Saturday, April 11, 2009
easter 2009
John tells quite a story...
Later, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jews. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away.
He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs. At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!”
So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.)
Then the disciples went back to their homes, but Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.
They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
“Woman,” he said, “why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher).
Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.
Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”
Now Thomas (called Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.”
A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”
Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”
John 19:38–20:29 NIV
This changes everything.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
“i’m going to church…”
Sorry this so long. Okay, not really.
I liked my cohort Joe’s setup for describing how absurd it is to say, “I’m going to church”. Comparing nineties grunge culture to how we talk about church was more than clever. When the New Testament declares that we are Christ’s body, Joe’s descriptions of what Jesus did with His body in Luke’s account was rich. Check it out here.
Now let me revert and use that term the way Christians typically do.
For some of us, we grew up in “churches” that were as dry and dusty as a stack of National Geographics in your Uncle Ned’s basement. I lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone. Each Sunday we shuffled in quietly with the other half-smiling dysfunctional families and slid into the pew and drew pictures to keep our little hands busy while a man in the front droned in monotone about things in the afterlife that didn’t seem any more interesting than what was going on at the moment. As a kid, church had a stifling silence about it, like walking into the school library where a stern-faced woman could rap your knuckles and knock the Dewey-Decimal-daylights out of you if you even thought about whispering.
That’s how going to church felt. God was mysterious…and up there somewhere. And generally a little ticked off.
One day, after missing my fourth grade Sunday school class for several weeks, a card came in the mail with a little picture of a church with a steeple. Written under it were big letters and spaces that spelled “C H _ _ C H”. Below that it read, “What’s missing here? U-R!” That form letter filled me with shame, like I’d been caught by my elementary principal for skipping school. “Church” triggered two primal feelings as a child: I have done something terribly wrong and I might do something terribly wrong.
By the sixth grade I was out of there and never returned until I met Jesus in my twenties. And was convinced in my newfound agnosticism that if God did exist, He had left that place as well out of sheer boredom.
That all changed when I experienced Jesus as savior and master. And what made that powerful was the enlightened understanding that the One who died an excruciating death by one of the more morbid forms of execution the Romans could invent was God. Jesus was God. It wasn’t because someone crammed a doctrine down the mouth of my soul, but simply because some other soul-beggar who had found the messiah told me that Jesus had given His life as a sacrifice for me as well. And so I thought if He was just another man giving his life for another cause, that’s nice, but it doesn’t do anything for the human condition, certainly not the condition I was in. It had to be bigger than a cause.
And the only thing bigger than a righteous cause is Love itself. Or Himself.
God becoming Man and laying His life down for His own creation, initiating the Kingdom, and restoring severed relationships captured my heart. It made me want to thank Him, to worship Him, to live my life in worship to Him, to do whatever He said.
And then as I walked further on, I found out things that I could actually do for Jesus.
One day I discovered that He didn’t love me for what I could do for Him, He just loved me. I began to see how abusive my relationships were with others. They were typically reciprocal, based on what someone could do for me. I then fell in love with Jesus even more, because He was changing they way I saw everything.
Then one day I learned that love was a powerful force placed in me by the Holy Spirit that was only released as I chose. I found myself in hard situations, sometimes because of my own dysfunction, sometimes I was in the crosshairs of spiritual warfare, sometimes the target of someone else’s woundedness and pain and sometimes God was simply saying no to my requests. It was then I discovered the greater power of worship: Would I love God and tell Him so only when things were going the way I want them to?
And then I fell more deeply in love.
So what does that have to do with “church”?
An old Bible commentator and English lit scholar from the turn of the twentieth century that I’ve enjoyed is an author named W. J. Dawson. Dawson once wrote that many churches are “social clubs, united by moral ideals, rather than spiritual communities quick with divine fire.”
I think that’s certainly a picture of much of the contemporary church, and especially the worst version of us: moral police for our culture.
The church is not a group of people gathered around an ideal, it is a people who share a common revelation of Jesus Christ, a true spiritual community because it’s not founded on any other foundation but a spiritual one. Do they agree on everything? Of course not. They are at different levels of maturity and growth. They are like a family—there’s a big difference between the family baby and grandfather: a world of experience. But they are bound by the same genetic code.
As Joe pointed out, the word church that Jesus used is the Greek word ekklesia (ἐκκλησία) meaning “the called out ones.”
I like to think of it as people who have been called out of the sleep of this world, who have been awakened to something far greater than they were dreaming of. A greater reality. Life in God. The God who breaks through routine, the God who smashes through addictions, the God who brings clarity, the God who fills with purpose, and the only thing in life worth worshipping crashing through our doldrums, or crises, our bewilderments. There is none like Him, the psalmist said. And there is nothing that can overpower the community He is building because it is built on something more solid than what has ever been experienced in the history of man.
It’s good to remind ourselves periodically who and what the Church actually is.
I liked my cohort Joe’s setup for describing how absurd it is to say, “I’m going to church”. Comparing nineties grunge culture to how we talk about church was more than clever. When the New Testament declares that we are Christ’s body, Joe’s descriptions of what Jesus did with His body in Luke’s account was rich. Check it out here.
Now let me revert and use that term the way Christians typically do.
For some of us, we grew up in “churches” that were as dry and dusty as a stack of National Geographics in your Uncle Ned’s basement. I lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone. Each Sunday we shuffled in quietly with the other half-smiling dysfunctional families and slid into the pew and drew pictures to keep our little hands busy while a man in the front droned in monotone about things in the afterlife that didn’t seem any more interesting than what was going on at the moment. As a kid, church had a stifling silence about it, like walking into the school library where a stern-faced woman could rap your knuckles and knock the Dewey-Decimal-daylights out of you if you even thought about whispering.
That’s how going to church felt. God was mysterious…and up there somewhere. And generally a little ticked off.One day, after missing my fourth grade Sunday school class for several weeks, a card came in the mail with a little picture of a church with a steeple. Written under it were big letters and spaces that spelled “C H _ _ C H”. Below that it read, “What’s missing here? U-R!” That form letter filled me with shame, like I’d been caught by my elementary principal for skipping school. “Church” triggered two primal feelings as a child: I have done something terribly wrong and I might do something terribly wrong.
By the sixth grade I was out of there and never returned until I met Jesus in my twenties. And was convinced in my newfound agnosticism that if God did exist, He had left that place as well out of sheer boredom.That all changed when I experienced Jesus as savior and master. And what made that powerful was the enlightened understanding that the One who died an excruciating death by one of the more morbid forms of execution the Romans could invent was God. Jesus was God. It wasn’t because someone crammed a doctrine down the mouth of my soul, but simply because some other soul-beggar who had found the messiah told me that Jesus had given His life as a sacrifice for me as well. And so I thought if He was just another man giving his life for another cause, that’s nice, but it doesn’t do anything for the human condition, certainly not the condition I was in. It had to be bigger than a cause.
And the only thing bigger than a righteous cause is Love itself. Or Himself.
God becoming Man and laying His life down for His own creation, initiating the Kingdom, and restoring severed relationships captured my heart. It made me want to thank Him, to worship Him, to live my life in worship to Him, to do whatever He said.
And then as I walked further on, I found out things that I could actually do for Jesus.
One day I discovered that He didn’t love me for what I could do for Him, He just loved me. I began to see how abusive my relationships were with others. They were typically reciprocal, based on what someone could do for me. I then fell in love with Jesus even more, because He was changing they way I saw everything.
Then one day I learned that love was a powerful force placed in me by the Holy Spirit that was only released as I chose. I found myself in hard situations, sometimes because of my own dysfunction, sometimes I was in the crosshairs of spiritual warfare, sometimes the target of someone else’s woundedness and pain and sometimes God was simply saying no to my requests. It was then I discovered the greater power of worship: Would I love God and tell Him so only when things were going the way I want them to?
And then I fell more deeply in love.
So what does that have to do with “church”?
An old Bible commentator and English lit scholar from the turn of the twentieth century that I’ve enjoyed is an author named W. J. Dawson. Dawson once wrote that many churches are “social clubs, united by moral ideals, rather than spiritual communities quick with divine fire.”
I think that’s certainly a picture of much of the contemporary church, and especially the worst version of us: moral police for our culture.
The church is not a group of people gathered around an ideal, it is a people who share a common revelation of Jesus Christ, a true spiritual community because it’s not founded on any other foundation but a spiritual one. Do they agree on everything? Of course not. They are at different levels of maturity and growth. They are like a family—there’s a big difference between the family baby and grandfather: a world of experience. But they are bound by the same genetic code.
As Joe pointed out, the word church that Jesus used is the Greek word ekklesia (ἐκκλησία) meaning “the called out ones.”
I like to think of it as people who have been called out of the sleep of this world, who have been awakened to something far greater than they were dreaming of. A greater reality. Life in God. The God who breaks through routine, the God who smashes through addictions, the God who brings clarity, the God who fills with purpose, and the only thing in life worth worshipping crashing through our doldrums, or crises, our bewilderments. There is none like Him, the psalmist said. And there is nothing that can overpower the community He is building because it is built on something more solid than what has ever been experienced in the history of man.
It’s good to remind ourselves periodically who and what the Church actually is.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
more cowbell
Hopefully I'll never Twitter. Or is that Tweet? No offense intended if you do, but it creeps me out.
But I have to admit that Christopher Walken's is addicting. Total proof he's an alien.
Oddly, that doesn't creep me out. Go figure.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
jesus reset prayer
One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.” (Luke 11:1 NIV)
“I’ve come to change everything, turn everything rightside up—how I long for it to be finished!” Luke 12:50 (The Message)
Wow. I loved—no, LOVED—the twenty-minute guided experience this past weekend that our creative team put together for the Reset message on prayer. It was clever in that it felt personal yet communal at the same time. If you didn’t catch it, it’s really worth your time; check it out here and walk through it. It follows our worship time and lasts about twenty minutes.
If time wasn’t an issue, I would have unwrapped one idea more thoroughly. Context is everything. Usually when we teach through “The Lord’s Prayer” (or the “Our Father” in some circles), we typically interpret it line-by-line. But in Luke’s abbreviated version in chapter 11, the key to understanding this prayer is the context offered in verse one. Jesus was upending everything (or turning them rightside up) in terms of how people viewed God as a father, how they imagined the messiah, how they saw spirituality and how they thought about intimacy with God. Jesus was great at this: “You have heard that it was said _______, but I say to you, _______.” He wasn’t throwing out the first, He was simply offering 3-D glasses to see it with more depth. “The Lord’s Prayer” was more about resetting how they (and we) interact with God.
When Jesus’ guys asked, “Teach us to pray, just as John the Baptizer teaches his followers”, they were thinking of a particular paradigm of spirituality embodied in John. It’s apparent that John had very pronounced spiritual disciplines, perhaps similar to the Essenes, the religious order that produced the Dead Sea scrolls. Very structured times for extended fasting and prayer. Ascetic, holiness-oriented, prophetic and mystical. This isn’t a “John-the-Baptist” slam: remember, Jesus said that there was no one greater than John except, paradoxically, the least in the kingdom.
Keep in mind that by this point Jesus had already been accused of being the polar opposite of John the Baptist in both Luke chapter five and seven—hanging out with the wrong crowd, going to parties, eating (as opposed to fasting), drinking alcohol, doing “ministry work” on the Sabbath—all the stuff that didn’t seem “spiritual” to the religious leaders.
And so for us, this routine, overly familiar prayer would have seemed shocking to religious first-century ears. Short, simple, bold and intimate. That’s why Jesus told those stories afterwards, to help them (and us) understand how much God longs to relate to them and give them what they need based solely on His love for them. It didn’t have to be fancy, long or super-spiritual-sounding.
And not just prayer; He was resetting definitions of spirituality and the way we relate to our Father.
Reset.
“I’ve come to change everything, turn everything rightside up—how I long for it to be finished!” Luke 12:50 (The Message)
Wow. I loved—no, LOVED—the twenty-minute guided experience this past weekend that our creative team put together for the Reset message on prayer. It was clever in that it felt personal yet communal at the same time. If you didn’t catch it, it’s really worth your time; check it out here and walk through it. It follows our worship time and lasts about twenty minutes.If time wasn’t an issue, I would have unwrapped one idea more thoroughly. Context is everything. Usually when we teach through “The Lord’s Prayer” (or the “Our Father” in some circles), we typically interpret it line-by-line. But in Luke’s abbreviated version in chapter 11, the key to understanding this prayer is the context offered in verse one. Jesus was upending everything (or turning them rightside up) in terms of how people viewed God as a father, how they imagined the messiah, how they saw spirituality and how they thought about intimacy with God. Jesus was great at this: “You have heard that it was said _______, but I say to you, _______.” He wasn’t throwing out the first, He was simply offering 3-D glasses to see it with more depth. “The Lord’s Prayer” was more about resetting how they (and we) interact with God.
When Jesus’ guys asked, “Teach us to pray, just as John the Baptizer teaches his followers”, they were thinking of a particular paradigm of spirituality embodied in John. It’s apparent that John had very pronounced spiritual disciplines, perhaps similar to the Essenes, the religious order that produced the Dead Sea scrolls. Very structured times for extended fasting and prayer. Ascetic, holiness-oriented, prophetic and mystical. This isn’t a “John-the-Baptist” slam: remember, Jesus said that there was no one greater than John except, paradoxically, the least in the kingdom.
Keep in mind that by this point Jesus had already been accused of being the polar opposite of John the Baptist in both Luke chapter five and seven—hanging out with the wrong crowd, going to parties, eating (as opposed to fasting), drinking alcohol, doing “ministry work” on the Sabbath—all the stuff that didn’t seem “spiritual” to the religious leaders.
And so for us, this routine, overly familiar prayer would have seemed shocking to religious first-century ears. Short, simple, bold and intimate. That’s why Jesus told those stories afterwards, to help them (and us) understand how much God longs to relate to them and give them what they need based solely on His love for them. It didn’t have to be fancy, long or super-spiritual-sounding.
And not just prayer; He was resetting definitions of spirituality and the way we relate to our Father.
Reset.
Monday, March 16, 2009
love, enemies...and evil
The problem with a message about the boundary-breaking love-of-God is that it really demands an acknowledgement of evil. And that’s where things get tricky, especially when God says to love your enemies (Luke 6:35).
Some years back I was having lunch with a man who wasn’t completely clear what he believed about Christianity—there was a mix of new age ideas and pointed questions regarding Jesus Christ. He seemed to be uncomfortable with any authoritarian view of right and wrong; rather, determine for yourself your own moral code. He appeared to have difficulty with simple social protocol, sometimes coming to weekend celebrations dressed in sexually provocative clothes—very tight and extremely short shorts. In the course of our conversation, he disclosed what appeared to me to be an awfully painful memory of his childhood, but he shrugged it off as, “That’s life…I’ve moved on.” He told me that growing up, he couldn’t remember a day his dad did not beat him. Worse, his dad was an overtly religious man who read his Bible regularly and immersed himself in church activities. He vividly recalled being taken to the garage with his brother and beaten with a belt until his dad was literally exhausted.
Let me cash a reality-check here. Every one of us has an unspoken struggle with God. Some point where we won’t forgive, some place that we won’t leave, some wound we won’t let God near, some surrender we don’t want to make, some spiritual discipline we don’t want to do, some sin we don’t want to turn away from. If we bury it deep enough, perhaps we won’t have to deal with it. And so we numb ourselves with superficialities, false intimacies, pharmaceuticals or religious activities. This man’s unspoken struggle with God was obvious. As with many of us, it’s usually not an intellectual difficulty we have with God but a moral one. In this case: How can I be expected to honor my parents? Don’t tell me to love my enemy until you know what it’s like to have an Adolph Hitler for your father. Is God crazy?
And that’s a great question: Is God crazy?
Talking about loving your enemy requires talking about evil. Evil can best be described as total and complete self-absorption. Christians call it pride. Psychiatrists may term it malignant narcissism. While God says, “You must surrender your will to me”, evil says “Surrender to no one. It’s better to be your own boss in your own private hell than to submit to anything else.” The perversity of this is obvious: evil invalidates its own philosophy because it demands its way and its own rights, requiring someone to submit to it. Bow to me. When we think life exists to serve us, we have slipped into a dark world.
Scripture implies that we are all in that place to some degree. And yet we are commanded to love one another, even our enemies.
In his classic book, The People of the Lie, author and psychiatrist Scott Peck tells a chilling story of evil as he counseled a young fifteen year-old boy named Bobby who was suffering from depression, particularly since Christmas. His grades in school had plummeted sharply and in a totally uncharacteristic act, Bobby stole a car. The parents seemed very concerned—solid, church-going, blue-collar workers. Less than a year earlier his older brother had committed suicide by shooting himself. While counseling this quiet, depressed boy, Peck was surprised to find out that for Christmas his parents had oddly given Bobby a gun only six months after their oldest son committed suicide. And not just any gun, but the very same one his brother had used to kill himself, wrapped up again in a box. It was a disturbing act of evil, and they seemed totally nonchalant about it. Peck’s problem was not so much what he could do for the boy, but rather the deep need Bobby’s parents had for psychological help. This boy was sleeping with the enemy.
I’m certainly not saying that loving your enemies is easy, simple or quick. My personal experience has been one of process. I’m flabbergasted at how Stephen collapses to his knees and cries out, “Lord, don’t hold this against them!” as religious zealots in Acts 7 are stoning him to death. I’ve got a long way to go.
Keep in mind that there is a purpose to loving your enemies. The primary purpose is in understanding that kindness is destructive to evil. It is exactly what Jesus did when He was incarnated into this planet. First John 3:8 states, “…The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work”. He came healing, forgiving, loving and correcting. We are to do nothing less if we identify ourselves with Jesus Christ. The goal is creating a context where repentance is possible. Darkness hates light. Evil attempts to slink into dark corners, but the light that comes from the kindness of God leads to repentance, as Paul says in Romans 2:4.
There is a secondary purpose as well: we are healed and transformed dramatically in the process of loving our enemies—we allow our souls to become more Spirit-filled, more like the Father who sends the rain of refreshment on good and bad alike. We don’t “practice random acts of kindness and senseless beauty”; this is guerilla warfare, strategic divine love aimed at darkened hearts. Jesus was intensely purposeful and strategic in His command to love your enemy.
One last thing.
Often when I talk about this, I’ll have newer believers ask me if we’re supposed to love the enemy of our soul: Satan, as in, “Are we supposed to pray for him if he’s our enemy?” God doesn’t offer us that grace. For whatever reason, fallen angels are not offered repentance. What’s more, we are clearly told his ending: he is destroyed in a fiery finish. The personification of evil is done away with in a sweeping vision of a new heaven and a new earth. The Kingdom comes.
Many years ago, my sister-in-law was supernaturally healed of a terrifying, debilitating and extreme bi-polar condition. She had been in and out of psych wards, delusionally paranoid, after years of zombie-inducing drugs and steroids. I cannot describe the pain she went through and the crushing effect it had on her family. She knew full well the oppressive captivity of the enemy. Years later in a conversation she said, “When Jesus throws him into the pit, are we allowed to cheer?”
She wasn’t being sarcastic or facetious; that was the liberated joy of someone freed from a hellish dark prison, someone who has experienced precious soul-liberty. We’ve all seen old World War II newsreels of celebrations when the Allies and French resistance liberated Paris months after D-Day. Now imagine that in your soul…or picture the man of Gadarenes.
Vengeance belongs to God. But I’m pretty sure we’ll cheer at the ultimate victory over evil.
Some years back I was having lunch with a man who wasn’t completely clear what he believed about Christianity—there was a mix of new age ideas and pointed questions regarding Jesus Christ. He seemed to be uncomfortable with any authoritarian view of right and wrong; rather, determine for yourself your own moral code. He appeared to have difficulty with simple social protocol, sometimes coming to weekend celebrations dressed in sexually provocative clothes—very tight and extremely short shorts. In the course of our conversation, he disclosed what appeared to me to be an awfully painful memory of his childhood, but he shrugged it off as, “That’s life…I’ve moved on.” He told me that growing up, he couldn’t remember a day his dad did not beat him. Worse, his dad was an overtly religious man who read his Bible regularly and immersed himself in church activities. He vividly recalled being taken to the garage with his brother and beaten with a belt until his dad was literally exhausted.
Let me cash a reality-check here. Every one of us has an unspoken struggle with God. Some point where we won’t forgive, some place that we won’t leave, some wound we won’t let God near, some surrender we don’t want to make, some spiritual discipline we don’t want to do, some sin we don’t want to turn away from. If we bury it deep enough, perhaps we won’t have to deal with it. And so we numb ourselves with superficialities, false intimacies, pharmaceuticals or religious activities. This man’s unspoken struggle with God was obvious. As with many of us, it’s usually not an intellectual difficulty we have with God but a moral one. In this case: How can I be expected to honor my parents? Don’t tell me to love my enemy until you know what it’s like to have an Adolph Hitler for your father. Is God crazy?
And that’s a great question: Is God crazy?
Talking about loving your enemy requires talking about evil. Evil can best be described as total and complete self-absorption. Christians call it pride. Psychiatrists may term it malignant narcissism. While God says, “You must surrender your will to me”, evil says “Surrender to no one. It’s better to be your own boss in your own private hell than to submit to anything else.” The perversity of this is obvious: evil invalidates its own philosophy because it demands its way and its own rights, requiring someone to submit to it. Bow to me. When we think life exists to serve us, we have slipped into a dark world.
Scripture implies that we are all in that place to some degree. And yet we are commanded to love one another, even our enemies.
In his classic book, The People of the Lie, author and psychiatrist Scott Peck tells a chilling story of evil as he counseled a young fifteen year-old boy named Bobby who was suffering from depression, particularly since Christmas. His grades in school had plummeted sharply and in a totally uncharacteristic act, Bobby stole a car. The parents seemed very concerned—solid, church-going, blue-collar workers. Less than a year earlier his older brother had committed suicide by shooting himself. While counseling this quiet, depressed boy, Peck was surprised to find out that for Christmas his parents had oddly given Bobby a gun only six months after their oldest son committed suicide. And not just any gun, but the very same one his brother had used to kill himself, wrapped up again in a box. It was a disturbing act of evil, and they seemed totally nonchalant about it. Peck’s problem was not so much what he could do for the boy, but rather the deep need Bobby’s parents had for psychological help. This boy was sleeping with the enemy.
I’m certainly not saying that loving your enemies is easy, simple or quick. My personal experience has been one of process. I’m flabbergasted at how Stephen collapses to his knees and cries out, “Lord, don’t hold this against them!” as religious zealots in Acts 7 are stoning him to death. I’ve got a long way to go.
Keep in mind that there is a purpose to loving your enemies. The primary purpose is in understanding that kindness is destructive to evil. It is exactly what Jesus did when He was incarnated into this planet. First John 3:8 states, “…The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work”. He came healing, forgiving, loving and correcting. We are to do nothing less if we identify ourselves with Jesus Christ. The goal is creating a context where repentance is possible. Darkness hates light. Evil attempts to slink into dark corners, but the light that comes from the kindness of God leads to repentance, as Paul says in Romans 2:4.
There is a secondary purpose as well: we are healed and transformed dramatically in the process of loving our enemies—we allow our souls to become more Spirit-filled, more like the Father who sends the rain of refreshment on good and bad alike. We don’t “practice random acts of kindness and senseless beauty”; this is guerilla warfare, strategic divine love aimed at darkened hearts. Jesus was intensely purposeful and strategic in His command to love your enemy.
One last thing.
Often when I talk about this, I’ll have newer believers ask me if we’re supposed to love the enemy of our soul: Satan, as in, “Are we supposed to pray for him if he’s our enemy?” God doesn’t offer us that grace. For whatever reason, fallen angels are not offered repentance. What’s more, we are clearly told his ending: he is destroyed in a fiery finish. The personification of evil is done away with in a sweeping vision of a new heaven and a new earth. The Kingdom comes.
Many years ago, my sister-in-law was supernaturally healed of a terrifying, debilitating and extreme bi-polar condition. She had been in and out of psych wards, delusionally paranoid, after years of zombie-inducing drugs and steroids. I cannot describe the pain she went through and the crushing effect it had on her family. She knew full well the oppressive captivity of the enemy. Years later in a conversation she said, “When Jesus throws him into the pit, are we allowed to cheer?”
She wasn’t being sarcastic or facetious; that was the liberated joy of someone freed from a hellish dark prison, someone who has experienced precious soul-liberty. We’ve all seen old World War II newsreels of celebrations when the Allies and French resistance liberated Paris months after D-Day. Now imagine that in your soul…or picture the man of Gadarenes.
Vengeance belongs to God. But I’m pretty sure we’ll cheer at the ultimate victory over evil.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
jimmy fallon & macgyver
He’s giving it the proverbial college-try, but ouch, it’s brutal. Don’t know if you’ve caught the late night talk show wars, but Jimmy Fallon from SNL fame has the old Conan O’Brien spot and Conan’s soon to take over Leno’s Tonight Show, Leno is moving to 10pm, Jimmy Kimmel’s still smirking, Bonnie Hunt has jumped in while Craig Ferguson delivers the best monologue rant in brogue out there. Here’s the line of the week from a CBS marketing exec: “We're calling it ‘America's Entertainment Stimulus Package.’”
Puh-leeze. We’re in worse shape than I thought.
Jimmy seems like a nice guy, but he ought to fire his writers. Even though he’s finding his rhythm, the monologue punch lines couldn’t be flatter. But here’s what’s puzzling to me as someone who’s fascinated by communicators, artists, performance and production: why are talk shows still following the same tired format? It’s been the drill for decades. The host walks out to a band playing. The applause lights flash. He delivers a monologue with a few news items and jokes. He introduces the band with some hand gesture, the camera pans to a band that plays some lame fifteen second bumper, then cuts back to the host now sitting at his desk. That’s followed by some sight gags: headlines, fake book covers, top tens, etcetera. The band plays an outro, the host says “We’ll be right back with Sarah Jessica Parker right after this…” Following the commercial are the two consecutive guests and the obligatory music group at the close.
What’s with that? Isn’t it time for a talk show format change? Is that the most creativity they can muster? With millions of advertising dollars at stake, bloated talk show salaries, and teams of creatives, that’s it?—and no one has a different programming idea? Really?
I know what you’re thinking: Dave, did you take your medication today?
Here’s where I’m going with this. It got me thinking about how we “do” church services and celebrations. Every church has a format (we call it a liturgy in church-world), even the ones who say they’re “led by the Spirit”. In my charismatic roots, even the “free” church service not bound by any pesky carnal programming had an understood liturgy: music, free-style singing somewhere in there, Sister So-and-So will probably have a message in tongues, the same people will come up at the end to shake or fall down, and the message will still end up taking seventy minutes no matter how long everything else takes. Golden Corral has a booming Sunday lunch business at 3pm for Pentecostals.
It doesn’t matter what denomination, non-denomination or inter-denomination your tribe is: we all have our liturgy, our format. House church, weekend-centered, traditionalists, or whatever, we all have our program. And the program is how you deliver the message. Talk about a Reset.
Number One reality check: There are a couple of minor programming differences between church-world and network talk shows, namely beaucoup bucks (Letterman alone gets an estimated paycheck of 40 million per year) and huge production staffs. But maybe it’s time for us to think about how we tell the Story each week. To be sure, there’s a certain amount of comfort in routine…and for maximum participation, there’s a need for repetition. Still, it seems to me there’s a need to reinvent periodically, to hear the Story a bit differently. I love what my teaching buddy Joe said last week about reading the Christmas story in July; it’s good for the soul to separate the emotion and sentimentality from the December kitsch of Consumermas.
Number Two reality check: even if we had unlimited funds and huge creative teams, is that really what we would want? Is that what we’d want to spend our money on? Are we really able to justify that before God? It gets tricky, doesn’t it? Peter tells the handicapped panhandler in front of the temple who asked him for money, “I don’t have any. But I do have something else: in the name of Jesus, get up and walk.” Cue to miracle. No resources, but creative power.
There’s an apocryphal story from a dark time in Church history. The Church was at the height of political power and wealth in the Middle Ages. The Pope was reported to have said confidently, “Now we can no longer say `Silver and gold have we none.’ A priest responded with, “And neither can we say `Rise up and walk’.”
Maybe we have the whole assumptive format screwy.
And in the end, sometimes MacGyver is the most creative guy in the room with only a paper clip, some dental floss and a mullet.
Puh-leeze. We’re in worse shape than I thought.
Jimmy seems like a nice guy, but he ought to fire his writers. Even though he’s finding his rhythm, the monologue punch lines couldn’t be flatter. But here’s what’s puzzling to me as someone who’s fascinated by communicators, artists, performance and production: why are talk shows still following the same tired format? It’s been the drill for decades. The host walks out to a band playing. The applause lights flash. He delivers a monologue with a few news items and jokes. He introduces the band with some hand gesture, the camera pans to a band that plays some lame fifteen second bumper, then cuts back to the host now sitting at his desk. That’s followed by some sight gags: headlines, fake book covers, top tens, etcetera. The band plays an outro, the host says “We’ll be right back with Sarah Jessica Parker right after this…” Following the commercial are the two consecutive guests and the obligatory music group at the close.
What’s with that? Isn’t it time for a talk show format change? Is that the most creativity they can muster? With millions of advertising dollars at stake, bloated talk show salaries, and teams of creatives, that’s it?—and no one has a different programming idea? Really?
I know what you’re thinking: Dave, did you take your medication today?
Here’s where I’m going with this. It got me thinking about how we “do” church services and celebrations. Every church has a format (we call it a liturgy in church-world), even the ones who say they’re “led by the Spirit”. In my charismatic roots, even the “free” church service not bound by any pesky carnal programming had an understood liturgy: music, free-style singing somewhere in there, Sister So-and-So will probably have a message in tongues, the same people will come up at the end to shake or fall down, and the message will still end up taking seventy minutes no matter how long everything else takes. Golden Corral has a booming Sunday lunch business at 3pm for Pentecostals.
It doesn’t matter what denomination, non-denomination or inter-denomination your tribe is: we all have our liturgy, our format. House church, weekend-centered, traditionalists, or whatever, we all have our program. And the program is how you deliver the message. Talk about a Reset.
Number One reality check: There are a couple of minor programming differences between church-world and network talk shows, namely beaucoup bucks (Letterman alone gets an estimated paycheck of 40 million per year) and huge production staffs. But maybe it’s time for us to think about how we tell the Story each week. To be sure, there’s a certain amount of comfort in routine…and for maximum participation, there’s a need for repetition. Still, it seems to me there’s a need to reinvent periodically, to hear the Story a bit differently. I love what my teaching buddy Joe said last week about reading the Christmas story in July; it’s good for the soul to separate the emotion and sentimentality from the December kitsch of Consumermas.
Number Two reality check: even if we had unlimited funds and huge creative teams, is that really what we would want? Is that what we’d want to spend our money on? Are we really able to justify that before God? It gets tricky, doesn’t it? Peter tells the handicapped panhandler in front of the temple who asked him for money, “I don’t have any. But I do have something else: in the name of Jesus, get up and walk.” Cue to miracle. No resources, but creative power.
There’s an apocryphal story from a dark time in Church history. The Church was at the height of political power and wealth in the Middle Ages. The Pope was reported to have said confidently, “Now we can no longer say `Silver and gold have we none.’ A priest responded with, “And neither can we say `Rise up and walk’.”
Maybe we have the whole assumptive format screwy.
And in the end, sometimes MacGyver is the most creative guy in the room with only a paper clip, some dental floss and a mullet.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
okiepalooza
I’m writing this from a hotel room in Oklahoma City before speaking at a conference called “The Small Church Conference”. Craig Groeschel from LifeChurch.tv and Toby Slough of Cross Timbers Community Church north of Dallas are speaking as well…all from megachurches.
There’s a little obvious irony here, eh? Israel Hogue, pastor of The Edge Church, is sponsoring the conference. As Israel puts it on the conference website, “Craig, Toby and Dave have all come from small beginnings. They know what it means to be a local church with not a lot of people, money, or resources. They didn't start "mega," they started "micro" and grew from there.”
It got me thinking about those early days with Steve Sjogren. There were a lot—and I mean a lot—of sacrifices made by him and his wife Janie to see a different kind of church launched in Cincy. When Anita and I came on board in 1984, we were meeting in Bruce and Sandy Ullrey’s living room with twenty or so people on the north side of Cincinnati. Like many starts, everyone was in their late-twenties or early-thirties, mostly bored with church as we knew it, and wondered why there couldn’t be a church that we actually liked going to. And couldn’t it be simple and just have authentic no-big-show worship and have a heart for the poor? Maybe a message that didn’t sound canned? And a service that didn’t make you feel worse than when you came in? Spirit-led…but not weird? Authenticity. Simplicity. Relevance.
I led worship for four years every weekend as a volunteer. I wrestled with coming on staff in 1990; I wasn’t sure I wanted to be paid to do something I liked doing…as if that might mess things up. We had probably grown to about 700-800 adults by then. After coming on staff (I use that term loosely), time marched on and things heated up. There were a number of years where I was gone at least four nights a week when our girls were little, eventually doing eight celebrations a week, leading worship at each of them, teaching every midweek, often on weekends, and pulling off seminars and conferences. Those were heady years. Everyone wore lots of hats; many of us easily put in 60-70 hours a week. I can remember pulling many an all-nighter for a video, print or music project. We were on a mission.
Looking back, it obviously wasn’t healthy. We were a bit crazy and addicted to our own adrenaline.
Now 25 years later, there are still formidable hurdles, mega-problems, new issues, and big challenges to conquer. I don’t think it ever gets simple…because life in a fallen world is not simple. And besides the corporate decisions, personal choices are still the most difficult (we’re in good company: Jesus sweat drops of blood wrestling with his decision in Gethsemane).
One more thing, though.
Sometimes I think when people want to return to being a “New Testament Church”, there’s an idyllic myopia. When people ask me why we can’t be more like the New Testament church, I answer “Which one? The church in Corinth was sexing it up every which way and getting drunk at the church potlucks. The Colossian church was worshiping angels and beating their bodies to prove they were holy. The Galatian gang was legalistic and racist. The Thessalonians were sitting on their hands waiting for Jesus to take them away, hoping for a Left Behind scenario. And check out the things Jesus said to the churches in Asia Minor in the Revelation. It isn’t pretty.”
Just a reality check.
I’m not sure how this works, but either Jesus views us as we shall be, or else He sees us through a lens of love that “covers a multitude of sins”. Somehow this is His plan: “to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.” (Ephesians 5:27 TNIV).
Big, small, messy, tidy, broken, bruised, lethargic or vital…we are the Church.
There’s a little obvious irony here, eh? Israel Hogue, pastor of The Edge Church, is sponsoring the conference. As Israel puts it on the conference website, “Craig, Toby and Dave have all come from small beginnings. They know what it means to be a local church with not a lot of people, money, or resources. They didn't start "mega," they started "micro" and grew from there.”
It got me thinking about those early days with Steve Sjogren. There were a lot—and I mean a lot—of sacrifices made by him and his wife Janie to see a different kind of church launched in Cincy. When Anita and I came on board in 1984, we were meeting in Bruce and Sandy Ullrey’s living room with twenty or so people on the north side of Cincinnati. Like many starts, everyone was in their late-twenties or early-thirties, mostly bored with church as we knew it, and wondered why there couldn’t be a church that we actually liked going to. And couldn’t it be simple and just have authentic no-big-show worship and have a heart for the poor? Maybe a message that didn’t sound canned? And a service that didn’t make you feel worse than when you came in? Spirit-led…but not weird? Authenticity. Simplicity. Relevance.
I led worship for four years every weekend as a volunteer. I wrestled with coming on staff in 1990; I wasn’t sure I wanted to be paid to do something I liked doing…as if that might mess things up. We had probably grown to about 700-800 adults by then. After coming on staff (I use that term loosely), time marched on and things heated up. There were a number of years where I was gone at least four nights a week when our girls were little, eventually doing eight celebrations a week, leading worship at each of them, teaching every midweek, often on weekends, and pulling off seminars and conferences. Those were heady years. Everyone wore lots of hats; many of us easily put in 60-70 hours a week. I can remember pulling many an all-nighter for a video, print or music project. We were on a mission.Looking back, it obviously wasn’t healthy. We were a bit crazy and addicted to our own adrenaline.
Now 25 years later, there are still formidable hurdles, mega-problems, new issues, and big challenges to conquer. I don’t think it ever gets simple…because life in a fallen world is not simple. And besides the corporate decisions, personal choices are still the most difficult (we’re in good company: Jesus sweat drops of blood wrestling with his decision in Gethsemane).
One more thing, though.
Sometimes I think when people want to return to being a “New Testament Church”, there’s an idyllic myopia. When people ask me why we can’t be more like the New Testament church, I answer “Which one? The church in Corinth was sexing it up every which way and getting drunk at the church potlucks. The Colossian church was worshiping angels and beating their bodies to prove they were holy. The Galatian gang was legalistic and racist. The Thessalonians were sitting on their hands waiting for Jesus to take them away, hoping for a Left Behind scenario. And check out the things Jesus said to the churches in Asia Minor in the Revelation. It isn’t pretty.”
Just a reality check.
I’m not sure how this works, but either Jesus views us as we shall be, or else He sees us through a lens of love that “covers a multitude of sins”. Somehow this is His plan: “to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.” (Ephesians 5:27 TNIV).
Big, small, messy, tidy, broken, bruised, lethargic or vital…we are the Church.
Monday, February 23, 2009
altar calls and tickets
Reset took off with a blast! Joe did a bang-up job (what is a bang-up, really?) portraying different “Jesus-es”. We could have easily come up with ten different models, but time is the communicator’s enemy. I’m looking forward to next week.
I’ve got a long tale here. You’re going to need some Earl Grey and a teapot. Ready?
One of the things I’d personally like to hit the reset button on is how evangelicals have reduced the mission of the Church to an “altar call” pragmatism. And weirder, an altar call mentality that’s more methodology than anything.
For those of you who unfamiliar with the altar call, it’s more a product of nineteenth-century American evangelists than anything, particularly Charles Finney. It’s so much a product of the evangelical culture that it’s virtually a sacred cow. Heck, I’ve used it many times. I’m certainly not against calling people to repent; I question the method…and confusing the method with the mission.
Charles Spurgeon, who had a serious heart for people who didn’t yet know Jesus, decried the use of altar calls and “enquiry rooms”. He felt it gave people a false sense of security and created a mediator-environment when people needed to be sent to Christ to wrestle with their brokenness.
Spurgeon wrote, “Sometimes we are inclined to think that a very great portion of modern revivalism has been more a curse than a blessing, because it has led thousands to a kind of peace before they have known their misery; restoring the prodigal to the Father's house, and never making him say, 'Father, I have sinned.' How can he be healed who is not sick? Or he be satisfied with the bread of life who is not hungry? The old-fashioned sense of sin is despised, and consequently a religion is run up before the foundations are dug out. Everything in this age is shallow. Deep-sea fishing is almost an extinct business so far as men's souls are concerned. The consequence is that men leap into religion, and then leap out again. Unhumbled they come to the church, unhumbled they remained in it, and unhumbled they go from it.”
He even expressed the dirty little secret of crusade-style evangelism:
“Very few of the supposed converts of enquiry-rooms turn out well. Go to your God at once, even where you are now. Cast yourself on Christ, now, at once, ere you stir an inch!”
Which leads me to repeating my rant about having a Kingdom theology instead of a “get-your-ticket-to-heaven” theology. It bothers me when altar calls—“get-saved-so-you-can-go-to-heaven”—replace a Kingdom of God theology—the power and grace of God is breaking into our world now. And we’re the conduit.
If the world as we know it is all going to burn, if all we are interested in is getting people to heaven, if the only thing important is “saving souls”, then why do we pray for healing for people? It must be a sign that the Kingdom has come, that the future is breaking in on us now. Think about this: if caring for our environment, if fighting for justice, if wrestling with racism is not important because someday this is all going to be done away with, and the only thing important is people’s souls as evangelicals believe, why speak out against abortion if the souls of pre-age-of-accountability unborn infants are guaranteed heaven? Why lay hands on the sick if this life is a vapor and a better one awaits?
Why? There are two possible reasons.
One reason could be a quality-of-life issue. Doesn’t a person with advanced debilitating polio deserve a higher quality of life, if even for the sake of his or her family, their kids, their sense of contribution to society? Maybe. Someone could argue that Stephen Hawking’s intense form of ALS has actually given his brain room to run because of his debilitating physical limitations. Suffering through sickness certainly has unintended results, although Jesus never seemed to say to anyone, “Keep your leprosy. It will keep you humble.”
But I think there is more to the question than the quality-of-life answer.
We do it since we have hope that because of Jesus’ resurrection and therefore the declaration that He is the New Lord (because death is the one master that everyone bows down and submits to), He gave us the mission of bringing the Kingdom (Luke 4:18, 19; Matthew 28:18; John 20:21). That’s what a Kingdom theology will do, something I’m thrilled the Vineyard movement as a whole promotes. It affects the here-and-now more than anything else. We are the answer to someone’s prayer when they cry out the “Our Father”-prayer: “Let Your kingdom come now…let Your will be accomplished now…the way it always is in the dimension where You live, Father.”
Consider the following story as a metaphor.
Ernest Gordon—former dean of Princeton Seminary who died a few years ago—was the inspiration behind the classic movie Bridge Over the River Kwai and more recently To End All Wars. In real life he survived three years in the brutal prisoner of war camps of Southeast Asia during World War II where an estimated 80,000 prisoners died of starvation, dysentery, malaria and torture while building a railroad…almost four hundred men per mile of track.
Gordon tells an amazing story: Once at the end of the workday, a shovel was missing in the tool shed. The officer in charge was furious and announced they would begin executing each prisoner, one at a time, until the man who took it came forward. As guns were pointed at the first man in line, one of the soldiers stepped out and said simply, “I did it. I took it.” They viciously beat him to death in front of everyone. The next day the guards discovered that they had miscounted—all the shovels were there.
One of the prisoners remembered the Bible verse, “Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Word spread throughout the camp…and the atmosphere changed. Men began to look out for each other, to treat each other like brothers. Gordon began teaching from the Bible. They started what they called the “church without walls”.
Gordon wrote:
“Death was still with us — no doubt about that. But we were slowly being freed from its destructive grip. We were seeing for ourselves the sharp contrast between the forces that made for life and those that made for death. Selfishness, hatred, envy, jealousy, greed, self-indulgence, laziness and pride were all anti-life. Love, heroism, self-sacrifice, sympathy, mercy, integrity and creative faith, on the other hand, were the essence of life, turning mere existence into living in its truest sense. These were the gifts of God.”
And oddly enough, the POW’s even created “normal” things like talent shows, lectures, debates, and readings…even a jungle university.
Think about it. Why would men who were facing certain death bother with that? If your comrades were dying around you of slow painful dysentery and maltreatment, if you’re working sunup to sundown on laying railroad tracks through impossibly difficult terrain in a hostile world blinded by madness, why have a lecture on Shakespeare?
Why? Hope. The scent of a future inhaled in the present. Hope.
That is a Kingdom metaphor.
.
I’ve got a long tale here. You’re going to need some Earl Grey and a teapot. Ready?
One of the things I’d personally like to hit the reset button on is how evangelicals have reduced the mission of the Church to an “altar call” pragmatism. And weirder, an altar call mentality that’s more methodology than anything.
For those of you who unfamiliar with the altar call, it’s more a product of nineteenth-century American evangelists than anything, particularly Charles Finney. It’s so much a product of the evangelical culture that it’s virtually a sacred cow. Heck, I’ve used it many times. I’m certainly not against calling people to repent; I question the method…and confusing the method with the mission.
Charles Spurgeon, who had a serious heart for people who didn’t yet know Jesus, decried the use of altar calls and “enquiry rooms”. He felt it gave people a false sense of security and created a mediator-environment when people needed to be sent to Christ to wrestle with their brokenness.
Spurgeon wrote, “Sometimes we are inclined to think that a very great portion of modern revivalism has been more a curse than a blessing, because it has led thousands to a kind of peace before they have known their misery; restoring the prodigal to the Father's house, and never making him say, 'Father, I have sinned.' How can he be healed who is not sick? Or he be satisfied with the bread of life who is not hungry? The old-fashioned sense of sin is despised, and consequently a religion is run up before the foundations are dug out. Everything in this age is shallow. Deep-sea fishing is almost an extinct business so far as men's souls are concerned. The consequence is that men leap into religion, and then leap out again. Unhumbled they come to the church, unhumbled they remained in it, and unhumbled they go from it.”
He even expressed the dirty little secret of crusade-style evangelism:
“Very few of the supposed converts of enquiry-rooms turn out well. Go to your God at once, even where you are now. Cast yourself on Christ, now, at once, ere you stir an inch!”
Which leads me to repeating my rant about having a Kingdom theology instead of a “get-your-ticket-to-heaven” theology. It bothers me when altar calls—“get-saved-so-you-can-go-to-heaven”—replace a Kingdom of God theology—the power and grace of God is breaking into our world now. And we’re the conduit.If the world as we know it is all going to burn, if all we are interested in is getting people to heaven, if the only thing important is “saving souls”, then why do we pray for healing for people? It must be a sign that the Kingdom has come, that the future is breaking in on us now. Think about this: if caring for our environment, if fighting for justice, if wrestling with racism is not important because someday this is all going to be done away with, and the only thing important is people’s souls as evangelicals believe, why speak out against abortion if the souls of pre-age-of-accountability unborn infants are guaranteed heaven? Why lay hands on the sick if this life is a vapor and a better one awaits?
Why? There are two possible reasons.
One reason could be a quality-of-life issue. Doesn’t a person with advanced debilitating polio deserve a higher quality of life, if even for the sake of his or her family, their kids, their sense of contribution to society? Maybe. Someone could argue that Stephen Hawking’s intense form of ALS has actually given his brain room to run because of his debilitating physical limitations. Suffering through sickness certainly has unintended results, although Jesus never seemed to say to anyone, “Keep your leprosy. It will keep you humble.”
But I think there is more to the question than the quality-of-life answer.
We do it since we have hope that because of Jesus’ resurrection and therefore the declaration that He is the New Lord (because death is the one master that everyone bows down and submits to), He gave us the mission of bringing the Kingdom (Luke 4:18, 19; Matthew 28:18; John 20:21). That’s what a Kingdom theology will do, something I’m thrilled the Vineyard movement as a whole promotes. It affects the here-and-now more than anything else. We are the answer to someone’s prayer when they cry out the “Our Father”-prayer: “Let Your kingdom come now…let Your will be accomplished now…the way it always is in the dimension where You live, Father.”
Consider the following story as a metaphor.
Ernest Gordon—former dean of Princeton Seminary who died a few years ago—was the inspiration behind the classic movie Bridge Over the River Kwai and more recently To End All Wars. In real life he survived three years in the brutal prisoner of war camps of Southeast Asia during World War II where an estimated 80,000 prisoners died of starvation, dysentery, malaria and torture while building a railroad…almost four hundred men per mile of track.
Gordon tells an amazing story: Once at the end of the workday, a shovel was missing in the tool shed. The officer in charge was furious and announced they would begin executing each prisoner, one at a time, until the man who took it came forward. As guns were pointed at the first man in line, one of the soldiers stepped out and said simply, “I did it. I took it.” They viciously beat him to death in front of everyone. The next day the guards discovered that they had miscounted—all the shovels were there.
One of the prisoners remembered the Bible verse, “Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Word spread throughout the camp…and the atmosphere changed. Men began to look out for each other, to treat each other like brothers. Gordon began teaching from the Bible. They started what they called the “church without walls”.
Gordon wrote:
“Death was still with us — no doubt about that. But we were slowly being freed from its destructive grip. We were seeing for ourselves the sharp contrast between the forces that made for life and those that made for death. Selfishness, hatred, envy, jealousy, greed, self-indulgence, laziness and pride were all anti-life. Love, heroism, self-sacrifice, sympathy, mercy, integrity and creative faith, on the other hand, were the essence of life, turning mere existence into living in its truest sense. These were the gifts of God.”
And oddly enough, the POW’s even created “normal” things like talent shows, lectures, debates, and readings…even a jungle university.
Think about it. Why would men who were facing certain death bother with that? If your comrades were dying around you of slow painful dysentery and maltreatment, if you’re working sunup to sundown on laying railroad tracks through impossibly difficult terrain in a hostile world blinded by madness, why have a lecture on Shakespeare?
Why? Hope. The scent of a future inhaled in the present. Hope.
That is a Kingdom metaphor.
.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
reset reset
Reset your brain.Reset your heart.
Reset your worldview.
Reset your password.
Reset your motives.
Reset your faith.
Reset your objectives.
Reset your clock.
Reset your mouth.
Reset your aim.
Reset your theology.
Reset your love.
Reset: this weekend.
Reset your worldview.
Reset your password.
Reset your motives.
Reset your faith.
Reset your objectives.
Reset your clock.
Reset your mouth.
Reset your aim.
Reset your theology.
Reset your love.
Reset: this weekend.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
reset
This is it. It all begins this weekend: Reset...a six-week spiritual journey.
Think about it: nearly fifty churches in Greater Cincinnati on the same page. All asking Jesus to reset the way we think about Him and His mission. It could be a holy subversion, a righteous rebellion, a revolution of justice. All asking for the Kingdom to come, beginning in our hearts and minds.
Do not miss this weekend: everyone will get a free 120-page book/journal for the journey. And definitely get in a Reset group...a small community of folks all wanting to explore who the Real Jesus is. They’re all over the city; find one with our tribe here.
Think about it: nearly fifty churches in Greater Cincinnati on the same page. All asking Jesus to reset the way we think about Him and His mission. It could be a holy subversion, a righteous rebellion, a revolution of justice. All asking for the Kingdom to come, beginning in our hearts and minds.
Do not miss this weekend: everyone will get a free 120-page book/journal for the journey. And definitely get in a Reset group...a small community of folks all wanting to explore who the Real Jesus is. They’re all over the city; find one with our tribe here.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
emoville
Ever watch James Lipton and Inside the Actors Studio? This is Inside the Pastors Studio.
This past weekend was a little bit of tightrope from an audience-demographic perspective. Part of the art of crafting a message is about two things: the truth and the receptor. Relaying truth is one thing. Relaying truth in a way that deeply considers the receptor is something else. And therein lies the challenge.
In his book, “Why Men Hate Church”, David Murrow wrote about the cultural and communication gap between the Church and men. Murrow describes the breakdown like this:
“…Today’s church has developed a culture that is driving men away. . . . When men need spiritual sustenance, they go to the wilderness, the workplace, the garage, or the corner bar. They watch their heroes in the stadium or on the racetrack. They dig into a book or sneak off to a movie. Church is one of the last places men look for God.”
“(Churches) . . . use man-repellent terminology. For example, you have two kinds of people: the saved and the lost. Men hate to be lost – that’s why they don’t ask for directions. If you tell a man he’s lost, he will instinctively resist you! And the only thing worse than being lost is being saved! The term drips with passivity . . .
“Although Jesus used the term saved a number of times in the gospels, if you carefully examine the text, He never called anyone to be saved. Instead, he called men to follow him. Hear the difference? Follow gives a man something to do. It suggests activity instead of passivity. But being saved is something that happens to damsels in distress. So why not use the descriptor Jesus himself preferred? By calling men to follow Jesus, we put Christ’s offer in active terms that appeal to everyone.
“Another term from the feminine side is ‘sharing’. Christians are constantly being asked to share, as in, “Steve, would you please share with us what the Lord has placed on your heart?” Regular men don’t talk this way. It sounds too much like kindergarten. Imagine a gang member saying…, “Blade, would you please share with us how you jacked that Mercedes?” “. . .
There are millions of men who attend services under duress, dragged by a mother, wife, or girlfriend. Today’s churchgoing man is humble, tidy, dutiful, and above all, nice. What a contrast to the men of the Bible! Think of Moses and Elijah, David and Daniel, Peter and Paul. They were lions, not lambs—take-charge men who risked everything in service to God. They fought valiantly and spilled blood. They spoke their minds and stepped on the toes of religious people. They were true leaders, tough guys who were feared and respected by the community. All of these men had two things in common: an intense commitment to God, and they weren’t what you’d call saintly.”
Regardless if you see this as a slippery slope toward chest-thumping and drum-beating, it’s obvious that men have not bought into the Church; the gender stats prove that out. Which led me to a conundrum of sorts.
In talking about the Emotional Life, I could talk about emotional healing or I could build the talk around an apologetic for emotions, since emotions seem fairly stifled in evangelicalism. I decided to spend more time on an apologetic and set it up with a “guy” slant. Hence, the first five minutes were spent on setting up some stereotypical “guy” observations, the point simply being to draw men into a talk that otherwise could have felt like an old Dashboard Confessional cd.
I would liked to have spent more time on why we downplay emotions in typical evangelical settings. Too many times I’ve heard the sports analogy used: how come we don’t get as excited about God as we do about the Steelers or Cardinals? There’s some legitimacy in that. But one has to consider the social context as well: are churches (for whatever reason) more like a sporting event venue…or a library? A classroom or a concert club? A formal dining room or the kitchen? A cathedral or a café? A social construct and atmosphere has developed. How does the architecture support that vibe…or vice-versa? Even more interesting is how our theology affects it and how we even fell into that particular theological view. And why?
Anyway, it’s just interesting to me the neuron paths communicators follow…and how God engages in that process. And how over-analytical, obsessive and geeky we communicators can get.
This past weekend was a little bit of tightrope from an audience-demographic perspective. Part of the art of crafting a message is about two things: the truth and the receptor. Relaying truth is one thing. Relaying truth in a way that deeply considers the receptor is something else. And therein lies the challenge.
In his book, “Why Men Hate Church”, David Murrow wrote about the cultural and communication gap between the Church and men. Murrow describes the breakdown like this:“…Today’s church has developed a culture that is driving men away. . . . When men need spiritual sustenance, they go to the wilderness, the workplace, the garage, or the corner bar. They watch their heroes in the stadium or on the racetrack. They dig into a book or sneak off to a movie. Church is one of the last places men look for God.”
“(Churches) . . . use man-repellent terminology. For example, you have two kinds of people: the saved and the lost. Men hate to be lost – that’s why they don’t ask for directions. If you tell a man he’s lost, he will instinctively resist you! And the only thing worse than being lost is being saved! The term drips with passivity . . .
“Although Jesus used the term saved a number of times in the gospels, if you carefully examine the text, He never called anyone to be saved. Instead, he called men to follow him. Hear the difference? Follow gives a man something to do. It suggests activity instead of passivity. But being saved is something that happens to damsels in distress. So why not use the descriptor Jesus himself preferred? By calling men to follow Jesus, we put Christ’s offer in active terms that appeal to everyone.
“Another term from the feminine side is ‘sharing’. Christians are constantly being asked to share, as in, “Steve, would you please share with us what the Lord has placed on your heart?” Regular men don’t talk this way. It sounds too much like kindergarten. Imagine a gang member saying…, “Blade, would you please share with us how you jacked that Mercedes?” “. . .
There are millions of men who attend services under duress, dragged by a mother, wife, or girlfriend. Today’s churchgoing man is humble, tidy, dutiful, and above all, nice. What a contrast to the men of the Bible! Think of Moses and Elijah, David and Daniel, Peter and Paul. They were lions, not lambs—take-charge men who risked everything in service to God. They fought valiantly and spilled blood. They spoke their minds and stepped on the toes of religious people. They were true leaders, tough guys who were feared and respected by the community. All of these men had two things in common: an intense commitment to God, and they weren’t what you’d call saintly.”
Regardless if you see this as a slippery slope toward chest-thumping and drum-beating, it’s obvious that men have not bought into the Church; the gender stats prove that out. Which led me to a conundrum of sorts.
In talking about the Emotional Life, I could talk about emotional healing or I could build the talk around an apologetic for emotions, since emotions seem fairly stifled in evangelicalism. I decided to spend more time on an apologetic and set it up with a “guy” slant. Hence, the first five minutes were spent on setting up some stereotypical “guy” observations, the point simply being to draw men into a talk that otherwise could have felt like an old Dashboard Confessional cd.
I would liked to have spent more time on why we downplay emotions in typical evangelical settings. Too many times I’ve heard the sports analogy used: how come we don’t get as excited about God as we do about the Steelers or Cardinals? There’s some legitimacy in that. But one has to consider the social context as well: are churches (for whatever reason) more like a sporting event venue…or a library? A classroom or a concert club? A formal dining room or the kitchen? A cathedral or a café? A social construct and atmosphere has developed. How does the architecture support that vibe…or vice-versa? Even more interesting is how our theology affects it and how we even fell into that particular theological view. And why?
Anyway, it’s just interesting to me the neuron paths communicators follow…and how God engages in that process. And how over-analytical, obsessive and geeky we communicators can get.
Monday, February 02, 2009
when hell freezes over
This week I was in San Diego with a couple hundred Vineyard leaders. In two of the sessions, guest Ed Stetzer spoke. Ed is an author and missiologist trying to help churches function in more missional ways. That’s my love language. I’m thrilled to hear more and more of an outward-focused slant in the Vineyard movement. Ed reminded us that it was Augustine who said, “The Church is a whore, but she’s my mother.” Face it: at times it’s hard to not be critical of the Church…and we should be. But we must love her as well; she’s the Bride of our Master. He finds her gorgeous, worth laying down His life. We should too.
It was a comedy of meteorological errors getting there. The snow and ice storm hit. Anita and I got up at 3:30am on Wednesday morning to drive to Dayton airport (Cincinnati: the
nation’s highest priced airport). Halfway there (driving about 40 mph) I-75 turned into a parking lot. We sat perfectly still for an hour in the snow. By the time we got there, our 7am flight to Cincinnati (yeah, that’s right...Cincinnati) had left. We were told the next possible flight was at 5pm to Atlanta with a connection to San Diego. Imagine being trapped in Dayton airport for ten hours. It would take us hours to drive home (uh, illegally; a snow emergency was now in effect). Turns out our original 7am flight sat on the tarmac for four hours and came back in when they ran out of de-icer at Dayton. There were no happy campers on that airplane.
After lunch, I got a Delta voicemail that the 5pm flight had now been cancelled and the next available flight was Friday. Friday? And today is Wednesday!? I pleaded for mercy; they put us on a flight to Cincinnati leaving immediately to connect with Salt Lake City with a connection to San Diego…we could still get there by 10pm. Awesome!—at least we’d only miss the first session.
Three hours later we were still sitting on the tarmac. They ran out of de-icer again. You’d think there would be a lot of de-icer at an airport in the Midwest in January. Whatever. But the poor pilots were the same ones that were shut down at 7am. The crew was only slightly p.o.’d.
At this point I’m thinking if I could just get off this plane I could drive to Cincinnati and catch the connection. We finally took off at 6:30pm but, of course, missed every connection in the world to San Diego. We could fly to Atlanta and leave from there in the morning, or catch a direct flight from Cincy at 9am. We opt for the direct flight. Delta offered us a reduced rate at a Baymont. That’s when it got interesting; apparently they did that for a hundred or so other people stranded at the airport, all waiting outside in subfreezing weather for a shuttle van that seats nine people. It was like a Titanic lifeboat. After waiting nearly an hour, we finally got on, trying not to think that we could drive home if our car wasn’t in Dayton. And, oh yeah, we don’t have our luggage.
Day two with the same clothes began at 7am with a similar rush for the lifeboat. We barely made the flight…there was so much confusion about our route in the computer. Then it was delayed leaving the airport because of planes getting de-iced, but eventually we made it to sunny San Diego. All’s well that ends well, eh?
I remember a flight to Nigeria where I was seated in the very last row with my head against the wall of the bathroom. What a transatlantic treat! It’s extremely loud in the back, the doors banged incessantly all night and the aroma was, well, use your imagination. As we got near the end of the flight, my Nigerian friend Emmanuel Itapson came to the back with his two-hundred watt smile and said, “David, what sin did you commit that has caused this?” Then he said, “Come on up to the front of the plane, there are plenty of seats…we’re lying down across them!”
Where was he eight hours ago?
Big deal. Here’s the reality check:
I’ve worked much harder, been jailed more often, beaten up more times than I can count, and at death’s door time after time. I’ve been flogged five times with the Jews’ thirty-nine lashes, beaten by Roman rods three times, pummeled with rocks once. I’ve been shipwrecked three times, and immersed in the open sea for a night and a day. In hard traveling year in and year out, I’ve had to ford rivers, fend off robbers, struggle with friends, struggle with foes. I’ve been at risk in the city, at risk in the country, endangered by desert sun and sea storm, and betrayed by those I thought were my brothers. I’ve known drudgery and hard labor, many a long and lonely night without sleep, many a missed meal, blasted by the cold, naked to the weather. (2 Corinthians 11:23b–27 Message Version)
Talk about a road warrior. Okay, no more whining.
It was a comedy of meteorological errors getting there. The snow and ice storm hit. Anita and I got up at 3:30am on Wednesday morning to drive to Dayton airport (Cincinnati: the
nation’s highest priced airport). Halfway there (driving about 40 mph) I-75 turned into a parking lot. We sat perfectly still for an hour in the snow. By the time we got there, our 7am flight to Cincinnati (yeah, that’s right...Cincinnati) had left. We were told the next possible flight was at 5pm to Atlanta with a connection to San Diego. Imagine being trapped in Dayton airport for ten hours. It would take us hours to drive home (uh, illegally; a snow emergency was now in effect). Turns out our original 7am flight sat on the tarmac for four hours and came back in when they ran out of de-icer at Dayton. There were no happy campers on that airplane.After lunch, I got a Delta voicemail that the 5pm flight had now been cancelled and the next available flight was Friday. Friday? And today is Wednesday!? I pleaded for mercy; they put us on a flight to Cincinnati leaving immediately to connect with Salt Lake City with a connection to San Diego…we could still get there by 10pm. Awesome!—at least we’d only miss the first session.
Three hours later we were still sitting on the tarmac. They ran out of de-icer again. You’d think there would be a lot of de-icer at an airport in the Midwest in January. Whatever. But the poor pilots were the same ones that were shut down at 7am. The crew was only slightly p.o.’d.
At this point I’m thinking if I could just get off this plane I could drive to Cincinnati and catch the connection. We finally took off at 6:30pm but, of course, missed every connection in the world to San Diego. We could fly to Atlanta and leave from there in the morning, or catch a direct flight from Cincy at 9am. We opt for the direct flight. Delta offered us a reduced rate at a Baymont. That’s when it got interesting; apparently they did that for a hundred or so other people stranded at the airport, all waiting outside in subfreezing weather for a shuttle van that seats nine people. It was like a Titanic lifeboat. After waiting nearly an hour, we finally got on, trying not to think that we could drive home if our car wasn’t in Dayton. And, oh yeah, we don’t have our luggage.
Day two with the same clothes began at 7am with a similar rush for the lifeboat. We barely made the flight…there was so much confusion about our route in the computer. Then it was delayed leaving the airport because of planes getting de-iced, but eventually we made it to sunny San Diego. All’s well that ends well, eh?I remember a flight to Nigeria where I was seated in the very last row with my head against the wall of the bathroom. What a transatlantic treat! It’s extremely loud in the back, the doors banged incessantly all night and the aroma was, well, use your imagination. As we got near the end of the flight, my Nigerian friend Emmanuel Itapson came to the back with his two-hundred watt smile and said, “David, what sin did you commit that has caused this?” Then he said, “Come on up to the front of the plane, there are plenty of seats…we’re lying down across them!”
Where was he eight hours ago?
Big deal. Here’s the reality check:
I’ve worked much harder, been jailed more often, beaten up more times than I can count, and at death’s door time after time. I’ve been flogged five times with the Jews’ thirty-nine lashes, beaten by Roman rods three times, pummeled with rocks once. I’ve been shipwrecked three times, and immersed in the open sea for a night and a day. In hard traveling year in and year out, I’ve had to ford rivers, fend off robbers, struggle with friends, struggle with foes. I’ve been at risk in the city, at risk in the country, endangered by desert sun and sea storm, and betrayed by those I thought were my brothers. I’ve known drudgery and hard labor, many a long and lonely night without sleep, many a missed meal, blasted by the cold, naked to the weather. (2 Corinthians 11:23b–27 Message Version)
Talk about a road warrior. Okay, no more whining.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
the overweight of glory
I spoke this weekend at Northstar Vineyard. It was good to see how well the gang is doing there since being planted in 2002. Matt Massey and his crew are cranking—lots of good outreaches and mission trips. Northstar meets at Loveland High School—check them out some Sunday for heartfelt worship and Matt’s passionate messages.
And, of course, caught Joe on Saturday night at the mothership. I love Joe’s honest and simple approach to spiritual disciplines; he takes the guilt out of it and makes you want to be with Jesus. I’ve said it before, but I’ll take brokenness over “we’ve-got-it-all-together”-ness any day of the week. Actually, I think it’s pretty easy to spot people who have been broken, are over themselves, realize how immense grace is and how dependent they are on Jesus. Call it “Discernment 101”. It’s ragamuffin-radar. Anyway, I’m a major Joe Boyd fan and love working with him. I can’t wait until he actually moves to Cincinnati. He lives in South Toledo. That’s a joke. Sort of.
The weekend before I spoke on the physical life. I’m pretty sure it ranked up there with some of my more humiliating moments. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, overweight, a hospital gown and a prostate exam. Mostly on video. Oh well…it’s good for the soul. Er, my soul. Sorry you had to see that. And at the risk of sounding like some shallow suburban pseudomartyr, if it encourages anyone to think differently about our One Life and our one life significance, it’s worth it. Really.
So here’s the deal: some Weight Watchers, a little cardio and strength training (uh, eventually), and a lot of water. It seems to be simple—you just burn more than what goes in. How difficult is this? Hmmmm.
Anyway, the approach I wanted to communicate was one of management, that your body is not your own, but now belongs to God. He’s moved into the house and is throwing out the trash and moving the furniture around. And no room is off-limits. Remember?—it’s His house now. That changes everything.
That’s how Paul approaches the issue of sexuality: you’re sacred space. If you’re really an appendage of Jesus—part of His body—think how odd it is that you would join Him to another person in some casual (whatever that means…) sexual activity. It does get strange when you think of it in that light. Probably because authentic holiness is such an alien thought to us carbon-based bipeds.
Likewise, in the past I’ve told prospective marriage partners that the new arrangement in their marital endeavor will be this: you’ll now be owned by the other. That’s quite an adjustment—this idea of no longer being your own person. That’s why marriage can be difficult for people who have been single for a long time; it’s hard to make the shift that you now have someone else who can call the shots as well, after you’ve had years of making decisions that only intimately involved you. Welcome to potential nuptial hell…if you don’t understand this dynamic.
Anyway, if I think of me being responsible to take care of this one body that I’ve been given…and that it’s really sacred space, then personal health begins to make sense in the larger scope of the kingdom.
Anyway, I’m off to a rousing start: I’ve lost two pounds. Only twenty-eight to go.
“I’m not overweight…I’m undertall.” ~Garfield; circa 1982?
And, of course, caught Joe on Saturday night at the mothership. I love Joe’s honest and simple approach to spiritual disciplines; he takes the guilt out of it and makes you want to be with Jesus. I’ve said it before, but I’ll take brokenness over “we’ve-got-it-all-together”-ness any day of the week. Actually, I think it’s pretty easy to spot people who have been broken, are over themselves, realize how immense grace is and how dependent they are on Jesus. Call it “Discernment 101”. It’s ragamuffin-radar. Anyway, I’m a major Joe Boyd fan and love working with him. I can’t wait until he actually moves to Cincinnati. He lives in South Toledo. That’s a joke. Sort of.
The weekend before I spoke on the physical life. I’m pretty sure it ranked up there with some of my more humiliating moments. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, overweight, a hospital gown and a prostate exam. Mostly on video. Oh well…it’s good for the soul. Er, my soul. Sorry you had to see that. And at the risk of sounding like some shallow suburban pseudomartyr, if it encourages anyone to think differently about our One Life and our one life significance, it’s worth it. Really.
So here’s the deal: some Weight Watchers, a little cardio and strength training (uh, eventually), and a lot of water. It seems to be simple—you just burn more than what goes in. How difficult is this? Hmmmm.Anyway, the approach I wanted to communicate was one of management, that your body is not your own, but now belongs to God. He’s moved into the house and is throwing out the trash and moving the furniture around. And no room is off-limits. Remember?—it’s His house now. That changes everything.
That’s how Paul approaches the issue of sexuality: you’re sacred space. If you’re really an appendage of Jesus—part of His body—think how odd it is that you would join Him to another person in some casual (whatever that means…) sexual activity. It does get strange when you think of it in that light. Probably because authentic holiness is such an alien thought to us carbon-based bipeds.
Likewise, in the past I’ve told prospective marriage partners that the new arrangement in their marital endeavor will be this: you’ll now be owned by the other. That’s quite an adjustment—this idea of no longer being your own person. That’s why marriage can be difficult for people who have been single for a long time; it’s hard to make the shift that you now have someone else who can call the shots as well, after you’ve had years of making decisions that only intimately involved you. Welcome to potential nuptial hell…if you don’t understand this dynamic.
Anyway, if I think of me being responsible to take care of this one body that I’ve been given…and that it’s really sacred space, then personal health begins to make sense in the larger scope of the kingdom.
Anyway, I’m off to a rousing start: I’ve lost two pounds. Only twenty-eight to go.
“I’m not overweight…I’m undertall.” ~Garfield; circa 1982?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
crowded house
Sorry for being away so long. Famous last words of penitent bloggers, eh?
Let me sound the alarm.
We’re in a bit of trouble at VCC. The last few weekends have been packed…meaning, not many seats and very few parking spaces, especially at the 11:40 party. There are limited options at this point because of the speed at which any serious changes could take place. We usually get a bump at this time, but this is more like a shove.
Got any ideas?
The drag for me is the frustration I know it can bring for a new person checking out church. It already takes a fair amount of courage to come to a church the first time, but if there are added barriers, who wouldn’t think: “Sheesh. It took me ten minutes to park…and I don’t want to walk in after everything’s started—it’s scary enough!”
Which, by the way, does it ever scare the bejeebers out of you going into a new church? It does me…and I’m a pastor. I’m not sure why it’s so weird to me, but it must be my high introversion level and the drag of potentially being singled out in some way. I cringe at the thought of hearing, “If you’re a visitor today, would you stand up?”
First of all, visitor? Am I in a foreign country? What’s that all about? Actually, I think for the average guy out there, a lot of churches do feel like a foreign country. It’s a different culture. A different language. Not knowing what’s expected of me. People doing really different things than what I’m used to seeing. I don’t know, but it seems to me I should be a guest, not a visitor, to a party that’s thrown every weekend by people who’ve heard some really fantastic news.
Going to a church can be traumatic. That’s why it’s always better to have a guide, a sherpa, someone who’s been up the mountain and can tell you how to breathe. Because it’s really hard to breathe in some churches I’ve been in. And I’d be crazy to assume VCC isn’t just as scary to new people—maybe just in different ways. I would love to deputize all you grapeheads to be sherpas.
Anyway, I digress.
Got any great ideas for the overcrowding?
And if you don’t, go all Screwtape on me and give me a series title that is sure to thin out the crowds…
Let me sound the alarm.
We’re in a bit of trouble at VCC. The last few weekends have been packed…meaning, not many seats and very few parking spaces, especially at the 11:40 party. There are limited options at this point because of the speed at which any serious changes could take place. We usually get a bump at this time, but this is more like a shove.Got any ideas?
The drag for me is the frustration I know it can bring for a new person checking out church. It already takes a fair amount of courage to come to a church the first time, but if there are added barriers, who wouldn’t think: “Sheesh. It took me ten minutes to park…and I don’t want to walk in after everything’s started—it’s scary enough!”
Which, by the way, does it ever scare the bejeebers out of you going into a new church? It does me…and I’m a pastor. I’m not sure why it’s so weird to me, but it must be my high introversion level and the drag of potentially being singled out in some way. I cringe at the thought of hearing, “If you’re a visitor today, would you stand up?”
First of all, visitor? Am I in a foreign country? What’s that all about? Actually, I think for the average guy out there, a lot of churches do feel like a foreign country. It’s a different culture. A different language. Not knowing what’s expected of me. People doing really different things than what I’m used to seeing. I don’t know, but it seems to me I should be a guest, not a visitor, to a party that’s thrown every weekend by people who’ve heard some really fantastic news.
Going to a church can be traumatic. That’s why it’s always better to have a guide, a sherpa, someone who’s been up the mountain and can tell you how to breathe. Because it’s really hard to breathe in some churches I’ve been in. And I’d be crazy to assume VCC isn’t just as scary to new people—maybe just in different ways. I would love to deputize all you grapeheads to be sherpas.
Anyway, I digress.
Got any great ideas for the overcrowding?
And if you don’t, go all Screwtape on me and give me a series title that is sure to thin out the crowds…
Thursday, December 25, 2008
merry christmas
Merry Christmas, all. Hope you had a bright one.
The Re Gifter show was Big Fun. If you missed it...well, you missed it.
And then the donut outreach on Christmas Eve was awesome. My favorite was a sushi bar we went to. I'll tell you about it later.
God is good. Don't ever forget that. Or, donut ever forget that.
Sorry.
Monday, December 22, 2008
christmas kremes
Let's go outreaching! Be at VCC at 5pm. We'll sing, light candles and then deliver 24,000 Krispy Kreme donuts to people who have to work on Christmas Eve. Whoohoo!
the problem with christmas
The news story of the Christmas season in Cincinnati has been a devastating accident with our friends at Crossroads Community Church on the first night of their Christmas production. One of their performers fell from a flying harness and was in critical condition through the night. She passed away in the morning. A couple from our small group was at the production and shaken; they called us immediately. I was at the Vineyard at a run-through for our {Re}Gifter show. Our crew prayed for everyone. I emailed Brian Tome, pastor of Crossroads, as soon as I got home just to let him know we were praying for him, his team and the community there. I can only imagine the pain, the second-guessing, the what-ifs, the questions. I have one simple guiding principle: when one part of the Body hurts, the whole Body hurts. The next couple of days some of our pastoral staff and volunteer prayer team members were at Crossroads to be available, to practice “with-ness”.
On Friday, one of our volunteer bass players, a young guy named Trentin Manning, died in a car accident driving to a gig in Toledo, Ohio. Trentin was a talented musician, recently interviewed in a national musician’s magazine, full of life, full of worship, full of promise. I loved watching him play.
Saturday night there was an armed robbery at a Best Buy next door to our campus. The police showed up at our Student Union during our high school and middle school celebrations and did a lock-down for safety reasons. Parents were a little freaked, but everyone was okay.
Last night I was in the hospital until 2am with a VCC person who, without going into details, is in a very desperate place emotionally.
What a strange week.
As a communicator, it creates an odd emotional context for the delivery of the message of the beauty and power of the Incarnation. On one hand, you’re painfully aware that Christmas for some people will be seen through a particularly clouded lens for years to come. What is intended to be a joyous time becomes a reminder of a loss, a pain, or a moment in history that has claws attached. As a friend of mine who’s been divorced for years told me: “(we) fight loneliness all of the time but this time of year it is our personal tsunami.”
On the other hand, there is The Big Message: Light has come into the darkness.
It seems to me that the only way we can shout that message honestly is by allowing the light to shine into the darkest memories, the darkest moments, the darkest present times of our lives. Perhaps we create “counter” memories to reboot our OS. Perhaps there is an “embracing of suffering” that creates a sharp, empathetic outward-focus. Perhaps sheer declarative trust, as when the Psalmist boasts: “Lord, you have brought light to my life; my God, you light up my darkness. In your strength I can crush an army; with my God I can scale any wall.” (Psalm 18:28–29 NLT).
Really?—an army? any wall? You have to admire that kind of “My dad can beat up your dad” talk; it’s got to have a spiritual endorphin effect. This psalmist has experienced something that causes him to brag on his God.
Or perhaps we simply have to figure out our own extremely unique connection between personal pain and God.
One thing for sure: if we hang on to the Truth through the night, I think it makes our message more authentic in the day. And probably more potentially attractive.
Merry Problematic Christmas, everyone.
On Friday, one of our volunteer bass players, a young guy named Trentin Manning, died in a car accident driving to a gig in Toledo, Ohio. Trentin was a talented musician, recently interviewed in a national musician’s magazine, full of life, full of worship, full of promise. I loved watching him play.
Saturday night there was an armed robbery at a Best Buy next door to our campus. The police showed up at our Student Union during our high school and middle school celebrations and did a lock-down for safety reasons. Parents were a little freaked, but everyone was okay.
Last night I was in the hospital until 2am with a VCC person who, without going into details, is in a very desperate place emotionally.
What a strange week.
As a communicator, it creates an odd emotional context for the delivery of the message of the beauty and power of the Incarnation. On one hand, you’re painfully aware that Christmas for some people will be seen through a particularly clouded lens for years to come. What is intended to be a joyous time becomes a reminder of a loss, a pain, or a moment in history that has claws attached. As a friend of mine who’s been divorced for years told me: “(we) fight loneliness all of the time but this time of year it is our personal tsunami.”
On the other hand, there is The Big Message: Light has come into the darkness.
It seems to me that the only way we can shout that message honestly is by allowing the light to shine into the darkest memories, the darkest moments, the darkest present times of our lives. Perhaps we create “counter” memories to reboot our OS. Perhaps there is an “embracing of suffering” that creates a sharp, empathetic outward-focus. Perhaps sheer declarative trust, as when the Psalmist boasts: “Lord, you have brought light to my life; my God, you light up my darkness. In your strength I can crush an army; with my God I can scale any wall.” (Psalm 18:28–29 NLT).
Really?—an army? any wall? You have to admire that kind of “My dad can beat up your dad” talk; it’s got to have a spiritual endorphin effect. This psalmist has experienced something that causes him to brag on his God.
Or perhaps we simply have to figure out our own extremely unique connection between personal pain and God.
One thing for sure: if we hang on to the Truth through the night, I think it makes our message more authentic in the day. And probably more potentially attractive.
Merry Problematic Christmas, everyone.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
search-and-rescue operation
In this Salvage series, this past weekend’s topic was “Recovered” (my teaching cohort Joe had spoken on restored and recycled previously). For us at the Vineyard, typically when we hear the word recovery, we tend to think of our indispensible Growth & Healing ministry because it’s such a huge part of who we are and how we think. Based on our last stats, a large percentage of our adults have benefited from our recovery ministry. Plus, it was reinforced in the Reveal survey we did: we were off-the-chart with emotionally troubled folks. Let’s hear if for the “attractional leadership” theory!
When we talk about our recovery ministry, it means rediscovering our wholeness, of finding the parts of our lives that have been lost because of abuse or hurt or divorce or our own issues and addictions or poor decisions. It means to recover your sense of wholeness, of integrity, or to find the missing pieces of your life that have been lost or ignored.
But as it relates to our relationship with God, I wanted to look at recovery from God’s vantage point, from the simple angle of “finding something that was lost”. Eventually it centered on the idea that God is in the business of pursuing us, of recovering us. The problem with a talk like this is that it can feel like over-familiar territory for pastors and priests who speak a lot. Plus, it can take on an emotional tone that can smell manipulative to me; it’s like saying, “Some of you had fathers who never told you they loved you…” Gee, you think? Or it’s like giving a prophetic word-of-knowledge at the close of a message like: “I think God wants to touch people who have fear in their lives.” Hello? All of sudden you’ve got a post-Thanksgiving Wal-Mart rush to the prayer lines.
Nevertheless, there are probably two spiritual themes that can never be hammered enough, at least in my experience: God’s loving pursuit of us and our misunderstanding of authentic repentance. They’re connected at the theological hip, but I think people tend to drown one or the other out by emotional default when they’re given equal time in a thirty minute message.
I wanted to lean more into God’s search-and-rescue mission for us. I don’t think I was wholly successful (another late Saturday night depression…), but hopefully folks will read Luke 15 for themselves and God will break through. It is one of the most remarkable, comforting and humbling theological points Jesus makes.
In his autobiography, former atheist C. S. Lewis put it succinctly, “Amiable agnostics will talk cheerfully about 'man's search for God.'…They might as well have talked about the mouse's search for the cat.”
I would have liked to spend more time on that not being solely a “pre-conversion” experience. Frankly, I’ve been pursued by God my whole life. It’s painfully easy for me to nibble away like the maverick sheep in Luke 15. I hate it. But comfort and entertainment is the bane of American Christianity. I genuinely thank God that He pursues me.
The great—and nearly forgotten—poet, opium addict and all around troubled believer, Francis Thompson, put it beautifully in his masterpiece, The Hound of Heaven. Read the whole poem someday on the www. Here’s the first stanza:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat, and a Voice beat,
More instant than the Feet:
“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”
I love thinking about a Father who pursues us with unhurrying chase, unperturbed pace, deliberate speed and majestic instancy. And the jealous, protective tone of a God who says: “All things betray thee who betrayest Me.”
How can love not pursue?
Powerful.
When we talk about our recovery ministry, it means rediscovering our wholeness, of finding the parts of our lives that have been lost because of abuse or hurt or divorce or our own issues and addictions or poor decisions. It means to recover your sense of wholeness, of integrity, or to find the missing pieces of your life that have been lost or ignored.
But as it relates to our relationship with God, I wanted to look at recovery from God’s vantage point, from the simple angle of “finding something that was lost”. Eventually it centered on the idea that God is in the business of pursuing us, of recovering us. The problem with a talk like this is that it can feel like over-familiar territory for pastors and priests who speak a lot. Plus, it can take on an emotional tone that can smell manipulative to me; it’s like saying, “Some of you had fathers who never told you they loved you…” Gee, you think? Or it’s like giving a prophetic word-of-knowledge at the close of a message like: “I think God wants to touch people who have fear in their lives.” Hello? All of sudden you’ve got a post-Thanksgiving Wal-Mart rush to the prayer lines.
Nevertheless, there are probably two spiritual themes that can never be hammered enough, at least in my experience: God’s loving pursuit of us and our misunderstanding of authentic repentance. They’re connected at the theological hip, but I think people tend to drown one or the other out by emotional default when they’re given equal time in a thirty minute message.
I wanted to lean more into God’s search-and-rescue mission for us. I don’t think I was wholly successful (another late Saturday night depression…), but hopefully folks will read Luke 15 for themselves and God will break through. It is one of the most remarkable, comforting and humbling theological points Jesus makes.
In his autobiography, former atheist C. S. Lewis put it succinctly, “Amiable agnostics will talk cheerfully about 'man's search for God.'…They might as well have talked about the mouse's search for the cat.”
I would have liked to spend more time on that not being solely a “pre-conversion” experience. Frankly, I’ve been pursued by God my whole life. It’s painfully easy for me to nibble away like the maverick sheep in Luke 15. I hate it. But comfort and entertainment is the bane of American Christianity. I genuinely thank God that He pursues me.
The great—and nearly forgotten—poet, opium addict and all around troubled believer, Francis Thompson, put it beautifully in his masterpiece, The Hound of Heaven. Read the whole poem someday on the www. Here’s the first stanza:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat, and a Voice beat,
More instant than the Feet:
“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”
I love thinking about a Father who pursues us with unhurrying chase, unperturbed pace, deliberate speed and majestic instancy. And the jealous, protective tone of a God who says: “All things betray thee who betrayest Me.”
How can love not pursue?
Powerful.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
turkeypalooza
…They’ll tell you not to eat this or that food—perfectly good food God created to be eaten heartily and with Thanksgiving by Christians! Everything God created is good, and to be received with thanks. Nothing is to be sneered at and thrown out. God’s Word and our prayers make every item in creation holy. (1 Timothy 4:3b–5 The Message)
Okay, so that’s out of context…and out of everything else. And I capitalized the T. But hey, hope you have some time to eat, argue politics with some family members (uh, in love…), and reflect on how, despite whatever is swirling around you, faith somehow whispers in your ear that God is good.
One more thing. Turkeyfest at the Vineyard was beautiful. Last Saturday morning, about 1,400 complete turkey dinners were hand delivered to families all over Greater Cincy. The room was jammin. Some people left with prophetic turkeys. Uh, meaning they didn’t have a predetermined destination, just an open heart to the H.S. and a car. Wow.
Okay, so that’s out of context…and out of everything else. And I capitalized the T. But hey, hope you have some time to eat, argue politics with some family members (uh, in love…), and reflect on how, despite whatever is swirling around you, faith somehow whispers in your ear that God is good.
One more thing. Turkeyfest at the Vineyard was beautiful. Last Saturday morning, about 1,400 complete turkey dinners were hand delivered to families all over Greater Cincy. The room was jammin. Some people left with prophetic turkeys. Uh, meaning they didn’t have a predetermined destination, just an open heart to the H.S. and a car. Wow.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
evidence
Some years back I met with a middle-aged man from Columbus who was brought to the Vineyard on a weekday afternoon by a friend. He had been concerned about some chronic issue in his life that he really didn’t want to identify and wondered if his friend knew someone he could talk to somewhat confidentially. For whatever reason, my name popped up.
The three of us sat in a little room as he began to casually share his story with me, nothing too deep. He was well dressed, polite, and a successful sales rep. After about twenty minutes of mostly listening, I asked if we could pray together and invite the Holy Spirit to come. He said he wouldn’t mind at all.
We prayed for a few minutes and then I asked God to come upon him. He promptly curled over, head over his knees, and then fell out of his chair and began to writhe on the floor like a snake, grunting as if in pain. His friend was quite surprised as we went through what I would call a low-level deliverance that lasted only about fifteen minutes. It mostly had to do with demonic harassment regarding a sexual bondage. After that, he lay on the floor like a wet dishrag for a few moments, got back up in his chair, and was a bit bewildered over his behavior. I asked if anything like that had ever happened in the past and he said no. We chatted a few more minutes and he left, in his own words, “feeling lighter.”
I bet so.
Prior to launching his public ministry, Jesus presented His mission statement in Luke chapter 4:
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.”
Immediately Jesus began His public ministry and gave expression to “the Lord’s favor”, the Kingdom of God. This is a classic passage for us at the Vineyard; we want to describe ourselves as a Luke 4 church. Matthew describes what happened after that announcement in Jesus’ hometown synagogue as nothing short of astonishing:
Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people. News about him spread all over Syria, and people brought to him all who were ill with various diseases, those suffering severe pain, the demon-possessed, those having seizures, and the paralyzed, and he healed them. (Matthew 4:23, 24)
Jesus came to announce freedom to bruised, broken and bound humanity. He came to make people whole, to set them free. If you want to know what God is like and what He wants to do, look at Jesus. If you want to know what Jesus is like and what he wants to do, we should be able to look at the Church. And if the Church is to do the same work as Jesus—and he indicated we would in several places—you can be guaranteed we’ll have some supernatural encounters.
Typically in the book of Acts, with an outpouring of the Spirit comes an initial explosion of transrational experiences: people prophesy or spontaneous worship erupts or tongues occur or, at least in one instance, the facility vibrated. But when you look at what continued in the behaviors of the Church, the ongoing evidence that God was moving among them in the Spirit were: transformed lives, the activity of spiritual warfare (usually in the form of persecution), a boldness in evangelism (often accompanied with signs and wonders), and radical generosity.
I hope this series on the Holy Spirit created a desire that moved beyond the typical charismatic borders and into a longing for God-centered power that focuses on mission.
His mission.
Monday, November 17, 2008
thin places and the power of the Holy Spirit
In Celtic spirituality, caol 'ait is a term for “thin places”. A thin place is where the physical world and the spiritual realm connect, where the distance between the natural and the spirit is narrowest. Perhaps it’s what Jacob felt in Genesis 28 after his dream of a ladder into heaven:
When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” Genesis 28:16–17 (TNIV)
Christian mystics may use the term as a way to describe the moments, not the locations, where God seems to break into our world. Or we break into His world, though I’m not sure how that works. “Break into” is probably a misnomer; I’m fairly sure heaven is unguarded. For one, why? That’s probably akin to visiting the sun; let’s just slip past those pesky solar flares and drop our landing gear.
Lately I’ve been using the phrase “storming heaven”. I’m not sure where I got that; maybe it’s leftover language from my ancient Pentecostal days. I know I have a book in my library by Jay Stevens with the same name, but it’s a history of LSD from Huxley to Kerouac to Leary. Uh, not exactly charismatic stuff.
But I think the term squares with an account in Acts. Peter and John bring a healing touch to a physically handicapped forty-something man who panhandled each day by one of the temple entrances. Remarkably, he’s instantly healed. Peter explains what just happened to all the Jews gathered as a result and basically says: “Change the way you think about everything. Anyone who doesn’t listen to Messiah Jesus will be cut off.”
We would assume that’s not the way to win friends, but the church grew to five-thousand men.
And they dragged Peter and John off to jail. The next day they stood before the high priest and the ruling leaders. It’s easy to gloss over this and not realize how terrifying that would have been; the next step could be execution. Imagine being dragged as a terrorist before the religious equivalent of Dick Cheney. After being interrogated, it reads that Peter was filled with the Holy Spirit and then threw a roundhouse sermon on Psalm 118 about “rejecting the cornerstone”.
They couldn’t figure out how to punish Peter and John because all the people were still seriously praising God for what they had seen, so they let them go. They got back with their friends, explained what happened, and a spontaneous prayer meeting broke out. They finished praying with this: “…And now, O Lord, hear their threats, and give your servants great boldness in their preaching. Send your healing power; may miraculous signs and wonders be done through the name of your holy servant Jesus.” (Acts 4:29, 30 NLT)
Sounds to me like they stormed heaven and were asking for two things: boldness in talking about Jesus and supernatural evidence to be manifested in His name. They all got filled with the Spirit and then the house physically shook. Now that’s a thin place.
I think that’s what I want to see. I want God to fill us. I don’t want to prescribe how that should look like in a corporate setting. I’m suspect of “charismatic promptings and instruction”. Been there. Seems to me the disciples had no clue what this corporate mysterious “filling of the Holy Spirit” should look like. Did they expect the house to shake? They just wanted boldness and evidence.
Somehow I think that’s the right approach.
Only one catch: perhaps as often as not, it’s somewhat dependent on the level of our desperation. Maybe the thin places are as narrow as our hunger.
Come, Holy Spirit.
When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” Genesis 28:16–17 (TNIV)
Christian mystics may use the term as a way to describe the moments, not the locations, where God seems to break into our world. Or we break into His world, though I’m not sure how that works. “Break into” is probably a misnomer; I’m fairly sure heaven is unguarded. For one, why? That’s probably akin to visiting the sun; let’s just slip past those pesky solar flares and drop our landing gear.Lately I’ve been using the phrase “storming heaven”. I’m not sure where I got that; maybe it’s leftover language from my ancient Pentecostal days. I know I have a book in my library by Jay Stevens with the same name, but it’s a history of LSD from Huxley to Kerouac to Leary. Uh, not exactly charismatic stuff.
But I think the term squares with an account in Acts. Peter and John bring a healing touch to a physically handicapped forty-something man who panhandled each day by one of the temple entrances. Remarkably, he’s instantly healed. Peter explains what just happened to all the Jews gathered as a result and basically says: “Change the way you think about everything. Anyone who doesn’t listen to Messiah Jesus will be cut off.”
We would assume that’s not the way to win friends, but the church grew to five-thousand men.
And they dragged Peter and John off to jail. The next day they stood before the high priest and the ruling leaders. It’s easy to gloss over this and not realize how terrifying that would have been; the next step could be execution. Imagine being dragged as a terrorist before the religious equivalent of Dick Cheney. After being interrogated, it reads that Peter was filled with the Holy Spirit and then threw a roundhouse sermon on Psalm 118 about “rejecting the cornerstone”.
They couldn’t figure out how to punish Peter and John because all the people were still seriously praising God for what they had seen, so they let them go. They got back with their friends, explained what happened, and a spontaneous prayer meeting broke out. They finished praying with this: “…And now, O Lord, hear their threats, and give your servants great boldness in their preaching. Send your healing power; may miraculous signs and wonders be done through the name of your holy servant Jesus.” (Acts 4:29, 30 NLT)
Sounds to me like they stormed heaven and were asking for two things: boldness in talking about Jesus and supernatural evidence to be manifested in His name. They all got filled with the Spirit and then the house physically shook. Now that’s a thin place.
I think that’s what I want to see. I want God to fill us. I don’t want to prescribe how that should look like in a corporate setting. I’m suspect of “charismatic promptings and instruction”. Been there. Seems to me the disciples had no clue what this corporate mysterious “filling of the Holy Spirit” should look like. Did they expect the house to shake? They just wanted boldness and evidence.
Somehow I think that’s the right approach.
Only one catch: perhaps as often as not, it’s somewhat dependent on the level of our desperation. Maybe the thin places are as narrow as our hunger.
Come, Holy Spirit.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
introducing the holy spirit
Joe launched us beautifully into this new series on the Holy Spirit. I think we’re in for a wild ride.Doctor Luke certainly doesn’t help smooth the ride. Scholars have long said that it’s nearly impossible to develop a theology of the Holy Spirit based on the book of Acts. But maybe that’s the point; try describing the wind. It reminds me of the children's poem Who Has Seen the Wind? by romantic poet Christina Rossetti:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
Perhaps it’s easier to see the effects of the Holy Spirit than to systematize the means.
In the second chapter of Acts, we learn that after Jesus was resurrected and returned to His Father, there was a mix of 120 men and women praying in the large, upper room of a house. The disciples were there. Jesus’ brothers. Mary, the mother of Jesus was there. And suddenly a massive train-like noise, perhaps as a tornado sounds, filled the room. Then a glowing light, like fire, exploded and scattered above their heads, flickered over each one of them and they began to speak in languages they had never learned…turning Mother Mary into one of the first Pentecostals. The power was so intense that they must have stumbled out into the streets looking glazed because the Jews who had come to the festival of Pentecost thought they were drunk.
But as people began to listen to them, some who had come from countries all over the Mideast began to recognize their own dialects and heard them worshipping God.
In my private prayer, I like to pray in tongues, in a language I’ve never learned.
Forty years ago, there was a combination of two waves that rocked the Church boat: it was the Jesus movement and the charismatic movement. The Jesus movement stunned the traditional church; it was marked by huge numbers of the alternative culture—hippies, the disenfranchised, the disillusioned counter-culture, and to the shock of the conservative church, even Democrats—were getting born again. The institutional, mainline church had become increasingly ineffective in its ability to read the emerging culture and communicate with it.
The charismatic movement, almost simultaneously, saw the worldwide outbreak of spiritual gifts in every denomination. Hard-line Pentecostals were shocked that even Catholics were speaking in tongues. That’s not how it was supposed to work. There was upheaval in denominational churches. It was as if God dropped a spiritual atomic bomb in the middle of the global sanctuary and said “Let’s shake things up!” In the 1500’s it was the Reformation; in the 1700’s it was Methodism. In the 1800’s it was Finney and the evangelicals.
The Jesus movement and the charismatic movement of the 20th century were, in my opinion, divine invasive surgical operations of God to blood-let the introverted, unfocused, homogeneous club the Church had become. It had its own subculture with its own language, music and practices…and institutionalized and unproductive. When believers stop connecting with lost people, God drops the bomb.
Were there excesses and craziness in all of that? You bet! What a mess. My own family was spread out and one-by-one we each came to Christ and got blasted by the Holy Spirit. We were so crazy we should have been locked up. My mom was in her 50’s and turned into a Jesus freak. One day my sister-in-law was at the Cincinnati Zoo and heard two people from India talking and said “Hey, that sounds like my prayer language!” She ran up to them and says “Do you know what I’m saying?”—and started speaking in tongues. They looked at her like she was from another planet, gathered their children close to them and walked away. Quickly. We were not well.
I have seen a lot. And through it all, look how normal I turned out.
Okay, maybe that’s not such a strong endorsement.
Friday, October 24, 2008
mortal sins, venial sins...and virtual sins
Wired.com reported this great news story yesterday:
Think about it: it’s not really your husband. And it’s not really a murder. But you're really in trouble.
Here’s a theological conundrum: what if Jesus really meant it when he said, “You have heard that the Law of Moses says, ‘Do not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’? But I say, if you are angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the high council. And if you curse someone, you are in danger of the fires of hell.” (Matthew 5:21–22 NLT).
Contextually, many Biblical historians see the Law under Moses as a cultural moral advancement. When the Law said, “An eye for an eye”, it was actually a limitation on what an injured person could do to the one who victimized him. In other words, if some dude sucker punched you in the face and you lost your vision, you couldn’t kill him. The most that could be done was a reciprocal eye punch. Believe it or not, that was merciful in light of the historical moral context.
But Jesus takes this whole thing stratospheric—he invades our thought life. His point was: because God sees our hearts and intentions, this can’t simply be about behaviors. God is personally hurt by our thoughts when they are self-focused, vengeful, hateful, or arrogant. Why would He not be? How would you feel if your kids walked around perpetually feeling spiteful, angry and “me-first”? How would you respond if your second-grader swaggered around with his nose up in the air, rude to others and calling people moronic? Would you feel embarrassed? Angry?
Now what if you could hear your child’s thoughts?
What if virtual actions in a virtual world revealed our not-so-virtual and not-so-virtuous hearts? It’s just a game, eh? Or, in real life, it’s just our thoughts. Right? No one really got hurt, did they?
Maybe God isn’t virtual like Maple Story. Maybe this isn’t a game. And maybe we are actually responsible in a real way for our thoughts.
Maybe we need a savior because we’re virtually screwed up.
I do.
Woman Arrested After Killing Virtual Ex-HusbandOkay, so it turns out she wasn’t really arrested for killing her virtual ex-husband, but for hacking into Maple Story with someone else’s password. But even still it’s a great story.
A 43-year-old Japanese woman, angry over a sudden divorce in the virtual online game Maple Story, has been arrested on suspicion of hacking into the game where she killed her once-virtual husband, authorities said.
Authorities said the Miyazaki woman illegally accessed the game with a password she hijacked from a colleague. That made it appear as if her coworker committed the online murder. According to The Associated Press, the woman told police: "I was suddenly divorced, without a word of warning. That made me so angry."
The hacking allegation carries a maximum five-year prison term.
Think about it: it’s not really your husband. And it’s not really a murder. But you're really in trouble.
Here’s a theological conundrum: what if Jesus really meant it when he said, “You have heard that the Law of Moses says, ‘Do not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’? But I say, if you are angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the high council. And if you curse someone, you are in danger of the fires of hell.” (Matthew 5:21–22 NLT).
Contextually, many Biblical historians see the Law under Moses as a cultural moral advancement. When the Law said, “An eye for an eye”, it was actually a limitation on what an injured person could do to the one who victimized him. In other words, if some dude sucker punched you in the face and you lost your vision, you couldn’t kill him. The most that could be done was a reciprocal eye punch. Believe it or not, that was merciful in light of the historical moral context.
But Jesus takes this whole thing stratospheric—he invades our thought life. His point was: because God sees our hearts and intentions, this can’t simply be about behaviors. God is personally hurt by our thoughts when they are self-focused, vengeful, hateful, or arrogant. Why would He not be? How would you feel if your kids walked around perpetually feeling spiteful, angry and “me-first”? How would you respond if your second-grader swaggered around with his nose up in the air, rude to others and calling people moronic? Would you feel embarrassed? Angry?Now what if you could hear your child’s thoughts?
What if virtual actions in a virtual world revealed our not-so-virtual and not-so-virtuous hearts? It’s just a game, eh? Or, in real life, it’s just our thoughts. Right? No one really got hurt, did they?
Maybe God isn’t virtual like Maple Story. Maybe this isn’t a game. And maybe we are actually responsible in a real way for our thoughts.
Maybe we need a savior because we’re virtually screwed up.
I do.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
“moneymoneymoneymoney…moooonnnnneeeeyyyy” ~Gamble & Huff
Man, am I late on this. Sorry.
How can you not hear constant buzz about the economy? Our country is on a `round-the-clock financial information binge. The only good news is we’re spared coverage of the latest Lohan family rehab news. Back in May we decided to do a series in October on money; who would have guessed at that time that the airwaves and zeroes-and-ones would be filled with terms like bailout, CDOs, Fannie Mae MBS?
The last time I spoke I showed the NYC national debt clock from six months ago.
It was originally designed to display up to $9,999,999,999,999. Two weeks ago it actually ran out of spaces—we hit a new high (or a new low): $10.2 trillion. They had to replace the dollar sign space with numbers; plans are in place to add two more spaces. How bizarre is that? We are in way over our heads.
These are the days when you hear preachers say:
• “Jesus spoke more about money than ______” (hell, heaven, salvation, whatever….)
• “Bla bla bla…time, talent, treasure…bla bla bla”
• “I’m no economist, but…”
• “Turn to Malachi 3…”
And, yeah, I’ve said them.
During financial uncertainty, you know what’s the real deal? —Trust.
But honest trust. That’s trickier than it reads. Think of all the things that have to be in place for real provisional trust to work: a good and true heart, healthy measures of self-awareness, child-like faith in a compassionate Father, no guile, a sense of scale, generosity, and a good work ethic. Then you can trust God deeply and honestly. “Provision” is heard differently depending on the “receptor”.
For instance, a message of trust in a Father who provides would probably be heard differently by Dorcas in Acts 9 than the Thessalonian slackers in 2 Thessalonians 3. Dorcas was known for working constantly to provide for the poor; some Thessalonian believers were sitting on their super-spiritual cans waiting for Jesus to come back. Paul laid his apostolic hammer down with this rule: “Whoever doesn’t work, doesn’t eat.” How do you think God would respond to either one who asked for needs to be met?
While it’s true the phrase “God helps those who helps themselves” isn't found in the Bible (credit Ben Franklin for that one), outside of our personal salvation, that’s a pretty pithy proverb. Coming from a “word of faith” background, I had dissed that thought. But the older I get, the more I can see our behaviors/words reflect what’s really in the heart.
And, in the Kingdom, we hear—and receive—with our heart.
You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat… (Isaiah 25:4a NIV)
How can you not hear constant buzz about the economy? Our country is on a `round-the-clock financial information binge. The only good news is we’re spared coverage of the latest Lohan family rehab news. Back in May we decided to do a series in October on money; who would have guessed at that time that the airwaves and zeroes-and-ones would be filled with terms like bailout, CDOs, Fannie Mae MBS?
The last time I spoke I showed the NYC national debt clock from six months ago.
It was originally designed to display up to $9,999,999,999,999. Two weeks ago it actually ran out of spaces—we hit a new high (or a new low): $10.2 trillion. They had to replace the dollar sign space with numbers; plans are in place to add two more spaces. How bizarre is that? We are in way over our heads.These are the days when you hear preachers say:
• “Jesus spoke more about money than ______” (hell, heaven, salvation, whatever….)
• “Bla bla bla…time, talent, treasure…bla bla bla”
• “I’m no economist, but…”
• “Turn to Malachi 3…”
And, yeah, I’ve said them.
During financial uncertainty, you know what’s the real deal? —Trust.
But honest trust. That’s trickier than it reads. Think of all the things that have to be in place for real provisional trust to work: a good and true heart, healthy measures of self-awareness, child-like faith in a compassionate Father, no guile, a sense of scale, generosity, and a good work ethic. Then you can trust God deeply and honestly. “Provision” is heard differently depending on the “receptor”.
For instance, a message of trust in a Father who provides would probably be heard differently by Dorcas in Acts 9 than the Thessalonian slackers in 2 Thessalonians 3. Dorcas was known for working constantly to provide for the poor; some Thessalonian believers were sitting on their super-spiritual cans waiting for Jesus to come back. Paul laid his apostolic hammer down with this rule: “Whoever doesn’t work, doesn’t eat.” How do you think God would respond to either one who asked for needs to be met?
While it’s true the phrase “God helps those who helps themselves” isn't found in the Bible (credit Ben Franklin for that one), outside of our personal salvation, that’s a pretty pithy proverb. Coming from a “word of faith” background, I had dissed that thought. But the older I get, the more I can see our behaviors/words reflect what’s really in the heart.
And, in the Kingdom, we hear—and receive—with our heart.
You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat… (Isaiah 25:4a NIV)
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