Jesus Lives At Elvis' House

This past week in our youth meeting I talked about grace. Or at least, I tried to. You see, we played a game that night that took much longer than I'd anticipated...and I didn't have very much time left to talk.

(Somehow I think there's a keen lesson in time management and theological priorities hidden in this situation.)

The idea of grace forms one of the core principles I envision for our youth ministry. It's one of the main themes I envision for my life.

In the book of Acts, the early Church had a rather large debate. Most of the believers were at this time Jews, and some of them wanted to insist that anyone who converted to Christianity must obey the Jewish law. Get circumcised.

They wanted to assert, perhaps, the priority of their faith. Maybe the dominance of their way of doing things.

Perhaps they assumed that their understanding was better than the Gentiles. The outsiders.

We want to draw lines too. The Church has throughout the centuries tried to mold people into what they wanted. Has made distinctions and excluded people. I'm sure I don't have to provide any examples at this point.

Interestingly enough, the story in the book of Acts reaches a climax with Peter arguing that they cannot make distinctions. Jesus saves all. God's grace is poured out for all. End of the story.

Because of that, we can't exclude any from our love and care. We can't. I won't. And if I do I'm clearly going against Jesus.

This is grace...amazing in our lives and the great equalizer. All of us children of one God. Objects of His love.

If I am truly a man of faith in Christ, I can never again discriminate against any or fail to love any. Christ didn't

And that, I suppose, is that.

"God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith. Now then, why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of the disciples a yoke that neither we nor our fathers have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord Jesus that we are saved, just as they are."
Acts 15:8-11

Set Apart

It has been a bit since I've posted here...and I suppose that's because I've been fairly busy with the business of getting settled into the position of youth pastor and preparing myself for a PhD program. As in everything else, life continues on its too often frenetic pace.

I was at an introductory dinner tonight at Princeton, and I think is was our seminary's president who mentioned something John Henry Cardinal Newman once said.

Someone asked the cardinal if he thought a clever priest or a pastoral priest was better.

As I heard this question in the middle of the speech, I simply assumed that the answer was "the pastoral priest." I mean, of course that must be better than just being clever.

But, yet again, I was wrong.

You see, what Newman said was basically this: "Neither. The holy priest is best." The holy priest. The one who is set apart and sets themself apart for God. That's what is important. That is what's needed.

Sometimes I try to be clever. And Heaven knows I try. And sometimes I try to be pastoral. I'm not always so good at that. But I do try to read books and ask advice and do all sorts of things to be a better pastor.

But what if, just what if, none of that really matters in the long run? What if all I have to do is give a blank check to God every day and really mean it?

What if I can do this without hypocrisy? Without saying it to others and not living it myself? Yep, that is--and is going to be--tough.

But still...what if I do put aside methods and a desire for results or outcomes or hopes or dreams and just serve Him?

What then, I wonder?

The Widening Gyre

I've just read part of the following:

"Fights and fires broke out, corpses lay out in the open, and rescue helicopters and law enforcement officers were shot at as flooded-out New Orleans descended into anarchy Thursday. 'This is a desperate SOS,' the mayor said. Anger mounted across the ruined city, with thousands of storm victims increasingly hungry, desperate and tired of waiting for buses to take them out."

I guess I never realized how fragile a thing society really is. How much we take for granted every day. How quickly our baser human instincts might take over and all the limits of civility just fade away.

It's like the end of the world and I don't quite know what to say.

My father likes a quotation from Matthew Arnold that goes something like this: "Man must begin, know this, where Nature ends; Nature and man can never be fast friends."

Arnold is right. There is so much beyond our control that can make us stop dead in our hitherto steady tracks. Nature and man, despite their frequent interactions, are but the ficklest of friends.

But I think I'm beginning to realize that not even man's own nature can be friends with itself...at least not today.

The Eye To Our Storm

I guess there's a bit of a weatherman in me.

You know how they are. Salivating at snowstorms, rapturous at rainfall, hungry for hurricanes. You could see it just the other night. As Hurricane Katrina approached Louisiana, the news anchors and metereologists seemed on the excited edge of their collective seats.

But I was right there with them. I just had to keep on watching. I was as hungry for a superhurricane as they were. I wanted to see "the big one."

It sounded like fun.

I don't know what it is, really...maybe some primal urge, maybe some naive adventurous idealism. The same kind that makes me wish I could leave everything behind and drive in the direction of a hurricane one day. The kind that was disappointed when the storm was downgraded before it hit land.

But then...then I have to think. I have to think long and hard. Because I've begun to read stories about bodies floating by rescuers. About destruction and loss and agony.

And suddenly I realize I'm an idiot.

I recently read a news story about some looting going on in New Orleans. Many did it for survival, I suppose. Some just because they'd get free stuff. I even read somewhere that police officers were joining in.

I could ask the question, "Is this what we've come to?" But then I could also ask at what point I'd be tempted to join in. What my breaking point is.

And what have I come to, anyway? Safely sitting thousands of miles away secretly wishing for a destructive storm? What's that all about?

What is it about humanity that teeters on the edge of an often collective insanity? That thing that yearns for a super hurricane....that stays behind to weather it out..that is driven to the point of pillaging and looting and fighting with one another like barbarians of old?

I'm beginning to wonder if the tragedy unfolding before us tells us as much about ourselves as it does about anyone else.

An interesting observation, I suppose, but I don't want to forget for a moment the real focus of what's going on.

So let us pray for all those struggling with these circumstances that remain beyond their control and help where we can.

Do No Harm?

"You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it..It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war ... and I don't think any oil shipments will stop."

-Pat Robertson on assassinating Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?"

-Jesus talking to some people on a mountain

Call me crazy...but I'm not sure that killing someone is the best way to love them.

Maybe the best way to think about all of this is to think of someone you love. Your mother. Your friend. Your husband or wife. Hold that image in your mind. Remember and feel the depth of emotion that represents your love for them.

And then try to imagine yourself feeling that way for Osama bin Laden and Adolf Hitler.

It's like that. Or at least, I think it is. That's the call, apparently.

The interesting thing is, I think, that Jesus ties this command right to God. He says that the sun shines on the just and the unjust alike. That God shows grace to all of us...and we should too.

Jesus is telling His followers to be different than the world. He's telling me to be different. And that's hard sometimes. A lot of times.

You see, he's saying to stand for something else. To not give in to the power plays and politics and "common sense" arguments that urge us to hate our enemies because it will be better for us that way.

Yet I sympathize with Pat. From a certain point of view he is right. Heck, from the point of view I sometimes see from he's right. But from Jesus' point of view? Well...

Jesus doesn't put any conditions on His words. We are to love our enemies even if they don't ever love us back. Even if the consequences of that love are catastrophic for us. And odds are, if they are our enemies they have both the will and power to do a great deal of harm to us.

It is easy to hate someone. It is easy to ignore someone. It's even easy to love someone who's a pretty rotten guy.

But to love your worst enemy? The one who has ruined your life, taken your livelihood, ripped away from you that for which you cared the most? That's not easy...not easy at all.

But then, I guess, that's why the tax collectors kept on doing things the regular way.

Ocular Reticence

"If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away..."

Matthew 5:29-30a

Quite a shocking thing to say. So shocking that we really dare not consider it. I mean, who in their right mind would actually gouge his or her eye out? Its disgusting. Its painful. Its just plain nuts.

Only the insane or severely inbalanced would ever perform such an action. At least that's my reaction to Jesus' words.

And so we spiritualize this statement quickly, rarely pausing to reflect for a second before we say, "Now Jesus didn't actually mean this...."

But what if he did? What if every time sinned we had enough courage to remove part of our body in an attempt to change our ways?

We'd have a lot more blind and maimed people, I can tell you that. Including me.

Now, I know that sin derives ultimately from the heart and not from the eys or hands...but Jesus still says what he says. He wants his followers to be so devoted that they would follow Him to the uttermost in an attempt to seek righteousness.

So I'm not going to brush this one aside so easily. If cutting out my eye would really stop me from sinning, shouldn't I do it? Shouldn't I at least be willing to consider it?

If our devotion to Christ is such that we won't consider the extreme, I wonder how devoted we really are. And I wonder how hypocritical I am.

If we really want to avoid lust, avoid greed, avoid hatred, avoid hurting ourselves and God and others--shouldn't we do everything in our power to do so regardless of the consequences?

I guess I need to consider these words and hear them for what they are.

So, I think, do we all.

Memento Mori

"Death is the only adventure you have left."
-Capt. James Hook

"You will not surely die."

-A certain snake

In the past day or so, I've begun to reflect a bit on death. Yesterday, one within hours of the other, I received a phone call telling me that the father of an old friend died suddenly and an e-mail telling me about the final episode of the HBO series Six Feet Under.

I've never watched the series in question, but from what I understand it is/was a show focused upon the life of a family that runs a funeral home. As my cousin commented, an important part of the show revolves around our society's discomfort with death and related matters.

She told me that at the end of this series finale, there was a montage that showed each of the characters' future deaths. I can only imagine what it must be like to see each of the people you've known and grown to enjoy each week on the television suddenly die before your eyes in the space of a few minutes.

Powerful, I think. And honest.

Honest because that is how life is. Because death is a part of life. Because those we have grown to love in ways far more real and intimate than a television screen could ever provide will die one day. Because parents and friends and children die.

They leave us behind.

And I don't know if we're ever really prepared for them to be gone. I mean, I guess we should be. We know that death is a real possibility for all of us. Especially those who are older than we are. We know they are going to be gone one day but still we put it out of our minds. We just can't think of it.

We don't like to think about death because it is painful. So much is unknown about it...and the little we do know is simply that it takes those we love away from us and will one day take us away from this place as well.

We come up with pleasant euphemisms like "they passed away" or "he's gone" when the truth is much sharper and more difficult than that. It is something, I think, that we need to be more honest about. Far too often we can distract ourselves from what is really at stake. From what life is about. From how important and serious a part of life death really is.

Sure, our use of language can make us feel better in the here and now and we can close our eyes to what death is...but every now and then something happens in our life that makes death very clear to us. Recalls to our mind the fact that death is an enemy as fierce as any other we face. Makes us remember, as the Scripture says, that we are dust.

You see, it is in these moments, no matter how painful, that we can begin to see things we wouldn't--or that we couldn't--until we face death ourselves.

These flashes of truth--though painful and sorrowful and terrifying--might be able to make us see our lives for the first time.

Might be able to make us think.

No, Seriously...

I've been thinking a bit about Jesus in the past few weeks.

Probably more than a bit.

I've been thinking about some of the wacky things he said. All the stuff that we brush aside far too easily. All the things that really make us scratch our heads and conclude that he must have meant something else.

Because if he really meant what he said, that would just be crazy.

A good number of these statements and instructions can be found in the Sermon on the Mount. Over the next few week or two, I want to start thinking about these things.

I want to start thinking about them as if I've just heard them for the first time.

The Bible is tough that way for us Christians. We've read it so many times...heard so many sermons...read so many books. It just loses its zip sometimes.

What was meant to cut only slightly bumps. What was meant to wound is deftly deflected. Right or wrong, we've learned to justify things. To think inside the box. To tame the Bible. For no matter how eccentric a command or instruction may be, we know just what it is getting at. Whatever it says, it just doesn't bother us that much anymore.

I envy a person who knows nothing of Christianity and gets to read the Scripture for the first time. What excitement. What sorrow. What pain. What joy.

What adventure.

But me? I've read and heard some of these passages so many times I could say them in my sleep.

Which is why I want to take us back to Jesus' words and try and see if we can take him completely seriously. Even if it seems silly.

Because maybe sometimes God wants us to consider what seems silly.

Perhaps in some way that is a lot closer to the Truth than our domesticated truths could ever be.

My Pal John Wesley

At least according to this quiz. Basically put, it is a series of questions designed to determine one's theological worldview (within the larger umbrella of Christian understanding). There are a lot of questions, and I went through it rather quickly...but this is what I came out with:

You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan. You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavily by John Wesley and the Methodists.

Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan		75%
Emergent/Postmodern		68%
Neo orthodox		57%
Classical Liberal		54%
Modern Liberal		50%
Charismatic/Pentecostal		46%
Reformed Evangelical		43%
Fundamentalist		39%
Roman Catholic		32%

I suppose I'm happy with where I came out. Though I think some of the questions designed to indicate Charismatic or Pentecostal belief were a little skewed.

This is, I suppose, a little more substantial than finding out if you are Mr. Spock or Gandalf...but a pleasant exercise all the same.

At any rate, the widespread nature of the questions asked have given me some pause to wonder how wide the net of the faith might be cast. What essentials are essential? How am I to determine which things include or exclude someone from the faith, or from the "most appropriate" form of faith?

Should I even be trying to draw so many complicated lines? For if we confess that Jesus is Lord and have faith in Him...how much does the rest matter?

Part of me says it does a lot. But part of me is pretty easy going about the whole thing.

It's an open question.

Misspent Youth?

In my flurry of reading about youth ministry, I've recently looked through Kenda Dean's book Practicing Passion.

One of her main points is that young people are inherently passionate...and the Church is missing the boat. Teenagers are looking for someone or something to die for. To invest their all in. To put their passion in. To go for broke with and never look back.

And what do we do? We make them play silly games. We hand out candy. We ignore the depths of passion they feel and think that a hayride will be "fun."

Sure, we spend some time in prayer and worship, but maybe that kind of thing should happen much more frequently. Going on a hayride may be a pleasant diversion...but in the end, that's all that it is--a diversion. At the end of the day, it has its place. But there is more. Holding a prayer meeting, teaching from the Scripture, talking about things that really matter...this is what I want to be doing.

And based on what Kenda is saying, it is what young people would rather do as well. At the very least it is, I think, better than wasting our time trying to be cool.

I mean, seriously. Is the Church of Jesus Christ really supposed to be cool? Is that what we are all about?

I like what Kenda is saying in her book. It makes sense. For despite the fact that I'm getting older and my own passion is not what it was, I still deeply desire to give my all for something and be consumed by it.

And I think young people see things as they are in many ways. Sure, their language may be overexaggerated at times...it is not always the end of the world.

But gosh does it feel like it.

Do you remember that feeling? Laying awake at night wondering why life was this way and how horrible it was, but waking up the next morning and jumping into it anyway? Putting yourself on the line for that guy or girl that was your imagined "soulmate?" Looking around for someone who understood you? For someone (as Kenda writes), to "be there" for you?

Things were fresher then. They were crisper. They felt better and they hurt more. But they were good, somehow.

Perhaps we that are older have just grown complacent and lazy and don't realize how much like the end of the world many things in our life really are. That maybe these things aren't just like the end of the world but are the end of a world in many ways.

Yet it seems the sharpness of life lived this way is often too much for our old bones.

Still...we need passion, too. We need to feel like it's the end of the world every now and then. We need to know what is at stake in life.

For we have begun to anaesthesize ourselves too much against life. We've turned from trying to fill that "God-shaped hole" to accepting it grudgingly. We've left the front line fighting to the young and the foolish while settling to live our lives in relative quietness.

And meanwhile we slowly wither, afraid to face the pain and the immediacy of it all like we did back in 10th grade.

Afraid, perhaps, of the truth.

It is a truth each of us needs and a truth that each young person looks for. And despite the fact that their own passion is often misspent and follows dangerous directions...at least it is passion.

Maybe at the next youth group meeting they can have something to teach us.

"Without passion, we'd be truly dead."
--From a certain teen television show--

May I Help You?

Going to Walmart is a kind of spiritual challenge for me.

One I often fail.

Almost every time I am there--for almost any purpose--I begin to realize certain things. I begin to react certain ways. I begin to see the darkness that is still lodged within my own soul...and how much I still need to grow.

It starts with the older man who is stands near the door. He's got a growth on the side of his face the size of a baseball. I'm disgusted, horrified, and repulsed. I want nothing more than to get away.

Then I step further into the store. It's never clean and tidy enough for me. I think I deserve better. I mean, what's wrong with these people? Why can't they keep their store clean?

Next I might see the mentally challenged person walking by and move steadily away. I see the woman screaming at her child and inwardly criticize her parenting and often her whole person. I see people mindlessly stocking shelves and think about how small their world must be.

And I feel better than they are. I just know I am better than they are. In those instants I think to myself how glad I am that I am not like them, that God has singled me out for purposes far beyond what they could understand.

Sometimes I guess I want nothing more than to get out of there because I have more important things to do than waste my time with people and places that are so...beneath me.

It hurts to have to admit these feelings, these thoughts. But they happen. And they are a part of my sorry fleshly existence.

But what right do I have to make those assumptions? To propose these claims? What does make me any better than these people?

There's nothing, because I'm not. As a matter of fact, my thinking these thoughts may actually indicate that I am a great deal worse.

In reflecting on this experience, I felt convicted about my thoughts and told a friend of mine that "Christ died for these as well." But I think that's even a little light. To say that Christ died for my Walmart companions as well as me implies that He died for me first. That I'm somehow special and Christ added them into the deal only as an afterthought or something.

But I don't want to say that. I can't.

So immediately after saying that to my friend, I added: "Maybe especially for these." Maybe it is the often proud upstart Joshua R. Ziefle that was the afterthought.

Perhaps all the while it is Jesus who would spend his time with the employees of Walmart, while I the spoiled seminary kid continue to live in my world of make believe, thinking I am too good for such a place. Too blind to really see anything at all.

It's alarming how pride and sin can sneak in slowly and destroy us. Take us from the loving and humble souls we are called to be in Christ and make us into the most rigid of legalistic judges.

You see, I need to remember that Jesus is one of those people in Walmart.

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:37-40

And then I need to fall to my knees.

So Faraway, So Close

In a certain chapter of The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren talks about intimacy with God. About how it is essential. About how we should seek it.

I don't know if I'd ever taken much time to think specifically about the idea of intimacy with God before. Sure, I'd heard the phrase. Others had talked about closeness to the Lord in those terms...but I really never did.

And it's not that I don't want to be close to God. I do. It's just that the term makes me...uncomfortable.

Now, I understand that intimacy means much more than sexual or phycial closeness. But, like many, that is often the first thing I think of when I hear the term. At the very least, the connotations are there.

Because Jesus was a man and the predominant metaphor for God is masculine, I wonder if women have an easier time speaking of intimacy with God than men.

And I have to admit I don't hear guys using the phrase that much. I think it makes us feel "icky."

That's probably unfortunate.

Intimacy, I guess, is an appropriate metaphor for the relationship one should seek with God. It indicates mutual vulnerability, mutual sharing, openness like no other openness. Really being one with the other.

It means being so involved with the other that joys and sorrows become shared joys and sorrows. That each person in the relationship is some intertwined with the other that they have the power to delight or depress at their fingertips.

We don't deserve this kind of relationship with the Creator of the Universe. After all, why would He want to be affected by what we feel and do?

I don't know. But He does.

And I think He does because that's what the Scripture shows Him doing. Being intimate with God is the way we were meant to be. The way it was in Eden. It was what we were made for.

In this fractured world I think that intimacy with God can help us to both fulfill that basic purpose and gives us the motivation and desire to see this same purpose revealed to the whole world.

And if I have to work through some ickiness to get to this...I guess I just will.

Fear and Trembling

My natural tendency is to downplay the role of the minister. Because of my training and theological reflection, I know that the calling of God on a person's life to be a mechanic or a lawyer or a teacher is no less important than the calling to be a full-time minister.

You see, I don't want others thinking that a pastor is so righteous and perfect and thus serving God more than they are in their own divinely appointed vocations.

Besides....aren't we all supposed to be ministers of a sort? Aren't we all supposed to spread the gospel and live as Christ for others? If so, how can the pastor be more holy than anyone else?

In this way I try to dissuade people from the notion that ministers are better or set apart from any other Christians.

But I've begun to realize something.

I guess I've thought about it before, but it hit home yesterday during a youth group trip to Six Flags. While there, I was able to spend some time and talk with some of the young people...and I began to grasp the immense responsibility I would be taking on.

It's not that I suddenly realized my vocation as a part-time youth pastor made me better than anyone else. Not at all.

It's that I began to understand what was at stake. That being a minister was actually a very dangerous thing.

"Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you

know that we who teach will be judged more strictly."

James 3:1

"But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it

would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and

to be drowned in the depths of the sea."

Matthew 18:6

It is enough sometimes to worry about my own failings and faults. I have plenty. But when I think about the impact that these same flaws might have on others for whom I am responsible...it makes me shudder.

Hearing the Scripture speak on this matter gives me a lot to seriously think about. A lot for which I must depend on God and his never-failing grace.

For whether it is supposed to be this way or not, whether I want it to be this way or not, or whether I can help it or not, people will often be looking to me to hear God's voice and learn more about Him. What I do and what I say will have great impact.

More than anything, I want to lead lead young people to a place where they can know and serve and follow God together without a pastor telling them what to do. That is, I think, what a minister is here for.

But that doesn't get me off the hook. I still have to help lead them there.

It is this that makes me realize how much I need God's help.

The Schemer

I've recently come across a passage in the book of 2 Samuel that's pretty interesting.

The set-up is this: King David's son Absalom has murdered his brother for raping his sister. He then flees.

Though David finds himself in great sorrow over the situation and Absalom's estrangement/exile, he makes no move to bring him back.

At this point an old women approaches the king with a thinly veiled story meant to drive to the heart of David's situation and provide him with reason to bring back his son.

During this conversation, she utters the following:

"Like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be recovered, so we must die. But God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him." 2 Samuel 14:14

I can't help but be amazed at the poetry of these two sentences. How honest this woman is about life. About its fragility.

For despite all we do and say and are, our lives in the end are as impossible to recover as a glass of lemonade spilled on the sand.

Yet at the same time this is not all of the story, for within the woman's words we find a promise that there is hope. That life does not have to end bit by bit, each part of our existence slowly dribbling out of a pail onto the dirt.

Because God, it seems, is a schemer. Though death is a formidable enemy, God is busy in His workshop, coming up with new ways to recover our estranged souls. Finding a way around the craziness of it all because of His love for us.

I like this picture of God. It's not one that we normally think of, but it is powerful. It is a picture of a Father so concerned with his lost and slowly dissipating children that He will use all the power and knowledge at His disposal to bring us back. To refill the cup of our lives.

It is the fullness to which the situation between David and Abasalom is only the faintest of shadows.

The fullness that reached its peak almost two thousand years ago in a distant land.

All for us.

I'm A Fairy Princess

Or at least that's what the Internet tells me.

According to this personality test, I am someone "Possessing a rare combination of wisdom and humility, while serenely dominating your environment you selflessly use your powers to care for others."

Apparently I am a paragon of virtue and spirituality.

As if.

Would that I could be so focused and directed in my walk with God. But perhaps by His grace this can still happen.

After all, who am I to argue with the Internet?

The test only asks a few questions, but it's kind of fun. Once you find out who you are, leave a post and let us know!

Back To School

But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'
-Jesus

I have a problem with sin. You see, I keep doing it. I don't really want to, but I guess a part of me does. Because I keep doing it.

As I sin, I feel guilty. I ask forgiveness of God, and then I feel better. But then I sin again.

The cycle of guilt and repentance and forgiveness continues on and on. And despite what all of this says about my ability to avoid sin and seek a higher way, there is something at work here even more insidious.

I've noticed that my own progress, growth, and maturity in the spiritual life becomes very limited when I am constantly asking forgiveness for mistakes over and over again. My prayers become very similar. When I'm in this mode of thinking, the only time I do pray is to ask for forgiveness.

Now, I know that I need constantly to recognize my own failures and turn to God for forgiveness. I need His grace in my life. But that's not all that my relationship with God is supposed to be about.

It can't be.

I like what David says in Psalm 69: "I will praise God's name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving. This will please the Lord more than an ox, more than a bull with its horns and hoofs."

The Scripture talks of salvation by grace through faith. Is this the same as what I sometimes do? Am I in a relationship with God or am I just replicating the old legalistic sacrificial system with the righteousness-seeking prison of my own vain repetition?

What kind of relationship is it if I only come to God asking for things? On the face of it, not a good one.

To have a real relationship with anyone, including God, is much more complicated--and meaningful--than that. It means opening my life and sharing, really sharing, its ups and downs and ins and outs. To listen as much as I speak. To be more concerned about the other than about myself.

This is what I need. This is what all of us need. And I hope that by God's grace I can learn to live with Him in this way more and more.

So, once again, I must listen to Jesus.

But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'

Matthew 9:13

Enough

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want."
Phillipians 4:12

Yowsers.

I don't even know how to be content when I haven't had lunch.

I'm not sure why, but something happens to my personality when I haven't eaten in a while. I get a little antsy, a little snippish...and all of a sudden I am most certainly not content. Very little can make me happy...and woe to those who are around me.

I'm writing this tonight because I kind of feel like that right now. It is an interesting thing, really...because I know that when I wake up in the morning everything will be better and I'll feel fine.

It is very frustrating and very humbling to know that despite all of my training, all of my understanding of who God is, and all the progress I have made, a simple thing like skipping a meal can make me as cantankerous and grouchy as any three-year old.

Am I this weak? Am I this frail? Am I this much a prisoner of flesh and blood? Where are the lessons of my life and faith?

Washed away, I think...by the simplest of human frailties.

When I am like this, I know I'm not content. And I know I should be. That makes it worse. It's like stepping outside of yourself for moment and watching yourself do something very foolish yet having no power to change things.

In response to this situation, we might wonder if the secret of Paul's contentment is about something we need to do. It makes sense. I mean, if he could do be at peace, why can't I force myself to be content? Surely I could at least come somewhat close.

I simply need to follow his six easy steps, and all will be well.

Or not.

You see, there are no ready made steps. There are no actions that can magically make everything better. Things may have to change, but that's not what ultimately will fix me. For--in the end--Paul's contentment is is not because of what he has done.

It's because of who he knows. Who he trusts. Who carries him.

"I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

Phillipians 4:13

Inside Out

At present, I'm reading Henri Nouwen's The Wounded Healer. Though just a short book, I'm enjoying it and would heartily recommend it to any in the full time ministry as well as those who feel called to minister in any way.

So, in other words, every Christian.

In the second chapter, Nouwen talks about what he calls the "minister of the future." (Since the book was written in 1972, maybe we can consider these individuals the ministers of today.)

He says that a minister must be "the articulator of inner events." That the one ministering to others must be open to being a guide for those who are struggling with inner concerns, fears, and doubts. A person who "is willing to put his own faith and doubt, his own hope and despair, his own light and darkness at the disposal of others who want to find a way through their confusion and touch the solid core of life."

When we do so we are most honest and most able to minister.

That makes sense to me. I can spend all day talking theology with someone or explaining the Trinity, but if I'm never honest about my own journey and struggles...it is of no use.

The minister is called to be a guide. Most would agree to this. But to do so effectively, I think, they first must follow and trust God through the mountains and valleys. Only then might they have the experience and spiritual awareness to truly be of help to others.

Being a minister doesn't mean knowing a lot of things or preaching about five easy steps to happiness or building a megachurch.

It means helping people to see God at work. It means becoming an open window for others to see the work of God through your life. It means talking honestly about how life is tough and hard and that there is pain and doubt all around.

And through all of this, we can see somehow the gospel of a God in agony at Gethsemane...a God despised and rejected by the world He loved...a God dying painfully on a Cross. For us.

Through this one can start to process and experience life and faith and turn to God for healing.

Because there is so much to distract us from these truths, I think Nouwen is doing his best to correct the misunderstanding and misuse of the ministry as a means of getting people together, simple administration, or the management of events.

How we do this--how we press on in the face of surface level concerns--is of great import for him. If we indeed "have become unfamiliar with, and even somewhat afraid of, the deep and significant movements of the Spirit," what is there to do in response?

His answer:

"But how can we avoid this danger? I think by no other way than to enter ourselves first of all into the center of our existence and become familiar with the complexities of our inner lives. As soon as we feel at home in our own house, discover the dark corners as well as the light spots, the closed doors as well as the drafty rooms, our confusion will evaporate, our anxiety will diminish, and we will become capable of creative work."

Vocation Vacation

**I'm currently reading through Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life. I think a lot of my thoughts in coming weeks may derive from this experience.**

In the past few months, I've really been praying and seeking God's will in my life. For any who have done the same, you know it is a complicated process.

As time has progressed there has been some resolution to my own questions....which believe me, is a very good thing.

The idea of calling has been important to me through this process. What am I called by God to do? Am I called to minister in a church? Am I called to pursue academic work? Should I join the circus as one of those clowns that fit into the little car?

Questions like these.

But calling is much more than that. It is not only ministers and church workers who are called by God to do things. It is everyone. Yes, that means you.

The callings that we have will vary differently, just as we are each unique individuals. But each of us in our vocation (coming from the Latin vocare, "to call") can serve God and work at His purposes in the world. The specifics will figure themselves out, but we know what's what.

Love. Peace. Worship. Forgiveness. Service. Action.

And while we may feel our jobs are not necessarily callings as important as that which takes place in the rest of our life, I will say that even seemingly dull occupations can be placed in our lives to fulfill callings all their own.

Martin Luther once said that “A dairymaid can milk cows to the glory of God.” If that's true, I don't think we have anything to worry about.

Whatever our calling, it also is a great responsibility. There's no denying that. The Creator of the universe has basically asked us to do something.

But at the same time this is a great blessing. For if we know God's calling on our life, we can also rejoice in the fact that we're not alone in all of this...that God has made us for this purpose, whether it seems "big" or "small."

That God will take us beyond our own weaknesses and fears by His power.

This, I think, is vocation.

Here I am Lord, Is it I Lord?
I have heard You calling in the night.
I will go Lord, if You lead me.
I will hold Your people in my heart
"Here I am Lord"

Long Live The King....

The king is dead. As the Associated Press reported a few days ago, King Fahd of Saudi Arabia was laid to rest.

But it wasn't that which caught my attention so much as it was the manner in which he was buried.

I guess you'd expect the deceased monarch of an oil rich country to receive all the benefits of, well, a king. To be buried in a gigantic crypt. To be richly adorned. To be kingly.

But no...he was "wrapped in a plain brown cloth on a wooden plank" and buried in an unmarked grave. That was that. Throw him in a hole and walk away.

The news site indicated that this practice was followed "in keeping with the kingdom's austere version of Islam." Now, left or right, conservative or liberal, think what you will about the Muslim world...about the country of Saudi Arabia...about the leadership of oil-rich nations...but this is impressive.

Sure, maybe King Fahd lived a decadent life up until the last. Maybe for him and his family this burial is just a meaningless symbol.

But it isn't that for me.

It is a powerful example of what death means. Of what life means. Of what my relationship with God means.

Our mortality strips us of everything we think we have and leaves us only who we are inside. Who we are before God. Rich or poor, weak or strong, saint or sinner.

What do we really take to the grave with us? What is our life about? Is it about anything that will persist?

Good questions, I guess...for all of us.

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised."

Job 1:21

Simply Scandalous

I have a bit of a strange habit. I'm not sure if its a good thing or not, but for whatever reason it seems to be the way in which I tend to operate.

A Sunday morning will roll around and I will be sitting in church. The pastor will begin their sermon and...I'll start to write down sermon notes. But not from their sermon. From other sermon ideas that suddenly pop into my head and have nothing to do with what the pastor is saying. I jot them on random pieces of paper, on the back of church bulletins, or whatever I can get my hands on.

Now this doesn't happen all the time and admittedly should happen less than it does (because God needs to speak to me through the sermon as well). But I can't deny that I've gotten some good ideas while sitting there in a pew.

One of these is a meditation on the "Scandal of the Cross" coming from I Corinthians 1. As Paul says, for those who cannot imagine God becoming human and dying on a cross for humanity, Jesus' whole existence seems dreadfully scandalous and just plain silly. It is an inversion of everything the world says about power and getting ahead.

It is great and wonderful and amazing...but it's a scandal.

It is a scandal I like, but all the same not the one people often think of when considering the Church 2000 years after our savior walked the earth.

I compare Paul's discussion with a scene from the miniseries entitled "Jesus" that was on television a few years ago. Near the beginning of the show, the title character is given visions of the future. Visions that did not focus on his own death, but rather the way in which his name would be used in the future. War. Crusades. Inquisition. Extermination. Hatred. Violence. He was not excited to receive these visions. I was not excited to view them.

But they are true.

And this is a scandal too. The way in which Jesus has been used through the centuries as a tool for gaining power and oppressing others hurts and saddens me. It has wounded many beyond our imagining. Is it any wonder the world isn't too keen on the Church?

Yet I know there is a way back to the principles of Paul in I Corinthians. I wonder, in this imaginary sermon, how we might go about reclaiming the true scandal of the cross. How we might avoid the scandals of our own making and turn to the scandalous and confusing love of God.

Confusing because it is free. Confusing because we don't deserve it. Confusing because even though God knows the darkness of our hearts and how we might use His name to make the most hideous scandals, He still dies for us.

It comes to this: which scandal do we want to be known by---God's or the mess of our own making?

But God chose the foolish things of the world to
shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the

world to shame the strong.

I Corinthians 1:27

The Bible Code

Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.

Ecclesiastes 12:12

Sometimes in our desire to be relevant to today's culture and gain a greater understanding of our faith, we Christians read a lot of books.

We turn to books about faith, books about theology, devotionals, spiritual writings, and others in an attempt to understand what God is saying to us in the Scripture.

It makes sense. As the body of Christ, we live in a community of fellow believers--whether we know them or not. We want to learn from others to whom God has spoken. It's natural.

I've been excited myself to recently read the work of Donald Miller, Lauren Winner, and Henri Nouwen. Each has spoken to me in a powerful way and I recommend their writing to everyone.

But there is a danger. A danger that I know far too well as a theological student and minister. A danger that from a certain point of view looks completely safe, yet upon extended inspection reveals itself for what it is.

It is the danger of leaving the Bible behind. It comes about innocently enough, often because of a desire to utilize the writing of others to learn more about God. To grow in faith. To be relevant to today's generation. Yet slowly but surely, I can begin to completely ignore the reason I engaged in these enterprises in the first place and the center around which they must revolve.

I'm not trying to be old-fashioned or anti-intellectual or anything of that nature. I love books. The walls of my room at my parents' house are lined with them.

I want and need to read how others have experienced God's love and His Scripture and walked with Him through life. As a matter of fact, someone just recommended a book or two to me yesterday that I'm hoping to check out.

But if I do this without consistently being immersed in the Scripture and letting it speak to me, it all amounts to nothing.

It is like shopping at the store to buy ingredients for which I have no recipe. Like building the second floor of a house without the first. Like pouring water into a paper cup with no bottom.

Maybe those legendary old churchladies reading nothing but the Bible had it right. Maybe to be a vital Christian we don't have to try to be theologically profound or contemporarily relevant.

Maybe we just have to read the Bible again and again, not looking it like a textbook or trying to find easy answers but asking God's help and illumination and getting to know it like the back of our hands.

More and more, I'm becoming convinced that's what is needed.

Meaning? Less?

"Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher.

"Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

Ecclesiastes 1:2

Ecclesiastes is often seen as a depressing book. For whatever reason, the writer is always going around saying that everything is meaningless. And then he says it again. And again. And again.

You get the picture.

And he's right. There is a lot of meaninglessness in this world. I was watching something yesterday on television called the "U.S. Open of Competitive Eating." It consisted of a bunch of people trying to find out who could gorge themselves with the most food.

Yet people are starving all around the world. Where's the meaning in that? For that matter, where's the meaning in war? Where's the meaning in the same old political arguments rehashed again and again? Where's the meaning in trying as hard as you can at something and yet still failing?

I could go on.

But I think there's something more here that he's saying--something more that God is speaking through the Scripture.

For despite all that the world throws at us, all that comes our way and makes think that we're just spinning around in circles...we're still alive. We are still here. And no matter what our lot is in life, there are still things God has given us to enjoy.

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God.

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13

They might be small things, simple pleasures that in the grand scheme of things are unimportant...but still they and others like them are gifts of God, littles graces along the way that point us to the grace behind all of this too often meaningless life. Things like family. Things like friends. Things like sunshine. Things like snowflakes. Without at least some of these, the meaningless that is would quickly overtake us.

Can enjoying such things make an eternal difference? I guess not in the most rigid sense. But then I suppose there are other parts of Scripture that point to those considerations.

What we see here is a pure and simple biblical ethic of enjoyment...of contentment...of life. A chance to rest in what God has given us and not vainly strive after what isn't ours in the first place.

It's a lesson we all ought to remember.

Getting It Wrong

There's a brief episode near the beginning of the book of Joshua that I kind of like.

You see, there's a battle ahead for Israel. A battle to claim the land God promised them. Many obstacles stand in their way, including numerous enemy peoples who wan nothing more than to wipe them from the face of the earth.

And here we find Israel's leader Joshua, looking towards the spot of the approaching battle.

Then a mysterious man appears with a sword. It might be an angel...but right here we don't know. Whatever the case, it seems that Joshua is not entirely sure what is happening. He asks,"Are you for us, or for our enemies'?"

In general, this is a good question. We need to know who is on our side so that we can plan ahead and think things through.

But here, it's the wrong question.

The answer given to Joshua by this interloper is a haunting one. It tosses aside his assumptions about getting supporters on his side and calls into question the manner in which he is looking at everything.

It is simply this:

"Neither," he replied, "but as commander of the army of the LORD I have now come."

In one sentence, this stranger changes everything. He basically lets Joshua know that he needs to stop worrying about what others--including God--are doing for him and start worrying about what he is doing for the Lord.

So whose side are we on? What assumptions do we make? How many times do I assume that I need people--that I need God on my side to be right? To win an argument? To justify myself?

As Christians, we like to speak for God an awful lot. I guess in some ways I'm trying to speak for God as I write this journal. And there's good reason for all of this. We know God. We have a relationship with Him. We pray and read the Scripture He has given us. It just kind of makes sense.

But sometimes....sometimes we start to see things as Joshua may have. We begin to need people, or things, or God to be on our side or not. We need to be right. We start to speak entirely for God and filter everything through that lens. We don't take time to listen.

When Joshua asked his question, he may have been thinking this way. But he was forced to listen, told in no uncertain terms that God was on no one's side. That the only one who truly spoke for God is God.

That we'd better be on God's side.

When Joshua heard this he fell facedown. Dare we do any different?

Evangelism Implosion (Part Three)

When it comes to telling people about my faith--i.e. spreading the good news that is not just an old Christian cliche but actually is good news--I'm coming to the conclusion that all I can be is honest.

That means I can't trick people into believing, I mustn't force them into faith, I won't badger them until they surrender, and I probably shouldn't scare them into choosing. To do any one of those things puts far too much emphasis on my own powers of persuasion and cheapens the real experience of faith.

I do not want people to simply "join the team" and say a few special words. I want them to have a relationship with God in Christ.

You can't force that on anyone.

What we can do, I think, is be honest. Share about our faith when the situation arises. Share about God's work in our lives. Not in some unnatural and scripted way, but as the normal outflowing of our experience. When we are happy about something, we tell people about it. It's as natural as breathing. Is our experience of the gospel any different?

If our faith is--as we Christians say--who we are, then it should affect all of our lives. We should talk about it whenever we think about it, every time we walk through life or make decisions or are concerned about the needs of those around us. We may still be timid about doing this, but it is who we are. It is who we have been called to be.

When someone hurts, we know we ought to help and pray. When someone asks our opinion, we must be honest and share it. When the crowd goes one way, we must go the way that Christ calls us.

We shouldn't be afraid of what others think. We're not trying to bully anyone into belief. We're not trying to be different for the sake of being contrary. We are just sharing our thoughts.

And it's not about pressure or guilt or coercion. It's about honesty.

Maybe this is a part of what St. Francis was getting at. We don't need to put the pressure on ourselves to convince people of the gospel. Maybe we can convince their minds--but their souls? That's a power we do not have.

We just have to be faithful. We have to live Christ--a life that affects us deeply, in deeds, actions, and--as opportunities arise--words.

Now that's some good news.

"But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect..."
1 Peter 3:15

Evangelism Implosion (Part Two)

Yep, I was happy. Sort of.

Happy in the sense that I now had some justification for not being a constant Billy Graham. Happy that I didn't have to stick my neck out there and garner the scorn of those around me.

Happy that I could just hide in the corner and do my own thing.

However, while part of me reveled in this new permission to remain silent, I think another part of me felt I actually had to proclaim something--not just stand around, be nice, and hope that people would say "Oh, he's a Christian." I don't think this is what the Apostle Paul--or any of the leaders of the early Church--were doing.

The intent of Francis' admonition to proclaim the gospel through actions was for many a corrective against preaching about faith and then never living it. But for a person who was timid about talking about faith in the beginning, it helped hamstring me.

And I understand what Francis wanted--lives that point to Christ. Without that, words are often meaningless. And he's right--they should be used only as needed.

The problem is, I know somehow that words are necessary far more than my timid soul allows.

Regardless of how aggressive or insensitive some churches are in proclaiming their witness, I feel that much of the time the motivation this springs from is essentially correct. They are concerned about others and want to help them. Maybe they say too much or in the wrong way, but at least they are saying something.

Do I think the methods used by many to talk about God are flawed? Yes. But if there were only the choice of doing things their way or not speaking at all? We'd have to do things their way.

Thankfully, its not an either/or decision in this case. There are many ways to talk about Jesus--as many as there are people.

So then....if I am to share God's love in a new way while beginning to move out of my timidity, how do I do this?

Well, that's a story for another day.

(to be continued...)

Evangelism Implosion (Part One)

Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.

--St. Francis of Assisi--

I like Saint Francis. I do. But I worry about the overuse of this quotation in contemporary circles. I think in certain hands it might be the most damaging thing possible to the Christian witness.

Let me explain.

Like many I grew up in a conservative church that, whether they intended it or not, made me feel guilty that I wasn't aggressively confronting people about their journey towards Hell and how they might avoid it. It seemed as if the only type of Christian witness I ever knew about was something akin to a kind of badgering.

Never mind if this was the right approach to things. Never mind that certain people wouldn't respond to the these methods or read the tracts I was supposed to be handing them. What mattered was that we were putting ourselves on the line for Christ.

I felt a little timid jumping into this type of evangelism. Maybe I was afraid. Maybe I was ashamed. All I knew is that I couldn't do what everyone else seemed to be doing. It petrified me.

I think a lot of my peers in evangelical circles felt this way.

We were caught between a genuine desire to see people find truth and love in Christ and a tendency to shy away from some of the more aggressive tactics we heard about from the pulpit or from other Christian speakers. It seemed that the fault was ours. Why weren't we fulfilling the Great Commission, after all? Why weren't we going up to everyone and asking them where they were going when they died?

Then I found something easier. I found I could preach the gospel without words.

Boy, was I happy.

(to be continued...)

The Passion of the Christian

"When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die."

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

What does it mean to have a passion for God? What does it mean to be passionate for the things of Christ?

The first thing I think of is something akin to an emotional frenzy. Being whipped up into a religious fervor and maintaining that state indefinitely.

And believe me, I don't mean that in a bad way. I of all people know I need a good kick in the pants.

Being "on fire" in this way and so fulfilling God's call to love and service is something I desire in my life. It is something that I have experienced at points. It is the mountaintop from whose vantage point everything else seems but a lowly valley.

But I'm not certain it can be there all the time with the same intensity.

Plus, I have a suspicion that real passion is deeper than that, anyway.

So if passion for God isn't just emotional energy, what more is it? What is it in the quiet times, the in-between times?

It is probably a lot of things. Mostly, I think it is a steady march in the same direction. A deep seated commitment and trust that carries with it a depth of emotional feeling and so much more. A trust that pushes through, no matter the cost and no matter what I'm feeling.

Whenever I think that passion is just an emotion--I need to stop and think about Christ's Passion. For Jesus, it was a time of the deepest depth of emotion, but all the same it was a slow and steady journey to fulfill His purpose.

If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.

Luke 9:23

Perhaps as with Christ on the way to the Cross, true passion for God can drive to the core of our emotions because it calls out for the deepest of commitments.

American Idols

Based on the recommendation of my friend Christine, I've been reading through some books by Donald Miller.

In Searching For God Knows What, Miller spends some time talking about the difference between the God of systems and formulas that everyone seems to know exhaustively and every televangelist and politician tries to speak for incessantly, and the true God who is bigger and wider and deeper than anything we could hope to control.

He talks about a God he fears--not in a negative way, but because the One who is above all else is so radically different than us makes knowledge of Him an awe-inspiring and terror-rific experience.

I don't know what to compare it to. Maybe you could compare it to a single bacteria cell in its little bacteria world realizing the complexity that is the human being.

And I'm sure that doesn't even come close to the difference between God and us.

Yet because we like things we can control, we try to make the Almighty God whose ways are not our ways fit into our systems and try to tell others we know what He is thinking all the time.

We just want something we can grasp onto.

I've just graduated from seminary. Theology is my thing, I suppose. In its simplest state, it means "words about God." But so many times it can become more than that. So many times it can rationally and logically take the place of the God who is far beyond my silly logic. And that's not right.

Miller writes,

"...if our brokenness will be fixed, not by our understanding of theology, but
by God telling us who we are, then this would require a kind of intimacy of
which only heaven knows. Imagine, a Being with a mind as great as God's with
feet like trees and a voice like rushing wind, telling you that you are His
cherished creation."

Theology is nice and has its place. But I think that in a lot of ways I'm getting off that train.



Knowing the God of the Bible, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob may be at times a confusing, frustrating, and fearful thing, but its much better than the silly god I try to systematize in my head.

"O LORD, my strength and my fortress, my refuge in time of distress, to you the nations will come from the ends of the earth and say, 'Our fathers possessed nothing but false gods, worthless idols that did them no good. Do men make their own gods? Yes, but they are not gods!'"

Jeremiah 16:19-20