Pick your favorite noun to accompany the word "liberal": liberal politics, liberal churches, liberal people, or liberal helpings of gravy at Thanksgiving dinner. We tend to look scornfully upon anything considered to be liberal. Why?
Liberals are often stereotyped as "bleeding hearts," meaning they have a soft spot for social justice issues. Conservatives, considered the opposite to liberals, tend to favor "the man": big governments, big spending, big war.
I have a growing distaste for the way people like to brand Christianity as a "conservative" religion, and who see liberals as non-, or anti-, Christian.
What is it about liberalism that is so wrong? I wonder if we tend to misinterpret the word "liberal" to mean "license." To be liberal means to do things very freely, like the Thanksgiving ladle. And Christians often have a knee-jerk reaction to too much freedom, fearing that our children will become druggies if we teach about freedom. Christians therefore often overcorrect, favoring a stringent moral code that has no earmarks of freedom whatsoever.
Additionally, the characterization of liberals as bleeding hearts is also a funny way of seeing things. It would seem to suggest the conservatives, the opposite of liberals, have stone-cold hearts. This would play in a lack of concern for issues of social justice. And that's a tough position for conservatives to hold. Conservatives tend to be die-hard pro-life advocates, which I fully agree with. But to couple being a pro-life advocate with a blatant disregard for the poor is contemptible and hypocritical. It is often the poor who look to abortion as a way to escape the financial burden of another child. To cry out for the preservation of the life of the fetus is a good and needful thing. But to ignore the needs of that same family once the child enters the world is astonishing. Likewise, to ignore the challenges that precipitated the thought of abortion (e.g. financial strain, often created by inability to pursue a good education) is equally thoughtless. If this characterization is accurate, then conservatives are certainly no more "moral" than liberals, and perhaps even less so. If you oppose abortion because it's a human rights violation, that's a good thing. But be consistent. Don't just champion this one issue, as if it's sealed off from anything else. Address the underlying issues as well. Provide better work opportunities for single mothers. Provide better, more affordable child care. Remove obstacles that block access to education. Realize that immoral choices are not just made on individual levels, but are also systemic, meaning that we are not entirely removed from the choices of others.
I think conservatives are onto a lot of good things. But to worship at the church of Republicanism, or Focus on the Family, or capitalism, is to fracture the Gospel. This is not ok. Liberals are not the enemy of Christianity; hypocrites are, and always have been. If we need an enemy to fight, let's fight the log in our own eye.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
free of charge
The Gospel has no hidden fees. And we don't understand that. For something so precious, we can't comprehend why it would be free. When you go to Costco, you might expect to sample a cracker or a dip, but not a diamond necklace.
Paul, one of the earliest pastors in the church, was so committed to this fact that he would not accept anything material from the recipients of his message (see 1 Cor 9). He wanted there to be no confusion: this Gospel has not been purchased from me. It is free of charge. Even though he would have liked to accept their generosity, to do so, in his eyes, might suggest to some that he was preaching out of compulsion.
Why does this catch my attention? Because he was so dedicated to preserving the nature of the Gospel message that he denied himself material comforts. He could have lived an easier life, but for the sake of others, he chose not to do anything that might obscure his message. His was a selfless life.
I wonder...what things in my life might I forego for the sake of the Gospel? What comforts do I have, or what ways do I live, that tarnish the brilliance of the Gospel? I expect there are many things.
What I love most about this passage (1 Cor 9) is Paul's unbridled commitment to the Gospel message. He was so passionate about his message that he oriented his entire life around this center. He lived such a pure life, "pure" in the sense that he seemed to live for a singular purpose.
How would our lives be different if we focused everything else on the Gospel center? Think of the difference between the dispersion of normal white light vs. a laser. In a laser, the photons remain in the 'stream' of the light, whereas white light is far less efficient, with photons scattering every which way. If the purpose of my life is the belief in and propogation of the Gospel message, why do I get so caught up in a million other purposes? My light is inefficient. My hope for myself and for you is that we become efficient Christians, so overcome with the wonder of the Gospel that all our resources and time are dedicated to this singular end.
Paul, one of the earliest pastors in the church, was so committed to this fact that he would not accept anything material from the recipients of his message (see 1 Cor 9). He wanted there to be no confusion: this Gospel has not been purchased from me. It is free of charge. Even though he would have liked to accept their generosity, to do so, in his eyes, might suggest to some that he was preaching out of compulsion.
Why does this catch my attention? Because he was so dedicated to preserving the nature of the Gospel message that he denied himself material comforts. He could have lived an easier life, but for the sake of others, he chose not to do anything that might obscure his message. His was a selfless life.
I wonder...what things in my life might I forego for the sake of the Gospel? What comforts do I have, or what ways do I live, that tarnish the brilliance of the Gospel? I expect there are many things.
What I love most about this passage (1 Cor 9) is Paul's unbridled commitment to the Gospel message. He was so passionate about his message that he oriented his entire life around this center. He lived such a pure life, "pure" in the sense that he seemed to live for a singular purpose.
How would our lives be different if we focused everything else on the Gospel center? Think of the difference between the dispersion of normal white light vs. a laser. In a laser, the photons remain in the 'stream' of the light, whereas white light is far less efficient, with photons scattering every which way. If the purpose of my life is the belief in and propogation of the Gospel message, why do I get so caught up in a million other purposes? My light is inefficient. My hope for myself and for you is that we become efficient Christians, so overcome with the wonder of the Gospel that all our resources and time are dedicated to this singular end.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
owning haiti
Sadly, it is great disaster that places countries in our field of vision. I never thought of Haiti before, not really. Certainly we cannot give ourselves to every need in every country, but in the footage of collapsed buildings and twisted bodies, I am convicted that we must give more somewhere. We cannot prevent catastrophes, but we can be do better before they strike.
As the full carnage of this disaster is told, the question of "why?" will rise higher and higher toward the surface. Why did God allow this? Why did this person have to die? Why this nation, already so impoverished? Our impulse is to implicate God.
This is the "problem of evil." We cannot, as Christians, presume to speculate as to why this disaster might have happened. This is called ignorant bigotry, and it is repulsive in the highest order. Our task as Christians is not to deny or explain away this evil, but to do just the opposite: to name it as evil. The earthquake in Haiti was an atrocity, and it has broken the lives of innumerable people. Now is a time to mourn.
If we are to arrive at any conclusions with regard to this catastrophe, our conclusions must only address ourselves. "Why did God let this happen?" is an important question, but it overlooks a more difficult question for us, which is, "Why have I lived in such a way that ignores the needs of others?" If I am actively contributing to something beyond myself, perhaps my efforts in Bangladesh or Angola or wherever can serve to save the lives of 100 people in the next great catastrophe. By realizing that we can contribute in some small way, we don't make God a scapegoat for every bad thing that happens. Yes, He can stop such hardships, but that is not really the way He has ordered things, not really the way the universe tends to operate. He has asked us to be His agents for change.
God, make us agents of change. Make me one. And bring your peace to Haiti.
As the full carnage of this disaster is told, the question of "why?" will rise higher and higher toward the surface. Why did God allow this? Why did this person have to die? Why this nation, already so impoverished? Our impulse is to implicate God.
This is the "problem of evil." We cannot, as Christians, presume to speculate as to why this disaster might have happened. This is called ignorant bigotry, and it is repulsive in the highest order. Our task as Christians is not to deny or explain away this evil, but to do just the opposite: to name it as evil. The earthquake in Haiti was an atrocity, and it has broken the lives of innumerable people. Now is a time to mourn.
If we are to arrive at any conclusions with regard to this catastrophe, our conclusions must only address ourselves. "Why did God let this happen?" is an important question, but it overlooks a more difficult question for us, which is, "Why have I lived in such a way that ignores the needs of others?" If I am actively contributing to something beyond myself, perhaps my efforts in Bangladesh or Angola or wherever can serve to save the lives of 100 people in the next great catastrophe. By realizing that we can contribute in some small way, we don't make God a scapegoat for every bad thing that happens. Yes, He can stop such hardships, but that is not really the way He has ordered things, not really the way the universe tends to operate. He has asked us to be His agents for change.
God, make us agents of change. Make me one. And bring your peace to Haiti.
Friday, January 8, 2010
perfection and grace
These two terms don't play well together. For me, I tend to think that Christianity and Perfection are synonyms. I tend to conceive of Grace as the red-headed stepchild to Christianity; it doesn't quite fit in. It seems more like a provision for our constant failures than the central concept of the Christian faith. Is this true?
Before answering that cognitively, I first want to demonstrate it behaviorally. What does a life look like that lives in pursuit of Perfection, with only a polite nod toward Grace? In a word: tired. The pursuit of Perfection means that everything weighs on a person. If I am materialistic, and I know it's contrary t0 God's law, I will try my best not to be materialistic. I might avoid going to malls, especially when I'm alone. I might throw out magazines or catalogues that promote the materialistic lifestyle I am susceptible to. I might even give away things toward which I have an unhealthy attachment. But when I let my guard down, even for a moment, I cannot help but feel a surge of desire to go and buy, and own, and if I cannot, than to covet what others have. This is accompanied by the painful realization that all the mature steps I've taken towards battling my materialism have not routed this disease. All my efforts to change this about myself fall short, and I am left with a persistent guilt that I have failed. I am -- inevitably it seems -- a materialistic person. Over time, my outward failure becomes an inward label.
Grace, from this mindset, offers a weak salve, suggesting a pathetic platitude of, "It's ok." Barf. Grace is a loser. It doesn't feel ok. I've failed, and I am rapidly becoming a failure. The perfection I believe God has called me to has not been met. I must be weak, lazy, and barely a Christian. Even though I've exhausted myself, and have done everything I know to do to remove this junk from my life, I need to work harder. I need a new battle plan, more aggressive, more dedicated. I need more prayer, more study, more Bible memorization, more, more, more.
Now consider: What if Grace is the most fundamental concept of the Christian faith, and Perfection was never required of us? Someone might quickly turn to Matthew 5:48 in response, where Jesus says, "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." That sure sounds like moral perfection is the requirement of the Christian faith. But if that's our interpretation, we've missed the entire thrust of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), and, for that matter, of the Christian faith. The perfection Christ is calling for is not a moral, "performative" perfection. That might be the only kind of perfection we can think of, but it is not what Christ is calling for. In fact, Hebrews 7:19 says "The law made nothing perfect." This means that the only system of perfection we have in our heads is bunk. It doesn't even work. Practically speaking, even if I can stop all materialistic practices and desires altogether, that won't make me perfect. There is no guarantee that tomorrow I won't go and buy a Maserati, or at least covet a Maserati. I cannot make myself perfect. And to be honest, I'm really tired of trying.
The perfection Jesus is describing is a perfection that is radically different. Like a lot of things, Jesus has to entirely resurrect our thinking. However--and this is very important--Jesus is not altering anything. He is not preaching a new salvation. He is the fulfillment of the same salvation that has always been on offer since the beginning. The perfection he describes might best be understood as "absolute freedom." Jesus uses the word "perfection" not as a moral yardstick but as something that means "utter" or "complete." In short, Jesus is not asking for moral perfection, but utter wholeness (multiple scholars agree on this point, ask me if interested in specifics). We are to be utterly whole as God is utterly whole.
What does this mean for our lives practically? It means that my plaguing materialism should not consume my attention. I should not ignore it outright, but my pursuit of wholeness should be targeted on something other than just defeating sin. Jesus came to give life, right? So the Christian life should not be characterized as having "less" life than other people, but more life, greater life. If I spend all my time trying to cut out materialism, I will reduce the wholeness of my life that is such a central concern of Christianity. Instead of attending to my sins with such ferocity, I can attend to something in the positive realm: the grace of God.
Grace means our sin should not be the priority of our Christian life. Our priority is to open ourselves to the love of God. Perhaps our muscles tighten when we consider letting go of our relentless pursuit of behaving "better," but that is exactly what must happen. What are we afraid of? We can't make ourselves better anyway. Our only recourse is to throw out the entire system of Perfection and invest ourselves in Christ's perfection, which is the freedom and utter wholeness found in the love of God.
So how do we pray about plaguing sins like materialism? We pray like this, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come....." In other words, we pray about everything else. It's important not to ignore sin, and to confess sin and acknowledge our inability to fix ourselves, but we must go on to address the greater concern, which is our wholeness in God. Sin needs to be dealt with, and proper attention does need to be given to it, but we do those things not to gain freedom, but to be cut loose into the freedom we have already gained. To quote Steve Brown, "Freedom does not come from obedience. Obedience comes from freedom."
It is the default of every human being to believe perfection is the way we find freedom. But it is simply not true. Freedom is found only in the grace of God, that impossible surplus of life that we have already gained. In point of fact, I don't need to stop being materialistic in order to be loved by God. I am already free. But I want to make progress away from materialism, because I know it would allow me to live better here on earth, and it would bring joy to my Father in heaven.
Perfectionism tells me I'm a failure. Grace tells me I'm not. If both are on offer, which would you prefer?
Before answering that cognitively, I first want to demonstrate it behaviorally. What does a life look like that lives in pursuit of Perfection, with only a polite nod toward Grace? In a word: tired. The pursuit of Perfection means that everything weighs on a person. If I am materialistic, and I know it's contrary t0 God's law, I will try my best not to be materialistic. I might avoid going to malls, especially when I'm alone. I might throw out magazines or catalogues that promote the materialistic lifestyle I am susceptible to. I might even give away things toward which I have an unhealthy attachment. But when I let my guard down, even for a moment, I cannot help but feel a surge of desire to go and buy, and own, and if I cannot, than to covet what others have. This is accompanied by the painful realization that all the mature steps I've taken towards battling my materialism have not routed this disease. All my efforts to change this about myself fall short, and I am left with a persistent guilt that I have failed. I am -- inevitably it seems -- a materialistic person. Over time, my outward failure becomes an inward label.
Grace, from this mindset, offers a weak salve, suggesting a pathetic platitude of, "It's ok." Barf. Grace is a loser. It doesn't feel ok. I've failed, and I am rapidly becoming a failure. The perfection I believe God has called me to has not been met. I must be weak, lazy, and barely a Christian. Even though I've exhausted myself, and have done everything I know to do to remove this junk from my life, I need to work harder. I need a new battle plan, more aggressive, more dedicated. I need more prayer, more study, more Bible memorization, more, more, more.
Now consider: What if Grace is the most fundamental concept of the Christian faith, and Perfection was never required of us? Someone might quickly turn to Matthew 5:48 in response, where Jesus says, "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." That sure sounds like moral perfection is the requirement of the Christian faith. But if that's our interpretation, we've missed the entire thrust of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), and, for that matter, of the Christian faith. The perfection Christ is calling for is not a moral, "performative" perfection. That might be the only kind of perfection we can think of, but it is not what Christ is calling for. In fact, Hebrews 7:19 says "The law made nothing perfect." This means that the only system of perfection we have in our heads is bunk. It doesn't even work. Practically speaking, even if I can stop all materialistic practices and desires altogether, that won't make me perfect. There is no guarantee that tomorrow I won't go and buy a Maserati, or at least covet a Maserati. I cannot make myself perfect. And to be honest, I'm really tired of trying.
The perfection Jesus is describing is a perfection that is radically different. Like a lot of things, Jesus has to entirely resurrect our thinking. However--and this is very important--Jesus is not altering anything. He is not preaching a new salvation. He is the fulfillment of the same salvation that has always been on offer since the beginning. The perfection he describes might best be understood as "absolute freedom." Jesus uses the word "perfection" not as a moral yardstick but as something that means "utter" or "complete." In short, Jesus is not asking for moral perfection, but utter wholeness (multiple scholars agree on this point, ask me if interested in specifics). We are to be utterly whole as God is utterly whole.
What does this mean for our lives practically? It means that my plaguing materialism should not consume my attention. I should not ignore it outright, but my pursuit of wholeness should be targeted on something other than just defeating sin. Jesus came to give life, right? So the Christian life should not be characterized as having "less" life than other people, but more life, greater life. If I spend all my time trying to cut out materialism, I will reduce the wholeness of my life that is such a central concern of Christianity. Instead of attending to my sins with such ferocity, I can attend to something in the positive realm: the grace of God.
Grace means our sin should not be the priority of our Christian life. Our priority is to open ourselves to the love of God. Perhaps our muscles tighten when we consider letting go of our relentless pursuit of behaving "better," but that is exactly what must happen. What are we afraid of? We can't make ourselves better anyway. Our only recourse is to throw out the entire system of Perfection and invest ourselves in Christ's perfection, which is the freedom and utter wholeness found in the love of God.
So how do we pray about plaguing sins like materialism? We pray like this, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come....." In other words, we pray about everything else. It's important not to ignore sin, and to confess sin and acknowledge our inability to fix ourselves, but we must go on to address the greater concern, which is our wholeness in God. Sin needs to be dealt with, and proper attention does need to be given to it, but we do those things not to gain freedom, but to be cut loose into the freedom we have already gained. To quote Steve Brown, "Freedom does not come from obedience. Obedience comes from freedom."
It is the default of every human being to believe perfection is the way we find freedom. But it is simply not true. Freedom is found only in the grace of God, that impossible surplus of life that we have already gained. In point of fact, I don't need to stop being materialistic in order to be loved by God. I am already free. But I want to make progress away from materialism, because I know it would allow me to live better here on earth, and it would bring joy to my Father in heaven.
Perfectionism tells me I'm a failure. Grace tells me I'm not. If both are on offer, which would you prefer?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
descending the ivory tower
I have come to the conclusion that I am cerebrally-handicapped. I don't consider myself a great thinker, but I work with what wisdom I do have and make it run a marathon. Now, I strongly believe that courageous intellectual engagement is sorely needed in our cultural moment, but that engagement needs to be lucid, and most importantly, pertinent.
My handicap is that my thinking is not often either of these things. Clear thinking is a great challenge for me. But my greater challenge is translating my thinking into something that is pertinent, relevant, and workable. The way I understand it, the ivory tower of scholarship is not a tower because the thoughts are so lofty, but because they're so removed. Like a scholar, I like to philosophize about theology, the Bible, and life in general, but I don't so easily bring all that thinking to bear onto something that actually matters. The result is like a bunch of storm clouds brewing overhead with all a great potential to undo a drought, but the dry crops below remain unaffected unless it actually rains.
I want to mark off 2010 as a point in which my thinking advances from clouds to rain. I want to put all my thinking into the service of something. That's not to say we can't all use a good pontification, but that such an activity cannot be the locus of our lives.
Segue: I have been ruminating (surprise) on the way people grow in their faith, especially from the standpoint of learning. We tend to characterize listening to sermons, for example, as a way to gather information that we might use later on. I think that's true, but I think preaching can be more than that. Preaching is (or should be) a very sacred occasion in which the preacher gives deference to the Biblical text and essentially just tells people what it says. The preacher is not the focal point of preaching, but the text. If that's the case, why do we mitigate the power of God's Word by hearing it in the same way that we would hear a class lecture? What I'm saying is that maybe preaching is not just educational, but can actually be sacramental. A sacrament is something that is not stored up in tupperware for a later date, but that is received in the here and now. Preaching is therefore not primarily about receiving information for later, but about receiving transformation now. I believe we can be changed by sermons, here and now.
Not everything we hear will be transformational. We just don't have that kind of emotional capacity, and we rely heavily on constancy in our lives in order to make sense of everything. But can information be presented in such a way that, given the right conditions through the Spirit, it might elicit transformation?
This is the question at which I have arrived. How can I appropriate my thinking and my writing so that I might open a way for myself and others to be transformed? To think about high and lofty theological topics without putting any skin on them is not likely the way, because such ideas are hard to access through everyday life. But if these ideas can rain down and soak into the soil, then they become something really workable. To put it another way, and more graphically, Christianity really doesn't mean anything unless it has skin on it. I mean that quite literally. God came to earth in skin. This great condescension is the basis of our Christian faith. We just couldn't cut the mustard until God actually walked this earth and showed us how to live. While He was God-among-us, He offered gritty teaching and powerful healing and surprising love in order to show us how God meant for us to live.
That is my aim: to "incarnate" the lofty truths of Christianity so that the Truth dwells among us. I'm no scholar or great intellectual who is alone in this quest. This is just my declaration that I want to join the ranks of those already working here, trying to make sense of Christianity so that we might be transformed into the likeness of God Himself. Thoughts?
My handicap is that my thinking is not often either of these things. Clear thinking is a great challenge for me. But my greater challenge is translating my thinking into something that is pertinent, relevant, and workable. The way I understand it, the ivory tower of scholarship is not a tower because the thoughts are so lofty, but because they're so removed. Like a scholar, I like to philosophize about theology, the Bible, and life in general, but I don't so easily bring all that thinking to bear onto something that actually matters. The result is like a bunch of storm clouds brewing overhead with all a great potential to undo a drought, but the dry crops below remain unaffected unless it actually rains.
I want to mark off 2010 as a point in which my thinking advances from clouds to rain. I want to put all my thinking into the service of something. That's not to say we can't all use a good pontification, but that such an activity cannot be the locus of our lives.
Segue: I have been ruminating (surprise) on the way people grow in their faith, especially from the standpoint of learning. We tend to characterize listening to sermons, for example, as a way to gather information that we might use later on. I think that's true, but I think preaching can be more than that. Preaching is (or should be) a very sacred occasion in which the preacher gives deference to the Biblical text and essentially just tells people what it says. The preacher is not the focal point of preaching, but the text. If that's the case, why do we mitigate the power of God's Word by hearing it in the same way that we would hear a class lecture? What I'm saying is that maybe preaching is not just educational, but can actually be sacramental. A sacrament is something that is not stored up in tupperware for a later date, but that is received in the here and now. Preaching is therefore not primarily about receiving information for later, but about receiving transformation now. I believe we can be changed by sermons, here and now.
Not everything we hear will be transformational. We just don't have that kind of emotional capacity, and we rely heavily on constancy in our lives in order to make sense of everything. But can information be presented in such a way that, given the right conditions through the Spirit, it might elicit transformation?
This is the question at which I have arrived. How can I appropriate my thinking and my writing so that I might open a way for myself and others to be transformed? To think about high and lofty theological topics without putting any skin on them is not likely the way, because such ideas are hard to access through everyday life. But if these ideas can rain down and soak into the soil, then they become something really workable. To put it another way, and more graphically, Christianity really doesn't mean anything unless it has skin on it. I mean that quite literally. God came to earth in skin. This great condescension is the basis of our Christian faith. We just couldn't cut the mustard until God actually walked this earth and showed us how to live. While He was God-among-us, He offered gritty teaching and powerful healing and surprising love in order to show us how God meant for us to live.
That is my aim: to "incarnate" the lofty truths of Christianity so that the Truth dwells among us. I'm no scholar or great intellectual who is alone in this quest. This is just my declaration that I want to join the ranks of those already working here, trying to make sense of Christianity so that we might be transformed into the likeness of God Himself. Thoughts?
Thursday, December 31, 2009
tiger woods and i
BBC News quotes Tiger Woods saying, "I need to focus on becoming a better husband, father, and person." It's this last category that caught my eye. My heart goes out to him. The first two categories are positional, a husband and father. But the last is "ontological," meaning it refers to the very core of his being. Tiger Woods believes he's a bad person because of what he's done. He's traced his actions back to his self-worth.
I wish I could say to him, "Me too, Mr. Woods. You're not alone." I'm one who, by the grace of God, have witnessed the evil I can commit. I've seen the dark underbelly of my otherwise 'pretty' life. I've come to believe that I am capable of absolutely anything. I expect Tiger Woods has been given a similar purview of his life. My hope for him is that he is so overwhelmed by the degradation he has discovered that he cries out to God. Yes, all the sponsorships have been withdrawn; all but one. God has not withdrawn His love. His love will not fail, because it does not wait for our success. Grace has set us free to fail or succeed, and we will always be met with love. Our self-worth never needs to be in doubt.
I want Tiger Woods to believe he will become a "better" person. But I want him first to understand with me that we are absolutely shattered people. It is Christ who takes up the pieces, the dessicated bones, and resurrects us into new life. We don't "become" better people. We are "made" better people, through the strength and power of Jesus Christ.
Maybe other people can do it themselves. But I'm not one of them, and I don't think Tiger Woods is either. We need grace. We need the strength of the Almighty God to live a new life. God, make us new again!
I wish I could say to him, "Me too, Mr. Woods. You're not alone." I'm one who, by the grace of God, have witnessed the evil I can commit. I've seen the dark underbelly of my otherwise 'pretty' life. I've come to believe that I am capable of absolutely anything. I expect Tiger Woods has been given a similar purview of his life. My hope for him is that he is so overwhelmed by the degradation he has discovered that he cries out to God. Yes, all the sponsorships have been withdrawn; all but one. God has not withdrawn His love. His love will not fail, because it does not wait for our success. Grace has set us free to fail or succeed, and we will always be met with love. Our self-worth never needs to be in doubt.
I want Tiger Woods to believe he will become a "better" person. But I want him first to understand with me that we are absolutely shattered people. It is Christ who takes up the pieces, the dessicated bones, and resurrects us into new life. We don't "become" better people. We are "made" better people, through the strength and power of Jesus Christ.
Maybe other people can do it themselves. But I'm not one of them, and I don't think Tiger Woods is either. We need grace. We need the strength of the Almighty God to live a new life. God, make us new again!
Monday, December 28, 2009
i should've been a failure
I've just come across the most exciting passage, and have nowhere else to share it but my waning blog.
I've been learning a lot about grace -- through experience, yes, but moreso through a series of excellent lectures by Steve Brown, who's something of an unlikely hero to many. He makes frequent reference to the introduction of Luther's Commentary on Galatians. I decided to read said introduction, and was mostly bored until I landed on this one statement. It's amazing how many hours of reading theology I can log, and not come to understand this as clearly as I have just now. Luther writes:
"In this heavenly righteousness sin can have no place, for there is no law; and where no law is, there can be no transgression (Rom 4:15). Seeing then that sin has no place, there can be no anguish of conscience, no fear, no heaviness" (15).
There's a lot of verbage there that's tough to wade through, so I'm going to attempt to translate it into something more accessible:
"In the worth that God makes available to us, we can't screw it up, because there's no way to screw it up; there's no law to break, so we can't break the law. There's nothing to fail against, so we can't be failures. Since that's true, there's actually no room for feeling guilty or worthless."
I don't think I did justice to Luther, but even in attempting to rewrite what he wrote, I had to pause at the audacity of what I'm spelling out. My sensibilities cause me to recoil, looking for an asterisk or a footnote or something. Surely this isn't right. Is grace really so free? If this message got out in our churches, think of the rampant sin that would ensue!
Wait...isn't there already rampant sin in the church, and in the community, and in my own heart? What's so at risk here? All Luther is suggesting (by summing up Paul) is that the rampant sin might not be as detrimental as we once thought. In a sense, Luther is saying that sin doesn't really matter. I have to be careful saying it like that, because I do not mean that Christ died for nothing. I just mean that Christ did die, and died for this, so that we don't have to fight the constant battle of tick marks next to our name on God's heavenly chalkboard.
I took the liberty of phrasing Luther's idea of "heavenly righteousness" as "worth," which might sound like a gross misinterpretation, but I'm going to stick with it. I think that's what is at stake when we weigh out our righteous actions vs. unrighteous actions. I feel worth little when I sin much, and I feel worth much when I do good deeds.
In sum, I refer back to my title: I should've been a failure. I know myself, and if I take a really close look, I am led to a great sympathy for my wife, who has to live with me in all my ineptitude. But for some wacky reason, God, in His astonishingly good plan, decided that I would not be a failure. And in that decision, He declared that I am not to go on thinking like a failure. It's not a mind trick to cover over a bad soul. It's actually true. I'm not a bad soul anymore. Bad is no longer a word.
I've been learning a lot about grace -- through experience, yes, but moreso through a series of excellent lectures by Steve Brown, who's something of an unlikely hero to many. He makes frequent reference to the introduction of Luther's Commentary on Galatians. I decided to read said introduction, and was mostly bored until I landed on this one statement. It's amazing how many hours of reading theology I can log, and not come to understand this as clearly as I have just now. Luther writes:
"In this heavenly righteousness sin can have no place, for there is no law; and where no law is, there can be no transgression (Rom 4:15). Seeing then that sin has no place, there can be no anguish of conscience, no fear, no heaviness" (15).
There's a lot of verbage there that's tough to wade through, so I'm going to attempt to translate it into something more accessible:
"In the worth that God makes available to us, we can't screw it up, because there's no way to screw it up; there's no law to break, so we can't break the law. There's nothing to fail against, so we can't be failures. Since that's true, there's actually no room for feeling guilty or worthless."
I don't think I did justice to Luther, but even in attempting to rewrite what he wrote, I had to pause at the audacity of what I'm spelling out. My sensibilities cause me to recoil, looking for an asterisk or a footnote or something. Surely this isn't right. Is grace really so free? If this message got out in our churches, think of the rampant sin that would ensue!
Wait...isn't there already rampant sin in the church, and in the community, and in my own heart? What's so at risk here? All Luther is suggesting (by summing up Paul) is that the rampant sin might not be as detrimental as we once thought. In a sense, Luther is saying that sin doesn't really matter. I have to be careful saying it like that, because I do not mean that Christ died for nothing. I just mean that Christ did die, and died for this, so that we don't have to fight the constant battle of tick marks next to our name on God's heavenly chalkboard.
I took the liberty of phrasing Luther's idea of "heavenly righteousness" as "worth," which might sound like a gross misinterpretation, but I'm going to stick with it. I think that's what is at stake when we weigh out our righteous actions vs. unrighteous actions. I feel worth little when I sin much, and I feel worth much when I do good deeds.
In sum, I refer back to my title: I should've been a failure. I know myself, and if I take a really close look, I am led to a great sympathy for my wife, who has to live with me in all my ineptitude. But for some wacky reason, God, in His astonishingly good plan, decided that I would not be a failure. And in that decision, He declared that I am not to go on thinking like a failure. It's not a mind trick to cover over a bad soul. It's actually true. I'm not a bad soul anymore. Bad is no longer a word.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
losing the sabbath
Today BBC reported on a large group of Orthodox Jews protesting outside the Intel plant in Jerusalem. Their complaint is that Intel, the giant American tech company, is not honoring the Sabbath by working on Saturday (the Jewish Sabbath). Intel's response is revealing of a work philosophy that has completely lost touch with the purpose of Sabbath:
"We have always worked according to the company's needs. If the needs call for it, we work on the Sabbath as well."
Does anyone else find this troubling? There isn't even an attempt here to accomodate the Sabbath. There's no indication that "we'll try to work around it." It is complete and utter enslavement to the ambiguous "company's needs."
The Sabbath is not about whether or not we can squeeze it into our schedule. It is a priority. If anything is going to be squeezed, we should concern ourselves with squeezing our schedule around the Sabbath. It is a priority.
Intel's statement is disheartening. It appeals to the god of profit rather than the God of the universe. We can't live our lives saying, "I know what the Bible directs us to do, but economic success is more important."
Is this all we're living for? A larger growth in numbers for the quarterly reports? Is such a thing worth sacrificing our faithfulness to God?
Taking the Sabbath seriously is one of the most freeing things our overworked society can do. It's not just about stopping work. If it were, the Sabbath really would produce anxiety. But we fill in the vacancy with trust in God. It is the day where we trust more than any other that God is big enough to carry us and our businesses through. In one sense, we stop so that God can start.
I don't want to live with a ceaseless work ethic. It makes me tired just thinking about it. There's no freedom there. I want to live in the freedom that God can take my efforts from the week and prosper me during my time of obediently refraining from work. Who doesn't want freedom?
Finally, isn't it ironic that a tech company, who offers the promise of faster and more efficient work, can't find time to rest? I think there's a lesson there....
"We have always worked according to the company's needs. If the needs call for it, we work on the Sabbath as well."
Does anyone else find this troubling? There isn't even an attempt here to accomodate the Sabbath. There's no indication that "we'll try to work around it." It is complete and utter enslavement to the ambiguous "company's needs."
The Sabbath is not about whether or not we can squeeze it into our schedule. It is a priority. If anything is going to be squeezed, we should concern ourselves with squeezing our schedule around the Sabbath. It is a priority.
Intel's statement is disheartening. It appeals to the god of profit rather than the God of the universe. We can't live our lives saying, "I know what the Bible directs us to do, but economic success is more important."
Is this all we're living for? A larger growth in numbers for the quarterly reports? Is such a thing worth sacrificing our faithfulness to God?
Taking the Sabbath seriously is one of the most freeing things our overworked society can do. It's not just about stopping work. If it were, the Sabbath really would produce anxiety. But we fill in the vacancy with trust in God. It is the day where we trust more than any other that God is big enough to carry us and our businesses through. In one sense, we stop so that God can start.
I don't want to live with a ceaseless work ethic. It makes me tired just thinking about it. There's no freedom there. I want to live in the freedom that God can take my efforts from the week and prosper me during my time of obediently refraining from work. Who doesn't want freedom?
Finally, isn't it ironic that a tech company, who offers the promise of faster and more efficient work, can't find time to rest? I think there's a lesson there....
Monday, October 5, 2009
alabaster jar life
I have begun to try to articulate my own philosophy of ministry. What areas are most important to me? What sort of charge do I want to communicate to people? How do I want to live my life so that I can suggest it to others without hypocrisy?
One of the most central developments in my own Christian thought is what I call 'alabaster jar theology.' It's based on the woman who pours out perfume on the feet of Jesus, told variously in the gospels (John 12, Matt 26, Mark 14, Lk 7). The woman buys about a coke can's worth of perfume, which cost her a year's wages, and dumps it on the feet of Jesus. The others around Jesus were distraught at this waste, seeing three months wages disappear down the cracks between the floorboards.
The reason I love this story is because the woman's sacrifice is gratuitous. Yes, the money could have been used to feed the poor for months. But Jesus is not disappointed. It is not a waste to Jesus. In fact, he sees it as his preparation for burial, a service to the Almighty God.
How does this become ministry, or life? I don' think this means we dump all the resources that we've gathered onto the first need that arises. I think it deals with the way we invest our lives. For example, is it beneficial for us to spend time with the left-outs, the ostracized, the awkward? Wouldn't our lives be better served by courting the favor of the rich and the powerful? Certainly networking has its place, but God has a heart for the lost, the broken, and the needy, and sometimes our relationships need to exhibit such a 'wastefulness' by caring for and paying attention to the leftout.
This idea is also played out through the Sabbath. Unfortunately the Sabbath has been largely hollowed out and understood only as the first day of the week. But from what I see in the Scripture, Sabbath is not about a day, but a mindset. It means that we are able to rest from our tireless labors, to trust that we are not so important that life will not move along without our efforts. Sabbath removes us from the incessant virtues of production and efficiency. It calls us to practice "holy inefficiency" as one author put it. Here we get to cease striving, to be at peace with the work that we've done, and to trust that it is enough. But, we might ask, what if we really haven't done enough? I can think of two responses: first, how would we know when we've done enough?, and two, if we have not actually done enough by any standard, then we suffer the consequences. What we do not do is continue working and further disobey the command of God. Of course, Jesus healed on the Sabbath, and his disciples opened grains for themselves on the Sabbath. There are extenuating circumstances. The Sabbath is not a static idea which requires us not to lift a finger, but a call to live with the faith that God is good enough to rule the world without our help.
This relates to the alabaster jar because it carries with it that same sense of inefficiency and apparently misdirected resources. It is not productive to pour perfume on someone's feet, nor is it productive to put your feet up on the Sabbath. It is not efficient to save your housework for another day.
Finally, the alabaster jar plays out in our lives through our profound love for others. I can either pass the blame for a mistake at work onto a coworker, or I can put myself out there and take it on myself. One is safe and protected, the other is risky. But which is more redemptive for my coworker? Which one says 'every man for himself,' and which one says 'myself for every man'?
It is hard to 'waste' love when we have little to gain by it. This woman watched her fortune seep into the floor. But did she regret it?
I don't know that people would recognize this lifestyle in me. But it's what I want. I can think of no greater evangelism than loving someone in a way that can't be accounted for. Here's to living a 'wasteful' life!
One of the most central developments in my own Christian thought is what I call 'alabaster jar theology.' It's based on the woman who pours out perfume on the feet of Jesus, told variously in the gospels (John 12, Matt 26, Mark 14, Lk 7). The woman buys about a coke can's worth of perfume, which cost her a year's wages, and dumps it on the feet of Jesus. The others around Jesus were distraught at this waste, seeing three months wages disappear down the cracks between the floorboards.
The reason I love this story is because the woman's sacrifice is gratuitous. Yes, the money could have been used to feed the poor for months. But Jesus is not disappointed. It is not a waste to Jesus. In fact, he sees it as his preparation for burial, a service to the Almighty God.
How does this become ministry, or life? I don' think this means we dump all the resources that we've gathered onto the first need that arises. I think it deals with the way we invest our lives. For example, is it beneficial for us to spend time with the left-outs, the ostracized, the awkward? Wouldn't our lives be better served by courting the favor of the rich and the powerful? Certainly networking has its place, but God has a heart for the lost, the broken, and the needy, and sometimes our relationships need to exhibit such a 'wastefulness' by caring for and paying attention to the leftout.
This idea is also played out through the Sabbath. Unfortunately the Sabbath has been largely hollowed out and understood only as the first day of the week. But from what I see in the Scripture, Sabbath is not about a day, but a mindset. It means that we are able to rest from our tireless labors, to trust that we are not so important that life will not move along without our efforts. Sabbath removes us from the incessant virtues of production and efficiency. It calls us to practice "holy inefficiency" as one author put it. Here we get to cease striving, to be at peace with the work that we've done, and to trust that it is enough. But, we might ask, what if we really haven't done enough? I can think of two responses: first, how would we know when we've done enough?, and two, if we have not actually done enough by any standard, then we suffer the consequences. What we do not do is continue working and further disobey the command of God. Of course, Jesus healed on the Sabbath, and his disciples opened grains for themselves on the Sabbath. There are extenuating circumstances. The Sabbath is not a static idea which requires us not to lift a finger, but a call to live with the faith that God is good enough to rule the world without our help.
This relates to the alabaster jar because it carries with it that same sense of inefficiency and apparently misdirected resources. It is not productive to pour perfume on someone's feet, nor is it productive to put your feet up on the Sabbath. It is not efficient to save your housework for another day.
Finally, the alabaster jar plays out in our lives through our profound love for others. I can either pass the blame for a mistake at work onto a coworker, or I can put myself out there and take it on myself. One is safe and protected, the other is risky. But which is more redemptive for my coworker? Which one says 'every man for himself,' and which one says 'myself for every man'?
It is hard to 'waste' love when we have little to gain by it. This woman watched her fortune seep into the floor. But did she regret it?
I don't know that people would recognize this lifestyle in me. But it's what I want. I can think of no greater evangelism than loving someone in a way that can't be accounted for. Here's to living a 'wasteful' life!
Friday, August 14, 2009
a great book
I am often frustrated at the stylish Christian book-of-the-moment. These books are often life-encompassing spin-offs of a single conclusion. They are not bad books per se, but they are narrow, impossibly prescriptive, and leave little to mystery and thoughtful Christian living. Which is why I am so very struck by a book I'm reading now, The Holy Longing by Ronald Rolhesier. The more I read of it, the higher it climbs on my favorite book list.
This book, dedicated to Henri Nouwen (and written in the same spirit), attempts to make concrete the nebulous idea of Christian spirituality. The writing is excellent, the conclusions are robust, but what I like most about this book is that it is concrete without being prescriptive. Rolheiser can hypothesize an idea, illustrate it with excellent stories, and then follow it through to a grounded affirmation, all without the compulsion to conclude each chapter by saying, "Now go and practice this in the following way:...."
While this is an accessible book, it is not really a bathroom read. If you are looking for an excellent Christian book that will provoke your thinking, give you a better handle on the daily grind of Christianity, and even provide some satisfying conclusions on human sexuality(!), read this book. And if you do, write me and tell me about it.
This book, dedicated to Henri Nouwen (and written in the same spirit), attempts to make concrete the nebulous idea of Christian spirituality. The writing is excellent, the conclusions are robust, but what I like most about this book is that it is concrete without being prescriptive. Rolheiser can hypothesize an idea, illustrate it with excellent stories, and then follow it through to a grounded affirmation, all without the compulsion to conclude each chapter by saying, "Now go and practice this in the following way:...."
While this is an accessible book, it is not really a bathroom read. If you are looking for an excellent Christian book that will provoke your thinking, give you a better handle on the daily grind of Christianity, and even provide some satisfying conclusions on human sexuality(!), read this book. And if you do, write me and tell me about it.
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