011. Therefore, Harold Camping's prediction--based on his biblical calculations using numerology and other forms of esoteric interpretation--is wrong.

Last time this happened for Camping (1994), I pastored a congregation just up the hill from his church. I recall gathering shortly afterwards with local clergy for our monthly prayer meeting and one of them reminded us of the sober fate Camping would've faced if his failed prediction had occurred in Old Testament times (Scripture at that point mandated capital punishment for false prophets--see Deuteronomy 18:20-22!). Please, please, don't misunderstand me: I'm not in any way advocating the same for Camping or anyone else (nor do I think that the New Testament allows for this)! But there's a gravity to these kinds of predictive errors which must be mentioned. At the very least, these misguided efforts cast ridicule on Christ and the Church, they lead gullible people astray, and they present a pathetic witness to the world.

Worse than this, these attempts fly in the face of very obvious biblical teaching, which clearly states that no one--not even Jesus!--knows the day or hour of his return (see previous post on Matthew 24:36). At their heart, such erroneous calculations reveal the essential problem with numerology or any form of bible interpretation that purports to have discovered a hidden message in Scripture, particularly one that divines a future timetable: the Bible is meant for public revelation that leads its readers to a saving knowledge of God in Jesus Christ and facilitates faithful living in the present. It is NOT, repeat NOT, a mysterious Ouija board only to be interpreted by those anointed with special knowledge, nor is the Bible a sealed scroll to be unlocked by some mysterious interpretive key.

The Apostle Paul, writing to the Colossian church in the context of early gnosticism and mystery religions (both of which said salvation was only for the secret initiated elite, not the hoi polloi), was careful to stress that the gospel message was on OPEN secret! In fact, using the special language which these cults employed, Paul turned their meaning inside-out: the gospel was a public invitation (given by God to all!) of Christ's offer of life. Paul went further: he even revealed to everyone what the secret mystery was! "To [Christ's followers, that is everybody who trusts in him] God chose to make known how great...are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory" (Colossians 1:27). The point is that the Christian message of life is an open secret given to everyone! Any interpretive grid which asserts a secret message in the Bible denies this essential aspect of God's revelation. God's intent in coming to earth and speaking to us through his Son Jesus Christ (and the writings he commissioned) is for the message of grace and new life to be available to all. To claim that one person alone (or a sect or cult) solely possesses insight into a hidden biblical mystery flies in the face of this and contradicts the clear intent of the Bible.

We've got to learn that we can't control many aspects of the world and our lives. To live with a reverent agnosticism (see my previous post) and to humbly admit we cannot know the time of Christ's return, is an indispensable aspect of our humanity and our discipleship.

The Wisdom of "Reverent Agnosticism"

"But about that day or hour 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." Matthew 24:36, 42, 44

If you read the Doonesbury comic strip (as I do), you know that Garry Trudeau is currently poking fun at the doomsday predictions of Alameda, California preacher Harold Camping. Camping, based on his reading of the Bible, declares this Saturday, May 21, 2011 to be the Second Coming of Christ. For weeks now, news reports from NPR to local TV stations have been highlighting Camping's audacious claims. This fellow's done this before: last time he claimed Christ's return was to be in 1994, which he then readjusted based on fresh understandings of Scripture (or so he says).

There are two mistakes we can make with predictions like these. The first is dismissive skepticism: "What a nut!", we might say, "Who does he think he is?!" and laugh it off without another thought. Clearly, the secular media is chuckling like this now. That's certainly what Doonesbury's doing. While this is understandable from those who don't have regard for the Bible, for those of us who do, to dismiss a concept like the end of the world is ill-advised. Scripture clearly teaches the return of Christ (and the oft-recited Apostles Creed makes it clear).

The opposite mistake is to do what Zonker's gullible neighbor is doing: give away all your possessions, quit your job, and hunker down til Saturday, trusting that somehow Harold Camping accessed the divine timetable.

The third and best way, is to take to heart the words of Jesus in Matthew: recognize that Christianity has always taught the return of Jesus to judge the earth, right all wrongs, and usher in a new heaven and new earth. But don't set a timetable! If Jesus himself doesn't know the day or hour of his return, how can Harold Camping? Or you or I? What's needed is a reverent agnosticism, a humble refusal to try to manage, manipulate, or otherwise predict the return of Christ. Rather, we must live in readiness, doing the things Christ would have us do--love God and neighbor, serve the poor, work for justice, feed the hungry, heal the sick, teach the truth, and welcome the stranger. In other words, we are to be faithful.

No one knows the day or hour. But we do know what he wants from us. That should do until Saturday...and beyond.

A Culture of Resurrection

Two things are on my heart as I write this. First, I received the sad news earlier today that Belgian pro cyclist Wouter Weylandt was killed crashing on a descent during Stage 3 of the Tour of Italy. He was 26 and well-respected in the pro peloton. In fact, strangely enough, he had won stage 3 at last year's Tour of Italy. While competitive cycling is a dangerous sport and racers are vulnerable to crashes and injuries, tragic deaths like this one are quite rare. When they occur they catch our attention. I think it gives every cyclist pause. My wife, non-cylist but loving cycling supporter, was first to text me the news. I admit I paused before heading out on my Sunshine Canyon ride at lunch. In fact, knowing I was riding, my wife called me while I was on the bike just to make sure I was okay. A death like this one reminds us of our mortality and the relative fragility of each of our lives. If it's not a bike crash, it could be a suspicious mole, a positive lab result, or the sudden onset of chest pains. Our mortality remains 100% and we pause.

But I went for my bike ride anyway.

I'm glad I did. The alternative (giving in to fear or deciding to ride the plains instead of the hills) didn't make sense. I love cycling and I know I'm mortal (midlife reminds you of that more and more), but I want to affirm the good gifts of God in this life, acknowledge my brief sojourn here on earth, AND affirm the resurrection to come.

Which leads me to the second thing on my heart today. A friend in our church has sent me a link to a marvelous article in Christianity Today entitled "A Culture of Resurrection: How the church can help its people die well" (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2010/june/5.35.html).

Here, Rob Moll reflects on how we can better remind our fellow Christians of the reality of death and resurrection. These are not morbid topics, the writer maintains, but biblically-speaking, they are unashamed truths of Christian life. Churches in the past often had cemeteries attached to them, places where worshipers were reminded each time they gathered of the Church Triumphant--those saints who'd gone before them and were, as the Bible so nicely puts it, "asleep." (The root of the word "cemetary" is from the Greek word for "sleep"!) Death for the Christian is indeed sleep. For as Paul so elegantly writes: "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him...Therefore encourage one another with these words" (1Thessalonians 4:13-18 NIV 2011).

Eastertide, the weeks following Easter which precede Pentecost, is a season in which we recognize our mortality and affirm our hope of resurrection. No doubt about it: life is frail and short on earth, but don't let it curl you into a fetal ball. Christ is Risen Indeed!...so take that bike ride.

Holy Saturday

I'm intrigued by this day. It's a quiet, in-between day, wedged between the horror of Good Friday and the glory of Easter Sunday. For most of us, Holy Saturday is a day of preparation: getting that ham ready, dyeing Easter eggs, setting out what we'll wear to church Easter morning (or even putting the final touches on our sermon). But what was Jesus doing this day, so many years ago?

The Creed says that on this day "he descended into hell." What does THAT mean? (I maintain a webpage of FAQs of faith, spirituality, theology, and the Bible and this question always comes up. Click on the link in the column to your right!) Some people take that phrase literally: they look at possible parallels in puzzling texts like 1Peter 3:19, "[Jesus] was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison" (according to some, that means he was preaching the gospel in hell). It's hard to know for sure. Usually, I'm comfortable citing John Calvin (Institutes, II.xvi, 10), who saw this reference as spiritual, describing Christ's descent into the anguish of utter Godforsakenness. That makes sense to me: Jesus, by absorbing every single sin of every single human-being, suffered the full penalty, being estranged from God in his entirety, a certain definition of hell on many levels. As my wife said at the breakfast table this morning, Holy Saturday may've been worse for Jesus than Good Friday.

I guess the takeaway for us is that as quiet and unassuming as this day may seem (and it's anything but), Jesus wasn't just biding his time, waiting in the wings 'til Easter morning. He was paying the full price for all our sins and failings. Just because it's quiet today, doesn't mean nothing's happening.

Passport Please

I've just returned from Cancun, Mexico with my family. Beautiful place, relaxing, warm, very refreshing. But you need a passport to get there. No passport, no leaving the country, no vacation, nada.

The passport tells others who you are. It's got your vitals on it, at least those needed by immigration officials. Your full name, your birthplace, your date of birth, your citizenship. It's you, as far as border control is concerned. Sure, there's more to you than your passport...but if you want to travel internationally, it's the one piece of ID you can't afford to forget.

It begs the question: what symbols in our lives identify us? What forms of ID are most accurate? Is it our birth certificate showing who our parents are and when and where we were born? Is it our state driver's license? Is it the diploma on the wall, the letters behind our name, our bank balance or financial bottom line? Who ARE we--and what symbols can accurately convey that? Most importantly, are such tokens big enough, resilient enough, enduring enough? (Because if we define ourselves by our role as a parent, that will change; if it's our career, that will come to an end; if it's our possessions, those can be lost or stolen; if it's our athletic achievements, those will diminish or be surpassed by others. If it's our relational status, it's vulnerable to breakups, divorce, or death.)

For Christ-followers, our ID is found in baptism--our identification by faith with Christ's life, death, and resurrection. Paradoxically, it's only here in our burial beneath the waters, that we die to our old, false selves and are reborn to our new, true selves. This is what gives the Apostle Paul the audacity to say, "For I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me" (Galatians 2:20; Romans 6:1-11 is also very good).

This identification endures the test of time and tragedy. This passport carries us to eternal life. This symbol connotes a citizenship that crosses all borders and customs. Only this identity can withstand life's challenges and changes. What's your passport say?

Glorious Dust

"Thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return...but thanks be to God for the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ."

This is the traditional refrain uttered by the officiant at Ash Wednesday services around the English-speaking world. It's spoken over worshipers who come forward for the imposition of ashes at the end of the service. It's a moving moment.

It's a brutally honest moment, too. At this moment, the masks come off, our denial is disposed, our mortality and common need are revealed. Doesn't matter who you are, how much you make, or how good looking you are. Doesn't matter if you're fit or overweight; well-educated or not, living high on the hog or homeless. Doesn't matter what your skin color, the nationality of your passport, where you've been or who you know. "Thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return." Here we are--fallen humanity, by our rebellious nature estranged from God, subject to temptation and weakness, sickness and sin, aging and death. In a word, dust.

But. There's got to be a "but," doesn't there? Otherwise, there's no good news and Christianity, the gospel message, is good news, after all. So...But.

"But" means turning point, rescue, surprise. It means just when you thought it was all over, there turned out to be hope after all. "Thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return BUT thanks be to God for the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ." God in Christ has delved down deep into our dust, marched right into the midst of our pain, thrown his arms around our mortality, willingly mopped up our sin and shame. All this culminates in the cross of Good Friday and the empty tomb of Easter Sunday. Lent now is the season in which we ponder our mortality, feel our frailty, and lift up our eyes to our common hope.

Human comes from the word "humus", earth, dust. To be human is to be dust. But what glorious dust! Dust that in God's hands is capable of surprising virtue, dust that is raised and transformed by the power of Christ's resurrection, living now into a breathtaking future where death will be a distant memory. Thanks be to God!

A Theology from Parenting Teens

Now that I'm parenting a teen, especially one who's driving, I get my parents. I really do. Thirty years vanishes in a flash and I see myself at 16, almost 17, and I hear my dad saying to me, "Just wait: someday you may have a teenager of your own and then, then you'll understand." I understand, Dad.

Someone once said, "Isn't it amazing how, as you grow older, your parents get smarter?" Amen. Their (often unwelcome at the time) advice now rings true. Stuff like getting a good sleep, dressing warmly, driving carefully, eating right, making good decisions. It all makes so much more sense now. But that's the wisdom of time, isn't it?

I get my parents now. I also think I get God a bit better. Like teens with their parents, our (sad) default assumption when it comes to God is that God wants to ruin our fun. Like our out-of-it middle-aged parents, God doesn't really know what's best for us. We're better at running our lives. God just sets up all these dated, arbitrary rules which make no sense and cramp our style.

But what if...

What if God is like the parents we begin to understand better as we mature? What if God's ways are the best ways, meant for our good, meant for our joy and fulfillment? What if the ways of God are time-tested wisdom for a full life? What if we just can't see all of this very well right now? Maybe, like our parents, God seems smarter as we get older.

More poignantly: in the heavy lifting of parenting, I often feel sad and lonely when my teen pulls away from me (which, I know rationally, is part of his development). I can feel misunderstood when he thinks my rules and boundaries are stupid and no fun. I wish he could know my heart and how much I love him right now. I wish he could know how deeply I want him to enjoy and savor a rich, full, healthy life--now and into the future. I wish he could know all these things right now. But he doesn't...and maybe he can't. Yet.

And then it hit me, walking through the parking lot of Whole Foods the other day: could it be that God, my heavenly Father, feels the same way towards me, towards all God's children? Misunderstood, a kill-joy, out to ruin our fun, doesn't really know us, doesn't really love us. But of course, he does. And the wisdom of time, maturity, and insight may well show us that.

Why Tolerance is Not Enough

I'm loving N.T. Wright's latest book, After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters (Harper). Wright has a definite gift for big picture thinking: he soars over the vast and varied biblical landscape with grace and ease, showing his readers a topography that is both stunning and profound, yet accessible and deeply relevant. Contrasting the Christian virtue of love with society's penchant for tolerance, Wright remarks:

"The problem with [tolerance] is clear: I can 'tolerate' you without it costing me anything very much. I can shrug my shoulders, walk away, and leave you to do your own thing. That, admittedly, is preferable to my taking you by the throat and shaking you until you agree with me. But it is certainly not love. Love affirms the reality of the other person, the other culture, the other way of life; love takes the trouble to get to know the other person or culture, finding out how he, she, or it ticks, what makes it special; and finally, love wants the best for that person or culture" (p. 254).

Love costs something. Perhaps more accurately, love costs everything. Tolerance, not nearly as much. God grant us the grace to love one another.

God in a Bottle

I've just come from our church's annual weekend men's retreat where our speaker did a tremendous job. He began by challenging our inadequate views of God, very creatively showcasing the artwork of his young niece, whom he had asked to depict people's mistaken God-views. She drew pictures of God up in the clouds (the distant God), God as the fun-killer, God as Santa Claus, and many others. The point the speaker emphasized was that an inadequate view of God skews our whole life and its purposes. Home in on a truer view, at least one aligned with the Judeo-Christian Scriptures, and we will have a greater chance for an improved life--not to mention an intimate relationship with our Creator.

The speaker didn't quite get to another point in his outline, which was an acronym I recognized: MTD. MTD stands for a very prevalent God-view in our contemporary American culture. In fact, it may be the leading view of God among adults under age 60. Care to guess what it is? It's this: "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism." Here's the definition I picked up some time ago: MTD casts God as a distant creator who blesses people who are good, nice, and fair. Its central goal is to help believers be happy and feel good about themselves (from sociologist Christian Smith). What's so wrong with this?

Unfortunately, many things! One of the worst, is that it keeps us and our feelings firmly at the center of our realities. God, in this case, exists chiefly to meet our needs and buttress our self-esteem. This is God as genie, granting me wishes if I ask just right. Not much possibility of spiritual transformation here! You see, the big problem with the human race, according to my tradition, is that our original rebellion against God cast us in the role of little gods and goddesses unto ourselves. Cut off from the true God, we now worship and serve the Almighty Self. In this religion, the enhancement of our comfort, the firm establishment of our control, these are our chief life aims.

However, if I read our scriptures right, the goal of the biblical God is to pry us off this selfish center and realign us as part of a Copernican spiritual revolution: with God at the center and us in an orbit of loving worship and service to our Maker. As it turns out, one of the chief things we need to be saved from is this enslavement to ourselves. So here's a question for you: what is the default image you think people struggle with--and how does it square with the one I've just suggested?

How to Stay Young

Finding myself firmly in mid-life now, I'm realizing that this stage offers us a unique perspective on youthfulness and aging. On the one hand, I'm raising adolescents at home with my wife, our heads spinning as we negotiate with our kids privileges and responsibilities, ubiquitous technology, and the onslaught of influences, good and bad. On the other hand, we're trying to be attentive to our parents, who are in their late 70s and early 80s, facing concerns unique to their stage of life. We see first-hand one generation celebrating its vigor while struggling to gain its independence; at the same time, we watch another generation gradually losing its independence with health concerns. We're young enough to remember very well the teen years and all their wonder and temptation; we're old enough (and wise enough, now) to pay attention to what our parents are going through and realize that, as life whizzes by, it won't be long til we find ourselves where they are.

This vantage point makes me want to reflect on how we might stay young--in mid-life and into our golden years. I'll start my list...but please feel free to comment and add your own suggestions.

"How to Stay Young"

1. Keep learning! Never be too old to learn new things. Don't be afraid of the computer. Take a class on how to use it; enlist a younger person to get you wired (or better wireless!) so you can surf the Internet. Read widely; listen to online lectures. Take a class at the community college. Go to adult Sunday School. Your body may be aging; but keeping yourself intellectually stimulated can stave off the effects of aging on your mind...and spirit.

2. Exercise. Make exercise (as you're physically able) a priority. Walk, swim, stretch, work on your balance. My chiropractor friend Craig says that we age according to our balance. If we can maintain and improve our balance, we can age better. Give it a try.

3. Interact with younger people. Refuse to stay cooped up in a one-generational ghetto. Mix it up with younger folk--and not just your family members (though that's a good place to start). Get to know the neighbor's kids, as well as your grandkids. Ask them to teach you about their music, their technology, their dreams. Listen well and be humble enough to let them lead you once in a while. A place of worship is a great place to meet younger people, too. If yours isn't offering intergenerational activities, help the leadership get some started!

4. Get outside. Let the beauty of creation continue to inspire you. If you can't get outside for a walk or a drive, rent a video on nature or catch a travel program on a beautiful part of the world. If you've got a computer, do a Google image search of creation and savor what you see.

5. Beware a critical spirit. Already, even in mid-life, I can see how this becomes a major temptation of old age--we criticize the younger folks, their dress, their music, their arrogance. It may all be true; but guess what? It makes us sour, like milk past its expiration date. Don't go there. Reign in your tongue and your thoughts and when it's clear the younger generations are missing the boat, pray for them instead of criticizing.

6. Invest in younger people. As a pastor in mid-life, I'm very aware that young folks are longing for mentors, older pilgrims who can impart the wisdom of their experience. Look for people in whom you can invest.

7. Worship. Don't ever lose a fascination with the divine. God is the ancient of days, but ever vital and full of life. As we praise God and kindle our enchantment with our Creator and Redeemer, we stay young. God is never boring and our minds can never fathom God's infinite wisdom. Staying connected to God plugs us into the source of life--and aging becomes relative.

8. Serve. Serve others. Even with advancing age and diminishment of physical capabilities, we can still serve others. We can make a phone call, send an email, write a letter, mail a postcard, bake some cookies, invite someone to tea or coffee, or simply pray for them. Self-absorption kills the human spirit--at any age.

9. Play. Play. Play. That's hard for me, with my Teutonic backgrond, to write--but I believe it! Seriousness ages us much too fast. Lighten up and enjoy life wherever you can. Do something just for the fun of it.

Those are just nine suggestions. Not even Ten Commandments! But enough to get us started. Help me out--what would you add for the perfect ten?

The Franchise Operation

I don't know if the local McDonald's is run as a franchise or not, but if it were, I imagine it might work something like this...at a distant corporate headquarters, led by a CEO and board of directors, vision and values are set for the multinational organization. Certain standards of product quality are determined and a manual of operations is designed to guide local branches in delivering such consistency worldwide. Individual managers of local franchises are required to govern their operations by the manual. Diligent application of the manual's principles and practices is expected; and successful completion of these will lead to customer satisfaction and a profitable enterprise--not to mention positive performance evaluations and pay raises. It is assumed that faithful application of company principles will stand the manager (and employees) in good stead, especially should the CEO or board members pay them a surprise visit! Regular communication with company executives--mostly through email--is expected and meant to insure close connection and quality control. To date, no personal, on-site visits by higher-ups have occurred. But you never know. Best be diligent...and ever vigilant.

From time to time, as I've reflected on my Christian life, I've wondered if I run it much like the franchise manager of a McDonald's. I take a sober approach to Christian company policy; I try to live my life in line with the corporate manual. I try to stay in touch with headquarters by communicating prayerfully. But at the end of the day, to be honest, I wonder if I'm pretty much running things on my own--consciously or unconsciously operating at a distance from the CEO. He's more than likely too busy to show up at my franchise. But I'll try to keep things decent and in order, just in case. My job is to be diligent and dedicated, disciplined and dutiful, assiduously preparing for the annual review and ready, just in case, the CEO might show up.

What's wrong with this picture? Well, many things! First of all, it's a portrait of barren religion, concerned with practices and policies set by a distant leader. It focuses much too much on my performance--and frankly, my autonomy. Granted, these are meant to be aligned with company policy; however, in this approach, there's little dynamism, little warmth, and too little loving relationship.

Set in stark contrast is biblical Christianity in which, miracle of miracles, God in Jesus Christ promises to indwell, inhabit, and share life with, in the most intimate way possible, those who trust in him. To put it in our analogy above, the CEO becomes our most cherished friend who lives within us moment by moment, sharing our lives and directing our activities. The new life and its practices come not by our diligent application of company policies set in some manual; rather, they flow from a love for the friend who lives within, the friend who is also our Lord and God. And the interesting thing is that the life we live as a result, aligns perfectly with the policies we read about earlier!

Christianity as franchise operation is barren religion, an insipid substitute for the dynamic vital union with God given in Jesus Christ. God grant us the grace to avoid this all too common fast food!

Amusing Ourselves to Death?

Several years ago I skim-read a book by Neil Postman provocatively entitled Amusing Ourselves to Death. It described the influence of television culture on public discourse, showing how it shortened attention spans and created a popular demand to be incessantly entertained. Now, with both thumbs firmly engaged in the Internet age, it strikes me that this book's thesis and particularly its title are prophetic.

Think of it: Postman wrote before the advent of reality TV, which has blurred the line between entertainment and the entertained. We now watch "people just like us" on TV, subjected to all sorts of humiliating situations. "American Idol" certainly leads the charge--and MTV's "Jersey Shore" plumbs the depths--of such reputed entertainment. I've also noticed that reality TV has extended many people's 15 minutes of fame. Now, questionable "entertainers" like Snooky (what a name!) become household names, while persons with limited or no talent at all (Paris Hilton comes to mind) become pop icons.

But think of this, too: Postman also wrote before the advent of the Internet, texting, and smart phones with multiple apps. We now have the capability of plugging into entertainment (if it can be called that) 24/7. Our noses buried in screens, we grow addicted to pixellated stimulation and many of us find ourselves rushing to check scores, emails, tweets, Facebook live feed, news and much else whenever we feel a hint of boredom or the need to unwind. And whatever other discretionary time we have is whiled away with such gripping games as "Angry Birds".

My fear, and the fear voiced by an increasing chorus of the concerned, is that we're now raising a generation of people who will never know the joy of a good book by a fireplace...or a quiet walk in the woods...or the focused discipline of writing an actual letter...or the joy of getting a thoughtful letter from a loved one...or even the sustained sharpening of a spirited debate with a friend. Thanks to our ubiquitous technology our information base grows wider by the second...but are we becoming shallower at the same rate? I wonder and I worry, to be honest. Especially as I share in the raising of my two sons.

I like my iPhone as much as the next person. But I've also enjoyed re-reading a series of novels lately. It's wonderfully relaxing to find my mind engaged and entertained at the same time--in a way that digital technology has yet to do. I'd be interested in your thoughts? Am I terribly old-school?

Zeroing the Torque

Recently, I purchased a power meter. "What's that?" you say? It's the gold standard training tool for cyclists. It measures in watts the direct output of power applied to the pedals (in this case, through the pedals to the rear hub). "Watts don't lie", is the adage I've heard in cycling circles. Your heart rate, your average speed--metrics like these change based on terrain, fatigue, headwind, temperature, etc. But watts? Watts don't lie. You're either applying a certain level of force to the pedals or not. Now stay with me, non-cyclists. There's practical relevance yet to come...

I don't know about you, but I tend to learn through my mistakes, especially with technology. I drained the battery to my computer head unit for my power meter by leaving it too long in the download cradle. Dead battery. Needed replacement. Check. But what I didn't realize is that every time you replace a battery and freshly pair the head unit with the rear hub power transmitter, you must "zero the torque." How did I know that I needed to do this? Well, one clue was that on a recent ride I was still getting a power readout...while I was coasting downhill. Bad sign! What was worse, however, was what this meant.

It meant that my studly ride earlier that week, the one where I broke all my former records of power output, the one where I was thumping my chest and elaborating on my middleaged fitness to my adoring wife...was suspect. Skewed. Exaggerated. That's tough to take as a middle-aged cyclist. All my numbers were inflated. My performance was not nearly as tremendous as I thought. Probably pretty commonplace. I had to zero the torque.

It's a simple task, really. I found instructions online and it's recommended that this zeroing occur weekly. It insures that your power meter gives an accurate reading--and that you're given no freebie watts (which inflate your ego, to say the least).

Today, I noticed to my great humility that my numbers were significantly lower. Not nearly as studly as I had imagined them to be. Sigh.

"Zeroing the torque"--it recalibrates us to reality and gives us honest feedback based on a higher, objective standard. It occurs to me that this is what happens when we relate to the God of the Bible. For measured against ourselves or even our peers, we may feel that we're doing quite well morally and ethically (thank you very much!). However, this is not the ultimate standard we're given to use in measuring ourselves. The gold standard is God's: perfection, holiness, complete selfless love. This was God's original design for the people God made. How short we've fallen! God, it turns out, requires of us the fulfillment of this original standard, which, left to ourselves is impossible. God, however, offers the perfect fulfillment of these requirements in the obedience of his Son, whose sinless life, sacrificial death, and glorious resurrection allow all who will trust in him to measure up--and, so to speak, hit the numbers.

I guess as humbling as it is, I'd rather measure myself against reality than delude myself in thinking I'm fitter--or even more moral--than I really am. Ultimately, I have this confidence because I live in a reality governed by a good and gracious, albeit holy, God. "Zero the torque"--it's the way to relate to reality...and to become more healthy in the process.

Grace and the High Bar

At least once a year I teach a segment of our church's new members' class. I enjoy this because it allows me to speak directly to the substance of our faith, the key matters of Christian belief and practice that constitute the heart of who we are. The primary concept I try to share with people is the subject of grace. In my opinion, grace is one of the most beautiful words in the Bible. I use the letters of the word to form an acronym: God's Riches At Christ's Expense. It's what one preacher called, "surprise gift love." Grace is that gift we don't expect or deserve, that free gift from God that welcomes us home to God's arms, the broken, needy, messed up people we all are inside--each of us now get a chance to be embraced and restored, freely and without charge. As one writer put it, it's the "alley, alley all come free" in our grand hide-and-seek with God. You get to come home; you're safe--and you don't have to pay for it or earn it in any way. All you do is receive it in faith and trust.

Too many of us think of salvation, eternal life, or even forgiveness as a pole-vault. God's bar is set high morally and ethically and we do our utmost to clear it in a spectacular effort of earnest endeavor. Work hard, try your best, do unto others--and hope you can clear this divinely appointed hurdle. Salvation as pole vault. Wrong.

Salvation, I like to say, is not a pole vault, it's a limbo bar. God doesn't require a spectacular feat of moral athleticism in order to clear his high bar. The bar is rather a limbo bar, set low, so low in fact that only the humble, only the broken, only the needy, the messed-up, the low performers need apply. It's in humility, in lowliness, in the admission of our need and unworthiness that we come to God and find in God our gracious welcome. The bar has been cleared; not by us, but by God in Christ, who's fulfilled all the moral demands and met all the high requirements.

True, our humble homecoming is only the beginning. Made new in Christ from within by a rebirth in the Holy Spirit, we can now begin to live new lives, lives guided by God's truth revealed in the Bible, lives strengthened by Christ's indwelling presence, lives nurtured in the community of the baptized who walk in such newness. Equipped, empowered, emboldened, we now strive by God's continuing grace to live lives which attain a higher mark of love, integrity, and moral congruence. The bar can now be set much higher, but we approach it so differently: with the deep awareness that it's only in the power of Christ that we can even come close to clearing it.

It's at this point that we can begin to consider Jesus' famous "Sermon on the Mount", my current class topic and a subject for a future post!

Things I'm Learning, Part 1

Yes, I'm still alive. No, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. No, I didn't love my sabbatical SO much that I chose to make it permanent. (That's retirement, not sabbatical.) For my silence, I can only plead busyness and the start up of fall responsibilities. Oh yes, and ramping up for a teenage son getting his driver's license THIS WEEK. Suffice it to say, I'm back and hoping to write more regularly.

Which brings me to today's subject: "Things I'm Learning, Part 1." Hopefully, the first in an occasional series. Today I'm starting off with the problem of Christian moralism. During my sabbatical, Dr. John Coe's lectures on spiritual formation alerted me to this insidious disease facing Christians. In a nutshell, it is this: Christians, having been saved by God's grace through their faith in Jesus' death and resurrection for their sins, now, sadly, go on to live out their Christian lives in the power of their own strength.

A shorthand for this might go: "Saved by grace, sanctified (made more like Christ in actual living) by works." See the problem? When we do this, we trivialize the crisis from which God has rescued us in Christ. At the beginning of our Christian lives, we've acknowledged that we needed God's help in rescuing us from a life of sinful self-centeredness; now, however, after receiving this life by God's grace, we've gone back to our own resources in order to grow in this life. A clear sign of this is self-reliance ("Tell me what I need to know/do/not do to be a good Christian!"), frustration and self-condemnation when we fail ("Darn, I blew it again!"), and earnest vows to improve ourselves in the future ("I must try harder next time!").

Christian moralism is so prevalent in the Church and in our lives that we may not even notice it (and, worse, we may not even think it's a problem to begin with). But here's the rub: if we really believe that only God can save us, do we still think we ourselves have the capacity, in our own strength, to live out the new life to which he's called us? If so, we either have a grossly distorted view of our own moral capacity (and a pretty unrealistic view of our sin) and/or we kid ourselves into thinking we're already so perfected in our new life as Christians we can straightforwardly live out what God requires. Either way, we set ourselves up for failure and frustration.

So what's the way forward? Despair--that we can ever live as Christ commands? That's too high a view of our sin and too low a view of his empowering presence. Hypocrisy--that we say we agree with his commands but make little attempt to live them out because we know we can't? Neither of these work. The way forward, according to Coe (and, really, the Bible, especially the Apostle Paul) is to fully embrace in faith our status as God's new people by virtue of Christ's work on the cross. At our core identity, we bank on the fact that we are new, despite evidence to the contrary. We consider ourselves in the Latin of Martin Luther, "Simul iustus, et peccator" (simultaneously justified and yet a sinner). This is now our spiritual DNA, our true legacy, our deepest identity.

Following Jesus, then, means becoming practically who we are already are spiritually. We do this, as the Apostle Paul puts it, by keeping in step with the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:16-26). The way forward into newness, holiness, or Christlikeness, is by allowing that quiet Spirit who now indwells us to govern and guide our daily activities. It's as though we keep a constant dialogue open, developing the capacity to discern what the Spirit says moment by moment. This requires several things: an awareness of the truth that Spirit has already inspired in the writings of Scripture (Bible study); a willingness to lay down our autonomy and be led (the surrender of the will, perhaps the most difficult thing); and a slower pace of life, so that we may have room to respond thoughtfully to God (an equally difficult thing for many of us). A by-product of these is a humility and dependence on God's grace when we fail (which we will, repeatedly).

So to sum it up, being a Christian doesn't mean that we work harder at trying to be good. Rather, it means that having surrendered our attempts to be good, we trust in Christ's goodness on our behalf (the cross), and we seek to follow him moment by moment by keeping in step with his Spirit. So beware of "Ten Point" programs which are a disguised form of self-help. And, for the heady ones among us, don't confuse information with transformation (as important as Christian knowledge may be, it's only one component of spiritual growth and lasting change).

Feeling Small

Three experiences recently have left me "feeling small." By this I mean they've reminded me that I'm not master of my destiny, the head honcho, or the big cheese (not that I struggle overmuch with these misconceptions, but the gravity of our fallenness does tend in this direction, does it not?).

The first experience was last weekend as once again our neighborhood welcomed to its skies the planes of the local airshow. I was delighted and awed (as were many) by the F-18 and F-16 fighters as they maneuvered above us. Their sheer, screaming power as they soared in grace and beauty, their turns arcing precisely, these moved me deeply. Why? I've come to wonder if it is a foretaste of glory, a tiny sip of what it will mean for me one day be engulfed in awe of God, the One who is sheer power, grace, and beauty, awesome, overwhelming, and yet, irresistibly attractive. I felt small. But it was a good small.

The second experience was riding bikes yesterday with a friend up Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. In the best of situations, this ride is a challenge (it tops out at over 12,000', rising up close to 5,000' from the floor of Estes Park); but yesterday it was epic and potentially life-threatening. As we rode up in temperatures just below 50 degrees, the wind increased, so much so that when we rose above treeline to 11,000 feet, the wind speeds, we estimated, were close to 60mph. Try riding a bike in that! Wisely, we turned around. But try descending 17 miles in winds and wind chills like those! We had to stop repeatedly. We walked our bikes in portions (so as not to be blown off the road) and we dangerously edged close to hypothermia. Down at the bottom, taking refuge in the visitor center, we were shaking uncontrollably and deeply grateful to be back down safely (not to mention alive). Very scary time. We felt small in the face of nature's power. But, ultimately, it was a good small, in that we were reminded of our essential reliance on God's grace and protection in all things.

The third experience is the Four Mile Canyon fire still raging just a few miles to the northwest of the church. Over 7000 acres have burned since yesterday morning. Over 3,000 people have been evacuated. To date, at least 63 structures, including homes, have burned. Church families are affected and our community is on edge. Slurry bombers roar overhead to drop fire retardant on the blaze. It's a scary time for so many. I/we feel small and vulnerable in the face of winds, fire, and life's unpredictability.

It's not always bad to feel small, especially if it leads us to depend more fully and consistently on the One who is big. I'm so grateful that in this One's hands, we are secure and that nothing can separate us from his love (Romans 8:38-39).