What Peter Said...

It was a pretty bold move on Peter’s part, actually. “We must obey God rather than any human authority,” he said. What made it bold was that he was speaking directly to the “human authority” at the time. He was taunting the lion while his head was in the lion’s mouth.

The apostles had been warned to NOT teach anyone about Jesus anymore in Jerusalem. And yet they had “filled Jerusalem” with “the whole message about his life.” And so, as the story in Acts 5 goes, they were again brought before the Jerusalem council to answer for their actions.

“We told you not to, but you went ahead and did!” the frustrated high priest says, sounding quite a bit like the parent of a toddler.

But this is no toddler. This is Peter, who used to be called Simon, back when he was a fisherman. But now he is the Rock, the guy Jesus said the church is going to be built on. And Peter looks right into the eyes of human authority and tells them that they don’t matter; he obeys another authority altogether.

Ironic, isn’t it? The authority that Peter is so boldly professing to follow is the very authority that the high priest himself is supposed to represent. So I’m sure that didn’t tick Caiaphas off or anything, did it? (Yeah, right.)

It’s even more radical, since the high priest of Jerusalem was in charge not only of the religious life of the people, but of their temporal life as well. He was the convener of the Sanhedrin, which held executive, legislative, and judicial authority. And he was installed by Rome, who didn’t really care who served, as long as they kept everything flowing toward Rome.

Peter may be looking at Caiaphas, but in a sense he is looking through Caiaphas directly into the face of Caesar himself.

It is a revolution in a sentence. We obey God, not you.

However …

I seem to remember a little snippet of Paul’s … may have been the Letter to the Romans … perhaps chapter 13 of said letter … hmm … what did that say again?

“Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God.”

Right, of course this passage is about rulers who are “not a terror to good conduct, but to bad.” Just do good things, says Paul, and you won’t have any need to fear. All of those laws you follow, he goes on to say, are really just expressions of one overall rule: Love one another. “Love is the fulfilling of the law.”

However you think about it, there seems to be a tension between what Peter said and what Paul wrote. And I think it is very, very important to note that tension, because it is precisely the kind of tension stirring in our nation these days. There is anger at the government, suspicion, distrust, and even threats of revolt. Duly elected representatives are threatened, spit on, and their offices are vandalized. Clearly this runs counter to what Romans 13 says.

On the other hand, those who are expressing this anger toward the government probably feel like Peter, standing up to an oppressive ruling class, at least in their perception. As far as I know, the people who seem to be the angriest see their anger as deeply patriotic and perfectly justified.

One of the big differences, of course, is that the government of the United States is nothing at all like the government of ancient Israel. Our transfer of power happens peacefully, every few years, when we go to the polls to vote. And we vote locally, as well as at the state and national levels. There is no foreign empire appointing puppet rulers to keep things under control.

At the same time, we should never forget that Pax Romana is not Shalom, and that means there will be a time for people of faith to stand against a government, acknowledging allegiance to a higher power. Along with that is the reality that we live in a global connection that calls us to be in solidarity with the poor who are routinely oppressed by ruthless governments, or at best totally ignored by inept or corrupt ones.

And so, there is the tension. Do we stand with Peter and obey God, or do we listen to Paul and obey earthly authority? As with so much of life, the answer really depends on the context, doesn’t it? It depends on what lies under the decision, our motivation, the “why” behind our action.

Is it for God’s sake? Is it for the sake of the Gospel? Is it for love? Truly? Real, grace-filled, unconditional, agape love? The kind of love that fulfills the law? If so, then whatever it is, you’ll probably be okay.

The Power of a Touch

I love kids! I had such a great time at Vacation Bible School last week, hanging out with a couple hundred kids every morning, singing together, dancing, praying, laughing, joking, making faces, and sharing in the story of the Exodus.

Needless to say, there were times when things got a bit wild and crazy, but for the most part everything went quite smoothly. There were some times when an individual kid needed a bit of extra attention so as not to detract from the experience of the whole class. Sometimes this even involved one of the adult volunteers chasing a kid around or perhaps taking them out of the room.

But a few times, when a kid was creating a disruption during a time I was teaching, all I did was make my way over to where they were sitting, and calmly continue what I was doing while simply putting my hand on a shoulder. I just got close to them, didn't even make eye contact, and reached out to touch them.

In doing so, I was telling them, "I know you're here. I am acknowledging you, and I value your presence. You are a part of this group." I was giving them the attention that they were seeking without detracting from what the rest of the kids were doing. All of this was accomplished by simply touching them. And inevitably, the attention-seeker calmed down and the class carried on.

People have different comfort levels with touch. For some, it is a severe violation of personal boundaries to do more that shake hands. Some are much more comfortable with touch and will hug and hold hands and pat shoulders with no thought at all. So we must be very sensitive to individual responses. There is definitely "good touch" and "bad touch."

With that in mind, there is something very meaningful about human contact. I remember in pastoral care classes in seminary being taught that people in hospital beds with tubes and wires coming out of them all over the place are often longing for a simple touch, a hand to hold or a gentle pat on the shoulder. A touch can be a healing gesture.

There's a great story in the Gospel according to Mark about touch. It's actually two stories woven together, one about Jairus' daughter and the other about a woman with severe hemorrhages. The woman approaches Jesus from behind, reaches out, and touches just the hem of his clothes. She is immediately healed. Jesus then goes in to Jairus' house, reaches out, and takes his daughter by the hands. She is immediately revived from death.

In both cases, healing happens in the touch. There is a reason that a powerful emotional response is called feeling touched. Something miraculous happens in a good touch.

Commanded to Love

This Sunday is the last Sunday in the season of Easter, and so will be the last in our worship series “Love So Amazing.” I cannot begin to share with you how reading 1st John all during this season has impacted me.

The punctuation mark on this season is taken from John 15:12 – “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Here the theological parallels between the Gospel According to John and the book of First John are very apparent. Quite simply, followers of Christ Jesus are commanded by our Lord to love one another.

Not only love one another, but love one another as Jesus loved us. This seems like an impossible task. How can we possibly love with the kind of selflessness and grace that Jesus offered?

However, the author of First John tells us that “…his commandments are not burdensome” (5:3). And so it seems that this apparently impossible task is not only possible, but will not even be a burden to undertake. It makes me think of Matthew 11:30, where Jesus promises, “For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”


Maybe it’s like riding a bike. (Bear with me here.) Learning how to ride a bike is really hard! It is scary to think about losing your balance and tumbling to the pavement. Sometimes the fear of failing even prevents us from making the attempt.

But when we do, and begin to get the hang of it, riding a bike is exhilarating! It sets us free! We roll along with ease, wind in our face, wondering what we ever could have been scared of. And once we learn how, we never forget. It’s like … well … actually it’s like riding a bike!

Perhaps that’s what it means to say that the commandment to love one another as Jesus loves is not burdensome. Maybe it sets us free in a way we cannot imagine unless we put our fear aside, make a few wobbly attempts, skin our knee a time or two, and figure out how exactly to love one another as Jesus loved us.

And then when we finally get it, it is exhilaration like no other. We are set free in God’s love to live as sisters and brothers together, without having to hang on to all of that burdensome baggage that comes with trying to do it by ourselves. It’s only impossible when we think we have to do it alone.

And so, as this season is ending and likewise our brief sojourn with First John, I am hopeful that we will enter the next season transformed by God’s amazing love.

The Economy, Humility, and Another Fine Mess

How does humility play in our world today? I mean, it’s certainly not the latest fad or anything. In fact, it feels like those who have humbled themselves and thought of others first and been servants of others are actually suffering quite a bit these days – losing jobs, losing retirement funds, caught in bad mortgages – its all under the umbrella of “the economy.”

While unfathomable greed has led a relatively few unscrupulous people to do things for their own sakes that impact others in horrible ways without a second thought, just about everyone else has just been trying to live life, make a living, feed a family, enjoy a bit of comfort, simply be who they are. I’m not being naïve about this, though. I get it; a lot of people had to make a lot of bad decisions in order to land our economy in the state it is in now.

But neither am I going to over-simplify things by thinking that people finding themselves in financial trouble have only themselves to blame for it. The truth is, 95% of us don’t understand enough about “the economy” to even ask intelligent questions about it. And so, in order to avoid getting stuck in figuring out who is to blame for the situation, the question becomes: What shall we do next?

And in that sense, humility has an enormous role to play. If we take seriously the words of Philippians 2:3, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves,” then the Christian response to this financial crisis must be shaped by service, not judgment.

I know that a lot of people are angry at the people who “got us into this mess.” That’s okay, we can be angry as long as we don’t sin because of it, allowing the anger to fester (Ephesians 4:26). The anger isn’t bad, but if we hold onto it, we get ourselves into trouble. Humility is the very thing that unlocks this anger and allows us to move on.

Erin and I were talking at lunch today, and she mentioned how during the Great Depression people would prepare extra food at dinnertime when they could, anticipating that hungry people might knock on their doors asking for a bite or two. That would never happen today, which is really sad when you think about it. Suspicion and fear would prevent that level of humility and service in most homes.

I’m pretty sure we’re not going to see humility and servanthood from Washington D.C. or Wall Street. Corporate executives are not going to turn suddenly altruistic, putting the needs of others ahead of their own. So that’s up to you and me, average everyday people out here living our lives in the best way we know how.

We have got to help each other through this, without judgment or blame, looking not to our own needs but to the needs of others. At this point, it really doesn’t matter how “they” got into this mess; there is a mess, and so let’s get busy cleaning it up. A bit of humility, a little service, a little self-emptying here and there will go a long, long way toward making things better for everyone.

Morphing Into Servanthood

One of the things a congregation should do is equip people to serve. It appears in the promises of membership, as one of the aspects of faith through which people promise to support the congregation – “…prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness…”

Often when we think of serving, we think of particular actions, like preparing a meal or volunteering in a clothes closet or going on a mission trip. How often do we think about the attitude that underlies these actions? How often do we think about the motivation behind them?

See, not only did Jesus serve, he took the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7). The word “form” is from the Greek word morphe, which is in the English language as the verb “morph,” very common in the superhero/fantasy vernacular. It is used when a character takes on a new identity.

In taking on a servant’s form, Jesus was doing more than going through the motions of serving others. He was taking on the identity of a servant. “Though he was in the ‘form’ of God,” he voided himself of this “form” (2:6) in order to take on another form altogether.

It reminds me of the difference between a politician serving soup in a homeless shelter for the sake of a photo opportunity versus a person whose only thought is to help other people in every single moment. It is about an authentic attitude of servanthood guiding our every action. The acts themselves are manifestations of the attitude.

One of the “General Rules” for Methodists says that they will “continue to evidence their desire of salvation” by “doing good; by being in every kind merciful after their power; as they have opportunity, doing good of every possible sort, and as far as possible, to all.” In other words, taking the form of a servant, in humility and selflessness, always regarding the needs of others before one’s own needs.

It's interesting to me how that word also carries a different meaning. Sometimes when you're talking about an object having the "form" of something, you mean that it is shallow. As in someone who claims to be something that they are not, like an "in name only" kind of deal. It is possible to be all form and no content.

I know that the church sometimes does that, kind of pretending to be the church or acting as if it is the church, all the while functioning actually as a social club, or a place of business, or a family chapel. Certainly there are individual Christians that do so, too. As if the "form" of servanthood is a mask one can put on and take off, but isn't any deeper than that.

This meaning of "form" is not the meaning conveyed in Philippians 2, however. Jesus did not just put on a human mask over a divine identity. (This heresy is called docetism, I believe.) Rather, the incarnation is about God truly becoming human, flesh and blood, a really real in your face human being.

Christians serve a Lord who is a Servant - one of the beautiful paradoxes of our faith. As churches equip people to serve, we are striving to live Christlike lives. Regarding others in all we say and do and are means morphing into servanthood, just like Jesus did.

ZEAL

Here's a question. In the attempt to find middle ground so much of the time, have we neglected zeal? Have we become too conciliatory, even complacent?

And then, in a "Screwtape" kind of twist, have we called our complacency good by affirming the importance of grace-filled, respectful dialogue to the detriment of zealous pursuit of God's mission in the world?

I know, I know. Just read the description of my blog in the header above this post and you'll realize that dialogue is important to me. The conversation really does matter, this I believe. I just wonder sometimes, at what price?

In John 2, the scripture for this week, Jesus marches into the Temple and makes a whip with which he scares away the animals being sold for sacrifice. He then overturns the tables of the people exchanging their money for Temple currency with which to buy the animals, now driven away by Jesus's zeal for God's house. Essentially, Jesus is pissed off! And by putting this story at the beginning of his version of the Gospel, John emphasizes that Jesus's entire ministry is motivated by his passion for God, for God's house, for God's people, and for God's way.

There is no respectful, grace-filled dialogue in this story.

See, I think maybe we shouldn't look for middle ground all the time. And furthermore, I think that when we disagree, we can do so with zeal and passion without worrying about violating some unwritten rule about not offending another person. There are times when another person needs to be offended, and I may just be the one to do the offending!

But maybe, just maybe this isn't an either/or proposition. Perhaps we can have respectful, grace-filled AND zealous, passionate dialogue, all at the same time! It is fear that keeps us from this pursuit. We are afraid of losing favor by expressing our zeal to it utmost. At our core, most of us just want people to like us. And there's really nothing wrong with that.

And what's more, we are afraid of the attacks that may come. Blogging has taught me a lot about the difference between expressing an opinion with zeal and being a jerk. One of the biggest issues with blogging is the freedom allowed by anonymity, which allows many people to disguise simple jerkiness with a veil of zeal. But it is a thin veil indeed, and very easy to penetrate.

But if we zealously confront that which is counter to God's mission in the world with righteous energy and restlessness for what is right, we can do so without being a jerk about it. Public figures who are trying to spout off sound-byte worthy phrases do not have zeal, they are being jerks. But, in another twist that "dear Wormwood" ought to try some time, the jerks plead zeal for their cause as an excuse for their atrocious behavior, making admirers and millions of dollars along the way.

So I would really like to reclaim zeal as a good thing, and especially within the context of respectful, grace-filled dialogue. Enough with the artificial middle ground; enough with being a jerk in zealous clothing. Let's really be "Christlike" again and show a bit of zeal for what really matters to God.

So I'll ask you - What are you zealous for? What fires you up? What really grinds your gears (and not in a Peter Griffin kind of way, but really)?

For what would you be willing to make a metaphorical whip of cords and drive some metaphorical sheep out of the metaphorical Temple?

A Post About Jesus' Bowels

Once (Mark 1:40-45) when a leper came to Jesus to ask for healing, Mark tells that Jesus was “moved with pity.” The NIV, btw, says “compassion” instead of “pity.” The Message says simply, “deeply moved.” The TNIV says, “Jesus was indignant.” That’s pretty cool.

Dig this - the Greek word is splangknidzomai.

Don’t you just love that word? Even the sounds of it, if you can force your mouth into shapes conducive to producing them, are fun! You really need to try it a few times to appreciate it.

There is a Greek word from which this verb comes, the noun splangknon. That means “guts.” Bowels or intestines. No, really. That’s what it means. Look it up in your Brown, Driver, Briggs if you don’t believe me!

So if we were going to be literal with this little vignette, Jesus would have been moved to his bowels for the leper. Of course, the key to interpretation is knowing that, at that time, the bowels were considered the location of the deepest emotion. For the Greeks, your guts were where you felt violent passions – anger and love, for example. But for the Hebrews, guts were for more tender and gentle feelings like compassion and mercy.

Nowadays, we might say that such emotion is “from the heart,” thereby ascribing to another internal organ that for which we really have no explanation. Biologically, emotions come from somewhere in the chemical makeup of your brain, I suppose. But semantically, I’m kind of glad that we’ve moved from the guts to the heart as our metaphor for emotional responses.

What motivated Jesus to heal? He was moved. Deeply moved. (Insert potty joke here). But elementary school humor aside, Jesus was emotionally moved by the leper who came to him asking to be healed. Compassion perhaps. Or maybe Jesus was moved by the leper’s faith. Or both.

The leper (let’s call him Bill) said with certainty, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” There’s not any doubt in Bill’s mind that Jesus can heal him. It’s not a question, “Can you make me clean?” – it is a statement of fact. Bill had been shunned by the rest of society by consequence of his illness, and yet spoke with confidence to a man he was certain had the power within to heal him. And after being healed, defying Jesus’ instructions to silence, he goes around telling everyone what has happened.

It is a miraculous story on so many levels, but at the same paradoxical time, a very human story. Bill is sick man and professes an immense faith – Jesus feels it in his guts and responds with compassion – joy spilling over, Bill cannot help but share with everyone what has happened to him.

It’s a beautiful little story, with a hundred lessons to teach us. And I can feel that in my splangknon.

Coffee with John the Baptist

I wonder what it would have been like to have a cup of coffee with John the Baptist? I’m sure it would not have been dull. If I could get him to stop asking me to repent long enough, we might have a conversation.

“What’ll it be, John?” I’d ask.
“I’ll take a Double Locust Espresso with a Wild Honey Drizzle,” he would reply.
“Mmm. I’ll just have the Pumpkin Spice, please.”
Coffee ordered, we’d sit at a table far away from the counter. “So John, how’s life treating you these days?” I’d say.
“Well, it’s good. People are coming from all over to listen. I’ve been dunking people in the river right and left. But my camel fur underwear is pretty itchy, and my feet are all pruney. By the way, have you thought about repenting and being baptized? It would be very good for you, you know.”
“Yes, John, I have, thanks for asking. Listen, I could get you some softer clothes, maybe. And a pair of wading shoes might help.”
“No, no. I’m not worthy of that kind of luxury. Besides, it’s not really about me, anyway, is it?”
“What do you …? Oh right, the one coming after you, I remember. What’s up with that again?”
Tapping his hand on the edge of the table nervously, John would say, “You know, you really should give serious consideration to repentance. It would be in your best interest. But yeah, as to that one coming after me who is more powerful than I and I’m not even worthy to untie his shoe, I’m kinda getting people ready for him. By the way, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Ready for him?”

Are you? Are you ready? Expect a messenger – one who will prepare the way, make the path straight. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even ready for the messenger, much less the one who is being announced.

Are you ready?

Ritual and Event

In preparing next Sunday's sermon, something caught my attention that hadn't before. In Exodus 12, the description of the Passover ritual precedes the event itself, and then in fact, when the actual events of that night are described, it is with just a few sentences, almost in passing.

There is a huge build up, and then ... fffwwip ... it is gone.

God first describes the ritual to Moses and Aaron - they in turn give that description to the people - and it is reported that "the Israelites went and did just as the LORD had commanded Moses and Aaron." (12:28) The ritual descriptions are elaborate and detailed, and many commentators say they represent fragments of a few different versions of the story. And then the actual enactment of the instructions is only briefly mentioned.

This has made me think about the relationship between ritual and event. In my mind, if a ritual is a prescribed procedure or a specific patterned behavior, an event is just any ol' thing that happens. So a ritual is an event but not every event is a ritual.

Rituals bring the meaning and power of events into the given moment. As Terence Fretheim puts it in the Exodus commentary of Interpretation series, "The reenactment is as much salvific event as the original enactment." So it makes sense that at this point in the Exodus story, the redactor of the book of Exodus is divinely inspired to record this chapter as an ancient worship planner.

So basically Exodus 12 is a set of liturgical instructions for a ritual designed to reenact an event that, in the sequence of the book of Exodus, hasn't happened yet. That in and of itself gives great power and meaning to subsequent reenactments of the event. It is as if the ritual, in a sense, is the event.

This idea gets more wonderful when you think in terms of baptism and holy communion. The baptism ritual is more than empty words and a splash of water. Holy Communion is more than going through the motions of a meal together. Each of these rituals convey power in that they reenact and thus are an event of history brought fully into the present moment, both in rememberance of the past and also in anticipation of the future.

And here's my final thought: we need not equate ritual with rigidity. Ritual is not just a fancy way to say "the way we've always done it." Ritual is alive and moves and changes as we change. Ritual is the structure of life like ice crystals are the structure of a cloud. We need to repeat ritual exactly in order for it to retain it's power. What is important is that it retain it's power, not the form in which that power is conveyed.

I wonder if that's why the Passover ritual has a moment when the children are to ask, "What do you mean by this observance?" (12:26) What a wonderful moment! If you can't answer a child when they ask, "Why are we doing this, again?" you should probably stop doing it. Because then your ritual will have become a rut.

Understand Each Other ... Use Words if Necessary

I love Pentecost weekend, don't you? Some of it is the whole red thing - the one and only time in the Christian calendar that particular color makes an appearance. That makes it all the more striking when it comes. In Northtown, like a lot of other churches I'm sure, we're all invited to wear red to worship, to enhance that impact.

But more than the color, I love Pentecost because it's all about communication / lanugage / understanding one another / relationship. And all made real by the Holy Spirit, and recorded in the book of Acts, chapter 2.

Though the wind and fire (no earth?) are exciting, I'm more intrigued by what happens after the tongues of flame come, when the disciples start talking, and the people start understanding. Acts 2 does not record what exactly they said, only a general topic: "God's deeds of power" (NRSV) or "The wonders of God" (NIV). Yet even without the benefit of knowing their specific words, we are told that a whole lot of people understood the message, and some responded with amazement, some with perplexity, and some just cynically made fun of them.

Question: Why did God inspire the author of Acts at this point to exclude the actual words of the disciples in this story? Why weren't these words so important? Of course, we get to hear Peter's words later (vv. 14-36), but at this point all we know is that the 12 were talking, but we don't know what they were saying.

I think that maybe there's something about understanding one another that transcends the words we say. Maybe we too often get stuck on the words and never get to the actual understanding. Have you ever found yourself thinking, "I hear the words you are saying, but I have no idea what you're talking about" in the middle of a conversation? And on the flipside of that, have you ever been able to truly understand another person without them needing to say a word?

Pentecost seems to be about how people understand one another, empowered by the Holy Spirit. There is a "sighs too deep for words" quality to it. It reminds me of the well-known line, "Preach the Gospel ... use words if necessary." Words are powerful and important, and I'm a "word guy" so please don't read this as advocating complete silence all the time. That would lead to some pretty boring blog posts, for one thing.

I heard a radio story this morning about a poet who works by eliminating words from the New York times. The results, after marking out the words he doesn't need, are his poems. (click here) Maybe the key to understanding one another is figuring out what words we don't need to say?

Also posted here.

"Deeply Moved"

Those two words caught my attention in preparing for this week's sermon. "Deeply moved." They are in John 11, the story of Lazarus, and describe how Jesus responds to the situation. John tells us that "he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved." In fact, so profound is Jesus' emotional response that he cannot contain his own tears.

I've been pondering why this incident is recorded. Why does John share this intimate glimpse at the inner emotional life of Jesus in his gospel? I mean, this is the Messiah here! God's anointed. The light of the world come to shine in the darkness and all that. What's he doing crying?

But perhaps the question answers itself. John tells us that he wrote his version of the story down "so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believeing you may have life in his name" (20:31). So John wants us to believe. That's his agenda - to move us from un-belief (maybe dis-belief?) into belief. I don't know about you, but it sure is a lot easier for me to believe in a Messiah who expresses empathy in response human grief than a Messiah who would stand stoically by, unmoved by the pain and suffering of the people he loves.

What was it that moved Jesus to tears? Perhaps is was simply grief for his friend Lazarus; perhaps compassion for the others who were crying all around him; perhaps he was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his mission and frustrated that so many people around him weren't "getting it." After all, the resurrection for which the Jewish people were longing (i.e. Daniel 12:1-2) was no longer a distant, "one of these days" event - it was here and now. "I am the resurrection," he said. Not some abstract teaching about the end of the age, but him. Not just the things he was saying and doing, but him. Embodied. Incarnate.

As Mike said last night at Bible study, "It must have been a lot of pressure to be Jesus."

And so in order to accoomplish his mission, he decided to reveal God's power through the death of Lazarus. He basically allowed Lazarus to die in order to make his point. And how far fetched would it be to think that maybe, upon seeing the grief Lazarus's death caused, he may have had a pang or two of regret? Maybe just for an instant he thought, "Oh God, I hope this is worth it."

The confluence of all of that stuff hit Jesus with a powerful impact. And because he loved deeply, he was deeply moved. And because he was deeply moved, we believe. Even in our human relationships, how much easier is it to be friends with someone who is compassionate and empathetic, as opposed to someone we percieve as cold and aloof?

The story of Jesus' relationship with Mary, Martha, and Lazarus helps me believe, because I see in Jesus' emotional response the love of God as a vital, vibrant, responsive movement to human pain. I guess I would say that this intimate glimpse of Jesus's inner life makes God more real for me, and helps me figure out what it means to love, because God first loved us.

Lectionary Thoughts: Right Now

I am caught by the words of Haggai in this week’s lectionary reading. “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now?” (1:3)

Did you ever feel like asking that question to the church today? I know I have, every time somebody wistfully pines for the glory days when everybody went to church and the world was so much better than it is now and no one ever did anything wrong and the pews were full every Sunday and the budgets were being met every year without any problem and all families were functional and so forth. It is an understandable nostalgia, and not at all unique to this present time. Everyone has their own “good old days.”

And so it is a prophetic facet of the pastoral calling to ask the church, “How does it look to you now?” Not to discount the past – far from it! It is actually a way to honor the past, by building upon what has happened in order to continue the project. It starts with understanding that all we do is foundation work, that the project will only be completed in the fullness of time, God’s time, the kairos time of eternity. And as foundation work, there are a couple of ways we could go.

We can either step back and congratulate ourselves, “What a nifty foundation we have built,” or we can continue the construction work toward finishing the house.

Haggai wrote, “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts,” and I believe that with all my heart. Like Dan Kimball writes in The Emerging Church, it is never time to just rest on our accomplishments and think we have found the way to do things. That’s why the emerging church is always emerging. Critics of the emerging movement miss the point when they snidely ask, “Okay, so it’s emerging. But when will it be emerged?”

That’s just it – as long as the world is what it is, the church will always be emerging. So the question will always be, “How does it look to you now?” Building on the past and allowing God to be in charge of the future, it is an act of faith to be mindful of the present and honestly answer this important question.

Discipleship

Sometimes it's just not easy.

Take Luke 14:25-33, for instance. How many of us have spent hours wrestling with Jesus words, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple"? I sure have. Surely Jesus didn't really mean that, did he? What's this we read about having to "carry the cross," now? And surely there must be some metaphorical nuance to his admonition, "...none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."

I mean, he's not serious, is he?

As my Bible study class wrestled with this one last Wednesday evening, one thing we all realized was how important it is to make a distinction between discipleship and salvation. The passage from Luke and other similar passages in the Gospels (for example Matthew 10:37-39, Mark 8:34-35) are about the decision to become a disiple of Jesus, a follower of the way. They are not so much about salvation, which precedes discipleship both temporally and spiritually.

It is helpful for me to think of it this way - there's nothing wrong with being in the crowd, but we need to know that there is a-whole-nother level of faith. That next level involves deciding to step out of the crowd and live a completely different life patterned after the example and teachings of Jesus. The first sentence of the lesson reads, "Now large crowds were travelling with him; and he turned and said to them..." Jesus doesn't condemn the crowd, but he wants them to know that there's more, he actively invites them to choose that path, and then instructs his disciples to continue extending that invitation on his behalf, even today.

And that whole-nother level of faith that we call discipleship is going to require some pretty radical stuff. It will require that our love increase so much that even the feelings we have now toward our family will seem like hate in comparison. It will require that the life we lead be so abundant, so spirit-filled, so good that the only way to put it into words is to talk about dying to our old life. And it will mean that the only power we will rely upon will be the power of God, breaking the power over us that our possessions hold. (Possessions are more than just "stuff," I think - here we might talk also about our pride, our prejudices, our pretensions, things of this world. That may be a-whole-nother sermon, though.)

The good news is that the entire kit and kaboodle is bathed in grace. At those times when I just want to hang out in the crowd, God's grace is there. At those times when I am most spiritually alive and feel like God is all over the place, grace is there. And at those times when I'm ready to chuck it all, when it feels like God is so far away that I even have trouble believing God's there at all, ... somehow grace is there, too.

It comes down to this. Every one of us is just trying to live the best life we can. Some days we do better at this than others, to be sure. And yes, sometimes its just not easy. The passage from Luke 14 is really an expression of God's fervent desire that all of us would strive to live good lives. God wants us to live lives that are shaped by/grounded in/patterned after the life of Christ Jesus, the one we call Teacher, the one who longs for us to be disciples.

Life on Mount Zion

I remember my first crisis of faith.

I was a teenager, listening to a sermon about invitation. The scripture was the “Great Commission,” Matthew 28:19-20, and the preacher was saying basically that invitation was what disciples of Jesus are supposed to be doing, since Jesus commanded it of them. We are to extend the invitation to others, so that they would become disciples themselves. Then, in turn, these new disciples would invite others into discipleship, and so forth.

And there it was: my crisis. I was all of a sudden unsure of what exactly it was we were supposed to be inviting them to. All we were able to invite others to come to was an opportunity to invite others to come, also. It was a meaningless exercise, a for/next loop, a religious mobius strip. Gertrude Stein said of her hometown, “The trouble with Oakland is that when you get there, there isn't any there there,” and that’s kind of how I felt about church. I wanted to stand up and shout, “Okay, I get the part about inviting others, but shouldn’t we spend more time thinking about what we are inviting them to?”

My faith was all form and no content.

Since then, I have deepened my faith of course, and I understand now that the “Great Commission” isn’t all there is to Christian discipleship. And I’ll tell you what, scriptures like this week’s lectionary text in Hebrews are an enormous part of what helped me grow in my understanding of what it means to be a disciple of Christ Jesus. The text reads,“You have not come to something that can be touched … You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel” (Hebrews 12:18, 22-24).

How’s that for content?

When we come to a relationship with God through Jesus Christ in the midst of a Spirit-filled congregation, we come to a life-changing moment. We come to live on Mount Zion, a powerful metaphor for the fulfillment of God’s reign on earth. The reign of God is characterized by love, justice, and forgiveness. It is grounded in peace, health, and joy. And living on Mount Zion is a deeply communal life, meant to be lived together with sisters and brothers in Christ. The mission of Jesus was to embody that life, and the church is called to continue Christ’s mission. It is both what the church is and also what it does.

And THAT is why we ought to invite people to come to church, to offer them the chance to live like that, up on Mount Zion, because it is a pretty wonderful place to be when it clicks into place, even if just for a moment or two. Of course, the reign of God is not yet fully realized, but that’s the goal. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? And since the realized reign of God on earth will include all people, inviting people to church is an act of faithful Christian discipleship. And yes, we need to invite ALL people – young and old, gay and straight, U.S. citizen and illegal immigrant, unchurched and long-time churched, whatever – into the church. Unless you think for some odd reason that the reign of God is not going to include all of God’s creation.

It’s not about just inviting more inviters. People stuck in that mindset are likely the same ones who simply count heads to determine a church’s fruitfulness. The ministry of invitation is deeper than that; it is reign of God work, and disciples of Christ do it not just because Jesus told us to, but in order to live a Mount Zion life.

The Wisdom of Gamaliel - Wait, Who?

Anybody remember Gamaliel?

He is the guy who convinces the council not to kill the apostles in Acts, chapter five. The apostles had defied the Pharisees et al., who ordered them not to teach anyone about Jesus. And so the apostles rebutted by claiming to be speaking in obedience to God’s authority, which clearly trumped the authority of the council. This REALLY ticks them off, and they are ready to execute the whole lot of Jesus’ followers. It was an inter-faith dialogue, ancient near east style!

Enter Gamaliel. Only a lawyer could have come up with his reasoning. He said, in a nutshell, “If their plan is of human origin, it will ultimately fail and so we don’t need to worry about it. But if it really is from God, we won’t win, and what’s more we will be guilty of fighting against God!”

(By the way, for what it’s worth, Gamaliel is also the middle name of the 29th and worst President of the United States, Warren G. Harding. But we digress.)

The rest of the council was convinced by Gamaliel’s wisdom, and so instead of killing the apostles, they just had them flogged and let them go with another order to stop teaching. Needless to say, the apostles continued right on doing what they were doing and the story continued.

Where would we be without the role Gamaliel played in the story? He certainly advanced the plot a scene or two. Actually, as we learn in Acts 22:3, he was Paul’s teacher early on in his life. And tradition says that he was baptized a Christian by Peter and John, but kept his faith a secret so that he could, as a member of the Jerusalem council, provide aid to other followers of the Way.

But what about his logic? Would it convince you? “If they’re just doing their own thing, let ‘em! No skin off our nose! But let’s say for the sake of discussion they really ARE acting by God’s authority: well, we don’t want to mess with that, do we?” Tangentially, there’s a whole lot of fertile ground here to think about the pitfalls of claiming God’s authority (i.e. “God has called me to say …” or “God has put it on my heart …”) in the middle of a dialogue with another person of faith with whom one happens to disagree. (Click here to read more on this topic.)

And that gets me thinking is the application of Gamaliel’s logic to some of our faith conversations today. Peter boldly claimed God’s authority for himself and his colleagues, right in the face of the Jerusalem powerhouses, who also made the claim of God’s authority on their side. The situation could have escalated, but Gamaliel stepped in between and said, “Wait! Let’s see how this thing all shakes out. Give it some time, and clarity will emerge.”

(My friend Teresa has taught me that, given enough time, clarity will emerge.)

What if, instead of arguing with one another over our disagreements, we all just shut up for a while and let clarity emerge? God’s desire for this world will be realized, either in spite of us or because of us. Sometimes we get in God’s way and the best thing we could do would be to move aside for a while and see what happens.

Render Unto ... ?

Has anyone else noticed that the lectionary text for April 15th has Peter saying, "We must obey God rather than any human authority" (Acts 5:29) and it just happens to be the day our taxes are due?

How fun!

Hitting Your Spiritual Snooze Button? - Transfiguration Thoughts

What do you do with the Transfiguration story? That’s this week’s lectionary reading, Luke’s version. I get the feeling the Transfiguration story must be important, but I’m not really sure why. Kind of like District Superintendents. :) (Joke.)

Luke has a line in the story that has caught my eye this time. Luke 9:32 says, “Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.” (NRSV) It reminds me of another time the disciples got sleepy, in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night Jesus was arrested. Only that time, they went right ahead and fell asleep.

“Since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory.” Maybe the whole thing was a result of sleep deprivation? You know how when you stay awake really late at night and you start getting all loopy? Maybe Peter, James, and John were just really, really sleepy and their minds were playing tricks on them.

Or maybe it’s more about “staying awake” spiritually, so that you don’t miss an opportunity to see Christ. Maybe sin is essentially evidence that we are spiritually asleep, not aware of Christ’s presence, unable to recognize the glory of God revealed in Jesus Christ. And the thing about being asleep is that sometimes your dreams are so vivid, you don’t realize you are sleeping. That is, until you wake up.

This metaphor is helpful for me in thinking about many sins. Sin is a vivid dream in which your perceptions seem real and good and right and just, but they are only a dream. Upon waking up and seeing Christ’s glory, you realize that your sinful life is just a dream, and salvation is an ongoing attempt to stay awake spiritually so that you will live a life that God intends. The devil LOVES this situation, you know? With this sleeping/dreaming arrangement Satan has worked it out so that we are sinning, but we don’t realize we are. Not only do we not realize it, but we actually think we are being righteous, so we just keep on sinning/dreaming, all the time unaware of our sin.

Consider affluence. How many of us try to live in the dream that says it is okay for some people to have a big house, two cars, closets full of clothes, pantries full of food, while other people lie on heating ducts downtown with all of their worldly possessions stuffed into a dirty backpack beside them? I know I do. Any excuse I try to offer is the equivalent of pressing my spiritual snooze button. “Just ten more minutes, okay Jesus?”

There’s something here also that reminds me of one of the themes from “The Matrix.” Neo was awakened to the ugly, painful reality of the world, having been in an altered state of perception in which his life seemed to be quite ordinary and relatively easy. The most insidious sin is not a horrific, blatant act, but rather the attitude of indifference displayed by all of us who are asleep to the reality of the world.

Peter, James, and John stayed awake, despite their sleepiness. That is vital to our salvation, to be awake and alert for opportunities to glimpse the glory of God. How easy it is to drift off into quiet, comfortable, blissful slumber and dream the “everything’s okay” dream. But the call of Christ is to remain alert, stay awake, get your hand away from that snooze button! Wake up and see the glory of Christ.

Don't Be Church People: Thoughts on Luke 4

Luke 4:14-30: The Synagogue People

The synagogue people thought all along that Messiah was coming to them, and for them. And furthermore, they had heard the scuttlebutt that this Jesus bar Joseph may just be the One. Imagine their surprise, then, when they hear the list Jesus reads them (v. 18). It is a list that describes the people Jesus has been anointed to serve:
- the poor,
- the captives,
- the blind,
- the oppressed.
And, via his reference to the Hebrew scriptures (vv. 25-27):
- the foreigners,
- the widows,
- the lepers.

“Hey,” said the synagogue people, “We don’t hear ‘synagogue people’ on your list, Jesus.”
JC replied, “That’s right.”
“But what do you know, carpenter boy?” they fired back, thinking, “He must not be Messiah, after all. How could he be, since WE didn’t make the list?”
In fact, the absence of the synagogue people from the list made them so mad that they decided to throw Jesus right over the cliff, out of their lives forever.
***
How many times do we, realizing that Jesus is here for more than just “us,” try to throw him over the cliff and out of our lives forever?
- By the way, “US” = people who look like me, act like me, think like me, share my morals, speak my language, believe what I believe, are in my age group, have my same sexual orientation, earn an amount of money similar to mine, are of similar skin color, and so forth.

Of course, the synagogue people in Luke 4 threw Jesus only out of their own lives; they did not deter his mission. Up at the top of that cliff, Jesus walked right through the midst of them and went on his way (v. 30). And, presumably, the synagogue people went right on being synagogue people, and missed the whole thing.

Let’s not be “church people,” thinking that Jesus is somehow “ours,” came to “us,” is here for “us,” saves “us” from “our” sins – all of which presumes a “them” and a “they” for whom Jesus did not come: the “not-church people.” Remember the list: poor, captives, blind, oppressed, foreigners, widows, lepers. The ones whom the world forgets, Jesus remembers. Our inability to grasp the scope of the Messiah’s mission will not deter it, but it may mean that we miss the whole thing.