purpose-driven inauguration?

Apparently I'm in the mood to be a socio-religio-political commentator these days. I wrote about shoe-throwing, and now I'm writing about Obama's choice for giving the inaugural prayer of blessing, the purpose-driven man himself, Rick Warren.

The controversy centers around Warren's support of Proposition 8, the California ballot proposition that eliminated the right of same-sex couples to marry in the state of California, and provided that only a marriage between a man and a woman was recognized in that state.

People of influence and education are chiming in from all over the place on this one, to which the most recent politico.com's "Arena" section testifies (don't know how long that link will be good... if it's a different subject by the time you read this post, sorry bout that). Guess I'm going to throw my own two cents in.

Maybe three cents. Or maybe just one, depending on your perspective, and the economy.

Here you go:

I'm struck at just how controversial this choice is in the eyes of so many Americans.

I'm struck at how many of our educated leaders view Obama so negatively for making this choice.

I'm struck at the level of disdain people have for Rick Warren.

And I'm struck at how personally disconnected we are from all of these people, yet how confident we are of our opinions about them, about what they do, and about what we believe they stand for.

Now, I'm not an all-out disciple of Rick Warren. I do think it's apparent that God has blessed him and his ministry. I'm glad that God has used his book and his influence to make the Christian life more accessible and clear for many people. But, systematizing life with God through Jesus into predictable purposes has its drawbacks, to be sure.

And I don't think that Obama is America's savior, in any sense of that word. Many self-proclaimed "progressives" are already using the term "transformational" to describe him and his pending presidential term. While I understand how and why they use the term to describe the president-elect, I also am keenly aware that transformation at its purest and deepest level happens only through interacting with the One Triune God. I, for one, will endeavor not to conflate the two usages.

But it's just not as easy for me to come to the same conclusions as others have about this decision and about these men. Commentators, bloggers, professors, and writers of all kinds are supremely confident of a few things. Apparently:

1. This is Obama being a politician, pure and simple--pandering to the disenchanted social and political right by choosing one of their own to pray at his inauguration.

Really? We're sure that's what this is?

2. This Rick Warren guy hates and oppresses homosexuals, because he supported Proposition 8.

Really? It's that simple?

Let me tell you what inspired me about Barack Obama. He never boiled complicated issues down to anything less than being complicated, no matter how controversial the issue was, and no matter how much people from the left or right baited him into doing so. This man always was able to articulate why things are so complex and what the differing sides of the issues were, without the use of straw-man arguments, judgment, condemnation, hate, or one-ups-manship. That takes character.

And while I certainly don't agree with where he stands on some of our most hotly debated moral issues, I always appreciated his treatment of those issues--how he talked about them, answered questions about them, and dialogued about them.

Now, for some of you, you may think that is insignificant. Perhaps you would respond with something like: "Yeah, but the bottom line is... _______."

If you're on the right in this whole inauguration thing, the bottom line is that Obama is just trying to placate you by choosing Rick Warren to pray. And perhaps you even think that Rick is in sin for accepting the invitation (depends on how far to the right you sit, I guess).

If you're on the left, the bottom line is that Obama is undercutting your fight for justice and equality by inviting an oppressor to oppress in God's name.

But I just don't think things are that simple (and apparently Barack Obama doesn't think think things are that simple, either).

Now, if my writing above makes you wonder where I stand on the issue behind this controversy, let me be clear--for your benefit, not for mine: I believe that God defines marriage clearly in his written Word, the Bible, and that He defines it as being exclusively between a man and a woman, wherein all sexual intimacy is not only permitted but gifted and encouraged.

But maybe it doesn't matter what I believe, at least as it relates to how I am perceived--both by my peers and by my culture. Because what I am (rather fearfully, but faithfully) becoming aware of is this:

If I don't provide an adequate amount of religio-political zeal for a ballot measure like Proposition 8, I'll probably be labeled by some of my peers as "doctrinally weak", "waffling", or "afraid to take a stand."

But I am much more passionate about knowing people who are homosexual, loving them, and, Spirit-permitting, sharing with them what I believe. If they are going to be changed, it will be the Spirit that does so, and does so through me and others. Which makes me much less zealous bout a ballot measure. Why can't those things go together like peanut butter and jelly, you ask? Try holding up a pro-Proposition 8 sign while you're sitting at Starbucks trying to have a spiritual conversation with your gay friend. Doesn't really mix, does it?

But if I don't define justice as supporting state-recognized same-sex marriages, I'll be labeled by many influential cultural communities as an "oppressor", or as "hateful", or (dare I say it?) "non-progressive."

But I am not content to remain silent on what I believe, nor am I willing to be labeled an oppressor because I am unwilling to define justice according to someone else's moral convictions.

And so I find myself in what I am sure was a very, very familiar place to Jesus:

I wonder who will crucify me first.

shoe-throwing

Of course, by now, all of us have heard and seen footage of the now infamous shoe-throwing incident at President Bush's recent Baghdad press conference. But I heard something about this incident on the radio this morning on the radio that struck me--something beyond the tired talking points of "what a picture of President Bush's legacy" and "it's an exclamation point on Bush's failed efforts in Iraq."

The program I was listening to was a news program on NPR. They were interviewing a Lebanese reporter. Now, if you know anything about international relations, you know that the U.S. and Lebanon haven't exactly had a great history with one another, much less a good relationship today. So I was really intrigued at what this Lebanese reporter said.

As this reporter recounted how much the Arab world was heralding this act, he paused to give a different view, citing another widely circulated Lebanese reporter, and said two things that caught my attention:

1. Much of the Arab world got so caught up in the imagery of that press conference that they failed to see its significance: mainly, that further talks took place to bring clarity to U.S. withdrawal of troops from Iraq.

2. If the shoe had been thrown at Sadaam Hussein rather than at President Bush, the reporter, and the reporter's family and friends would have all faced the firing squad.

Sobering, especially coming from a Lebanese reporter.

Without a doubt, the war in Iraq has been costly--first, costly to the Iraqi people, who bore the devastating majority of casualties. Second, costly to the American people, who lost both the lives of troops and billions of dollars. And the pretenses that began the war proved to be false.

But personally, I can not throw the baby out with the bathwater by saying that the war in Iraq was a complete and utter mistake.

And while it is still not close to being stable, it sure is a lot closer than when free speech earned you, your wife, your kids, your friends, and your associates a bullet to the head.

the Bible, sola scriptura, and agnostic idolaters

I had a couple of conversations with two of my in-laws this week--the spouse of my wife's older brother, and the husband of my wife's twin sister. It's kinda fun being the token pastor in a family of church goers. It's kinda like "ask the pastor things that other pastors won't give you a straight answer on" at times, and I enjoy it.

The conversation that I had with my wife's sister's husband (does that make him my brother-in-law?) was about baptism. He was sprinkled as an infant in a Lutheran church, now attends a mainstream evangelical/Baptist church, and is looking to become a member. Of course, at his current church, they require baptism by immersion in order to become a member. So, he's been doing some researching about it, and I was one of his subjects of inquiry.

I had done some work last year or so on the history and theology of the practice of baptism as kind of a preemptive strike, per se, as my church is confronting some of the same issues. As you grow larger, and as more people from different backgrounds and traditions enter your church, you tend to become a little more centrist--clinging to the things that really do matter, and letting go of things that are just more peripheral.

Anyways, as I was sharing with him what I had written, I was reminded of why baptism is such a hot button, especially in a lot of evangelical circles. It's because of this thing called sola scriptura.

Sola scriptura is Latin for "Only Scripture." It was one of the tenets that led Martin Luther to separate himself from the Roman Catholic Church a few hundred years back, sparking the Protestant Reformation from which evangelicals today trace their roots. Sola scriptura states that the authority of the Bible and personal interaction with it should be held on the same level as the authority of the institutional church and church tradition.

Some evangelical circles (and Baptists in particular) take this principle to heart and, searching the Scriptures, find more evidence for practicing baptism by immersion on adult converts than they find evidence for sprinkling infants.

And that was significant for my brother-in-law. What he needed to know was this: he wasn't just brushing up against a different interpretation of a historical church practice; he was brushing up against a value that evangelicals cling to and hold dear: personally interacting and interpreting the Bible.

And, believe it or not, that story is just a set-up to what I really want to say.

There's something that is so beautiful, so valuable, so life-giving about searching the Scriptures freely and passionately, with the right tools, in a good community, with learned and mature believers, by the Spirit, and then submitting oneself to the chosen interpretation.

But: more and more of us dismiss that. Some of us even trample on that.

That makes me sound self-righteous, holier-than-thou, and maybe even insulated. I know. And I hate that perhaps that tone makes you dismiss what I am saying. But see for yourselves if it isn't true. See if what I'm describing doesn't accurately depict you, or those with whom you live life.

Here's what I see:

I see a growing generation of agnostic idolaters.

Yep. That sounds really harsh. But it gets even worse.

We are agnostic because we cry mystery too much--or, perhaps, we cry mystery where the Bible does not. Yes, that's more like it. When we are confronted with a clear biblical claim that goes against our own personal preference or a cultural value, we seem to shrug our shoulders and go our own way, bow to culture, or remain in some sort of nebulous grayness that is neither here nor there... and even consider ourselves pious for doing so.

We are idolaters because we sometimes put spiritual claims to our agnosticism, and in doing so, make God into our own image of him. For example: the Bible defines love, and gives many examples of what it is, and what it is not. But we--we use the phrase "my God is a loving God" to justify whatever behavior we choose. "My God is a loving God, so... (fill in the blank)." And yet, the Bible also states that God hates sin, and is very clear on what sin is as well.

And yet--and yet--we don't wrestle with those things. We don't go to the Scripture and search like we should. And if we do, and we see what the Scripture says, we don't sumbit ourselves to it. We worm our way around it, or make it say something the authors didn't intend, or say things like "Who's to say that your interpretation is right, and mine's wrong?" And agnosticism rears its ugly head once again, trumping sola scriptura and the beautiful life that God offers as we embrace and submit ourselves to it.

Some things are mysterious--like the depths of God's love, how all of God's attributes and perfections fit together and work together perfectly, or how God can prompt and move without cancelling the free and authentic choices of human beings. But other things are not.

There is a God, he can be known, and there is a devastating price to pay for crafting him in your own image.

But thank God that he is very skilled at breaking down the images that we create.

And I am no different. He's broken mine down before, and I pray that he continues to do it.

Please, God: break the image of my generation, so that we can see You for You, and not who we have created You to be.

keeping Christ in Christmas?

It's the same every year. I've already seen it in several places this year as well--in passing conversations, in suggestions for what we should talk about on the weekends at church for the Christmas series, and among Christian pundits on TV:

"Let's keep Christ in Christmas."

People:

Christ is already in Christmas. He's all over it. He's in every act of service, every ringing bell outside of Wal-Mart, every soup kitchen overflowing with volunteers, every can and food drive, every spirit of joy and thankfulness, and every beautiful Christmas decoration.

And he doesn't need our help to keep him there.

What he does need is for us to keep him close to our heart--to live with him richly from the absolute deepest part of who we are.

And if we do that, those around us will see that Christ is indeed in Christmas... without us having to convince them that he is, and without us feeling like we have to judge the materialist, the secularist, or those who wish to be politically correct.

Call it what you want--the Holidays, X-Mas, or even Super-Jesus-In-The-Manger-mas. But live in Christ before you claim the holidays in his name. My guess is that as you do, you'll find the most effective campaign for keeping Christ in Christmas is loving and being loved by him.

That's the message of Christmas after all, isn't it?

aversion

a⋅ver⋅sion

/əˈvɜrʒən, -ʃən/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [uh-vur-zhuhn, -shuhn]
–noun

1.	a strong feeling of dislike, opposition, repugnance, or antipathy (usually fol. by to): a strong aversion to snakes and spiders.

2.	a cause or object of dislike; person or thing that causes antipathy: His pet aversion is guests who are always late.

"Aversion." I used this word today in a conversation with a friend over lunch. It's a good one.

Earlier in our conversation today (as in, before I rocked the use of the word "aversion"), my friend and I were talking about people who had left our church in the past few years. Each person had a unique story, but shared a common underlying reason for leaving:

They didn't like the culture we were creating, the direction we were heading, and/or the means we were using to create it and move towards it.

And this is a very common occurrence in churches (especially in Protestant America)--and, in fact, the Church (universally and historically). Groups of Christian people--or, perhaps better put, groups of churched people--have collectively decided that their church/tradition is either:

-too liberal/worldly/cultural/wishy-washy

or:

-not conservative enough/faithful enough to tradition/God-focused enough/biblically centered enough.

It was the same in Jesus' day.

On the "left," (that is, to the left of Jesus) you had the Sadducees, religious/political Jewish leaders who thought it best to cooperate and even appreciate their Roman captors, encouraging Jews to look up to the dominant Roman/Greek culture and all of its trappings.

On the right (of Jesus), you had the Pharisees, Jewish leaders who thought that a life of strict obedience to God's laws and the Pharisaic prescriptions thereof, over and against Roman culture, was the godly way to go.

On the far right, you had the Essenes, a group of people who thought that the last days were upon them, that they were the only "faithful remnant" of God's chosen Jewish people left on the earth, and that as such it was of critical importance for them to be completely separate from the culture they found themselves in, and to create their own. So, they withdrew into these pseudo-monastic communitites, separate even from their conservative Pharisaic counterparts, to ride out the storm, maintain their purity, and wait for the coming doom of everyone around them.

And then on the extreme right, you had the Zealots--people who thought that violence was the only option, and that God was calling them to be instruments of his judgment on the wicked, pagan Roman invaders. Terrorism was their business, and they did it in the name of God.

Enter Jesus.

The Sadducees didn't like Jesus. He threatened their power relationship with the Romans, mainly by claiming that he was the coming Messiah, the long-promised Son of Man from the apocalyptic book of Daniel--God's instrument of justice to establish his kingdom forever on earth. The Sadducees had already chosen their king, and were reaping the benefits of that choice. Jesus threatened those benefits.

The Pharisees didn't like Jesus. He threatened their concept of God, and their perceived status before God. The God of the Pharisee rewarded obedience, and punished the disobedient. So, status was self-willed: the "more" obedient you willed yourself to be, the better position you had with God. But Jesus had a diffierent concept of what obedience entailed--one that fulfilled God's Law rather than extended it to human preference and conviction. Jesus celebrated with pagans whom he forgave and accepted... so they called him a glutton and a drunkard. Jesus showed preference to the whores, the white-collar cheats, and the common person who responded to his love with their simple faith and repentance... so they devised a plan to kill him. Jesus threatened their concept of a righteous (read: merciless) God and a righteous (read: self-driven) life.

The Zealots... well, we don't know what the Zealots thought of Jesus, at least from the biblical record. We know that Jesus reached out to them--even counted one of them as one of his Twelve. My guess is that the Zealots probably enjoyed it when Jesus stumped the Sadducees and Pharisees, and admired his courage before the power brokers of his day... but some probably thought he was unwilling to take it "far enough." It goes something like this: if you don't bang people over the head with the truth (and in the Zealot's case, literally bang them over the head), you're really just afraid to tell them the whole truth, or something like that.

As for the Essenes--they were probably too busy stockpiling food "Left-Behind-Series" style, writing about the wickedness of all of those around them. They were too busy longing for God to come save them from the wicked world to even notice this Jesus who claimed power to forgive sin and rescue people from their wickedness. It's more than a little ironic that they were so passionate about waiting for the Messiah that they failed to encounter the Messiah.

All of that to say:

The same patterns and categories of people that have existed for millenia in the Church still exist in churches today.

And:

I love being a part of a church that is an aversion (see, I tied it all together) to churched people, for the same reasons that Jesus was an aversion to the Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and Zealots.

So:

Which group do you fall into?

And before you say "I fall into God's group," remember:

So did the Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and Zealots.

insulated

After coming back from two days up in a deer stand, out in the woods overlooking the Mississippi, in the midst of the wind, the cold November rain (insert GNR reference here), the dawns and dusks, I came to this realization:

It is just so easy to be insulated.

Insulated. Not literally. Metaphorically.

It's so easy to be metaphorically insulated.

Here's how I get insulated:

Work. I'm a pastor. I live that vocation. Rarely am I not engaged with it (except for times out in the woods, like these past couple of days). I'm thinking about people, about how to do church, about who's doing what, about struggles, about vision, about values and church culture, about theology, about sermons, about communication, about staff dynamics, about elders and deacons, about musical style, and I could go on and on even longer than I already have.

I become insulated--surrounded by churchy things--so much so that it's sometimes difficult to engage with things outside of it.

Here's another way I get insulated:

Personal comfort. I lay on the couch. I eat what I want, when I want. I exercise when I want, and don't when I don't want to. I get insulated in my personal comfort to the point where things that just aren't as comfortable (but perhaps good for me) get pushed away.

And another way I get insulated:

Academia (for lack of a better word). I can think in lofty terms, write in lofty terms, keep up with the news, with current events, with trends, with opinions, with idealism. I have that vein in me. I enjoy reading about what people are saying, thinking, feeling, joking about when it comes to this country, our politics, our economy, the state of Christianity, the state of the evangelical church in America, it's relationship to the rest of America, etc. Sometimes I get insulated to the point where I go to an ivory tower with all of the other academics--people who think, talk, and write in the way that I do, at the expense of those who do not.

When did I come to this realization? Well, it was at about 5:45 am Wednesday morning, in the pitch dark, roaming the hills of Lansing, IA, unable to find my treestand, having slept for one hour the night before and just finished driving another two. And I thought to myself:

"Why do you like to do this? You're cold, you're tired, you're frustrated. Just go back to the car. Take a nap. Wait for it to get light. Then, if you feel like it, get up into the stand."

And then I thought:

"You're being a baby. When did you get to be a baby? When did the stuff in you get to be so soft, so easily overcome?"

So, I did what is incredibly difficult for an older brother to do: I walked to where I knew my younger brother was sitting, had him climb down, and show me to my stand (and yes, I heard about it for the rest of the weekend, and I'm sure I'll be hearing about it for the rest of my life).

But the alternative was worse. It was to settle for being soft. To be defeated. To become how I had been insulated.

Now, on the back end of the trip, I'm energized. I've regained some perspective. I've started back down a good path--one toward reclaiming some parts of myself that just plain get lost in the insulation of life. It's good to be gentle, but not good to be soft. It's good to be sensitive, but not good to be weak. It's good to be in church, to be comfortable, to be academic, but not good when that's all you are, and that's all you can relate to.

How do you get insulated?

help

In searching through the Google news feed today, I came across a headline that reads:

"Fannie Mae posts record $29 billion loss in 3rd qtr."

The subtext reads:

"Fannie Mae said on Monday it is losing money so fast it may have to tap the government for cash to avoid shutting down after the largest source of funding for US homes reported a record $29 billion loss."

And I'm sitting here, wondering:

How is a follower of Jesus supposed to view and respond to that?

This isn't the first time I've asked myself this question.  I would say that I've endeavored to have an informed, well thought out opinion about the economic crisis, so that I could converse and vote accordingly.  I've tried to weigh out the balance between mercy and justice--to live in that tension, even as it concerns financial policy.

But what struck me is this: $700 billion dollars later, this problem is not fixed.  They are asking for more money.

And that's scary.  It scares be because the presence of a large amount of cash was supposed to solve the problem.  Not instantaneously... but measurably, at least.  It did not.  It scares me because I think we're putting our trust in money--liquidity, to be more economically precise--rather than in the strength of character that comes from owning poor decisions, accepting the consequences thereof, and operating differently to change things over the long haul.

This makes me wonder:

-I wonder if we are too afraid to experience the pain of our poor financial decisions.  I wonder if we are willing to learn the hard lessons that come through grappling with the real consequences of our choices.

-I wonder if we're afraid to be tested.  I wonder if we're willing to live on a lot less, or if we're even able, having lived on more that we could afford, much less need, for so long.

-I wonder if we lack courage.

-I wonder if we crave freedom--pure, unadulterated freedom--like we used to.  Freedom from debt.  Freedom to give out of what we have earned.  Freedom to help those around us from the means that God has blessed us with, and the freedom to trust him with the rest.

-I wonder if the American people, apart from the American government, could or even would help one another through difficult times.

-I wonder if war is the only thing that has the power to bind us together, spurring us toward a common goal.  I hope not.

-I wonder if we are willing to endure discipline.

-I wonder why we expect so little from ourselves and so much from our government.

Several realizations are being reinforced in me through all of this:

-We are all connected.  All of us.  We are not just a group of individuals, each taking responsibility for himself or herself alone.  What I do affects those around me--my consumer debt, my education debt, my home debt, my whatever debt.  I'm giving my money away to people who may or may not use it appropriately.  And they may be giving my money away to people who either don't deserve it, didn't earn it, or will misuse it.  We are all connected in that way.

-The government should help the people, but should also help the people take ownership for their decisions.  Legislation should be passed and supported to help those who can not help themselves.  But laws should be enforced that penalize those who make unlawful decisions--including spending borrowed money without the means to pay it back.  

-The American people should strive for mercy toward one another, and justice for themselves.  This was inspired by a story that my grandmother told me recently, as we were discussing the economy, and the recent election (at the time of the conversation, it was the upcoming election).  She recounted what it was like when her and her then husband (my now deceased grandfather) made a bunch of poor money choices when they were first married.  She said, as-a-matter-of-factly: "You know, there wasn't anyone around to help us out then.  But, we knew what we had to do.  There were a couple of real hard years there, but we pulled ourselves out of it."  

Now, that doesn't negate our obligation to show mercy toward those in need.  I hope that a church family or community would see a young couple like my grandparents back then, come around them, and provide support for them to make it through.  But: I hope that their community would do it in such a way that encouraged my grandmother and grandfather to take responsibility for their actions, to admit to their fault, to accept the consequences, and to strive to live better.  Mercy should never replace justice.  It should work with it, work towards it.

That's the kind of help we should want, and that's the kind of help we are obligated to give.

incorruptible

When I was a young kid, my experience of the Bible came in the form of the King James Version, with all of the "thees" and "thous" and "shalts" and "shalt nots." That was just the tradition my family lived in for generations, and something into which I was born. And while I am grateful that I have since grown to embrace more relevant translations of God's words, every once in awhile I am reminded of a King James word that seems to perfectly capture something about God and life with God.

Here's the King James word that has snuck up on me recently:

"Incorruptible."

It comes from 1 Peter 1:4, King James version. Verses 3-5 read like this:

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time."

Incorruptible: meaning unable to be corrupted. Beyond the reach of impurity. Never can be wounded, broken, soiled, dirtied up with the stuff that dirties up my life.

I have something in me that, despite my best (read: most evil) efforts, remains just as pure and holy as the day it was born in me.

I can't think of anything else in the world that works this way. Something that forever remains just as perfect and complete as the moment it came into being.

Nothing else in my life works this way. On the contrary: I have to keep things from getting dirty, from falling apart, from falling out of working order.

Like:

-I have to work to keep my body healthy--and even then it is becoming more fragile.

-I have to work to keep my house in order--and even then there are things that will eventually need to be replaced.

-I have to work to keep my work habits and spiritual habits disciplined--and even then they go out of wack and out of order more often than they remain healthy.

-I have to work to keep my relationships healthy--whether that means seeking forgiveness from those I have wronged, or confronting those who have wronged me--and even then each has its season, a date in which that relationship will end.

Something impure from the outside always seems to creep in and dirty up what was once good. And unless I do something to clean it up, it'll just be dirty.

But not so with this thing that is in me--this thing that is incorruptible. This thing that was perfect when I received it, and just as perfect today. This thing that does not seem to bow to the rule that seems to govern everything else in my life and my world.

For the first and only time, I have something in me that neither I, my life, nor my world can mess up. Which means that for the first and only time, I have something in me that I don't ever have to fix or to clean up.

I have a hope that doesn't depend on me.

Another King James word in that passage that I love is "begotten." It's this beautiful word that means something along the lines of "proceeded from," or in human terms, "birthed."

So, as weird as it may sound, I am expecting.

Yep. Pregnant.

Pregnant with the hope that this Jesus who I met one day and trusted the next is now within me and can not be rooted out. Pregnant with the hope that nothing I can do will loosen his grasp on my life. Pregnant with Someone who remains good despite my continuing battle with everything about me that is not.

I have Someone in me who refuses to be defined by my mistakes or my wounds. I have someone in me who sees everything I have ever done and never changes the loving expression on his face. I have someone who truly knows how to discipline out of perfect love, a love that casts out fear of rejection or hopelessness.

I'm not saying I'm gonna pop out another tiny ol' infant 9lb. 8oz. baby Jesus, to quote Ricky Bobby.

What I am saying is that my belly is bulging with the hope that he that is within me is greater than me and greater than this world.

A begotten, incorruptible hope that I didn't manufacture and that I don't have to maintain.

It's a beautiful thing.

political

I have to say this.

It annoys me to no end when people unabashedly, self-assuredly, unquestioningly, abrasively, unapologetically, uncritically, and unexamined-ly present their political stance in squarely religious terms.

As in:

"Vote for _______ _______. He/she best represents our Christian values."

You know, I'm a pastor... and I couldn't say that even of myself-- let alone stand for someone else to say that of me. "Vote for Jesse. He'll represent our Christian values." Maybe I'd represent some of them. But not all of them. Not all of everything that Jesus stood for. Not to the extent that he did. Not even me, a pastor.

Think about that, would you, the next time you use a political candidate's name and Jesus' name in the same sentence? Think about:

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' ethic (do you know what Jesus' ethic was)?

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' lifestyle and socio-economic status (i.e., homeless)?

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' way of sacrificial, simple living?

Which candidate demonstrates a better ability to love like Jesus loved?

Which candidate would you say would probably love their neighbor better?

Which candidate would be more likely to extend love to his enemies?

Which candidate is more likely to serve God, and not money?

I don't know how you would answer each of those questions. But I can almost guarantee that your your answers to those questions are not informing your statement about your candidate best representing Christian values.

See, the assumptions behind those questions represent "Christian values." Love your enemy. Love sacrificially. Serve God, not money. Do justice, especially to those who can not do it for themselves. Love kindness. Those are the things that Jesus said and embodied.

So if you claim that I should vote for your candidate because he best represents Christian values, please... let's be talking about the values Jesus himself actually held and lived out--not your own political preferences and views projected on to Jesus' life.

And if you are wondering if I'm trying to sway your vote in a particular direction, you've missed the entire point of this entry.

Because, let's face it: neither candidate comes close to Jesus' values. As much as John McCain has sacrificed, and as much as Barack Obama has organized on behalf of the poor, both of them fall miserably short (just like the rest of us) of representing Jesus.

So who are we to say that one candidate is overwhelmingly more like Jesus than another? We are either misinformed about our candidate, or we are mistaken about our Savior. It's either one or the other.

Sorry for the rant.

grace replaced

"Out of his fullness we have already received grace in place of grace already given. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ."
-John, disciple of Jesus

Help me, O my God.
This Jesus--
Who replaced grace
Already given
Help me receive
His grace and truth.

How do you replace grace?
Put in its place
A better One?

And how do we replace this Grace
With one
Or several
That suit our tastes better?

How do You keep on
Graciously giving Grace
And Truth
To us who replace Him
With lofty ideas
With base desires
To me who rejects Him
In favor of
Nothing valuable and everything vain?

But then again
It would not be a better grace
If it could have been attained
By my own effort
Because I deserved it
Deserved Him
For if righteousness could have been attained
By the grace that has been replaced
Then a better grace
He would not be.

But right here
Here in this moment
A better grace seems out of reach
Simply because I can not reach it.

How frustrating.

But how beautiful.

I sit here, O my God
In the wee hours
Of the morning
Unable to reach your grace
In need of You
To reach down to me
Like you reached down to my world
So long ago
With the grace
And the truth
Of the cross.

It is better that I cannot reach it
Cannot reach him
Because it is better
For him to reach out to me
Because as he does
I know
And cannot doubt
That He loves me
That He forgives me
That He saves me
That He is my brother
That You are my Father
Not simply because you created me
But because you adopted me.

A grace replaced
With Grace
With Truth
With Jesus
Is a better grace
Indeed.

snakes & circumcision

Provocative title, eh?  The funny thing is this: I'm actually writing about both snakes and circumcision.  So, it's not just a edgy title to make you feel compelled to read this (although I won't apologize if the title is what caught you).

Let's begin with an exercise in imagination.  For a moment, imagine one of the most intensely worshipful, meaningful times you have ever experienced.  Take a moment just to fix that memory in your mind.

Explore that mental image.  Was there anyone else there with you?  Was someone or something leading you into that experience?  Was it a church service?  A song?  A conversation?  A time of intimate and passionate prayer?  A timely message?  A broken relinquishment long overdue?

As you fill in the blanks of that memory, recall how that moment came to be.  Was there something someone did to create an environment that was conducive to you worshiping?  Was there a mood that was created through a particular type of music, lighting, or other creative element?  Was there an illustration that was used--a story, or perhaps an object that allowed God's message to slip into your heart and invite you to respond?

Ok.  End imagination time.  For now.

If I were to ask one of the ancient Jews (or even an Orthodox Jew of today, for that matter) that same question, "What is one of the most intensely worshipful or meaningful experiences that you've had?", I'm guessing that some of them might answer: "When my wife and I had our son's bris.  Circumcision is a long standing and meaningful tradition in our faith.  I really feel like God is near when we follow this command that he set up for our forefathers so long ago."

Begin imagination time again.  Imagine what it would be like to participate as a Jew in something like that.  To do something that your ancestors have done for literally thousands of years.  To read a text Genesis or Deuteronomy where God himself--God himself--first set this practice up... and then to experience it firsthand.  The stories there on those pages wouldn't just be stories from long ago; you would feel connected to them, in solidarity with them as you witnessed this ancient practice and were bathed in the spiritual significance of it firsthand.

Now imagine that someone within your Jewish faith came to you and said, "I feel like this tradition of circumcision is really no longer applicable to today's culture.  In fact, I think that this practice can actually be really dangerous.  It seems to separate us in ways that are no longer holy.  We should consider not doing it anymore, or at least not making it a part of our worship or a staple of our faith."

How would you react?

Well, that really happened, as most of us know.  And most of us know why.  And most of us would agree with why.  And most of us have benefitted from the decision to remove circumcision from its place as the defining characteristic and practice for people to be considered "in" the family of God.  And so, most of us would have trouble feeling the tension of that decision that was made almost 2000 years ago now.

So, end imagination time.  Again, just for now.

But consider this.  A very similar story to the one about circumcision occurs in 2 Kings 18:1-4:

"In the third year of Hoshea son of Elah king of Israel, Hezekiah son of Ahaz king of Judah began to reign.  He was twenty-five years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem twenty-nine years.  His mother's name was Abijah daughter of Zechariah.  He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, just as his father David had done.  He removed the high places, smashed the sacred stones and cut down the Asherah poles.  He broke into pieces the bronze snake Moses had made, for up to that time the Israelites had been burning incense to it. (It was called Nehushtan.)"

A story like this takes a little bit of contextualizing.  "High places" were places on hilltops designated for worship specifically because of their location, closer to the sky where the gods supposedly dwelt.  Asherah poles were trees or poles that were set in the ground designated to the mother-goddess Asherah.  Both of these elements were clearly idolatrous, and a blight on the uniquely Israelite belief in One God.  Worldly forms of worship had infected the Israelites' worship of the One True God.

But the attacks on pure and God-focused worship weren't coming from the outside only.  In fact, the most sinister attacks on true worship usually don't come from the outside; they come from the inside.  Like circumcision. Such was the case in Hezekiah's day.

If you think about it, the task to destroy the high places and the Asherah poles in Israel was pretty clear--definitely not easy due to their broad acceptance and appeal, but nevertheless clear.  They were blatant forms of idolatry, worship of a God other than Yahweh.  So, whether you like it or not, Israel, what you are doing is here is wrong, because God has given us clear evidence in both his spoken and written word that there is only One God, and we are to worship him only.  Thus saith King Hezekiah, thus saith the religious community, and thus saith God in his spoken and written Law.

But then there's this other thing--this thing that's not an altar to another god.  It's a bronze snake - the same one that God told Moses to craft and lift up in Israel during the time of the exodus, when Israel was disobedient and being punished.  God used this snake to heal his people from the plague they had brought on themselves.  This was a symbol--one that God himself had told Moses to make, one that had brought real life redemption to them, one that had come to symbolize everything that was once good and right about Israel and her relationship to God.  It had even acquired a personal name over time--Nehushtan (a combination of the Hebrew words for "bronze," "snake," and "unclean thing").

We aren't told which Israelites were burning incense to Nehushtan--if they were the same ones who were worshiping at the high places and at the Asherah poles, or if they were different ones. If I were to make a guess, I'd say that for the most part, the people burning incense to Nehushtan probably wouldn't have anything to do with those other "worldly" idolaters. Perhaps they considered themselves the keepers of proper worship, longing for the glory days to which the bronze snake testified.

I think the young king Hezekiah had a bigger challenge facing him on the Nehushtan front than he did on the high places/Asherah pole front.  I'm sure that he found no shortage of allies when it came to ridding Israel of explicitly idolatrous practices.  Purists and reformists can easily be found throughout history and even today, and sometimes in great numbers, especially in church where many of us consider ourselves to be the guardians of proper and pure worship.  But when it came to a sacred religious symbol like the bronze snake which God himself directed the revered patriarch Moses to fashion--something that housed such great and powerful imagery, perhaps even viewed as a beacon of true worship--I bet Hezekiah found much fewer allies.  It could have been that the allies he had found in his campaign against the high places quickly turned out to be his enemies when his vision of purity included destroying the symbol of purity.

And yet the bronze snake was just that--a bronze snake.  That's all it ever was, really.  Just a bronze snake.  It was the Great Spirit-God Yahweh himself who energized it with his healing presence at one time.  Even during that time, it was only a bronze snake.

But Israel had made one of God's instruments into an image of God.  It began to illicit their worshipful affections, and they responded to it like they should have responded only to God and God only.  And so, the courageous and godly young king Hezekiah did the most holy thing he could have done: he killed the snake.  And in so doing, he freed Israel from a form that had begun to restrict their view and worship of the great, mysterious, personal, present, perfect God.  

Let's imagine again.

You are an Israelite who has shunned the worldly forms of idolatry and have stuck to your convictions to worship the One True God.  You go to the temple regularly to worship.  You love to look upon the bronze snake.  It's symbolism stirs your heart and your affections for God in a way that no other method or form does.  You see absolutely no problem with expressing your worship of God through burning incense at the foot of the snake.  After all, God is a God of healing; it's not like you're claiming that God is something he is not as you worship through burning incense at the snake.

But someone comes along, and without discussion or forewarning, destroys the thing that you have held with such reverence and awe.  Even more, he does it claiming that it is an idol just like the high places or the Asherah poles.

How would you feel?  How would you react?  How would you view the person responsible for destroying what you held sacred, without consulting you or anyone else who preferred to worship like you?

End imagination time.  If you can.

But maybe you can't stop imagining, because maybe the implications of these stories are already starting to press on you right here, right now, today.  And it should.  We have bronze snakes all over the place in our places of worship.

"Our music should be..."  Reverent?  Powerful?  Relevant?  Peaceful?  Created by a Christian artist?  God-centered?  Jesus-focused?  Rock?  Hymns?  Gospel?  Excellent?  Timeless?  Culturally appropriate?  Simple?  Deep?  Authentic?  All good things, some even necessary.  But if you let any one of them push their way into a place where you can't see or connect with God in their absence, then they have become a bronze snake.  And you need to kill it.

"I just can't worship like I really want to unless I'm up on stage."  Bronze snake.  God is equally present everywhere.  Kill it.

"Secular music has absolutely no place in the church.  Only Christian music can draw people into the presence of God."  Bronze snake.  God is the creator of all music, secular and Christian, and he can, will, and does use any of it that he pleases to draw people closer to himself.  Kill it.

"Piano-led bands/guitar-led bands/choirs are really the things that invite people into worship."  Bronze snake.  God created every single instrument and authored all rhythms, tones, and principles of arrangement, and uses all of it to speak to all of who he is.  Kill it.

These forms, symbols, and convictions can either serve us by opening our eyes, minds, and hearts to one of the many perfections of the God Who Is Spirit, or they can enslave us by restricting our vision of God to a particular truth contained in a particular form.  And when one of those forms begins to embody God to us, it is up to us to kill it in favor of the God without form.

troubled

I hold to some things that trouble people.  Here's the list that is in my head at this moment:

Troubling things I hold to be true:

1. The Bible is the Word of God, inspired and inerrant in its original autographs.
2. There are some parts of the Bible that we are not quite sure what the original autographs said.
3. Modern translations of the Bible reflect both original authorial intent and the theology of the translator.
4. The Bible contains both cultural applications and timeless principles.
5. Justice is more than just helping the poor.
6. Justice is no less than helping the poor.
7. God hates sin.
8. There is a hell.
9. Jesus is the only way to the Father.
10. There is truth in other religions.
11. God is a person who is present.
12. The gospel of Jesus Christ cannot be reduced to moralism.
13. Legalism in all of its forms is an affront to the message of Jesus.
14. Pastors are people.
15. Being homosexually oriented is not a sin, but practicing it is.
16. God loves sinners, and we cannot claim to follow him yet not do the same.
17. God disciplines his children who disobey.
18. Love is sacrifice.
19. There is no separation between the secular and sacred.
20. There is a real difference between evil and good.
21. Evil sometimes must be stopped by force.
22. There is no such thing as a godly vote.
23. Global warming is real.
24. The mortgage crisis is the fault of greedy lenders AND borrowers.
25. Sex finds its place only in marriage.
26. Marriage is between a man and a woman.
27. Salvation is as much of an event as it is a process.
28. President Bush is not the worst president in U.S. history.
29. President Bush is not the prime example of a godly leader.
30. I am a citizen of God's kingdom before I am a citizen of the United States.  Those two are not the same.
31. Jesus wouldn't bomb anyone.
32. Jesus will one day kill all of those who oppose him.
33. Heaven isn't just later, it is now.
34. Retirement is not the goal of working.
35. The family unit is not the cornerstone of a good society.
36. You can not legislate morality.
37. We should not filter our votes by the hot-button issues of abortion and homosexuality.
38. Liberalism is fiscally irresponsible and dangerously naive.
39. Conservatism protects the wealthy at the expense of the poor, and permits the hating one's enemy.
40. Terrorism is a real threat.
41. Darwinistic evolution is incompatible with the Genesis story.
42. Geological evolution is compatible with the Genesis story.
43. Adam and Eve were real people.

And I could go on, and on, and on.  It just seems like lately, I've had to either test/reexamine some of these things, or stand up and claim allegiance to them under criticism or attack.  

mystery and clarity

Beautiful these two dancing together

Mystery and Clarity

To the music of nature,

Spirit and Word.

They swing and sway

Back and forth

Back and forth

Each step inspiring awe

Each step true and sure.

Neither will dance alone

Or with another suitor

For though invited and enticed

None other knows the step

Like the One 

Or like the Other.

A sad day it is indeed

When one of us claims to be dancing

In step with only Mystery

Or only Clarity

For in reality

We are dancing to a music of our own making

Which looks more like a parade

Of folly

Or perhaps like a dirge 

On the way to the grave.

Long have these Two danced to a rhythm

Made by the One who made all rhythms

A rhythm that we must discover

A step that we must learn

From the One who invites us to dance

The Dance of Mystery and Clarity

The Dance of Love and Obedience

The Dance of Beauty and Truth.

questions

I have a lot going on in my head.

A lot of questions, mainly. Not necessarily questions that I'm "struggling" with. Not necessarily questions that I'm desperate to answer, or to have figured out. Rather, questions that I'm wrestling to live within.

I don't care if that doesn't make sense. And that in itself is a wonderful thing to say.

Here are the questions, as of right now:

"What am I being formed by?"
"Who am I becoming?"
"Do I love the written word of God?"
"Do people understand me?"
"Do I fit?"
"Does what moves me move others?"
"How can I discipline lovingly?"
"Does discipline work?"
"Where is the line between a 'mysterious' God and the 'revealed' God of the Bible?"
"What is the difference between the truth revealed generally in world and in the world's religious figures, and the truth revealed specifically in Jesus?"
"Can I communicate clearly?"
"Why don't I ever seem to want do the things that I should?"
"Why do I always seem to want to do the things I shouldn't?"
"What does it mean to be relevant?"
"What does a ministry look like that is not crafting some sort of religious image?"

I could go on. I could write about all of those questions. Maybe those are some of the things that are being rewritten. Yes, that is how I will view them. God is in the process of writing in me his answers to those questions.

But being written on is just not a very enjoyable place to be. As I write that, I feel like I should take it back, or at least qualify it with something like "but it's a privilege to have God writing in me". Yes, it is a privilege. And yes, in a very real way, I can say that I am both thankful and honored to have God writing in me. But it is also a very uncomfortable place to be.

I think it is uncomfortable because it is insecure. What will appear on the pages of my life? Will I let God write? Will I do the things that allow him to write? Or, will I close off some pages? Will I be satisfied with what he has written? Will I edit or white out to my detriment? What will other people think when they read me, or when they hear what I read? How is the world trying to write on me, or my church, or my friends, or my pride? Who is masquerading as God, forging his handwriting?

God, I pray: "Grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me."

indy aliens

So... I'm a big Indiana Jones fan. Have been since I was a kid. I even bought a bull whip when my family was vacationing in Texas. Indiana Jones was the adventurous academic. He was smart, respected, intelligent, but had kind of a wild side and love for adventure that I resonated with. I watched our VHS copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark that we had taped off of TV one time until those little fuzzies would appear on the screen so often that we had to throw the tape away.

So, as you can imagine, when the new installment of the Indiana Jones series came out--The Legend of the Crystal Skull--I was there. In fact, my dad is a huge Indiana Jones fan, and so we went together this past Sunday afternoon for a matinée.

Now, I hadn't really read any of the reviews, nor did I talk to very many people who had went to see it. I went in, just expecting another good ol' fashioned Jones butt kicking of some communist or facist power.

What I found instead were various not-so-subtle political, philosophical, and even religious statements throughout the movie.

Here's the premise (and stop reading right now if you haven't seen the movie, and don't want it to be spoiled): the crystal skull is actually the skull of an alien--1 of 13 aliens, actually--who visited the earth's ancient civilizations, and passed on their knowledge and technological principles to the Mayans, Egyptians, Aztecs, etc.

Now, one might say that this whole alien thing shouldn't be a surprise; after all, the movie was produced by the same guy who brought us all of the Star Wars movies. But it's striking to me... not only because it is somewhat of a marked departure from the previous Indiana Jones movies, but also because of one of the last movies I saw in the theater, Expelled. Expelled is Ben Stein's mocumentary on how he believes that the proponents and/or associates of the intelligent design theory are being aggresively but secretively silenced by the scientific community at large. At the end of the mocumentary, Ben Stein is interviewing one of the leading atheist evolutionists, Richard Dawkins. When Stein presses Dawkins to come up with a theory of origin, Dawkins posits that some of his colleagues believe that aliens might have been the first cause of setting things in motion in our galaxy. Dawkins does not come right out and say that he believes that is the case, but he does seem to think that an alien theory of origin is at least plausible.

Aliens. Never have I thought of aliens in any way other than kind of a fun, imaginary thing to think about as I watch movies like Star Wars. Now I am beginning to wonder: is there some sort of philosophical or even religious aspect to a belief in extra terrestrials? Could it be tied to a Darwinistic evolutionary view? Was Lucas trying to make a statement in his movie that goes beyond the imaginary and into the philosophical or religious realm?

A couple of other parts of the movie move me to think that yes, he was. Now, we all know that movies are sensational--no way could a man or woman experience what he or she did in the movies and survive. But a good movie makes the sensationalism seem plausible--you watch it and end up thinking, "Wow, what are the odds of that actually happening?" It's Mythbusters material. By contrast, there are movies that take sensationalism way too far, causing you to immediately react or even vocalize, "No way could that ever happen." One of these such scenes in this movie was an extended scene where Indiana Jones' son Mutt (yep, as it turns out, he got Miriam knocked up somewhere in Raiders of the Lost Ark... maybe that part was in the Director's Cut DVD) gets hung up in some vines during a jeep chase through the South American jungle. He is immediately surrounded by monkeys. So, taking his cue from his evolutionary ancestors, Mutt climbs up a vine, and then swings his way, along with the monkeys, right back into the jeep chase, landing squarely on the noggin or the evil Russian driver. Seriously, you watch Mutt swing for like 2 minutes.

In another somewhat philosophically charged scene, as Indiana returns the skull by placing it atop the alien's skeleton, he sets in motion a process that reveals that the whole lost city is built on a flying saucer, which eventually destroys all of the treasure as it takes off for the inter-dimension. As this happens, the Russian lady who wants to use the power of the aliens for evil is destroyed, presumably because she was greedy and impure in her lust for knowledge... a theme that Lucas wove throughout his first three Indiana Jones movies. Indiana makes the comment that "For the aliens, knowledge was their treasure. " Of course, this prompts Mutt, the greaser dropout, to clean up his act and go back to school. Indiana Jones gets a promotion at his university, after getting fired due to pressure by the Feds because of his association with the Russians (oh yeah: Indiana Jones survives the atomic testing in Roswell in a lead-lined refrigerator that gets blasted to kingdom come while being chased by the Russians). The point: true knowledge reigns supreme over and against conservative pressure and ignorance, and has the power to change lives.

But what is the content of that knowledge? What are the propositions that are so transformational? I don't know that Lucas fully reveals that in his movie. But, he sure gives some pretty good hints.

awaken

I saw Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian at a matinee today. The movie is inspiring several entries, but my first has to do with the overall effect that the movie has had on me. I feel like I had been sleeping, and was stirred awake for a bit.

In Prince Caspian, the mythical (not imaginary, but mythical) land of Narnia has been overtaken by intruders, relegating all of the Narnian inhabitants to exile (at best) and wild savagery (at worst).

More notable than the children's absence is that of Narnia's king, Aslan. There has been no sign of him since the children left. They even have to go on a search for him once they arrive again.

All four children are surprised at the state of Narnia. The youngest of the four children, Lucy, is shocked to find that bears won't talk to her, but rather want to eat her. One of her newfound Narnian friends saves her from the bear by putting an arrow through its heart. A dialouge ensues:

Lucy: "Why did he want to eat me?"
Narnian: "I'd say because he appeared to be hungry."
Lucy: "Why, he didn't even talk. He was as wild and savage as the animals at home."
Narnian: "Well, when you get treated like an animal long enough, you forget who you are, and you become an animal."

Later in the movie, Lucy has a dream. In it she journeys through the forest on a search for Aslan. As she searches, it becomes apparent that she is searching for him in the Narnia that used to be--where flower petals whisked through the air to make magical creatures, and trees sway, move, and dance to point the way to Aslan. In her dream, Lucy eventually finds Aslan, but awakes to find that it was only a dream. She rises and follows the path in the forest that she had dreamed about, stopping to touch a tree and whisper: "Wake up."

As I watched the movie, I allowed myself to be swept up in all of its symbolism. I found myself to be one of the Narnians. As I stop looking for God, I stop seeing him. The longer I fail to see him, the more sleepy I get. The deeper my sleep gets, the more I forget who I really am. I become like a Narnian tree: no longer do I dance, sway, or point the way.

Which is why when I first saw and heard Aslan speak in Lucy's dream, I had to fight back tears.

I do not want to sleep anymore.

I want to dance, sway, and point the way.

fatigue

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.
Galatians 6:9

Here's something that I just don't understand: why is it "tiring" to engage with God? I get tired of engaging with God. I wish that it was not that way. I wish that my desire for God was this romantic, linear, step-by-step, constant, day-by-day growth. It's not. I pursue, then I get tired, then I stop, then I start again.

I think this is a little bit of what Paul was talking about in Galatians. We get tired of "doing good"--not just of serving, or of being moral, or of doing what is right... but of doing good things with God. What is it about us that gets tired of doing good things with God?

I think I know the "right" answer(s) to this question--something along the lines of:

-the good that God desires is only somewhat natural for me to do... it still requires a good deal of effort and will against parts of my nature
-the good that God desires isn't always a "feel good" kind of good--dying to myself on the cross of Christ every day is not the most pleasant nor the easiest thing to do
-while I can say that, over the course of my life with God, my stamina for being with him and doing good things with him has increased, the cyclical nature of it all is sometimes more discouraging than encouraging

I am struck by this every weekend. I lead parts of our worship service through music. Music, like all art forms, has a way of revealing what is below the surface--the true nature of things--against what is really a façade. I've blogged about that here. My instrumentalists, like my vocalists, like me, all come into a place of worship with hearts of sinners. Perhaps we've hated our neighbor, perhaps we've been gluttons, perhaps we've been at war with our spouse or children, perhaps we've lusted, or perhaps we haven't felt love for God or God's love for us in far too long. And with these hearts we begin doing something--singing and playing God-songs together--that swiftly reveals to us and everyone around us what our hearts truly look like.

What's the alternative? Well, in some cases, it's doing the work of confession and repentance together before we worship through music. That's hard. In other cases, it is getting alone with God and doing some soul work before we even come to rehearsal. That's hard, too, because maybe God is the last person we feel like wants to be with us. Maybe he's the last person we want to be with. Maybe we don't like what we anticipate that he will tell us to do, say, or with whom we have to mend fences. Maybe we don't like having to see what's really in our hearts. No matter which alternative we choose--engaging with one another in confession, engaging with God alone in repentance, or refusing to engage at all--we are facing some hard work.

Doing good is hard, because doing good requires doing some soul work with God. And soul work is hard work.

home court advantage

Unlike many of the so-called (and self-appointed, I might add) basketball "purists," I really enjoy watching the NBA. It's not that I don't like watching NCAA basketball. I do. But I just don't buy the whole line about "The college players play team basketball and really want to win for all the right reasons. The pros just don't care. They play for themselves, and for the money."

Lest this introductory rant (which is really a set-up for my point, and not the point itself) get too lengthy, suffice it to say:

1. The teams that have won NBA championships for the past 5 years or so have done so not because of their individual superstars, but because of their team play (see the entries entitled "Spurs", "Pistons", and "Kobe 2008", and cross reference with the entries entitled "Lakers post-Shaq", "Mavericks," and "Suns 2008").

2. The USA Olympic team, post MJ, has finally figured this thing out, and is beginning to craft teams instead of throwing together slam dunk contest winners who shoot about 28% from the field and turn the ball over every other possession because, as it turns out, the international community hasn't let go of that ancient rule called traveling.

3. O. J. Mayo. Enough said.

All of that to say: as I watch this year's NBA playoffs, a striking trend leaps out at me: many teams are unbeatable at home, but those same teams can't seem to win a game on the road.

The Celtics are the prime example of this trend: having had the best record in the NBA this year, they are 7-0 at home in the playoffs... but are winless on the road. In the Jazz/Lakers series, both teams are undefeated at home, and winless on the road. Same holds true for the Hornets/Spurs series.

Now, I've never personally considered "home court advantage" to be a very significant advantage. Sure, most teams play better in their home setting than they do on the road, and that makes sense to me. Home is where you practice all those hours. It's where you feed off of your crowd. It's where you feel the most comfortable because you didn't have to travel there... etc. All of those factors transfer into better and more consistent play. I get that. But how this year's playoffs exaggerate the advantage caused me to think: is this "home court advantage" true in areas outside of athletics?

I often tell people: I've found that it usually takes me about 3 years or so before I really feel comfortable in a certain place, doing a certain thing. It was that way in college. It was that way in seminary. It's been that way at my current job. For some reason, it takes me about that long for my current setting to start feeling like "home." But once it does, I become more sure of who I am, of how I fit, of how I'm growing, of how I'm developing... as does the community around me. Thus, I go from being a "visitor" playing on the home team to being a "role player" who is a familiar face to perhaps even being the "go to" guy.

And it sucks to go from being the "go to" guy back to being a "visitor" whenever God decides to move me on to what's next... but I've learned that, eventually, what was strange at first will feel like home. I just have to give it the right amount of time, and learn how to be a good "visitor" and "role player" in the meantime.

Which gets me to thinking: in today's very transient and hurried culture, how many of us are constantly "visiting"? How many of us ever stick around somewhere long enough to feel like we're at home?

"Wanderlust", in all its trappings of culture, diversity, and well-roundedness, seems to have somewhat of a dark side: you never stick around anywhere or anyone long enough to be known--to be truly known--and to know yourself. We search anxiously for that fit, that feeling of home, that romantic notion of a utopia, but we never seem to give ourselves long enough to find it, because the journey to it is a difficult one. Of course, nothing is ever "perfect"... but I think we can get a lot closer than we think, if we ever were patient enough to let our current environment become our home court.

God is not in a hurry

"I feel a burning desire to preach the Gospel, but I know in my heart that now is the time to pray, to read, to meditate, to be quiet, and to wait... It makes no sense to preach the Gospel when I have allowed no time for my own conversion. I feel a tension within me. I have only a limited number of years left for active ministry. Why not use them well? Yet one word spoken with a pure heart is worth thousands spoken in a state of spiritual turmoil. Time given to inner renewal is never wasted. God is not in a hurry."
--Henri Nouwen

He's right. It does not make any sense at all to preach the Gospel when we have allowed no time for our own conversion. And yet: why do we order our lives in so many other ways?

One word spoken with a pure heart is worth a thousand spoken in a state of spiritual turmoil. Ah, but our words seem to have power nonetheless--they really do seem to have the power to fix other people's turmoil, even if spoken from a spirit of turmoil themselves. I can be utterly spent, but can still get things done--sermon series planned, people counseled and prayed for, blurbs written, budget recorded. That's the dilemma for us: things can get checked off of our list whether or not they were completed with a pure heart full of an awareness of God's love.

Compounding that dilemma is this one: if we make the courageous decision to set apart time and space to allow God to purify our hearts, well, some things don't get checked off the list that could have. The hour of my day that I spent listening, praying, reading, being silent, journaling, in solitude, etc., could have been spent doing something else that needed to be done--and still needs to be done. And that something else usually has a someone else behind it, perhaps secretly angry or disappointed with you for not getting it done (or so we imagine them to be). And really when you get down to it, maybe it's just not worth all of the trouble to let God purify your heart and in so doing purify your service. Maybe it's better to just keep checking as many things off of the list as possible each and every day. People seem to be happier when that happens. And you know what, we might be happier with that ourselves.

We're happier with that because everything is utterly in our control. I had that on my list, I planned a way to complete it, I executed my plan, and now it's off of my list. It wouldn't have disappeared from my list had I not completed it, had I not intervened, had I not called, had I not prepared, had I not preached, had I not had that appointment, had I not been at that meeting. Turns out I'm pretty important to the world continuing to turn. Critical even.

But the happiness from being the center of the world is only short lived, because as it turns out, we can only sustain being at the center for so long without feeling tired, spent, dried up, unappreciated, resentful, angry, bitter, taken for granted... you fill in the blank. Gradually the bliss of being needed wears down, and the ache of being used sets in.

And you wonder: do I really matter all that much? Is it so significant that I kill myself getting things done every moment of every day?

And in quietness, we realize that it is true: one word spoken from a pure heart is worth thousands spoken from a life in turmoil.

Not just to those to whom we speak them. But to our own souls as well.

super nanny

So, I got this wicked virus yesterday that made me shiver, then sweat, then puke, then have night of restless sleep, then wake up early with a back ache. It was awesome.

So, what that means is that I spent yesterday evening in bed, trying to stave off vomiting, watching network TV. Again, it was awesome.

And what happened to be on? None other than Super Nanny. You know, the show where this nanny from the U. K. comes to the homes of different American families where the kids are totally out of control. She observes, intervenes, models, and then follows up to see if the family was able to continue what she had patterned for them.

It really is a fascinating show, filled with the most interesting people. Last night's episode had this upper middle class family with two children, 8 and 11. The dad worked full time, and the mom stayed home full time. The mom was an emotional mess, and her children totally dominated her--physically, emotionally, and verbally. Of course, the dad did just about squat to change anything.

These kids would hit, scream, throw tantrums, refuse to do their homework, manipulate, swear, backtalk... you name it. And the mom would try to resist and fight, but would then be overwhlemed, give in, and even rationalize her childrens' hatred as she conversed with them.

Enter Super Nanny. Seemingly within no time, her firmness, clarity, and resolve whipped those kids into shape... not to mention the parents as well. As firm as she was with the children, she was even more so with mom and dad--who were the real culprits of all of the dysfunction in the first place. She would assess the situation, walk the parents through why all of this chaos was happening, show them what to do, observe them while they did what she told them, coached them as they did, and then debriefed with them afterwards. The whole thing was intensely personal.

Imagine for a moment if Super Nanny operated differently. What if, instead of going to the house, she simply wrote a pamphlet detailing some transferrable principles for most problem families, and then mailed it to the parents? What if the entire show consisted of the parents reading the pamphlet and then trying to apply the principles to their specific situation? Do you think the families like in the episode described above would be successful in their endeavors to change?

Hearing my parent read from a pamphlet is a little different than looking straight into the eyes of the Super Nanny, isn't it? Hearing Super Nanny's British accent is a little more convincing than reading pithy pieces of advice.

The kids and parents changed their respective behaviors not simply because of the Nanny's principles, but because of her presence. Presence.

Presence seems to be the critical ingredient.

[re]written

Ah, the first entry on a new blog. It's like putting on a pair of white athletic socks right out of the package. There's something fresh about it.

So, a couple of things have happened to me and my wife during these last few months. I've been given a new position at church: that of Worship Director. Unofficially, I've taken more of a leadership role in helping facilitate a conversation amongst our staff on spiritual formation, the process by which we partner with God in growing up Jesus in us. Over the summer, I will be transitioning out of my duties as College Pastor, and into my duties as Worship Director. So, that's the first thing.

The second thing that's happened to me and my wife is this: her job has pretty much gone down the tubes. Big time. It's been tough on her, having to let go of her job and the security that came along with it... not to mention the identity questions that come up any time someone faces an occupational change. So, she's currently looking for a new one, and has been for some time, but as yet to settle on a particular opportunity.

Some other things have happened that have "written" on our lives in a new way:

-the church that I work at has grown, both numerically and monetarily
-my calendar is now filled every week with people needing spiritual direction
-i've actually started to work out regularly
-i've gotten a pay raise with my new position
-we've had to spend a month living under what it'd be like to live off of only my income
-we've grown a lot closer to making the decision to start to try having a child
-our creative team at church is beginning to articulate a musical philosophy and style

All of these things are so "adult." Yes, I'm well aware of how young that makes me sound. But so be it. I'm still in my 20's.

But, all of these things point to what life is like when you spend some time in one place. You build a family. You shape direction. Your peers start to recognize who you are and how you contribute. God begins to reveal how he will use you. You start to be [re]written.

Who knew these socks would look and feel like this?