Definitions: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness

One of the bright spots that has emerged through the darkness of Sunday's tragic shootings has been the declarations of forgiveness from the family and friends of the victims. Christians have taken notice and, quite significantly, so has the press.* As more than one person has said to me, we ought to be grateful for the positive example of people living out their faith in a forgiving God.

Others, however, have not been quite so sure. In a recent conversation, someone had the courage to suggest what many of us may have thought--that perhaps it was too soon to offer forgiveness, that maybe doing so trivialized what was, by all accounts, a very terrible wrong, or that doing so may have rushed a grief process in which anger would have played an important role.

These are all legitimate concerns--but I think they may stem from a misunderstanding of forgiveness. So a few thoughts today on what forgiveness does--and does not--involve.**

• Forgiveness is not a one time event. The individuals affected by Sunday's shootings declared their forgiveness almost immediately. However, it will take time for them to grow into this declaration. As I mentioned in a sermon on this topic last month, they will have to forgive--to make moves against their anger--again, and again, and again (seventy times seven!). I suspect that for some of these people (perhaps all of them) it will take years for forgiveness to be complete. As Smedes says, "Forgiving is a journey; the deeper the wound, the longer the journey."
• Forgiveness does not mean condoning or excusing a wrong. In fact, forgiveness means the opposite. To forgive someone of a wrong, you must acknowledge that there is actually a wrong to be forgiving. To forgive, you must assign blame. When we forgive, we are not saying that the intolerable has suddenly become tolerable. Rather, we are saying that the only way we can deal with an intolerable wrong is through the miracle of forgiveness.
• Forgiveness does not mean minimizing a wrong. Saying "I forgive you" is not the same thing as saying, "That's okay--it was no big deal." If it's not a big deal, it doesn't need to be forgiven. As Lewis Smedes has written somewhere, "We need to sort out our hurts and learn the difference between those that call for the miracle of forgiveness and those that can be borne with a sense of humor. If we lump all our hurts together and prescribe forgiveness for all of them, we turn the art of forgiving into something cheap and commonplace. Like good wine, forgiving must be preserved for the right occasion.”
• Forgiveness is not the same thing as reconciliation. Reconciliation may be seen as the ultimate (though not always attainable) goal of forgiveness. However, forgiveness is only one step in achieving this goal. For full reconciliation to occur, the person who committed the wrong must also make a move--must "repent" in the biblical sense of the word (express both sorrow AND a commitment to change). If the person who committed the wrong has not changed, it would be unwise--even foolish--to enter back into relationship with them. In short, it takes one person to forgive but two to achieve full reconciliation.
• Forgiveness does not mean there are no consequences. God (and good parents, I think) may forgive the sins of His children but deem it important for them to live with the consequences of their poor choices. Sometimes when we forgive people, it is also necessary that they live with painful consequences. This can be an important a way of protecting ourselves from future hurts.
• Forgiveness does not mean forgetting: Forgiveness has more to do with the way we remember than with removing our memories. When we forgive, we learn to remember without anger or a desire for revenge. Furthermore, in a sin filled world, remembering the wrong we've forgiven can be important because of the need to protect ourselves from future hurts.
• Forgiveness is not something we only do for other people: Scripture makes clear that forgiveness is one of the ways we show Christ-like love for other people. However, it's also a way we love ourselves. When we refuse to forgive, we are held captive by our own anger and bitterness--it eats away at us and threatens to consume us. As Smedes writes: "When we forgive, we set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner we set free is us."

*It says something about the nature of forgiveness that it is considered newsworthy event. **Many of these come from Lewis Smedes' excellent book, The Art of Forgiving.

Endings and Beginnings

This week I'll be talking about our longing for our "home" in the New Creation (Isaiah 11)--a home that will be "set in order" for us when Jesus comes again. One of the thoughts I had kicking around in the back of my mind while I wrote the sermon came from something Eugene Peterson once wrote about atheists (and I may have commented on here before).

Peterson observes that many atheists are what he refers to as "Atheists of Compassion." They look around the world, see all the war and cancer and genocide and hypocrisy and other monstrosities that human beings are capable of, and conclude that there is no god worth believing in who would allow so much evil.* So their atheism, their refusal to believe in god/God, stems from their compassion for this world.

Peterson notes that in some ways, these atheists are our allies. As Christians, we too ought to be appalled by the brokenness of the creation. Our hearts ought to be just as broken (or more so) than that of a good atheists. So we agree there. We can call ourselves allies in our compassion for those who suffer in this world.

Of course, there are differences too. Namely, hope. We believe that there is a way "out" of this madness--a solution that will not come from the perfect political system or better policies or improved technology or a little more information or right thinking. We believe that one day, God himself will come again in the person of Jesus Christ and he will set all this right again. We believe that, because of his love for this world, God will not toss it in his divine dumpster, but instead will lovingly restore it to (and even beyond) it's prefallen glory. That's one of the reasons we long for his coming--because we love this world enough to want him to redeem it.

Here is how Lewis Smedes describes what will happen when Jesus comes again:

"C.S. Lewis said somewhere that when God comes back to earth it will be like having the author of a play called on stage after the final performance; the play is over, he takes his bow, the players leave, and the theater is swallowed in darkness. I do not much care for the metaphor. I believe that the Author of the play will appear on stage not after the final performance, but before the first curtain rises. The players have been turning rehearsals into nasty fights about who gets the best lines and the prime spot on the billboard; [they've been wrecking the set]; the play has become a disaster, doomed before it gets off the ground. it is then that the Author shows up, his original script in hand and with the power to change self-seeking egos into self-giving artists. The theater is bathed in gentle light, the curtain rises, and the play begins a triumphant and endless run. Not the ending, but the new beginning--this is what I hope for." (172).

What we long for when Christ comes again is not the day he will whisk us away from this mess, then destroy the world and toss it on the cosmic scrap heat. No, we long for the time when he will renew all things. We long for God's restoration of the world he loves (and we ought to love). We long for the time when we can experience the joys and comforts of home.

It's something to think about in the midst of our advent longing. Does our longing for his coming stem out of a disregard--even a disdain--for this world that God made? Or does it grow out of our love and compassion for it? Do we look at all the brokenness around us and just want to "fly away" and "be done with it all"? Or do we look at all the brokenness around us and hope that Jesus will come again and finally fix it--make it the way it's supposed to be? Do we sit around with our heads in the sand and wait for the sweet by-and-by? Or do we join Him in his big redemption project, even while we wait?

*This is the "problem of evil" argument. It's compelling, but it raises its own questions. For example: How do you measure evil, and at what point do you say there's "too much" evil. Or more significantly, what do you do with all the good in the world? (I call this the "problem of good"). Who gets the credit for that?

More on Matthew 18

"Forgive us our debts, as we've forgiven our debtors." Most of us have probably squirmed at that little phrase in the Lord's prayer. We squirm because we all struggle to forgive from time to time--and a simple reading of that phrase makes it sound like God's forgiveness is contingent upon our own; it sounds as though we can somehow loose our place in his household if we fail to do what we're told.

The Lord's Prayer isn't the only nugget of scripture that might give you that impression. You might think that after reading the parable that we studied together on Sunday morning, too (Matt 18:21-35). This poor schmuck is forgiven a huge debt, fails to pass it on, and apparently loses his forgiven status. You might read this parable and conclude that God's forgiveness is fickle.

It's troubling and we ought not try to explain it all away too quickly. But some comments I read this weekend in NT Wright's book, Evil and the Justice of God, helped me make sense of it (without making Jesus' teaching easier than it really is). Here's what he says about Jesus' command to forgive in this passage:

"Jesus is not giving a kind of arbitrary, abstract commandment and then saying that if you fail to meet the test God will not forgive you. He isn’t setting the moral bar at an impossible height and then warning that God will be everlastingly cross if we don’t manage to jump it. He is drawing attention to a fact about the moral universe and human nature. He is telling us, in effect, that the faculty we have for receiving forgiveness and the faculty we have for granting forgiveness are one and the same thing. If we open the one we shall open the other. If we slam the door on the one, we slam the door on the other. God is not being arbitrary. If you are the sort of person who will accuse a neighbor over every small thing and keep him or her under your anger until each item has been dealt with (perhaps by your gaining revenge), then you are also the sort of person who will be incapable of opening your heart to receive God’s generous forgiveness. Indeed, you will probably not admit that you need it in the first place.” (158)

More on Judgment

Just to prove that I wasn't making up what I said in my last post about judgment, here's a snippet from N.T. Wrights book, Evil and the Justice of God, which I finished up this weekend.

“God’s justice is not simply a blind dispensing of rewards for the virtuous and punishments for the wicked, though plenty of those are to be found on the way. God’s justice is saving, healing, restorative justice, because the God to whom justice belongs is the Creator God who has yet to complete his original plan for creation and whose justice is designed not simply to restore balance to a world out of kilter but to bring to glorious completion and fruition the creation, teeming with life and possibility, that he made in the first place.” (64)

I told you so :-).

Jumpstarting Judgment

A Christian summer camp counselor I knew once reported having one of the most successful weeks ever. He proclaimed, with understandable delight, that each of the twelve boys in his cabin had given their lives to Jesus. They wanted to be Christians. They wanted to live for and with Jesus from that point on and into all eternity.

The rest of the camp staff was ecstatic--at first. But that didn't last long. Because the next week, camp supervisors were inundated with phone calls from concerned parents. Apparently, many of the young boys who had been in that converted cabin were having nightmares that were directly related to their week at camp. They would toss and turn as they dreamt--not about the boogie man or some other camp fire legend they had learned while chomping on s'mores--but about the torments of hell and the torture that would be inflicted upon them for all eternity if they didn't get their acts together and give their lives to Jesus.

As the phone calls rolled in and the story was pieced together, the mass conversion of Cabin 14 suddenly was a lot less exciting and a lot more disturbing.

I doubt that any of us would feel comfortable using the evangelism tactic of that camp counselor--scaring people out of hell and into heaven. But what's troubling about the text we looked at last week (Matt 5:21ff) is that Jesus appears to do that very thing. He lets his listeners know--in no uncertain terms--that if they don't clean up their lives, their future is not very bright. So what are we to make of this?

Well, there are several thoughts we ought to keep in mind. First: there is the obvious difference between the speaker: between Jesus (perfect) and us (not-so-much). Second, there is a distinction that must be made between the audiences: Jesus speaks to people (adults) who are presumed to be a part of the community of faith while in evangelism we (or at least that camp counselor) are talking to those who are presumed to be outside of the community of faith. That distinction is not insignificant.

That being said, something else that those of us in the community of faith might consider is the nature of judgement. We tend to think of judgment (I think) largely in negative terms. We think about a finger wagging God ready to give us what we deserve and eager to crush us with his almighty thumb. But that's not quite the full picture of biblical judgment.

When God "judges" his people in scripture, it is not merely retributive. It is also restorative. God not only punishes, he also disciplines. Consider, for example, the exile of the people Israel. The point is not merely to send them away from the promise land to suffer in the labor camps of the Babylonians. The point is to purify them--to burn away all the garbage that stands in between them, God, and their neighbors. The point is to help them live the kind of "shalom-filled" lives of wholeness for which they were created. Or as Thomas Long puts it in his commentary on Matthew. 5:

"In the biblical sense, judgment is God’s exercise of good judgment, repairing all that is harmful to humanity. Judgment is God’s repairing of the broken creation. Judgement is God’s scalpel carefully removing the malignant tissue that threatens life. Judgment is God’s burning away of all that is cruel and spirit killing in order that we may breath the air of compassion. Judgment is good news; it is God setting things right.”

From this perspective, we can think of Christ's call to be reconciled with our neighbors as a way to "jump start judgment." Because when we're seeking to be reconciled with a brother or sister--when we confess to the ways we've hurt people, when we try to restore our relationship with them, when we do our best to remove the garbage that separates us from God and each other--we're not waiting for Jesus to return to set things right and cut away the "malignant tissue that threatens life", but we're trying to do it ourselves. And in that way, we're "jump starting judgment."

So just a reminder (or if you weren't in church Sunday morning, a challenge): Jesus calls us to do our best to set right the wrongs that linger between us. And he calls us to do it now. Don't wait for God to do it. Don't wait for Kingdom come to do it. But through the power of the Spirit, take the initiative and do it today.

Food, Farms, and Faith

My friend Becky grew up on a large farm in central Iowa but has since moved to the booming metropolis of Grand Rapids, MI. Some time ago, she was reflecting on the transition. There are things she likes about living in the city, she said. But even so, there are times she feels, well, "disoriented."

I didn't quite understand what she meant at first. But I hazarded a few guesses.

"Hmmm. Disoriented." I said, "Like when you're downtown and the streets aren't straight? Or in a suburb and keeping hitting cul-de-sacs?"

"No..."

"Okay, like when the sun doesn't shine for four months and you no longer know if its day or night?"

"No..."

Becky then went on to explain that she felt "disoriented" because she had lost her connection with the earth and therefore had no way of keeping time. Back on the farm, she and her family lived into the regular rhythms of the land. Planting. Irrigating. Harvesting. Resting. Their lives changed with the seasons.

But back in Michigan, Becky went to her office every day. She sat in a windowless, climate controlled room (sweaters in the summer, short sleeves in the winter!). It now made little difference to her and her livelihood if there were droughts or floods. She could still go to Meijers--even in February--and buy her tomatoes, asparagus, and whatever else she wanted to eat.

Becky's disorientation is something that all of us who live in the city face--even if we were never blessed to be "oriented" by farm life. Because all of us are separated from the earth. I read recently that the average meal in America travels 1,200 miles before ending up on our plates. A friend of mine (who's much better with these things than I am) once calculated that to get a single strawberry from California to the produce isle in a Northwest Iowa grocery store takes nearly 600 calories of energy (a huge net loss!). I've also been told that the tuna that is served in Manhattan's finest Sushi restaurants is caught on the Atlantic coast of the US, shipped to the fish markets in Tokyo, sold, and then shipped back to New York. In other words, that tuna goes around the world before it ends up on the plate of the American consumer (and this is not all that unusual in our food system).

There are, of course, tremendous ecological implications to all of this. Most obviously--there are all the extra costs involved (both in terms of finances and natural resources), and the generally unsustainable nature of this system. But there is a more subtle danger too. If we are separated from the means of production--separated from the land--and have no idea how our food is grown (or raised), then we will have little interest in the way the land is used (or the animals are treated). This alone should give us pause. (By the way, Wendell Berry is excellent on this point.)

But we should also consider what all these degrees of separation between us and the land do to our relationship with our Creator. If we spend our days in climate controlled offices, cooped up in our cars or even on the city bus, if depend solely on King Soopers to provide us with our food (Tomatoes in February!)--then not only will we be separated from the land, we will also be separated from the One who made and upholds the land.

This is a point that was brought home to me by Rob Bell recently. Bell argues that there are many people who struggle with needless doubts and faith crises. They complain that God seems too far away, that he is distant. But it's no wonder, says Bell. When we don't take time to notice God's handiwork, when we no longer need to pray to and depend upon him for daily bread, when he becomes a peripheral consideration in the meeting of our daily needs--then undoubtedly, he will seem a long ways away. But really, says Bell, it's not God who is a long way from us. It's we who are a long way from Him.

Where we get our food--our relationship with the land--can drastically affect our faith. If we are cut off from the creation, we will (almost) certainly face some spiritual "disorientation."

So what's the upshot of all this? Well, I'm suggesting that we all do what we can to get connected--with the Creation and the Creator. Start a garden next spring. Try to eat a locally grown meal. Walk instead of driving. Get connected with the creation. And the Creator.

If want to read more on the topic, I'd suggest the writings of Wendell Berry (particularly his "Jayber Crow" Novels, but also his essays, if you're ambitious), Kathleen Norris ("Dakota" is a great read).

Excuses

Dear Gentle Reader,
Apologies for the blogging hiatus. I anticipate that my return will coincide with that of my laptop from Dell (hopefully later this week).
Joel.

100th Anniversary Pics

Apologies for the lack ofr updates recently. I blame both computer problems and J.K. Rowling.

Here are a few pictures from our recent block party. It was a hoot. I also have some marvolous vidoe of Dutch dancing and Norm B. singing along with "Yellow Submarine". Ask nicely and maybe I'll post them.

Heaven

I've been thinking about heaven a lot the past few months. I've been thinking about what it is we want from heaven, what we hope it will be like, what exactly will make it so wonderful for us.

The Bible (and our culture) suggests many different answers to this question: we look forward to heaven because there will be no more suffering, "no more mourning, crying, or pain," as Revelation 21:4 so beautifully puts it. And of course, many of us look forward to being reunited with our loved ones (books like 90 Minutes in Heaven seem especially keen on this idea, from what I'm told). Or perhaps we simply look forward to heaven because we trust that will experience life as it was intended to be: a restored earth free of crime and pollution and all the brokenness, perhaps(depending on who we are and where we're getting our information) an eternal golf game* or the everlasting weekend in the mountains.

Those things may all be well and good. But I wonder, are they enough? Or ought we to be hoping for something more? Or as John Piper puts the question:

The critical question for our generation—and for every generation—is this: If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever saw, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?”

The "right" answer to that question, of course, (at least from a Christian perspective)ought to be "no." But my fear is that, too often, we talk about heaven (and about Christianity in general) in a way that suggests otherwise. Think, for example, of the way we may "pitch" Christianity evangelistically: we tell others that Jesus will relieve them of their guilt, give them the chance to see dear old aunt Sally again, or will get them some othe perk. Sure, these things may be true--but they miss the deeper point. The deeper point, as Piper puts it in the title of his book, is that GOD is the Gospel. The point is that true happiness comes from fellowship with HIM--which is exactly what he gives us in Christ and promises us for eternity!**

So why do I make such a big deal out of this? Well, for one thing, it's a simple matter of right thinking. Suggesting that heaven is more about forgiveness or lack of pain or some other perk than it is about life with God confuses the ends with the means.*** But more to the point--it comes back to T.S. Elliot's famous line: "In my end is my begninning." If our eternal goal is merely to be reunited with our loved ones, to live a pain free life, to ski for eternity--then that's how I'll live now. Those will be the things that we live for now. (And if that's how we live, I suspect we might be too earthly minded to be of much heavenly good.) But if my eternal goal is to dwell with God (and the rest is just details), than will have termendous implications for what--or WHO--I seeek and serve now!


*For some, this might only happen in that other, warmer , place!

**Since I've started thinking about this, I've realized that a much more central concern of Rev 21 (more central than the absence of sickness, crying or pain etc mentioned in verse 4) comes in verse 3: Now the dwelling of God is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God... It's more about the relationship than the "perks."

***I find Lewis helpful on this point. In A Grief Observed, he writes: Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. [Lewis' deceased wife], it runs through him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all. That’s what was really wrong with all those popular pictures of happy reunions ‘on the further shore’; not the simple-minded and very earthly images, but the fact that they make an End of what we can get only as a by-product of the true End.

Questions Worth Asking

I don't remember many worship services from my childhood days. But I do remember communion Sundays. I remember them because they were infrequent in those days (six times a year, I believe). I remember them because the service was sure to go long (10:55!). I remember them because I loved to look down the long pews of our sanctuary and see arms lifting and heads tipping in one beautiful, unified motion as the adults in our congregation received the body and blood of the Lord. Their unity in that moment reminded me of the way bows would move together in an orchestra.

But the other thing I remember about communion is peering at the shiny silver trays as they passed me by. Sometimes I would get to touch them or help pass them. But usually not. In the CRC in which I was raised, the Lord's supper was something for adults. Children were not invited.

As I'm sure many of you know, discussion in recent* years in the CRC has suggested that we change that. Synod has now suggested that it's okay--even important--for children to participate in the Lord's Supper. But this makes some of us (understandably )nervous. After all, we've "always" done things this way. And if was good enough then, why isn't it good enough now?

Well, I have my own answers to that question. But I'd like to help all four of you who read this blog come to your own conclusions. So here are some questions I think you need to answer for yourselves in order to develop a theologically informed position on this matter.

• Our discussion ought to start with baptism: What actually happens to a child in baptism? What's the main event? How does baptism relate to membership in God's family (if at all)?
• What is the relationship between baptism and communion?
• What are some of the central "happenings" in the Lord's Supper (I assume there is more than one)? Is it primarily an act of remembrance on our part? A way for God to nourish us? Something else?
• To phrase the previous question another way: who is the primary actor in the sacraments? Is the Lord's Supper (and for that matter, Baptism) something that God does for us, or something that we do for God?
• What is the relationship between the "old" signs of the covenant (i.e. circumcision and the Passover Feast) and the "new" signs of the covenant (Baptism and the Lord's Supper). Does the place of children in these "old" ceremonies suggest anything about their appropriate place in the "new"?
• What "body" is Paul referring to in 1 Corinthians 11? How might reading this passage as referring to the "body of believers " affect what we do at the table?
• How does the gift of the Lord's Supper strengthen us and build us up as followers of Christ? How might it do the same (or be different) for our children?

I think this ought to be enough to get you started. If you'd like to read what (I think) are some well thought out answers to these questions, as well some questions you may not have thought to ask (like the history of this issue) check out the latest issue of the Calvin Seminary Forum. (Also available at church. Ask me if you'd like a copy.)

*Walt A. , our expert on all things syndoical and church order, informs me that this discussion has actually been going on for over twenty years. That's long enough that I actually could have participated in the Supper as a child if my church had been up to speed on the latest Synodical decisions.

Revelation

A week or two ago, someone at church handed me a copy of Jon Krakauer's book Under the Banner of Heaven. The book looked interesting, but after glancing at the cover, I wasn't sure I wanted to read it (just yet). You see, I've just read some other books that are rather disturbing (namely: "King Leopold's Ghost") and wasn't sure I was ready for what Krakauer had to offer: an investigation into the murder of a young mother and her daughter at the hands of two brothers, Dan and Ron Lafferty--two Fundamentalist Mormons who carried out the killings after receiving (they claim) a direct command from God.

Well, Jill was gone last week and I found myself with a little extra time on my hands and nothing to read. So I grabbed Under the Banner of Heaven and dug right in. I'm glad I did.

The book was fascinating to me because Krakauer didn't just tell the story of the murder. Instead, he chose to dig into the "roots of their crime [which] lie deep in the history of an American religion practiced by millions"--Mormonism. Krakauer gives a fairly detailed history of Mormonism (and more specifically, the underbelly of the Mormon Church--Mormon fundamentalism) and, occasionally, pauses to apply his observations of Mormonism to religion in general.

One particular aspect of Mormonism/religion that seems to fascinate Krakauer is the idea of "revelation". And with good reason. After all, when Joseph Smith founded the Mormon Church 170 years ago, it was on the basis of a (alleged) revelation from the Angel Moroni (near Jill's hometown of Palmyra, NY, by the way). During the following years, Smith (and his followers) reported countless revelations/interactions with God detailing everything from where they should settle to what they should drink to whom they should marry to when the Civil War would begin. Krakauer's fascination with religious revelation is also understandable because (as I mentioned above), it was on the basis of a Revelation from God that the Lafferty brothers committed their murders.

From my perspective, Krakauers discussion of the Mormon Church, the Lafferty Brothers, and revelation stirred up two related thoughts.

First: What is it that leads Mormons to believe, so fiercely, that they have indeed had revelations from God? As a Christian, I don't (necessarily) doubt the possibility of God communicating with individuals. But I DO (as a Christian) presume that at least 97% of the supposed revelations received by Joseph Smith and his followers are in fact false. So what are we to make of this (and for that matter, the "revelations" received by adherents to other religions)? Are these individuals simply deluded? Have they been duped? Do they just have a bad case of indigestion? Or have they actually heard "voices", but mistaken the voice of God for the voice of someone/thing else? How do we explain this phenomenon?

The second point, related to the first, concerns the "Revelations" that we claim to be true as Christians. Because, make no mistake, even if we don't believe that God communicates directly with individuals anymore (a hotly debated question in some circles), our religion is nevertheless a revealed one. It's a "revealed religion" because, even though we can deduce some general truths from reason/nature (e.g. "God Exists), ultimately, we need the Revelation of Scripture (and the Person of Jesus Christ) in order to show us the full truth.

So, that being said, how do we know that our "revelations" can be accepted as from God? How do we know that we're not crackpots, misguided zealots, or just plain gullible people who have been duped? How do we know that we can trust the apostle Paul, Matthew Mark and Luke, Moses, Isaiah, and the other writers?

This has actually been a question that has troubled me for some time. And after reading Krakauer's book (and let's face it, sometimes after reading Scripture itself), it's easy to see why people might be skeptical. But regrettably (in my opinion), this is one area in which it's hard to get to a real nuts and bolts, "rational" answer. Sure, we can point to things like historical/archeolotical evidence and manuscript studies--but these only take us so far. At some point, I think we simply have to believe it because, well, we believe it. It's a matter of faith. It's a matter of the Spirit's testimony in our hearts. It's a matter of trust. We believe the Bible because the Bible (and the Spirit) says we can believe it. It is a vicious circle, and probably not the most satisfying answer to skeptics (Christian or non*), but thus far, it's the best answer that I can come up with. Anyone smarter than me have a better one?

*Krakauer, a self-proclaimed agnostic, would likely shake his head at disgust at my answer. In the prologue of his book, he writes: "Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial competent of spiritual devotion." Krakauer also adds this rather provocative charge: "when Religious fanaticism supplants ratiocination, all bets are suddenly off. Anything can happen. Absolutely anything. Common sense is no match for the voice of God--as the actions Dan Lafferty vividly attest." (xxiii)

Inside Joke

This week, I've been reading Richard Mouw's book Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport. It's a fine book written in an engaging style that avoids overly technical and cliche explanations of Calvinism's "Five Points" (AKA: "TULIP") and their broader implications.

There are, of course, many mysterious elements in this "system" of belief." One of these mysteries is raised by the "P" in "Tulip"--"Preservation/Perseverance of the Saints". This doctrine states that, by God's grace, those who are "in " the Kingdom will always be "in. There is nothing they (or any other force/factor) can do to cause God to let them go. It's a fine doctrine of great comfort, as far as I'm concerned, but the natural question that it raises is how people who appear to have had genuine faith can appear to lose that faith. Hence Mouw's little joke (and apologies if this is only amusing to seminary/pastor types):

Four theologians are standing alongside a train stopped between stations. They are looking at a dead body beside the tracks, arguing about what happened to the person. The Lutheran said he jumped from the train and was killed by the fall. The Catholic said he must have been pushed. The Methodist insisted he fell accidentally. But the Calvinist said that if he was really off the train, then he had never been on it in the first place!

ba-da-bump.

A Grief Observed

A month or two ago, I finished C.S. Lewis' classic, The Problem of Pain. It was a fine book that looked at pain from an "objective", outsiders perspective. As usual, Lewis was thorough, logical, and compelling. If you want some good, rational discourse on how a good God can allow suffering and pain in the world, this is a book you may consider reading.

However, if you want to get a glimpse into the heart of a person who is suffering, if you want to walk along side of someone through the process of their grief, if you want to see pain from the inside, you may want to read A Grief Observed instead. In this book, which consists of excerpts from Lewis' diary, we get a raw look at Lewis' pain after the death of his wife. Although Lewis' experience is likely different than yours or mine (it's A Grief Observed, after all, not All Grief observed), we may find common ground with him as we seek to understand our own grief.

One of the things I found interesting about Lewis' little book is the progression that can be seen in the way he understands God's presence. Consider these few excerpts from the beginning, middle and end of the book:

• “Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be—or so it feels—welcomed with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?....Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about him.” (6)
• “I have gradually been coming to feel that the door is no longer shut and bolted. Was it my own frantic need that slammed it in my face? The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help my be just the time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.” (46)
• “When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘No answer.’ It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent , certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you don’t understand.’” (69)

I also was intrigued by the way Lewis tried to describe what grief feels like. Here are a few examples:

• “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.” (3)
• “I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H. [his wife] for their object. Now their target is gone. I kept on through habit fitting an arrow to the string, then I remember and have to lay the bow down. So many roads lead thought to H. I set out on one of them. But now there’s an impassable frontierpost across it. So many roads once; now so many culs de sac.” (47)
• “There is spread over everything a vague sense of wrongness, of something amiss. Like in those dreams where nothing terrible occurs—nothing that would sound even remarkable if you told it at breakfast-time—but the atmosphere, the taste, of the whole thing is deadly.” (35)

And of course, Lewis being Lewis, there are also plenty of intriguing little snippets that can stand on their own. Here are few to think about:

• “Bereavement is not the truncation of married love but one of its regular phases—like the honeymoon. What we want is to live our marriage well and faithfully through that phase, too.” (xvii)
• “It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters.” (15)
• “Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect you don’t understand.” (25)
• “I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process. It needs not a map but a history…there is something new to be chronicled every day. Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape…not every bend does. Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one; you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago. That is when you wonder whether the valley isn’t a circular trench. But it isn’t. There are partial recurrences, but the sequence doesn’t repeat.” (59-60)
• “God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn’t.” (52)
• “What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good’? Have they never even been to a dentist?” (43)

There you have it. There are, of course, other bits in this book that make it a worthwhile read. Or, if you're sure that I already took all the good parts but still want something of this sort, you may want to consider Nicholas Wolterstorffs wonderful little book (also a daily journal) Lament for a Son.

Baal, BEN FRANKLIN, and the Birds

That's what I was going to call my sermon Sunday. But because of time limitations, I had to leave the Ben Franklin part out.

There were several reasons I wanted to include a bit about Ben Franklin. One is that I just finished reading his biography and have to do something with all that information. After all, over 500 pages, I learned some interesting bits about old Ben:

• When he did the famous kite experiment with his son William, his son was actually 21 years old (not a small boy as legend seems to suggest). Later, the two were estranged because of their differing positions on the War for Independence.
• Franklin was a fan of parlor tricks. Among his favorites was a cane he made that would dispense oil on water when he tapped the waves. Doing so would "still the waves."
• Franklin briefly started his own sect. Among the rules: "all men shall have beards" and strict adherence to vegetarianism. The little experiment ended when Franklin caved in and ate a hamburger (or steak, or pork chop, I can't remember which).
• Franklin started the first volunteer fire department in America.
• Franklin believed that fresh air was good for one's health and took a daily "airbath" in front of his open window (some say in the nude).

There are many other interesting snippets about Franklin--but the simple intrigue of his life was not the primary reason I wanted to include him in my sermon. Rather, I wanted to include him because I see Franklin as something of a "Case in Point" for my discussion on "practical atheism." Let me explain.

One of the most famous scenes in Franklin's life (taken from his own autobiography) is his arrival in America as a "bedraggled 17-year-old runaway...straggling off the boat" with little more than a nickle to his name. Equally famous is the image of Franklin some fifty or sixty years later, simple but stately, a wealthy land owner (with three homes when he died), mover and shaker of 18th century politics etc etc. Basically, a success. According to Isaacson (Franklin's biographer), this move made Franklin "typically American" because Franklin proved that with a little hard work and ingenuity, (unlimited) upward mobility was possible. To borrow the old cliche, Franklin proved that it was possible (and indeed, expected), for Americans to "pull themselves up by their own bootstraps."

So what's the relation to "practical atheism"?

Well, in Franklin's world, the goal was to live independently, not dependently. Franklin believed in some sort of benevolent, powerful being off in the sky, but when things went well in his life, Franklin was much quicker to pat himself on the back than to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. He was much quicker to praise his own industry and frugality than to praise the Maker of Heaven and Earth. He (Franklin) deserved all the credit for his life's successes.

Perhaps this sounds "normal" to us (particularly the "bootstraps"/industry talk)--it is, I think, a very accepted idea in our culture that with a little hardwork, we can do whatever we want. But now consider Isaacson's parting comment on Franklin's life and legacy. He writes: "[Franklin] embodies one side of a national dichotomy that has existed since the days when he and Jonathan Edwards [one of our Spiritual forefathers, I would say] stood as contrasting cultural figures. // On one side were those, like Edwards...who believed in an anointed elect and in salvation through God's grace alone. They tended to have a religious fervor...and an appreciation for exalted values over earthy ones. On the other side were the Franklin's, those who believed in salvation through good works...and who were unabashedly striving and upwardly mobile." (476)

It's an interesting dichotomy, I think. And perhaps one that ought to give us pause as we think about whose footsteps we follow in. Is it Edwards, dependent on God's grace? Or Franklin, and his "self-help" upward mobility? Where does our help come from?

:There are other the obviously "religious" implications that manifest themselves when this worldview is expanded beyond economics and into one's beliefs the relation between God and his world. For example, there was Franklin's well known effort to perfect himself by following a rigorous self-improvement regimen (complete with ledger book in which he recorded his progress on 13 virtues).

The Trouble With WoodPeckers

Not So Simple

Flipping through the channels the other night, I landed on a PBS documentary that caught my attention.

The first scene I saw was of a preacher from Wyoming (stereotypical boots, hat, wranglers and all) shouting at a line of protesters and holding a sign declaring (what he presumed to be) the eternal destiny of all homosexuals (use your imagination, you'll probably get it right).

I cringed.

The next shot was of a priest (from the same community in Wyoming, but dressed in more traditional clergy attire) holding up a communion chalice and declaring to his congregation that Jesus excluded no one, but welcomed all at his table freely and openly.

I cringed again.

Those two scenes reminded me of why some Christians find it so difficult to engage in a meaningful conversation about homosexuality (or for that matter, any issue of morality/sin) in our culture.* Generally speaking, Americans are not people who appreciate nuance (and yes, I realize the irony in that sentence). We live in a culture that prefers to see things in black and white, either/or terms (think of the way issues are discussed on political talk shows). The obvious case in point is the PBS documentary: either you are a hate-filled, homophobic, hayseed or you are a loving, open, and tolerant. There is little (no?) room for middle ground.

But those of us with gay friends/family/co-workers know it's not that simple. We realize that there is a messiness here that may not make for good (or easy) television but is a very real part of life. So what does this messiness look like? If PBS were to come film us, what would they catch on tape? What does it mean to hold on tight to grace and truth?


* Self included--I hesitate to even publish this post for fear of being misunderstood.

** If you want to read about the messiness of our denominations' position on this particular issue, click here.

Prayer and Poetry

A month or so ago, I heard the poet Billy Collins reading a few of his recent works on "A Prairie Home Companion." I got a kick out of this one, and hope you do too.

"Oh, My God!"

not only in church
and nightly
by their bedsides
do young girls pray
these days
wherever they go
prayer is woven
into their talk
like a bright thread of awe
even in the pedestrian mall
outbursts of praise
spring unbidden
from their glossy lips.

Sabbath

This past week, Jill and I (along with my parents, sister, and her family) spent a week relaxing (hiking, biking, reading, game playing) in the mountains. It was good. The week away reminded me of the wisdom of stepping away from our labors and practicing regular sabbath rest. Here's a few quotes Eugene Peterson's book, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, that clarify why:

• “Sabbath is a workshop for the practice of eternity.” (110)
• “Sabbath is a deliberate act of interference, an interruption of our work each week, a decree of no-work so that we are able to notice, to attend, to listen, to assimilate this comprehensive and majestic work of God, to orient our work in the work of God” (110)
• “Un-sabbathed, our work becomes the entire context in which we define our lives. We lose God-consciousness, God-awareness, sightings of resurrection. We lose the capacity to sing “This is my Father’s world” and end up chirping little self-centered ditties about what we are doing and feeling.” (117)
• “Sabbath keeping is a publicly enacted sign of our trust that God keeps the world, therefore we do not have to. God welcomes our labors, but our contributions to the world have their limits. If even God trusted creation enough to be confident that the world would continue while God rested, so should we.” (Quoting William Willimon, p. 129)

Saying Goodbye

Today was a day of mixed emotions. We're all a little relieved (even if we won't admit it) that we don't have to get up and work in the heat and humidity tomorrow. But we're also disappointed--disappointed that we don't get to finish that last project, disappointed that we don't get to spend another day with new friends from First Church, and especially disappointed that we don't get to spend a little more time with the families that have worked their way into our hearts this week. So yes, we're excited to go back home to Denver. But it's going to be hard (perhaps unexpectedly so) to leave. A few great moments today might explain why (and you'll undoubtedly hear of many others from me and from others in the coming weeks and months):

• Several members of our group have been working on the home of a woman named Roxie. Roxie is around seventy years old, but apparently a little shy--the crew working on her home has talked to her a total of (maybe) five minutes. So, naturally, they wondered what impact--if any--they were making on Roxie's life (beyond the new roof on her carport). Well tonight, Ken (the DRS/CRWRC supervisor who is our point person here) mentioned that he talked with Roxie this afternoon. She told him how impressed she was with her crew--they worked harder then the men she'd paid to do the same job! (These people apparently quit the job well before it was completed, but took Roxie's money anyway). But then she made this comment: "I've been praying for months and months that God would fix my house. And then one day, you suddenly appeared and two days later my roof was fixed!" Reflecting on this, Ken said: "You thought you were just putting in a new roof, but you made a much bigger difference than that. You renewed Roxie's faith in prayer..."
• One of the members of our group asked the owners of the house where we worked to pose for a picture with her (they are pictured below). When they asked why, she explained that she wanted to send a picture with the thank you cards she intended to send to the people who had helped pay for the trip so they knew who they helped and who they were praying for. The couple looked rather astounded by this and asked her to clarify. She then had to explain that her family, friends, and church members had helped pay for the trip, and that they had also committed to praying for her and the people she worked with. The couple happily posed, but for the next half an hour, we heard them muttering back and forth to each other: "There's people praying for us there. For us. Imagine that! And there church paid to send them here!"
• Today was the sixteenth birthday of Johnny, one of two boys in the house I and many others have been working on this week. We decided to to throw him a little birthday party--got a cake from Dairy Queen and all signed a card. To tell you the truth, I didn't think anything of the card. But the I saw Johnny, who is very quiet and rarely seems to smile (until you get to know him a bit) reading the card. Each and every comment. Twice.

Looking over these snippets, it seems that one of the big lessons I've been reminded of this week is that our small efforts often go much further than we would dare to hope. But then again, maybe that shouldn't be such a surprise. It shouldn't be a surprise because the God we serve is big and strong and powerful--even when we are not. And it shouldn't be a surprise because Jesus himself said that the Kingdom of God is like yeast that a woman worked through a big batch of dough. It starts out small, but grows big.

I hope God uses all our little efforts we made this week that way--that each comment written in a card, each piece of drywall and stroke of the paintbrush, each casual conversation becomes one of his little packets of yeast sprinkled throughout this big batch of dough, slowly but surely--and by God's grace--spreading the Kingdom.

Talktalktalk

Apologies for those of you who have been checking for daily updates--I was too busy playing cards (Euchre anyone?) and chatting to post. But what's not so good for you (or at least, a little inconvenient if you were really, really hoping for a picture of your loved one last night)has been good for me. Because really, conversing with fellow group members has been wonderful.

Getting to know more about the members of our group has been one great part of the conversations we've had over ice cream sundaes and painting a wall. (I'd give a few specifics, but I don't want to embarrass anyone. Just trust me on this one--you get to know folks in a different way on these trips then you do, say, talking over a cup of coffee Sunday mornings). But the other neat thing I've noticed about the conversations we've had this week is the way the content of our conversations has changed.

At the beginning of the week (four long days ago!), many of our conversations revolved around the work we were doing. How much drywall we had put up that day, what task we were going to tackle after lunch, what projects we'd like to take on if we had our way. Workworkwork. But last night, during our team meeting (and afterward), I noticed that we'd become less focused on what we were doing and more focused on who we were doing it for. The moments that made people's eyes light up were when they said: "I was painting with Jonny and found out he likes the Raiders! But I also found out he wants to go to LSU and got him to smile...", or "Mr. Mullens was talking today about how he met his wife today...." or "Mrs. Miller took in all kinds of family members after the storm, and her brother still lives with her. He was watching TV today and the funniest thing happened..." or "I finally got to talk with Roxie this morning. She told me how..." and so on and so forth.

Its been a great change, in my opinion. Not only has it been a lot of fun to get to know these people (if only a little bit), but it has added a richness--a human face--to our experience that we'll (hopefully) never forget.

Now for the pictures...

Tour de Gulfport

Roland B. was kind enough to give us a guided tour of Gulfport this evening. Pictured here* are a few of the highlights:

• A massive oak tree that is 520 years old (goes back to 1487). Yes, that's before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. It's amazing how these oaks survived the storm (they're all over the ocean front area--gnarled, but standing.)
• What's left of Southern Mississippi University (located just off the beach), and Milt in the gang scheming on how we could fit its repair into our schedule.
• Sunset with the McDonald's arches in the foreground--notice that there is no McDonald's (its dark, but trust me--its just a slab of cement) and that the sign was ripped apart and only a shell remains.
• Devotions (prayer and song) on the beach.
• Dave and Rachel S. dancing on the beach (at least Rachel's dancing. I'm not sure if what Dave is doing qualifies :-) )

I missed a few important points of interest, however (today and in the last few days). Among them are:

• First Presbyterian Church: If I have the story right, the building (located on the water) was condemned after the storm and won't be rebuilt since the insurance payment would use up the entire church budget (near a quarter of a million, if I heard correctly). The congregation will now relocate 8 miles inland.
• The Dole banana plant--apparently they all come in through Gulfport.
• Dairy Queen--not that significant, we've just enjoyed going there the last two nights.
• "The Wall"--a wall (part of which still stands) that literally divided black and white Gulfport. This was still in use in the last half of the last century. Amazing.

*Press play if the slide show doesn't start automatically. Refresh the page if no pictures show up.

Love Your Neighbor

 


I wasn't sure if I wanted to include this photo (which is a shot of the backyard of the house where we worked today) in tonight's entry. I could have just left it at the pictures of our beaming volunteers and called it a good enough(see below if that's what you came for). And that may have been a good idea. After all, you (nor I) know the people who own this house, or why they choose to decorate their yard in such a fashion. And I'd hate to have you make judgments about the people we're working with down here based on one picture.

Then again, that fear probably says a lot more about me than it does about you.

During our team meeting tonight, I confessed to the group that I think I have a long way to go before I'm loving these people we're serving in the way that Christ calls me to love. Sure, I am delighted to work on their home. I enjoy chatting it up with them too. But then, I might look at some silly thing like a cluttered back yard and allow the seed of my own prejudices and pride to grow and swell like an out of control zucchini plant.

I want my love for these image-bearers of God to be about more than new drywall and a fresh coat of paint. I want it to be about respect. I want to see more than the condition of a home or a yard. I want to see people who are temples of the Holy Spirit. I want my love go beyond conditions,to be something more than a commodity. I want to love freely and unconditionally. I want my heart to be cleared of the junk that so easily piles up there. I want to love like Jesus.

WorkWorkWork

A few shots of our first day of work (from 1 of 3 sites)...prepping for dry-wall, removing carpet, mudding, contemplating and more contemplating, resting...

Number Our Day

We took a quick day away to Ship Island after church today (see below). I'm wiped from battling the waves all afternoon, so a quick recap of the day in numbers.*





1: Number of hours it took to ride the ferry to the island.


0: Number of shark bits, nibbles, or attacks.


3: Number of beach umbrellas our group tried to crowd under.


1.46: Number of gallons (approximately) swallowed by yours truly while attempting to boogie board.

0:Number of serious sunburns in our group thus far.

5: Number of miles across Ship Island, point to point.

50,000: Weight of the canon barrel on top of fort.

450: Weight of canon balls that were shot from said canon.


4: Number of songs we sang during our evening worship/devotions time.

2: Number of water melon slices the average** Project Server ate tonight.

*Sorry I forgot to take more pictures. You should all brace yourselves, however. Apparently Dave S. got some "good" shots of me "riding the waves" on the boogie board and has big plans to highlight them in our church presentation.

**Estimate based on survey of 1 project serve participant.

Sunday Morning

Click play...see below for explanation

Communion of the Saints

The above video (click "play"--sorry about the heads, I was trying to be discrete) is a brief clip from the worship service we attended this morning. As you can tell, the flavor was a little different then what we may be used to at First. The team liked it, however, and thought that maybe we could take a few ideas back to Denver with us. Here's a list of possibilities:

• In order to spur all of us on to good stewardship/giving, have the entire congregation bring their offerings up front (instead of having the deacons bring the plates to the congregation), where the plates sit under the watchful eye of the Pastor and church leadership.
• Encourage your preacher. This would probably be the roll of the elders who could stand up front with me (it gets so lonely up there!). Phrases like: "Preach on, son!" "Communicate!'' "Work it out Preacher." Or just a good, ol' fashion "Amen!" would serve as a good start. Where words fail, a good pat on the back, clapping, or a whoop will do just fine. I'll talk to John B. about this when we get home and pass on any further tips.
• Have your pastor sing the conclusion of his sermon (what you see above).
• Have the organist punctuate important points in the sermon/communal prayer with a few blues/jazz riffs. Looks like I'll have to talk to Barb, too.
• A Sunday School pageant. Can any of our kids name Jobs friends?

In all seriousness, it was a good service, we were warmly welcomed, and it was good to be reminded of the diversity that is the Body of Christ.

Just Like TV ...sort of

Driving from New Orleans to Gulfport today, I couldn't help but think that when I watch news reports on TV about tragedies in far away places, its easy to blur the line between fact and fiction. In other words: somehow, when I saw the reports about Katrina on TV, I tucked what I saw I saw in my brain's sitcom/drama/fiction file, rather than my reality/non-fiction file. The devastation I saw on TV and heard about in the news and read about on the Internet seemed too immense and awful and mind-boggling to be real. But today, I (and the rest of the team) received a powerful reminder that for thousands, even millions, of people, the reports reflected reality all too well. Because what we saw outside the windows of our vans was just like TV.

Only it was real.

We saw: Houses tagged with spray paint--the secret code of rescue teams that came in after the storm looking for survivors. "Neighborhoods" with nothing left but a few front steps. FEMA trailers. Trees bent, stripped, and shattered. More FEMA trailers. A semi trailer that apparently landed on top of a car during the storm. Empty parking lots (but no buildings to accompany them). Piles of trash in the streets. Crumpled houses.

Here are a few pictures to get a taste (sorry I didn't take more--I guess I was too overwhelmed!)

A FEMA trailer park...

We stopped for a quick bite of ice cream. The shop owner told us that after the storm, the water was above the ceiling at this place.

Other random bits of information I picked up today about Hurricane Katrina that I think are true (but can't be certain):

• There are 92,000 FEMA trailers in Mississippi alone. These are residential trailers and are occupied primarily by families. That's a lot of people living in trailers!
• In order to clean up New Orleans, an average of one 40 ft. dumpster's worth of garbage needs to be removed for each resident.
• The population of New Orleans has decreased by 250,000 since Katrina.
• Garbage trucks in Gulfport still run every day in order to remove Katrina junk.

Ideas Please!

Earlier this week, several of us spent a day (or two) at a conference up in Longmont. The basic point of the conference was that it's not enough for a church to preach the good news to others. We must also show others the good news (I sure hope that sounds familiar!) Speakers challenged us all to make sure that we are loving our neighbors and making our presence felt in the community. The basic goal was to do/be church in such a way that people in our communities would actually notice if we shut down (that's been stated as a goal of First, by the way).

Well, the conference was both affirming and challenging. Affirming, because we could pat ourselves on the back and say: "Yeah, this First Church gets this. We've been loving our neighbors for a long time. We know that word and deed can't be separated." I think this is particularly true of the way we act as individuals in our community: the commitment of people in our church to ministries like Joshua Station, VIA, Kids Hope USA at McKinley-Thatcher, Partners Worldwide, CRWRC Disaster Response, and various other ministries really is quite phenomenal. So yeah, way to go First Church members. You done good.

At the same time, however, we wondered how we as an institution could improve our presence and ministry in the community. I realize that there is overlap between things we do as individuals (what we might call the "Church as Organism") and as an organization, but I'm curious about what folks at First think it means for us "Love our Neighbors" in Platte Park. What are the "needs" of this community that we can meet? How can we show the love of Jesus here? If you have any ideas, feel free to post a comment or talk/email me or Shirley. We'd love to hear from you...(and don't worry about proof reading. I don't proof read and don't expect you to either!)

The Ol' Ball Game

Some of the Young Adults (well most of us were young...but I won't say who was pushing the limits) went out to a Rockies game Friday night. We had a good time, but as anticipated, the home team lost. On the bright side, however, the defeat wasn't quite as spectacular as that which occurred on Sunday (15-2!!!). Here are a few pics for those who are interested. I also have some great footage of a few members dancing to the "Car Wash" song ("wax on, wax off") and engaging in some other ridiculous behaviors. Maybe if someone asks nicely, I'll post those too...

Mmmmm. Stadium food.

Before and After.

Jason hopes for a rally...

The Group (don't ask me what Bob and Joy are looking at)

The Humility of God

For the past few weeks, I've been plodding my way through one of C.S. Lewis' classic works: The Problem of Pain. Though I wouldn't try to toss out Lewis' "solutions" to those who are going through some great pain in their lives (not an approach Lewis advocates himself, by the way), the book is interesting (as most of Lewis' writing tends to be). Of particular intrigue to me was Lewis' discussion of what he calls "the humility of God."

A little background: Lewis' discussion on this point is a part of a broader argument in which he is attempting to demonstrate that pain can be (though is not necessarily) purposeful. In other words, he's arguing that God can use pain for good--even our good. One of the ways that God can use pain for our good is by grabbing our attention with it. Pain, says Lewis, is God's "megaphone."*

One of the things God says through the megaphone of pain is that our sense of contentment and satisfaction, our help and our hope, can only come from him. Of course, most of us know this already. At least in theory. But we also know that when life is going well--when the bank account is swelling and our relationships are flourishing and we are (relatively) worry free--it is difficult to turn our thoughts to Him.** Instead of finding satisfaction in the knowledge that we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to our faithful savior Jesus Christ, we begin to find satisfaction in the new car, or in the our healthy bodies, or in our perfect children. Somehow, our souls find rest (or at least relative rest) even though they are not resting in Him. And that's when God decides to take out his megaphone.*** He allows his children to suffer, so that through their suffering, they might receive a reminder of their need for Him.

Taken the wrong way, I suppose this line of argument could make God sound like a cruel parent--Or at least a narcissistic one who has unhealthy needs for attention. But understand that one of Lewis' fundamental presuppositions is that human beings were created to be in a relationship with God and therefore they can only be happy within a relationship with God. In other words, this isn't only about the Father being happy to have his children back (assuming they call to him in their pain). This is also about his children finding happiness because they have their Father back. Put yet another way, in his grace, God uses pain to awaken in his children a desire for the one thing that can truly make them happy--Him.

So, where does the "humility of God" come in? Well, think about this: It is not particularly flattering for God to have us come to Him only when we need something from Him, or as a last resort, or because He seems less unpleasant than the other alternatives. As Lewis states, "it is a poor thing to strike our colours to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping. If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms."

But here's the thing: God is not proud. God is humble. He is willing to take us to himself even when our motives are less-than pure, even when we come to Him as something of a last resort. God so wants us to be happy (read: "God so wants us to be in fellowship with him"), God is so humble, and God loves us so much, that he is willing to do whatever it takes to get us into a relationship with Him. He's even willing to let us go through a little pain. And I, for one, think that is quite remarkable.****

*"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." (p. 83)
**I hope a few of you will make the connection to the sermon I preached a few weeks ago on Deut. 8.
***Please, please, please don't hear this as an explanation for all the pain and suffering we may do. This is one possible purpose, and may not even be a primary purpose.
****I hope you do too. But if this just seems like a bunch of mad rambling, you may want to check out chapter 6 of Lewis' book. He makes the argument much more convincingly than I.

Kudos!

On Friday night, Jill and I had the privilage of attending a wonderful production of "Beauty and the Beast." We had a bunch of First kids involved (10?!) and they did a great job. Way to go!

For those of you who couldn't afford the price of admission or who missed it for some other reason, I attempted to bootleg the classic number, "Be Our Guest." You can try to get a bit of the experience by clicking on the video above. It's my first attempt at bootlegging, so it didn't turn out very well. But just so you know, some of those white blobs ARE First kids!

Yikes

As those of you who study the calender in the "Weekly" closely know, I've been in Grand Rapids the past few days. Some of you may wonder what I'm actually doing here (besides enjoying the fabulous West Michigan Weather--Rain, drizzle, rain, drizzle, clouds, drizzle repeat...). So I'll tell you...

Today I spent my time today (Thurs) with a dozen other preachers speaking with Scott Hoezee, the directer for the Center for Excellence in Preaching (CEP). The main topic was how to make the Center's website more user friendly and useful. This discussion was the primary reason the CEP flew me out to Grand Rapids. It was a good day--I met some great folks, got to talk about preaching (which I love), and I'm excited to see what changes are going to come at the CEP in the (near?) future.

The other perk of the trip was that I got to take in a preaching conference yesterday (Wed). The theme of the conference was "Preaching, Pain, and Pastoral Identity" (sounds like fun, doesn't it?!). It was primarily structured around Paul's experiences in ministry (particularly, but not exclusively, with the church in Corinth). The point was to draw analogies between what Paul experienced in ministry (and how he handled it) and what we can expect to experience in ministry (and how to handle it). If you know anything about Paul's ministry, you'll know that "encouraging" or "cheery" might be the wrong word to describe the topic at hand.

Throughout his letters, Paul doesn't hesitate to talk about the great suffering he has endured for the gospel. Paul endured shipwrecks and beatings, slander and imprisonment. And here's the thing--he expects all those who follow Christ to endure something of the same (not just leaders in the church!)

There are probably a lot of different reasons for that. But the main one is simple--that pattern of cross shaped living is one that Christ laid out for us. He suffered, and so shall we. If you read Paul, or Peter, or Jesus himself, it's hard to come to any other conclusion.*

That's a tough sell. It's not exactly "seeker friendly" to tell people who want to follow Jesus to shoulder a cross. It'd be a lot easier to think that Jesus calls us to a life that is comfortable, a life where all our problems are washed away with our sins, a life of "success."

But Jesus doesn't do that. He calls us to die (and rise!) daily. So here's the question: What does that look like in our lives? Chances are that most of us won't give up our life itslef at thius point. But what will we give up? Food for thought...


*"It is clear that since God leads those he loves by way of trials, the more he loves them, the more difficult the way will be." (St. Teresa of Avila)

Back to Basics

Last Sunday morning, I met for the first time with our "Foundations" class at church. It's a new class and is designed people who are new(er) to First Church, are curious about what we believe and who we are, and perhaps might even want to become members some day (if they're not already). The basic idea is to start broad (with what it means to be "Christian"), narrow down a little (what it means to be a "Reformed" Christian) and then narrow down even more (what it means to be a part of "First" Christian Reformed Church. That's the basic outline, but I'm developing the particulars as we go. That meant that last Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in my office, trying to discern what is at the core of the Christian faith--what people absolutely have to know--in 4o minutes or less.

Well, I thought it would be relatively easy. After all, I (like many folks at First) have been a Christian all my life, attended Christian day school and college, and spent the last four years of my life studying at a very good seminary. I have been blessed with a toolbox full of resources that should have made my task a simple one. It should have been easy.

But it wasn't. I sat there in my office, drumming my pencil against a legal pad, wondering what I should say. I started and stopped. Started and stopped. Drank some coffee. Started and stopped. Got some candy from Sandie's office. Started and stopped. It was turning out to be a much more difficult task than I anticipated.

I was reflecting on why that was so this week. There are probably a lot of reasons, but one stood out--that toolbox full of resources. It was a blessing, yes, but it was also my curse (if you'll allow me to paraphrase Spiderman). I had a million things to say. But I had nothing to say. With so much information floating around my brain, I was oddly paralyzed by the thought that I would leave something out or miss some crucial detail, or perhaps that I would lead my class astray by failing to explain the mystery of the Trinity or the many facets of Christ's atonement. I was overwhelmed by the possible complexities of what should have been a simple task.

I suspect that I'm not the only one who has this. Perhaps many of us feel that way when we try to talk to our neighbors or children about Christ. Because so many of us have been given so much knowledge. And while that's wonderful, I wonder if it overwhelms us and causes us to forget the true simplicity of our message.

I was talking with the other members of the staff about this in our meeting on Tuesday. What would you have said, I asked? One of them (it was a woman, if that narrows it down) responded by telling a story about a time she was in some far off place and was talking to a man she had never met before. She too, felt overwhelmed by all that she could say. But then, she said, she felt a gentle nudging of the Holy Spirit. "Just tell him that God loves him and wants to have a relationship with him."

It seemed simple. Unsophisticated. Maybe even childish. But she listened. She said the words. And the man started to weep.

Maybe it is that simple. God wants to have a relationship with us. In Jesus, God makes that relationship possible. And now we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to him.



So: comments? Am I the only one? what are other roadblocks to clearly articulating our faith? (I have a few ideas, but I'd love for folks to comment...)

Likin' Hikin'

Today a few of our "Young Adults Group" (Yes, we need a better name...) went for a hike. Sorry, I still can't remember the name of the place (Near Boulder and the "Center for Atmospheric Research"). But all you folks (young or less young) who stayed home to take naps missed out. Here are a few pics:

Rachel E: On The Prowl For an Art Project

Eric B: Auditioning for Gideon's Army

The Gang: Taking a Break

The Ladies: Terrified of the Ever Ferocious Daisy?

(Jill S., Kim Z., Rachel E., Lynn R., Amanda F.)

Kim Z: Holding an Enormous Piece of Pizza. Really.

Rachel E: Shocked? Appalled? Horrified?

Kim Z: Not so much...