Lent Reflection #13 - Finding Good Stuff in the Tedium

Joshua is more tedious than I remember. This isn't necessarily a problem - I actually appreciate that there's some tedious stuff in Scripture. If the Bible is intended to be a collection of reflections on God and the human condition in light of the reality and nature of God, then it should speak to the actual, real lives of human beings. Tedium is a very real part of the human experience.

And a significant portion of the Old Testament is devoted to inventories, allotment of property, and policies and procedures. I'm pretty sure that there's a EULA in some hidden ancient manuscript that, if discovered, would probably install Adobe or McAfee on my laptop.

Anyway, what I like about the tedious stuff is that there are some jewels hidden in there. In teaching and preaching, I'm consistently drawn to the stuff that we might be likely to skim over or ignore entirely. In following my Bible reading plan, I have discovered a number of these that I never noticed before. Some of that's due to attentiveness and some of it's likely due to the fact that I'm a more experienced reader of Scripture than I was when I last read this part of the Bible closely.

One verse in particular has stuck with me in my reading of Joshua, and like so much of Scripture, it has dug its way into my mind/heart/soul.

Joshua 1:9 - "I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Not a suggestion. Not a question.

A command.

Be strong. Be courageous. Do not be frightened. Do not be dismayed.

I really need to hear that one week before my daughter's 2nd open-heart surgery. It could be really easy to let fear and anxiety and "what if…" to totally take over. So I need to hear this command as a command.  A command implies that strength and courage are within my reach. And I know that this command was for Joshua and I'm taking it out of context by applying it to my situation. But in my defense, I don't really care about that stuff right now.

It makes me think of the story in Numbers 13 of the spies sent to scope out the promised land. They came back with reports of terrifying, baby-eating, Hebrew-destroying giants. They were afraid before they went to spy and their fear determined what they saw.

The same could easily be true for me - when it comes to Mary Ana's upcoming surgery, I know exactly those things that I'm afraid of, but God commands me to not be afraid. God knows that if I'm being led by my fears, I'll see giants that aren't there. My thinking, speaking, and acting (and parenting) will be guided by my fears and anxieties.

But if I remember that God is with me wherever I go and that God's grace is always there to meet me, my focus changes and what I see is defined by grace and by faith, not by fear. So in the midst of tedium, I found wisdom, truth, and love.

Thanks be to God…

Lent Reflection #12

Lent is a good time for confession, so I'll go ahead and admit to something: for much of my life, I never really paid much attention to the Psalms. I read them, prayed them, and listened to them. But I never gave them the same amount of attention as the letters of Paul or the Gospels. And if you assume that I'm one of those "New Testament only" Christians, I've given much more attention to Judges, the minor prophets, and Ecclesiastes than the Psalms. There are a couple of reasons for this:

1. I'm drawn to Paul's theological arguments and narratives (like the Gospels and Judges, for example) that I am to poetry. This has been consistent since my teenage years: I enjoyed George Orwell and John Steinbeck far more than Emily Dickinson or John Keats (or any other poet that we were forced to read in high school). 
2. 'Getting into' the Psalms, like any form of poetry, requires patience. You've got to read slowly, deliberately, prayerfully. That's a good strategy for reading Scripture in general, but it's especially true of the Psalms.

All of that has changed in the last few years as I've experienced the power of meditative prayer and contemplative ways of encountering Scripture. And while I'm far more likely to turn to Paul or Old Testament narratives and prophets when it comes to sermons and Bible studies, my appreciation of Psalms has grown exponentially over the last 10 years. What I have learned is that when it comes to Psalms (and poetry in general), experience makes them come alive in surprising ways. Pretty much the whole range of human emotion is on display in the Psalms and when I was approaching them from a purely intellectual frame of reference, I was quickly losing patience.

Then stuff happened: love, marriage, children, ministry, successes/failures, the deaths of loved ones, various struggles, etc. Life happened and the Psalms began to resonate in ways they had not before. I find myself still drawn to Paul and the Gospels and the narrative stuff, but when I'm praying or when I feel my faith slouching just a little, I turn to Psalms.

I'm too long-winded, because all of that was supposed to be an intro to what I read in Psalm 115 today that got the wheels turning. I guess I'll use that verse as a way of demonstrating how my appreciation of Psalms has grown.  Here's Psalm 115:3-8:

Our God is in the heavens;

   he does whatever he pleases.

Their idols are silver and gold,

   the work of human hands.

They have mouths, but do not speak;

   eyes, but do not see.

They have ears, but do not hear;

   noses, but do not smell.

They have hands, but do not feel;

   feet, but do not walk;

   they make no sound in their throats.

Those who make them are like them;

   so are all who trust in them.

Ten years ago, I would have flown right past this little section in order to get to the reading from Luke. This morning, verse 8 stopped me cold. I've been chewing on this verse ever since. The Psalmist is throwing down a hard truth: we become like our idols. We become like the things we worship. We are progressively defined (and confined, as is always the case with idolatry) by those things in which we put our ultimate trust.

This seems so simple as to be completely self-evident, but here's some things I'm thinking about:

You can't put all your trust in money and become like Jesus.

You can't worship your pastor, your church, or your denomination (or your 'non-denomination') and become like Jesus.

You can't put all your trust in your theology, your intellect, or your understanding and become like Jesus.

You can't worship comfort and convenience and become like Jesus.

You can't worship your kids (and their sports/activities) and become like Jesus.

You can't worship yourself and become like Jesus.

We become like Jesus by following Jesus, trusting in God's grace given through Jesus, worshiping and trusting God and God alone, the way Jesus Christ taught us. 

Lent Reflection #11

I'm a few days behind in the 'Read-the-Bible-in-a-Year' plan and my hope is to do some catching up after Easter. The Old Testament reading for today was Deuteronomy 10-14, which included some good stuff to chew on. It's tempting some days to move through the readings quickly, especially when the daily reading is 4 or 5 chapters. Making the attempt to post with some regularity is causing me to slow down a little bit and pay closer attention to what I'm reading, if only to find something that sparks a little inspiration for a post. 

To be clear, my appreciation for the Old Testament has grown tremendously over the last few years, due mainly to an intentional effort to teach studies focused on the Old Testament on my part. I have come to deeply appreciate the 'humanness' of the Old Testament, finding many helpful points of connection in the stories of some very flawed individuals.

However, since I have been formed and shaped as a Methodist, I automatically look for practical application when I read Scripture or engage in theological reflection. My (occasionally annoying) tendency is to instantly ask of what I read: "What am I supposed to do?" While this is not unique to the Methodism, this kind of emphasis on practical application is definitely a big part of the Wesleyan tradition. So when I read the question at the beginning of Deuteronomy 10:12, my ears perk up a little: "So now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you?"

An artist's representation
of me trying to understand
the Old Testament.

I realize that including myself and my fellow Christians in the group being addressed is slightly problematic. But, for the purposes of my daily reading, I include myself (and my fellow Christians) in that group known as "Israel". At a deeper level, it helps me to remember that Israel is a compound word: 'Isra' coming from a verb meaning 'to struggle' and 'el' meaning 'God', which means that 'Israel' literally means 'struggles with God'. I'm definitely part of this group, these are my people - I struggle with God. And I'm in really good company when it comes to that particular struggle…

Anyway, back to what God requires of us. That's a difficult question. What does God require for the sake of our salvation? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. If anything is required of me as it pertains to my salvation, then Jesus' death on the cross was pointless. This is Paul's argument in Galatians 2:21 - "I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing." This means that if I can achieve salvation through my obedience to law (what God requires, according to the Old Testament Law), then God's grace is ultimately unnecessary for my salvation. There's a lot more that can be said about this and other people have said it much better than I can, so I'll move on.

But there is more to life/faith/the world than justification - life continues beyond the moment of justification. In Wesleyan/Methodist terms, that continuing life is referred to as sanctifying grace. This is the grace of God at work in us through the Holy Spirit, perfecting us in love. And yes, participating in sanctifying grace requires something of us. There's stuff for us to do. But it's not perfect obedience to the Law (which is one of the things that is required in the response to the question of Deuteronomy 10:12). It's not even the oft-quoted list in Micah 6:8, which I love (do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with God). It's not perfect church attendance or saying the right words when praying or going to the 'right' church or any other human attempt at earning God's grace. Most of what many of us Christians call "Biblical standards" or "traditional values" are just different manifestations of Pharisaical self-righteousness. They are convenient ways to tear other people down while trying to feel better about ourselves. They far too often are more about our judgmental, narrow, tribal assumptions masquerading as our "witness" or our "walk". By the way, Jesus sees right through our various masks. We ain't fooling God with our desperate play-acting.

To soften the harsh tone just a little bit: our hypocrisy is, at root, motivated primarily by fear. We are afraid of being rejected, abandoned, neglected, forgotten, judged and found wanting. We are afraid that others will see the real person - the broken, imperfect, incompetent, incapable real self - that most of us feel the need to project an image of strength and confidence, even superiority and self-righteousness to the world. If people knew the real me - what I think, things I've done or left undone, what I've said - then they would reject me, hate me. If God knew the things...so, yeah, God knows. And God still loves us. Amazing grace, indeed.

Ok, then, what can we do? I'll let John give us the answer: "Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action…and this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us."

Love God. Love your neighbor. Love the stranger. Love your enemies. Love one another.

I'm noticing a theme…

Lent Reflection #10

"Don't worry - tonight's
Bible Study is really simple!"

One of my favorite parts of worship is the children's time (or sermon, whatever you want to call it).  I love seeing and hearing all of those children. I love seeing their faces, with looks of expectation and happiness.  And I love the unscripted things they say - it occasionally gives worship an element of impulsiveness and danger.  And, at times, a deeper sense of the holy.  At our staff meeting today, I shared my love of the children's time and then I read Deuteronomy 4:9, which reads: "But take care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children's children."

I then had everyone close their eyes and picture the kids of Harrisburg UMC during the children's time. I asked them to imagine their smiles, their looks of expectation, their energy and then imagine that they could say only one thing about God or church or faith - what would it be?  We shared our thoughts and most of us immediately thought, "Jesus loves you", with another staff member saying, "God is always faithful." 

Simple. Direct. Clear. 

And that simplicity and clarity came so easily and quickly to all of us around the table. Yet, we often make the message of our faith so very difficult, especially us preacher types. I'll confess to being the chief of sinners in this regard. I'm an expert in making matters way too complicated when it comes to faith. Part of my struggle is that I always have "Yes, but…" questions bouncing around in my head. The other part of my struggle is that I'm too often too focused on my head and not on my heart. 

While there are many opportunities for intellectual exploration when it comes to the Christian faith, it is not primarily about intellectual exploration. Following Jesus and all that goes with it - repentance, justification, reconciliation, worship, forgiveness, hope, etc. - is about the transformation and renewal of our whole selves by God: intellect, emotions, priorities, actions…all of it!

And at the core of it all of this is the love and faithfulness of God. Simple truths that might lead us to profound experiences of grace, mercy, and love.

I pray that all the love and mercy and grace that I've seen and experienced in my journey of faith will not slip from my mind and I'm grateful that I have so many opportunities to share that with my children (and the children of HUMC!)…

Lent Reflection #9

Today's reading from Luke coincided with a passage that the HUMC Theology Small Group was discussing last night. We are currently working our way (very slowly) through The Politics of Jesus by John Howard Yoder.  Yoder is using the Gospel of Luke as his primary Scriptural source and last night we were discussing Jesus' temptation in the wilderness, found in Luke 4.  Yoder argues that the second temptation ("And the devil said to him, ‘To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.’") is not actually about Jesus worshiping Satan, but rather the temptation of seizing and exercising power on the world's terms.  The temptation for Jesus is to take the easy way of using his power as God's King (the tempter's statement could be read, "if you are God's King…") in ways that are acknowledged and understood by human authorities. Accepting this easy way, which was readily available to Jesus, would have meant rejecting the cross and all of its suffering and pain. We actually see Jesus struggling with in the garden of Gethsemane in Luke 22:43-44.

In several places, Jesus teaches that the way of discipleship is marked by difficulty, self-denial, pain, and suffering. It is the way of the cross. At times, I wonder why it has to be this way. Couldn't God 'snap his fingers' and make it all easy? I find it interesting that my first impulse is that God is somehow responsible for how difficult discipleship can often be. As I reflect on this, I'm thinking that God is not Who makes the path of discipleship difficult.  It's how the world responds to people whose lives are ultimately governed by love and service, forgiveness and mercy. Followers of Jesus who take seriously his call to serve and to love (even enemies) are often decried as idealistic, naïve, foolish. In some places in our world, it's much worse than this - following Jesus can result in real persecution and even death.*

I've wondered before if I would be willing to pay that kind of price for my faith in Jesus. I'd love to be able to say that I'd willingly give my life for my faith, and before I had a wife and kids, I may very well have been willing to do that. I'm not so quick to say that at this point in my life. I'm grateful that I don't live in a place where my faith puts my life at risk, but there are many Christians in our world today who are in that exact position. They choose a difficult and dangerous path, resisting the temptation of the easy way.

I don't have any eloquent or grand conclusions to draw about that - it's simply what I'm thinking about this afternoon. I do know that the way of discipleship is not the American way (or the Canadian way or the Norwegian way or the Kenyan way). It is a way that is available no matter which empire/state/government you're under, but it's not an easy way or a way that is easily understood by those exercising earthly power. Certainly, Christianity has been coopted and corrupted in any number of ways throughout history, but the countercultural, counterintuitive call of Jesus still challenges and invites us. And it's still difficult. 

One foot in front of the other, eyes fixed on the pioneer of our faith…

*As opposed to fake, self-pitying 'persecution' that is focused on the color of Starbucks' cups and whether or not retailers wish people a "Merry Christmas". If someone's faith in Jesus needs to be validated by a coffee cup or a certain holiday greeting at Target, then one has to wonder about the strength or validity about said person's 'faith'...

Lent Reflection #8 - Striking a Balance

One of the misconceptions common to childhood is the idea that adults (or at least the ones who are in some position of authority) know what they're doing at all times. I shared in this delusion when I was younger and didn't really understand how wrong I was until I had children of my own, at which point I totally understood how many things I did not know and how many answers I did not have. 

I have been reminded of this in a few church meetings in which an important decision needs to be made or a direction needs to be discerned. It can be slightly disconcerting for a young pastor early in their ministry when a question comes up in a church council meeting and everyone's eyes turn towards you. When that happened to me, I wanted to deflect the responsibility. I was waiting for somebody else  to step up and take the lead. I assumed that there was a grownup in the room that would have the answer and I was pretty sure that it wasn't me. 

A while back, I was in a meeting with some of our leaders at HUMC  and we were discussing the church's future.  Someone asked the question: "How do we figure out when it's time to stop reflecting and start acting?" There were a number of wise people in this group - people with decades of experience in leadership in their careers and in the life of the church. And we didn't have a clear answer on that evening. 

I was thinking about all of this reading Luke 2 this morning. Two times, we are told that Mary pondered what was happening in her heart. Given the momentous events that she was a part of, I'm thinking that silent reflection was a necessity. But Mary was not passive bystander. Mary, I think, struck a much-needed balance. When God called her to act, she did so, acting on faith in God. Mary was not a silent bystander in the events of Jesus' birth - all you need to do is read Luke 1:46-55 to see how engaged she was with what was going on.

But her active participation was balanced with deep reflection. Mary acted and she pondered what was happening in her heart. That's a balance that a lot of folks struggle to find. Sometimes, we reflect and ponder and discern ourselves into total inaction. We look up from gazing at our bellybuttons long enough find the moment or the opportunity long since passed. And then we begin to ponder why we missed that opportunity. Or we don't ponder anything or engage in any reflection and act on impulse and instinct. And when we slow down, we might begin to notice the wreckage in our wake.

If we tried to be more like Mary in this regard, I'm thinking that our decision making would be a lot healthier. Mary shows us that pondering and acting are not mutually exclusive. We've got to ponder in our hearts to be aware of where the Spirit of God is leading us and we've also got to be ready to move when and where the Spirit moves. Even if we've got questions, even if there's fear and anxiety, even if we're not able to guarantee complete success - our pondering and our moving are both acts of faith in God and in what God is doing in our lives, in the church, and in the world. 

Part of what it means to be a mature adult and a mature Christian is knowing that you don't have all the answers and being willing to take risks - not based on foolish bravado or recklessness, but on a deep trust in the God that holds our lives in His hands.  Part of being a mature adult is being willing to be patient, like Mary was patient, pondering what is happening in our hearts, and then being ready to move when God says move. 

When will that be? I like what God tells Habakkuk: "...there is still a vision for the appointed time...if it seems to tarry, wait for it..."

May God help us wait patiently and act faithfully...

Lent Reflection #7

I was in high school when I first started trying to read the Bible seriously.  Even at that young age, I was fascinated by Paul's letters.  In my early attempts to understand Paul, I did not see his letters as cohesive arguments, but basically as a collection of inspirational verses.  Some of them are still stuck in my memory and most of those verses are the memorable ones: "I'm not ashamed of the Gospel…"; "There is no Jew nor Greek…"; "Do not be conformed to this world…"; "I can do all things through Christ…"  I had several of these on posters or t-shirts.  Some of these verses strengthened my faith in difficult times.  There's a reason that they have staying power in my life and the lives of many others.

There's one verse that has stuck with since my younger days that is not one of those famous, t-shirt worthy verses.  Colossians 4:18 says, "I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand.  Remember my chains.  Grace be with you.

Remember my chains.

That little statement has long left a mark on my spirit.  One reason is that it reminds me of the cost that Paul was willing to pay for the sake of his faith in Christ.  He was not alone in his willingness, of course.  But in several places he spoke eloquently and powerfully about his willing to pay the price.  This expression at the end of Colossians is blunt and to the point.  And powerful.

Like the Colossians, we need reminders, too.  While the chains that many of us struggle with are not made of metal literally shackling our hands and feet, they are just as strong and just as constricting.  More people than we know (or want to know) deal with the chains of addiction or mental illness or grief or regret or shame.  There are people who sit in church pews every Sunday morning who might be free to move physically, but they don't feel free to love or to grow or to trust.  Some are chained to their past, some are chained to a struggle in the present, and some are chained by hopelessness about the future.

How do we as Christians respond?  Paul's instruction to the Colossians about remembering his chains was an invitation to prayer.  Paul was asking the Colossians to remember his imprisonment not to inspire pity nor was he trying to impress them with the depth of his commitment.  He was asking for their prayers.  And not simply general, vague prayers, but deep prayer for strength and perseverance. 

Paul is extending that invitation to us as well.  Not for his chains, of course.  Paul has long since entered the Church Triumphant and the heavenly freedom that is our eternal hope.  Paul is inviting us to remember each other's chains, whatever they may be.  Paul is inviting us to pray for one another and to do so sincerely and specifically, praying for peace and wholeness and healing.