Pastor

Pastor

Grace catches you unawares

In holy moments when souls are bared

What a strange privilege to be

So close to the heart of Mystery

Speaking now before your friends

What an odd means to usher in

Resurrection power and dazzling light

The Spirit breathing love and life

You break the bread, you pour the wine

Your eyes transfixed on Love Divine

Christ for us, what hope, what joy!

A Power that hate can never destroy

You speak your prayers into the dark

You triumph with God and you miss the mark

You plan, you laugh, you ache, and you cry

You see life come and you watch it die

And in all of this, just underneath

The invisible God doth move and speak

So you take the risk that keeps you safe

You walk with God in loyal faith

So sing, pastor, sing!

To Him Who wraps His love around you

All your thanks and praise bring

To Him Whose grace has found you

What a blessing is the call

God is faithful through it all

So with your friends, lift your eyes

For our Lover comes; we will rise

Boldly Praying Before the Judge

I recently facilitated a Bible study on Luke 18:9-14 (read it), which is the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector going to pray in the Temple.  I was struck by the idea of this parable being a court scene. The preceding parable (18:1-8) was a court scene in which a persistent widow went before an unjust judge to be vindicated, and in our current parable, the use of the forensic word "justified" in 18:14 makes me think that we should view the tax collector and the Pharisee as being in a courtroom, too.  It's as if the Temple is God's court, and the Pharisee as well as the tax collector are bringing their cases before God the Judge.

I find the idea of prayer as bringing us before God the Judge to be slightly unnerving, but also comforting.  It's unnerving because it might mean that some of the things I bring before God may be judged to be unnecessary, even wrong.  There are selfish and bad pieces of me that come out in prayer that God does not find very convincing or appealing.  The fact that I can definitively be told that I've done wrong is scary; it brings with it guilt as well as both hope for and fear of change.  Yet being before God the Judge comforts me, because in Him I can have closure.  I ultimately don't have to give credence to what others might say or think of me, or even wonder about my own judgment of my status before God.  God speaks the definitive word about me in His court.

Another comfort comes from knowing what counts in God's court.  Self-exaltation, self-justification, and comparative spirituality, all devoid of a proper recognition of the client's relationship with the Judge, are considered rubbish.  God values those who honestly and boldly come before Him.  They acknowledge the sometimes shameful realities of their lives and wholly rely on the mercy of the Judge.  The tax collector, who would have been viewed as a traitor to the Jewish people due to his support of the Roman colonizers and was probably guilty of embezzlement, did just this.  So in this parable, it's like a Bible professor loses his case and a crooked politician walks out with the favor of the Judge.  The money-laundering traitor had the courage to move past his fear and shame, acknowledge his sins, and throw himself at the mercy of God.

Jesus calls this humility.  We don't normally associate humility with courage, do we?  Maybe being humble is one of the bravest, truest things we can do.

Are there any parts of you that you've been too ashamed to bring before God - - things that religious folks like me think bar you from ever being accepted by God or by others?  The good news is that the Judge loves to have mercy.  His followers do too.  Don't keep anything from Him.  Don't rely on anything else but His grace.  Come boldly, honestly, humbly.  Confess your sins before the Judge.  Not only does he pronounce contrite sinners to be in good standing with Him, He empowers them that they might actually be saints and live transformed lives.

I hope we all will frequently talk with our Merciful Judge.

What's Driving You?

What's driving you?

This is an important question that deserves some thought.  Why do we do what we do?  Many of us who are religious will say that God is our motivation, that we're just trying to follow God's will in our lives.  I think this is good and it is where our hearts should be: dependent upon God's grace and focused on him and what he desires.  

Yet oftentimes we have dysfunctions that show up in our lives.  We may notice that we are often hurting others in our interactions, or that we are often angry with ourselves for not being true to who we are.  We may hold improper boundaries that let other people run our lives, over-function for others and run their lives, or hold others at a cold distance, never showing the vulnerability required for deep friendship.  We want to do God's will, but so often we find ourselves in messes that we create.  We're sinners; we sometimes miss the mark.

I've been struck by two books that I've been reading recently that have spurred my thinking on the above question: Steve Seamand's Ministry in the Image of God and Greg Boyd's Present Perfect.  In Seamands' book, he writes on how the Trinity shows us that we need to accept ourselves, weaknesses and all.  He writes about learning how to discern between the false self and the true self that we were made to be in Christ.  Seamands is very aware of what drives his own false self: "accomplishment, acceptance, and acclaim" (p. 128) were expectations he put on himself early on because his father was a well-accomplished missionary, preacher, counselor, and author.  These pieces fueled a perfectionism in Steve that told him his identity and worth would come from overachieving, being loved by all people, and being more famous than his colleagues.

I think my false self looks very similar to Seamands'.  I want to be very good at what I do, so much so that I think sometimes I see my worth as stemming from achievement (and this can apply to school, ministry, relationships, etc.).  I want to be cool, someone that people think is culturally informed, faithful, creative, and expressive.  I want people to like me.  I want to be accepted and respected by people I value and respect.

There's nothing wrong with these things in themselves, but if they start driving and forming my identity over Jesus' love and acceptance, they become toxic.  They can breed anxiety and fear.

Thank God he doesn't let us believe our lies or leave us in our mixed-up expectations forever!  God has a way of exposing our false beliefs about where our identity comes from.  He has a way of showing us that even though we're limited, often selfish, and sometimes mistaken, Christ's love and acceptance of us is enough.  Our identity is in Christ and His love for us, not in our anxieties, people-pleasing, notoriety, coolness, intelligence, goals, or whatever else we use to judge our worth.  Since Christ has loved us and fully accepts those who repent and believe, shouldn't we love and accept ourselves?  

Greg Boyd brings up a good objection that some may give to having our identity in Jesus' grace in his book:

Some may fear that if they rest in God's love they will lose their drive to be the best they can be in school, in their careers, or even in their ministry.  As one concerned parent objected after hearing me speak on this topic to a youth group, "My son needs drive if he's ever going to amount to anything in this world" (p. 72).

 Boyd later answers:

But the more we train our minds to remember God moment-by-moment, the more we discover an entirely different kind of motivation for doing things.  We no longer engage in activities in a desperate and futile attempt to acquire Life [sic] we don't yet have; rather, we engage in them as a means of expressing the fullness of Life we already have - - apart from these activities.  The irony is that when a person no longer needs to succeed to feel fully worthwhile and significant they will tend to be more successful than if they did need this.  When we need to achieve, acquire, and accomplish things to find Life, the pressure often compromises our passion, creativity, and flexibility (pp. 72-73).

I don't know about you, but I want that.  I want my disposition to be transformed from anxious striving to graceful sharing and working.  I want my motives to be a joyful response of love to the God who loves and accepts me.  I want constantly to be aware that God loves me in this present moment just as I am, and therefore I can accept myself as God's beloved.  I want the Spirit to continue to expose my false beliefs and my mixed-up motives so that I can repent and be more like Jesus.  I don't want my standards to be higher than Jesus' standards.

I'm not there yet, but I believe I can grow. I want to grow in the awareness that God loves me and everyone I come into contact with in each and every moment. I want that to form my disposition, that to be the motive that directs me.  I think this is part of what the biblical writers and theologians are talking about when they mention sanctification.

So how about you?  What's driving you?

Cleaning

Here's a short poem that I wrote around three years ago.

Cleaning

Amidst old papers

And dust-caked shelves

I am picking up the pieces...

Two-and-a-half years are gone

Traded for memories

That are two-and-a-half years strong

Though some I shall release

To the dust and the dead skin

To the rag and down the drain

To the earth and the free wind

To be washed by the rain

The thoughts recalled through cleaning

They stand to be judged

Throw away what's lost its meaning

Treasure what hasn't budged.

The Gift of Solitude

If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.   Psalm 139:8b

     It's good to have some time alone every now and again.  During summer and Christmas breaks over the past few years, I've had opportunities (sometimes wanted, sometimes unwanted) to be in solitude.  I come from a small town in Alabama that many people leave when they get older.  There are not many job openings that bring people back to settle down in our area, nor are there a whole lot of public works or famous attractions.  There's just a sky in which you can see the stars clearer than any other place I know; there's lots of open space and livestock; there's family, football, hard-working people, and plenty of room for imagination.

     It seems like the number of friends who have moved away continues to increase as time passes.  I guess that tends to happen when people finish school, get jobs, and start new families.  It often makes me feel like I'm in a strange place when I'm staying with my folks.  Sometimes I feel like an outsider, even though I know this is where my family is and where I grew up.  For me, it's a good place to go when I want to be alone for a while.

     I never really considered extended times of solitude to be a gift until I read Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline.  In the book, Foster enumerates solitude as an intentional spiritual discipline that can open people up to God's grace.  Since the current rhythm of my life has some space for it, I thought I'd share how it's gone for me.  In my own experience, solitude is a very humbling thing.  It shows me that many of the different spheres of my life (school, church, friend groups, family) can get along just fine without me.  It brings me face-to-face with my own smallness, usually dashing some form of my egocentricity against the rocks of reality, or revealing to me just how insignificant things are that I thought were vitally important.

     It's also a good discipline to practice for meeting with God.  I think of Jacob, who wrestled with God all night at Peniel (Genesis 32:22-32), of Moses, who had several one-on-one encounters with God (Exodus 3:1-4:17; 19:3-6; 20:18-21), of Elijah, who ran away to die in failure, yet then traveled forty days to meet with God on Sinai (1 Kings 19), and of Jesus, who "often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Luke 5:16).  Jesus spent some time in solitary prayer before doing things like selecting the twelves apostles (Luke 6:12-16), walking across a lake in the middle of a storm (Matthew 14:22-25), and going to willfully give his life for a sinful world (Mark 14:32-42).  There have been some times of individual prayer in which God has met me powerfully.  Other times it feels like it takes all of me to keep faith alive and let loose shaky prayers.  I think I've learned from both kinds of experiences.

     Solitude can also be useful for subduing the noise that accompanies our lives.  When we disconnect from the hurried whirl of computer screens, road signs, appointments, and responsibilities, we regain the ability to focus and listen.  We make time for encountering mystery, like the immeasurable mystery of God and the mysteries of who we are ourselves.  We can rest in who Christ is and what He has done.  We can evaluate the trajectory of our life and take our emotional pulse.  We can seek God's direction over what we should next do in life and get his evaluation of our recent undertakings.  We can heal from the new hurts we've accumulated as well as the old scars and weaknesses that perennially haunt us.  We can journal, draw, meditate, and explore.  It creates space for us to simply be.

     I've found that solitude really can be useful for extended periods of time, but I also believe it reveals to us that we are not meant to be alone.  It can be good for seeking God, decompressing, getting clarity, and healing, but ultimately time alone is meant to prepare us to be more fully engaged in community.  If solitude is long-term, it can be stifling and depressing.  Go watch Into the Wild if you want a good illustration on how isolation debilitates.  

     Solitude should free us to be more present to the people we encounter each day.  It should give us fresh purpose and vigor as we make decisions in life.  It should renew the capacity within us to show love to the people who are in our lives.  I think the healthy practice of solitude is a great tool that God can use in us.

     Do you need to practice solitude?  This time of year often can free up some time for us to take a mini-retreat with God.  I'd encourage you to do so.

The Humanity of Jesus

For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning.  – Hebrews 4:15 (RSV)

            This probably won’t come as a surprise to you, but the Christmas season tends to get me thinking about Jesus and the Incarnation (enfleshing).  One of the ideas that really struck me this past semester as I was reading through Tom Oden’s Classic Christianity was the scandal of particularity.  I used to think Jesus had encountered every sort of joy, suffering, and circumstance imaginable to humanity.  In my mind, Jesus was some generic personal catch-all for the totality of the human experience.  I thought that He in His human nature intimately knew all things in all times and all places.  But Oden brought up points that I had never considered previously.  The fact is, you and I, as well as everyone else who has ever lived, have encountered situations that Jesus Himself never did.

            It doesn’t take a brilliant theologian to figure out that Jesus never rode in a car.  He never talked on a phone, sent a text message, or used a computer.  He never spoke English, Chinese, Russian, or any other of the vast preponderance of modern languages that make up our world today.  He never voted in a public election, never wrote a research paper, and never tried His hand at the multiplicity of jobs we clock in for today.  Jesus never dated anyone or married.  He never invested in the stock market and wasn’t purely related to his nuclear family.  I could continue to negatively define Jesus’ life, but I think you get my point: there is a lot that Jesus didn’t do.

            So how is this 1^st century Jewish guy supposed to relate to us and how are we as 21^st century people supposed to relate to Him?  Can someone who never posted on Facebook or used an Apple product really sympathize with us in our 21^st century world of technocratic globalization?  The answer is yes, because by His choosing not to be a superhuman who experientially knew everything, Jesus is just like you and me.  Limited.  Vulernable.  He came from a certain family at a distinct time in history in a specific cultural context, as we all do.  This is what theologians have referred to as the scandal of particularity.

            Regardless of how culture and technology have modified how we interact down through the ages, some things remain fundamentally the same – things like God, humanity, and sin.  No, 1^st century Palestine did not have Wi-Fi, but it had people who loved, hated, argued, blessed, hurt, desired, won, failed, worked, cried, forgave, killed, and worshipped just as people do today.  At the root level, Jesus has sufficiently encountered all that it means to be human.  He wasn’t married, but he loved people and navigated relationships.  He most likely wasn’t abused as a child, but he took all the abuse and shame that the forces of evil had to throw at Him on the cross.  He knows loving acceptance and He knows painful rejection.  He knows the vigor of youth as well as what it’s like to get older and have aches and pains.  Human.  Yes, that’s the word. 

            Further, Jesus did not shed His humanity when He ascended into heaven, but He is still fully God and fully human.  He is representing us before God in His flesh, pleading the merits of His sacrifice over the Church and interceding for us according to our needs.  We have a sympathetic God-man in heaven mediating for us from the place of His own encounters with temptation and human experience.  We have a friend who is farther along than we are, who has wrestled with the same enticements and has overcome them, who can help us live as He did.

When we so eagerly desire to be gods, God the Son taking on flesh grabs our attention like a gunshot.  The great humility and sacrificial love present in Jesus’ humanity amazes me and challenges me – I hope that it always will.  In Jesus, God said yes to humanity through the Incarnation, He said yes to humanity all throughout Christ’s life on earth, He is still saying yes to humanity through the heavenly session of Christ, and He will always say yes to humanity when we worship the Triune God afresh with resurrected bodies.  Such a fixed, pursuing love for a rebellious creation goes beyond my capacity to understand and leaves me in awe.  What else could I do but believe and enter into this wonderful love relationship of grace and obedience? 

  So in the midst of my bouts with pain, doubt, fear, and apathy, I often find the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit reminding me: Yes, it is a good thing to be alive.  In Jesus, God says yes to abundant life and humanity.  Always. 

What answers do our lives give about life and humanity?