Dr. Robert Crilley

2012-02-12T19:10:00.001-08:00

Occasionally I will hear people claim that, in order to experience true spiritual renewal, you need to escape from the daily grind, with all its disruptions and distractions, and spend some time with God in quiet solitude. For them growing closer to God means retreating from—or better yet, rising above—the mundane and seemingly “unspiritual” things of everyday life and intentionally seeking the higher, purer things of the soul.

To be sure, there are times (preferably at regular intervals) when, as Jesus did, we withdraw from the world in order to commune one-on-one with the Almighty. However, we need to be careful that we are not withdrawing from the world out of disdain for it. Keep in mind that ours is a God who so loved this world that God chose to enter it. Ours is a God who did not retreat from human flesh-and-blood, despite its weaknesses and limitations, but actually become one of us. Ours is a God who promised us not only a new heaven, but also a new earth!

Put another way, it is okay to take a break from this troublesome world in order to spend some time in prayer, just as long as we remember that part of our responsibility is to pray precisely for this troublesome world. It is okay to turn off the evening news (which is usually depressing these days) in order to spend some time reading the good news of the gospels, just as long as we remember that our study of Scripture should inform the very things we watch on the evening news—our business practices, our political decisions, and our involvement in current affairs.

If our spirituality is to be genuine, then its chief aim cannot be to escape from life altogether. True spiritual renewal is always seeking fresh ways to reengage with the world. After all, our relationship with God may be personal, but it is never private!

2012-02-05T09:59:00.001-08:00

There can be little doubt that Jesus was a spiritual person. After all, he was conceived by the Holy Spirit. At his baptism, the heavens opened and the Holy Spirit descended upon him. By the power of the Holy Spirit, he healed the sick, preached good news to the poor and oppressed, taught with authority, and cast out demons. Ask the average person, “Was Jesus spiritual?” and he or she will wonder how you could even raise such a question. Is the world round? Is the Pope Catholic? Does 2+2=4? Of course, Jesus was a spiritual person!

However, the fact remains that Jesus did not live the kind of life that people in his age (or in ours) expected of a “spiritual” person. He attended parties, ate and drank his fill, and seemed to have had a good time doing so. He talked more about how folks acquired their money, and what exactly they planned on doing with it, than he did about heaven. He was as concerned with the physical health of our bodies as he was in the spiritual state of our souls.

He associated not just with the pious and morally respectable, but also with the immoral and unbelieving. He defended those who were ridiculed by society and rejected by the religious establishment. He believed that human need always takes precedence over strict compliance with the law. He made a point of serving others, rather than asserting his own superiority.

He loved his enemies, and actually went out of his way to do good for those who wished him harm. He trusted God even when it did not pay off in terms of personal success or happiness. He continued to pray even when everything he had hoped and worked for was taken away and he felt utterly forsaken by God.

He did not seek to be popular among the people; nor did he seem the least bit interested in being the kind of Messiah they clearly wanted. Instead, he came to announce the coming rule of God’s justice and compassion, and to invite people to give up everything they had, in order to follow him in the costly service of this kingdom.

Do I believe that Jesus was a spiritual person? Absolutely. But what I have come to realize is that, rather than measuring Jesus’ life against my own preconceived standards of spirituality, it should really work the other way around. If you want to know what a Spirit-filled person—or for that matter, a Spirit-filled community—truly looks like, you need to look no further than Jesus himself. He is our model of what it means to be spiritual!

2012-01-29T15:17:00.001-08:00

When the Apostle Paul writes, “We know that all things work together for good,” he is not implying that every single thing that happens in our lives is good. What he is saying is that, ultimately, even that which is bad can be transformed, through the power of God, into something good.

In a similar fashion, when we affirm that God is sovereign, we are not claiming that everything that takes place in the world is necessarily God’s will. Frankly, there are a number of things that I would have serious trouble attributing to a loving God. I do not believe, for instance, that God sends—or even wills—floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, diseases, cancer, or tragic accidents, to name but a few.

Because life is both fragile and finite, there will inevitably be suffering and death in one form or another, at one time or another. However, I do not believe that God wills or causes the particular way and time that such things occur. And I am absolutely positive that God does not will or cause any form of sin, evil, and injustice—or for that matter, the personal and collective suffering that results there from. Sickness, sin, suffering, evil, injustice, and death are, by definition, what God does not will, what God is adamantly against—indeed, what God has always been at work in this world to overcome and destroy!

How can we know this for sure? We know it because God—our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer—desires life for us, not death. Even the outright rejection of God’s love that eventually led to Jesus Christ being crucified was not, in my estimation, what God willed, but precisely what God did not will.

Think of it this way—Was it actually God’s intention that Jesus be mocked, mistreated, and killed like a common criminal? If people had listened to Jesus, and followed the example he set, instead of hanging him from a cross, would God’s plan have been ruined? Of course not. The crucifixion is not the fulfillment of God’s plan; it is the rejection of God’s plan. Nevertheless, because God is sovereign and all-powerful, God is able to take even that which is contrary to God’s will and transform it into a sacrificial act of saving grace!

To affirm God’s sovereignty does not mean that we must piously accept of our own suffering, or that of others, as being the unquestioned will of God. Neither does it mean that we shrug our shoulders at the world’s sorrows and injustices and conclude, “That’s just the way things are.” Rather, it means that we remain hopeful and confident—and therefore continue to work—for the way things were intended to be, and one day will be, and for that time when we can finally say, not only in expectant prayer but in actual experience, “Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever. Amen.”

2012-01-22T13:55:00.001-08:00

According to the Book of Genesis, when God tells Abraham that he is going to be a daddy, Abraham starts rolling on the ground, doubled over from trying to stifle a loud, raucous guffaw. For her part, Sarah darts quickly behind the tent’s flap, so as not to tip off the Lord that she, too, is in hysterics.

In both instances, God promises the seemingly impossible gift of an heir. And in both instances, Abraham and Sarah laugh out loud. Why? I think the fairer question may be, Why not? Why not laugh in the face of a promise that seems so utterly preposterous? After all, don’t we sometimes laugh when things strike us as being ridiculous and absurd? When the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote race off the edge of a cliff, and both stand there for a moment, suspended in midair, looking at one another, until the Roadrunner points out that there’s nothing beneath Wile E. Coyote’s feet—it causes us to chuckle!

In a sense, that’s exactly what grace does. It stretches the limits of reality beyond the normal, expected boundaries. So is it any wonder that Abraham and Sarah—a couple who might well have been on the downside of their diamond anniversary—start laughing at the thought of strapping a child safety seat on the camel?

I don’t think we should begrudge Abraham and Sarah their laughter. It is part of what makes them human. Moreover, it indicates that they now realize that something extraordinary is on the loose, something so otherwise incredulous that laughter is the best—and perhaps the most faithful—thing they can do.

Personally, I have never interpreted God’s question of Sarah—“Why did you laugh?”—as a reprimand. I don’t believe God is angry with her. I think God is simply inquiring, “Why do find this so funny? Is there anything too great for the Lord?” But notice how quickly Sarah starts backpedaling. She denies that she was laughing—and mind you, she does so because she is afraid.

There may be a lesson in that for us. Far too often, fear cripples our emotions, keeping us from experiencing the fullness of joy God means to bring us. God wants to celebrate life with us; and what could be more fitting for a celebration than laughter?

Thankfully, Abraham and Sarah never stop laughing. They giggle with amusement when God first promises them a child. They chuckle with delight all the way through the pregnancy. And then, when the child finally arrives, they name him Isaac, which is the Hebrew word for—you guessed it—“laughter.”

2012-01-15T19:30:00.000-08:00

One of the most challenging things that Jesus ever said comes right at the end of the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant (Matt. 18:23-35), in which a king forgives the debt of a certain servant (a debt so massive, incidentally, that the servant was never going to be able to repay it), and then discovers that this same servant refused to show similar mercy to someone who was in debt to him for a relatively meager amount. In anger, the king throws the unforgiving servant into jail—at which point Jesus says, “So my heavenly father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

On the surface, it seems like a lesson along the lines of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Or to put it more bluntly: Do unto others as you would have God do unto you, because according to this parable, if we don’t forgive one another, then neither will God forgive us!

But frankly, I find this reading of the parable to be problematic. If the only reason I am forgiving my neighbor is to save my own neck, then it is not something that I am doing out of love but out of fear—and that doesn’t sound like something Jesus would teach.

When I think about forgiveness, I find that the primary reason I am able to forgive is because I have had the experience of being forgiven. That is, I know how it feels to have my debt cancelled, my credit restored, and my relationship renewed. Moreover, I am also aware that in order for this to happen, the other person has borne the cost.

In other words, forgiveness is never earned. It is a gift. If you ask me, this is what the unforgiving servant missed. He didn’t see the king’s gracious act as one of forgiveness. He just figured that he had outsmarted the old man and gotten away with it.

Think back to the last time you managed to talk yourself out of a speeding ticket. Did you regard it as being truly forgiven, or merely let off the hook? Did you understand it as receiving a gift that you really didn’t deserve, or more as the result of your own powers of persuasion?

If we tend to think of being forgiven as pulling a fast one, then we probably are not going to be all that forgiving of others. After all, fool me once shame on you; fool me twice shame on me.

But forgiveness does not come about because you happened to fool someone. Forgiveness is the result of the other person—the one whom you’ve hurt, the one whom you owe—deciding that being in relationship with you is more important than getting even or settling the score. Simply put, the reason we forgive is because we know what an incredible experience it is to have been forgiven.

Hence, the point of the parable is not: Do unto others as you would like God to do unto you. The point is: Do for others what God has already done for you!

2012-01-08T19:34:00.001-08:00

From the dawn of time, life has been stressful. However, it seems to me that, in the last twenty years, it has become even more so. Advances in technology (mobile phones, wireless internet, laptops, etc.) have literally made it possible to work “around the clock”—and a good many of us are! We eat on the run; we have conference calls while out on the road; we check our emails late into the evening, and again first thing the next morning.

It is little wonder that so many of us feel stressed out, worn down, and fed up. It is also not surprising that God anticipated all of this, and thus, commanded us to rest at regular intervals. Notice that I didn’t say “strongly recommended.” Keeping the Sabbath is not a recommendation; it is a requirement.

In fact, it is the longest commandment; and the only one which is explained differently in the Exodus and Deuteronomy versions of the Ten Commandments. In Exodus, the rationale for keeping the Sabbath is based on the creation story. Since God worked six days and rested on the seventh—so should we!

In other words, the concept of “taking a break from our busyness” is not something that the Almighty suddenly came up with, while talking with Moses on Mount Sinai. It is a practice that has existed from the very beginning, and it pertains to all of life—including the animals (the Book of Leviticus even extends it to the land). The entire created order is to observe times of Sabbath rest.

However, when this commandment is stated in Deuteronomy, the reason given is not the creation story, but because “we were once slaves in Egypt and God freed us from our slavery.” From this perspective, we begin to realize that work, and the incessant tyranny of our schedules, can become just as oppressive as Pharaoh himself.

For example, when we say to ourselves, “If I don’t keep at it, I will never finish my work on time”—then we become slaves of the clock. When we say, “If I don’t keep at it, I will never accomplish everything I need to do”—then we become slaves of productivity. And of course, the bottom line is that God does not want us to be slaves of anyone or anything. We have been set free from all of that!

I guess what it really comes down to is this: Who is running your life right now? Is it the clock? Is it the “to do” list? Is it the desire to be successful? To climb the corporate ladder? To become wealthy? To be seen as important?

Who is calling the shots in your life? Because if the answer is anything other than God, then you may need to take a Sabbath break, in order to be reminded again of whom we were created to serve.

2011-12-26T10:19:00.001-08:00

Given that the marrying age in first century Palestine was considerably younger than it is today, odds are that Mary was barely out of childhood herself when she is asked to give birth to God’s child. Some scholars think that she was only thirteen or fourteen—sixteen at the most. In other words, hardly old enough to have a child at all; let alone this child!

Of course, the angel Gabriel does his best to reassure Mary, telling her that she has “found favor with God.” But by the time he is done explaining everything that is about to take place, Mary may have wondered whether “finding favor with God” was a blessing or a burden.

After all, what is she supposed to do now? Should she just stroll over to Joseph—a man she barely knows—and casually mention, “By the way, sweetheart, an interesting thing happened to me the other day; you might want to sit down before I tell you about it.”

Notice that, in Gabriel’s announcement, nothing is mentioned about interpreting this to her family, or how he plans to hold a town meeting so that she will not be driven out of Nazareth in utter disgrace. As far as Mary is concerned, she is now on her own!

Actually, there is very little in terms of practical, here’s-how-to-handle-this instruction. The only thing Mary is told is that “the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” But what on earth does that mean?

Will it happen right away? What will it feel like when it does? Will it be an easy pregnancy? Does one still experience morning sickness if you are carrying God’s child?

Suffice to say, the Christmas-card impression that we sometimes have of Mary—sitting there at the feet of Gabriel, serene as a beatitude—may not tell the whole story. My guess is that she was absolutely panic-stricken.

But then again, Gabriel might have been a little rattled himself. He keeps telling Mary that she mustn’t be afraid. However, I have always suspected that, beneath those great and golden wings, he, too, was trembling at the thought that the whole future of creation now rests on the faithful response of a teenage girl!

2011-12-18T12:48:00.001-08:00

In our world, there are those who have power and those who don’t; and one of the surest ways to tell the difference is that when those in power speak, those without power scurry to obey. When the commander in chief speaks, for example, entire military divisions start to mobilize and deploy. When the school board president speaks, teachers and students alike adjust to the new policy. When the alumni speak, the football coach suddenly finds himself on the unemployment line.

That’s just the way things are; and from what I can tell, they have been like this for quite some time. Hence, when Caesar Augustus issues his decree that the Roman Empire be registered, Mary and Joseph have little choice but to begin the difficult, four-day trek to Bethlehem.

It doesn’t matter that she is nine months pregnant, or that every hotel in town will likely be booked by the time they arrive. It doesn’t matter that they are already dirt-poor, and scarcely in the position to fork over more shekels to the IRS. The only thing that matters is that Caesar has spoken—and when the powerful command, the powerless comply!

It’s a strange way to introduce the Christmas story; but one of the reasons I think Luke starts out with Augustus is because he wants to remind us that, with the birth of Jesus Christ, a new kind of power entered into the world. By choosing to become an infant—weak, vulnerable, and totally dependent—God turns the traditional power structure on its head.

To be sure, there are still times when it seems as if Augustus is calling all the shots. The strong still rule the weak; the “haves” still lord it over the “have nots”; the powerful still command, and the powerless comply.

However, consider this: The name of Caesar Augustus—at one time, the most famous and feared name in the world—is chiefly remembered today, because at some point during his reign, in a run-down section of one of his more obscure provinces, out in the cramped quarters of hay-filled stable, the little Lord Jesus is born!

2011-12-11T15:39:00.001-08:00

A Sunday ago, we lit the Candle of Peace on our Advent Wreath, in anticipation of soon being able to hear the angels sing, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!” But let’s be honest; the earth doesn’t enjoy much peace these days—nations still strive against nations, terrorist groups still plot death and destruction, families still quarrel and bicker. Even the church is not immune from conflict!

So it’s worth asking, “Where is this peace on earth that the angels so joyously proclaimed?” Is it meant only to be an ideal that we reach for, but never fully grasp? Is it something that will happen only when Christ comes again at the end of time? Will there ever be a day, as both Isaiah and Micah prophesied, when swords are beaten into plowshares and spears turned into pruning hooks?

In the eighteenth chapter of Matthew, Jesus lays out what could be described as the basic steps toward peace and reconciliation. If someone sins against you, he says, first go to that person and try to settle it just between the two of you. If that doesn’t work, then go back again—this time taking a few others with you. If you are still not successful, then inform the entire congregation and have them join in a consolidated effort to solve the conflict. If no remedy is found at that point, then it will be painfully obvious that the other person is not interested in having a relationship with you.

There are a couple of things that strike me about this advice. First, Jesus puts the burden of reconciliation on the victim—the one who has been sinned against. Second, Jesus seems to be far more interested in getting people back together, than he is in determining who is in the right and who is in the wrong.

It’s difficult advice, to be sure; and frankly, the reason it usually doesn’t work is because, most of the time, we don’t even come close to following it. Our strategies for resolving the conflict are much different. For example, if we have been hurt by someone, a lot of us just keep it to ourselves, and pretend that the offense never took place. We do so because the illusion of harmony is always easier to achieve than actual harmony.

A second strategy might be to give the other person the cold shoulder. You never tell the guilty party exactly what is wrong, you simply ignore the individual. After all, the other person wronged you—so let the other person figure it out.

Yet a third strategy is revenge—the silent, deadly kind—whereby you embark on your own personal smear campaign; never missing an opportunity to question the other person’s character in public, or point out his or her flaws. You rationalize this, of course, by telling yourself that it makes you feel better. Only you have to keep telling yourself that over and over again, because the truth of the matter is you don’t really feel any better at all.

In his book The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis paints a vivid picture of hell as a vast, gray city, with rows and rows of empty houses in the middle—because everyone who once lived in those houses has quarreled with their neighbors and moved, and quarreled with their new neighbors and moved again, until only the outskirts of the city are inhabited. That, says Lewis, is how hell got to be so large!

The bottom line is that if you desire reconciliation, you are going to have to work at it. You may even have to give up the ability of saying, “I was right, and you were wrong,” in order to say, “Praise God that we are at peace again!”

2011-12-04T16:15:00.001-08:00

From a dramatic standpoint, the opening verses of Matthew’s Gospel leave a lot to be desired. Basically, it’s just a list of names—fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen generations from David to the Babylonian Exile, and then fourteen more from the Babylonian Exile to Jesus.

Unless genealogies send your heart all aflutter, most people skip the first seventeen verses and move straight to the story of the angel Gabriel visiting Joseph in a dream. Even the Common Lectionary never calls for preachers to explore this long, rather tedious list of tongue-twisting names.

But in recent years, scholars have started questioning whether Matthew might have been up to something far more profound than simply diagramming Jesus’ family tree. Some have suggested that this genealogy actually illustrates one of the dominant themes of the gospel—namely, how God works in mysterious ways.

For example, most genealogies list the father, followed by the firstborn son. But this one doesn’t. We are told that Abraham begat Isaac; but there is no mention of Ishmael, who was, in fact, Abraham’s firstborn. Then Isaac begat Jacob; but of course, Esau was the eldest, not Jacob. Then Jacob begat Judah; but again, Judah is not the firstborn (that would be Reuben).

Stranger still are the women that Matthew includes. Nothing is said about Sarah, Rebekah, or Rachel—the upstanding patriarchal wives of Israel. Instead we get Tamar, a Canaanite, who disguised herself as a prostitute and seduced her own father-in-law; and Rahab, another Canaanite and a real prostitute this time; and Ruth, the Moabite, yet another foreigner; and Bathsheba, who is named only as the wife of Uriah, whom King David had killed so that he could marry her himself.

In other words, the circumstances of each of these women are somewhat scandalous, including the fifth and final woman named in this genealogy: Mary, the mother of Jesus, with her—let us say—unconventional pregnancy.

Moreover, this genealogy contains some names that are a total mystery to us. Who was Azor or Achim? Who was Eliud or Eliezar? What did they do? What kind of men were they? Your guess is as good as mine, because other than this passage, their names do not appear anywhere else in Scripture.

So what does all of this say about God? Well, for starters, it says that God can work through scoundrels as well as saints, through children of the covenant as well as complete outsiders, and through lots of other folks, who are obscure and otherwise undistinguished. And if that’s the case, then it is a pretty safe bet that God can use even the likes of us, with all of our individual gifts and flaws.

The bottom line is that the genealogy of Jesus is more than just a list of historical names. It is an illustration of the mysterious and miraculous way that God works. Indeed, if you were so inclined, you could keep adding to this list, because eventually Jesus reaches out to Paul, and Paul reaches out to Timothy, and Timothy reaches out to someone else, and so forth and so on … until someone reached out to you!

2011-11-20T10:45:00.001-08:00

In the Gospel of Mark, the very first parable Jesus tells involves a sower and his seeds. Some seeds fall along the path where they are immediately gobbled up by the birds. Other seeds reach shallow soil and initially seem to thrive; but a few days out in the Texas sun soon has them withered and dying of thirst. Still other seeds fall among the weeds, where the competition for survival is intense, and eventually they are choked out. Finally, there are those seeds—those precious few seeds, it would seem—that actually hit pay dirt and flourish!

Whenever I hear this parable, I can’t help wondering what kind of soil I most resemble. Am I the person who wants to be faithful, but my faith keeps getting choked out by worries, fears, and regrets? Or am I the person who is forever being gobbled up by distractions, so that my day is already half spent before I even have a chance to figure out how I am supposed to be spending it?

I am probably not alone in asking such questions; but they may, in fact, be the wrong questions for this particular parable. After all, Jesus doesn’t start out, “There once were four different kinds of soil”; he starts out, “There once was a farmer who went out to sow.” This is a parable about the sower, not the soils—which means that it is not really about our successes or failures.

It is a story about the merciful extravagance of a God who seems astonishingly willing to keep flinging seeds of grace and love, regardless of where they might land. It is a story about a God who doesn’t really pay much attention to what the Farmers’ Almanac predicts in terms of a crop’s “growth potential.” Instead, the good Lord just keeps reaching into the satchel and generously casting seeds anywhere and everywhere!

Later this week, most of us will find ourselves seated at a Thanksgiving table, laden with food, and surrounded by family and friends. At some point during that meal, I hope you will pause to reflect upon—and even more so, to give thanks for—the bounty of blessings each of us enjoys. I won’t presume to tell you exactly how to do that; but here’s a hint. Learn to see everything you have as a gift from God.

It might be a bit tricky at first, since we don’t always recognize that everything in our lives is, indeed, a gift. Sometimes our gratitude sprouts up quickly, as if planted in shallow soil, but then withers away as we begin to take such gifts for granted. Other times our gratitude is gobbled up by the mistaken belief that we earned what we have, or somehow are entitled to it. Still other times our gratitude is choked out by the weeds of envying what our neighbor has, or worrying about what we still lack.

Thankfully, our response—or lack thereof—doesn’t deter the sower. God keeps flinging gifts, far and wide, like a farmer with an endless supply of seeds. If you ask me, the reason God is so extravagantly generous in sowing seeds is that, eventually, a few may find their way into the fertile soil of a grateful heart, allowing each of us to recognize how truly blessed we are!

2011-11-06T14:43:00.001-08:00

The Parable of the Weeds among the Wheat (Matthew 13:24-30) is widely considered to be one of the most difficult parables that Jesus ever told. It isn’t difficult to understand necessarily; but it is exceedingly difficult to accept. After all, what farmer—upon discovering that weeds are suddenly sprouting up amidst the wheat—does not immediately want to begin pulling them?

And yet, this is precisely what the parable counsels us against doing. Instead, we are urged to wait until the harvest—which is a rather stunning statement, when you think about it, because if the weeds represent evil, then what this parable seems to be advocating is passivity.

Passivity in the face of evil? Shouldn’t we be doing everything in our power to rid the world of evil?

However, from what I can tell, there are at least three good reasons why we need to refrain from hasty weed pulling. In the first place, most of us are not skillful enough to distinguish weeds from wheat. And even if we could, when the roots become intertwined, the collateral damage increases considerably. Simply put, in yanking up the weeds, we usually end up doing more harm than good.

A second reason to let the weeds grow is that, one day, they may turn out to be useful. In first-century Palestine, lumber and coal were expensive and hard to come by; the best source of fuel was dried weeds. Hence, by allowing the weeds and wheat to grow together, farmers had almost everything they needed to make bread—wheat for the flour and weeds for the fire. The only other thing required was a little patience, as they waited for the harvest.

Lastly, people who start extracting weeds prematurely always run the risk of becoming a little like weeds themselves. It’s actually one of the trickiest things that weeds do, getting the wheat so riled up, and on the defensive, that they begin resorting to tactics that don’t display much love or Christian charity. Better to wait until the harvest and let God sort it out.

So are we to remain passive in the face of evil? Not by a long shot! There is still plenty for us to do. But rather than devoting all of our time and energy to the destruction of weeds, I believe that our primary job is simply to be wheat, and to bear witness to the One who planted us as such. If we give ourselves over to that task, then God will take care of the rest!

2011-10-30T12:24:00.001-07:00

I have always believed that the heart and soul of the 23rd Psalm is found in the fourth verse—“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.” Everything prior builds up to these words, and everything that follows flows out from them.

In fact, if you pay close attention to the pronouns, there is a remarkable shift here. In the first three verses, God is referred to in the third person—“He makes me lie down in green pastures … He leads me beside still waters … He restores my soul.” But beginning in verse four, God is referred to in the second person—“I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

Notice that the psalmist does not claim that we will fear no evil because there is no such thing as evil. Nor does he suggest that evil will only befall the wicked. Clearly, evil exists in the world, and good people are as vulnerable to it as bad people. The reason the psalmist is unafraid is because he knows that, as he walks through this dark valley, he is not alone!

Several years ago, a psychology professor at a major university conducted an experiment in pain tolerance. He invited students to measure how long they could keep a bare foot immersed in a bucket of ice water. One of the things he discovered is that if someone else was in the room, the students were able to keep their foot in the bucket nearly twice as long. Somehow the pain was not quite as painful when another person was there.

We all know people who have experienced great tragedies, and sometimes we wonder if there is anything we can do for them. In my experience, the best thing you can do is simply be with this other person. You do not need to explain their suffering, or justify it as part of God’s eternal plan. You do not need to help them see “the bright side,” or try to make them feel better by pointing out that there are others who have had it a whole lot worse.

Simply being there, silently holding the other person’s hand, is what helps most, because it is always easier to face a troubling present, and an uncertain future, when you know that you are not facing it alone. “I will fear no evil,” writes the psalmist, “for You are with me.”

God never promised to eliminate all of the dark valleys from our lives. God never promised to construct a detour around them, or to airlift us out of them. What God promises is that, when we walk through those dark valleys, we will not be alone!

2011-10-23T11:49:00.001-07:00

Several years ago, I read about a fascinating experiment. A group of scientists placed four monkeys in a small room. After bringing in a tall pole with a bunch of bananas at the top, the scientists retreated behind a one-way mirror to observe how the monkeys would react. Predictably, the monkeys competed against each other to reach the bananas—with the strongest and quickest ones usually succeeding, while the others were forced to wait. Score one for “survival of the fittest.”

Then the scientists changed the environment by rigging the pole with a pail of water. Every time a monkey climbed to the top and reached for the bananas, the animal got doused with water. Eventually the monkeys—all of whom were drenched by this point—stopped going after the bananas altogether. Hungry as they were, the monkeys had learned that these particular bananas were to be seen but not touched!

The scientists then removed the pail of water. No longer was there the threat of getting doused. But of course, the monkeys had now been conditioned to stay away, and thus, they left the bananas alone. Score one for “behavioral modification.”

So far, so good. However, here’s the intriguing part for me. The scientists then introduced a brand new monkey into the mix. Not surprisingly, the new monkey—unaware of what had taken place previously—saw the bananas and immediately started climbing the pole.

But the original monkeys wouldn’t allow it. They kept grabbing the newcomer by the tail and pulling him down. Perhaps they were simply trying to protect him from getting doused with water; but remember the water wasn’t there anymore. In effect, they were forcing the new monkey to adapt to their understanding of the situation—even though their understanding was no longer valid.

Rather than spelling out the implications of all of this for the church, I think I’ll just let the experiment speak for itself, and allow each of you to draw your own conclusions. However, this much seems certain—if we keep pulling down those who want to try something new simply because it does not fit our view of what should be done, then we are liable to end up looking at the bananas … and talking about the bananas … maybe even dreaming about the bananas … but never actually tasting them!

2011-10-16T15:39:00.001-07:00

You don’t have to venture very far into Genesis before you encounter bloodshed. It’s right there in chapter four—Cain murders his brother Abel in a fit of jealousy and rage! By way of contrast, it will take another twenty-nine chapters before you come across a story of two brothers expressing forgiveness. Long after Jacob swindles his dimwitted brother Esau out of both a birthright and a blessing, the two are reunited and decide to let bygones be bygones. But the reunion is short lived, as they also decide that it might be best to go their separate ways.

For a story of more lasting forgiveness, you need to turn to the very last chapter of Genesis, where Joseph and his brothers are reconciled. Make no mistake; Joseph’s brothers intended to do him great harm—and at least initially, succeeded! They sold him into slavery for twenty pieces of silver; and then, in a calculated effort to conceal their crime, dipped his multicolored robe in blood and informed their old man that, apparently, his fair-haired, favorite son had had a fatal tangle with a wild animal.

Years later, when everyone is reunited, Joseph finally has the chance to get even with them. But he declines. “You may have intended to do me harm,” he tells his brothers, “but God intended it for good.” Of course, some have pointed out that Joseph’s newfound power and prosperity in Egypt make this gracious act rather convenient. What if he were still languishing in prison? Would he then be so eager to forgive his brothers and declare that “all things work together for good”?

I’m not sure how Joseph would have responded under those circumstances. But perhaps it is worth remembering another son upon whom great harm was inflicted. He too was sold for a bag of silver (although, with inflation, the price had jumped from twenty to thirty pieces). His robe—instead of being dipped in blood—became a prize gambled upon by those who watched him bleed like a sacrificial lamb. And as did Joseph, he also expresses words of forgiveness to those who intended to kill him. However, unlike Joseph, his words do not come from a position of power and prosperity. They come from a cross!

On one level, the two stories are very different. But on a deeper level, I think the message is basically the same, because even as Jesus is dying, God can be heard whispering, “You intend this for evil, but I intend it for good.”

2011-10-09T14:48:00.001-07:00

According to the second chapter of Genesis, God forms humankind from the “dust of the ground.” That’s kind of startling when you think about it. The creativity of an Amadeus Mozart, the compassion of a Mother Teresa, the brilliance of an Albert Einstein, the faith of young Nazarene woman named Mary—all springing forth from plain old dust!

And just in case we ever lose sight of that fact, God includes the substance of our creation in our name. In Hebrew, the word for ground is adamah. Thus, in a subtle play on words, God forms Adam from the dust of the adamah.

From dust we came and to dust we shall return. But why dust? Dust just seems so … well, ordinary and commonplace. Don’t you think a being who bears the very image of God deserves to be fashioned out of something more noble? If we had been formed out of gold or silver, for example, wouldn’t we hold each other in higher regard?

Then again, maybe the point is not what we came out of, but what came into us. The way Genesis describes it, God takes a handful of ordinary, commonplace dust and breathes life into it. Without the breath of God—that is, without God’s Spirit—we are little more than particles and specks of lifeless, inanimate debris. But with God’s Spirit, our humble beginnings take on wondrous possibilities. The dust of adamah becomes Adam.

As I am fond of saying from the pulpit, “That’ll preach!” For if God can breathe life into mere dust, and turn the commonplace into the purposeful, then there’s no telling what God’s breath might make of us next.

That which seems worn out and dusty can suddenly blossom with new potential; that which seems barren and fruitless can suddenly spring forth with new growth. How can I be so sure? Simple. God’s Spirit has never ceased breathing into us!

2011-10-02T14:21:00.001-07:00

Because I tend to be naturally curious, I found myself wondering the other day how often an infant needs to hear his or her name before linking that particular sound with his or her own being. I’m sure it has a lot to do with repetition—the more times, the better. Those infants who seldom hear their names probably have a more difficult time making the connection. And what about the infants who hear their names spoken only in harsh and angry tones? What kind of an impact will that have on the child’s sense of self?

When Judy and I were preparing to welcome our own children into the world, we marched into the maternity ward with several names (for boys and girls, since we didn’t know in advance). We did so because Judy was always adamant that we needed to see the child first, before deciding upon a name. “What if she doesn’t look like a Jessica?” she insisted.

I didn’t argue with her; although I couldn’t help thinking, “What does a ‘Jessica’ look like exactly?” Does your name really determine your identity? Would I be a completely different person if my parents had named me Bruce or Hal, instead of Bob?

The reason I mention this is because there are several biblical stories in which someone is given a new name as a way of representing that this person now has a new identity. Take Abram and Sarai, for example. Abram stands right at the brink of the century mark, and Sarai is only a decade behind him. They have carried their names with them for as long as either can remember, and like a well-entrenched routine, those names have come to define the pattern of their lives.

This is why, in a sense, bestowing new names becomes an act of God’s grace. New names bring fresh possibilities for the two of them. New names hold out the promise of new birth—both figuratively and literally! Abram, “the exalted ancestor,” becomes Abraham, “the father of multitudes.” Sarai—still barren at the time, mind you—becomes Sarah, “princess.”

Of course, one does not need to reach the ripe, old age of ninety-nine to sense that a long-sought dream is slipping away. Middle age can usher in similar feelings that life may have already passed you by. Even young adults—staring out at a sluggish economy and an ever-shrinking job market—may wonder if their hopes and aspirations are still attainable.

But God keeps calling out to us, “No longer shall your name be ….” It is God’s way of opening new doors, of unleashing new thoughts, of making possible new lives. My guess is that, like an infant learning to recognize his or her name, we may need to experience this grace repeatedly. Indeed, the more times, the better. But eventually we will start to make the connection between the sweet sound of amazing grace and our own being. God is calling out to us!

It is the same grace that made it possible for Abram to become Abraham, and Sarai to become Sarah, and Simon to become Peter, and Saul to become Paul. So the real question is … Who will God’s grace now make it possible for you to become?

2011-09-25T13:37:00.001-07:00

If you ask me, Genesis 6:5 and 6 (from the flood story) are among the most revolutionary verses in the Bible. “The Lord saw that the wickedness of humankind was great … and the Lord was sorry that humankind had been created, and it grieved God to the heart.”

Now, some people stumble over the Noah story because of their difficulty imagining a flood that would submerge the entire planet. Others wonder whether it is even possible to gather two of every species—let alone accommodate them all, peaceably, on an ark. (Did Noah really travel to Australia to obtain koala bears, or to Antarctica to collect a pair of penguins?)

But for me, those questions are secondary to the absolutely astonishing claim that God suffers—indeed, is heartbroken—over the behavior of humankind. Did you realize that the capacity to suffer distinguishes the Hebrew God, Yahweh, from all the other gods of her neighbors? The Greeks, in particular, had an extensive list of prerequisites that defined the divine. Chief among them was impassibility—the inability to suffer. The way they figured it, God is the Prime Mover of the universe, and hence, cannot be moved by anyone or anything outside of God’s Self.

In other words, the Greeks envisioned a stoical God who sits aloof in judgment, removed from any emotional attachment to humankind, and occasionally lashing out at creation for its utter incompetence. However, this is not the God depicted in the Bible. The Lord is not acting here out of anger and wrath, but rather out of grief and sorrow. In a sense, the flood story could be likened to Jesus’ story of the Prodigal Son. The younger son demands his share of the inheritance upfront, which was unheard of at the time, and tantamount to wishing his father was already dead. The father, then, permits the son to walk away, knowing that there is nothing he can do to change the boy’s heart. Instead, the father’s own heart will be broken.

Both stories testify to a God who is not only capable of suffering, but willing to, for our sake. If you read the flood story only as a cold-hearted act of divine retribution, then you are missing the point. This is the act of a bereaved parent who is letting go of a child who has wandered so far from home that there is simply no chance of the child ever returning. Brokenhearted, God is resigned to starting over again.

And who is to say but that the waters that will soon buoy up the ark come salted with tears—the tears of a God who has been grieved to the heart.

2011-09-20T17:15:00.001-07:00

Way back at the beginning of time—in fact, back before there even was such a thing as time—God created the heavens and the earth. As the story goes, the whole project was completed in six stages; and at the end of each stage, the divine stamp of approval is given. God steps back, looks at what has sprung forth into being, and with a heavenly smile, proclaims, “This is good!” (Or in the case of humankind, “Very, very good!”)

However, upon further reflection, there is one thing that God decides is not satisfactory. “It is not good that the man should be alone,” says God. “He needs a helper.” But alas, no suitable helper is found. The dog proves loyal and obedient, but not quite what God has in mind. The horse will allow the man to travel great distances, but the two won’t have much of a conversation along the way. The lion is too rambunctious, the bird too flighty, the sheep too prone to wandering off.

Eventually, God concludes that the “helper” required does not yet exist. Something—or better yet, someone—entirely new is called for. Thus, sleep falls upon the man and his flesh is opened. God literally takes a part of Adam’s own being, in order to create this new being.

Contrary to what many have claimed, this story says nothing about the primacy of one gender over another. “Adam’s rib” is not the punch line of a joke, but rather a statement of mutuality—how human life is intertwined at its very core.

Indeed, the word “helper” is instructive. For far too long, “helper” has been seen as inferring subservience, as if Eve is merely Adam’s assistant—a gofer, a lackey. However, the Hebrew word here is “ezer,” and it is found twenty-one times in the Old Testament. Two of those instances occur in this story; the other nineteen refer to the help that God provides. So, unless we are prepared to claim that God’s help is somehow subordinate or subservient, we had best rethink what it means for Eve to be designated as Adam’s “helper.”

Truth is, they are each other’s helper. They both bear God’s image, because they are bone of the same bone, and flesh of the same flesh. Hence, when Adam looks at Eve, and Eve at Adam, they help each other recognize their own sacred identity as children of God!

2011-09-11T15:51:00.000-07:00

The well-known author and preacher Max Lucado recently imagined what it would be like if we could order up life the way we order gourmet coffee. “Give me a grande-sized cup of exotic travel, cut the danger, and add two shots of excitement.” “I’ll have a pleasure mocha, with a dollop of indulgence. Make sure it’s consequence free.” “I’ll take a decaf brew of longevity, please, with an extra stirring of financial security.”

No doubt, a shop like that would have folks lined up for miles. But unfortunately, no such shop exists. Truth is, life doesn’t serve us exactly what we expect, much less what we order. Our name is called and the person behind the counter says, “Here’s a hot cup of unemployment six months before your daughter’s wedding. Would you like some calm and patience with that?”

Life comes infused with surprises. Some are welcomed, others are not. You can carefully map out the journey of your desires, if you like; but you would wise to do so in pencil, because there will surely be detours along the way. No one gets a decaffeinated life.

And neither did the disciples. At Passover, they gathered together with Jesus in the Upper Room. It had been a chaotic week, filled with challenges and controversy, but they still had reason to feel optimistic. After all, when they paraded into Jerusalem four days earlier, people were waving palm branches and singing, “Hosanna in the highest!”

However, at some point during that meal, Jesus decides to drop a bombshell. “I will not be with you much longer,” he says. “I am going away; and you know the road I plan on taking.” The disciples are stunned. Thomas, with no small measure of exasperation, voices what the rest of them are thinking. “No, we don’t, Lord. We have no idea where you are going.”

In effect, Jesus has just handed the disciples an extra large cup of unexpected absence, and they understandably object, “Wait a minute; that’s not what we ordered!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Jesus goes on to explain. “I will ask my Father to send you an Advocate”—literally, “another Helper.” Well, you can imagine how that must have sounded to them. The disciples aren’t interested in “another” Helper; they want Jesus.

However, the Greek here is instructive. There are two words for “another” in the Greek language—the first implies something entirely different, the second (the one used in this case) implies something just like the first. When my daughter lifts her plate at dinner, for example, and politely asks for “another helping,” she’s not asking for something different; she’s asking for more of the same.

The Holy Spirit that Jesus promised provides us with exactly what he first gave his disciples. Jesus taught them; the Spirit teaches us. Jesus strengthened them; the Spirit strengthens us. Jesus comforted them; the Spirit comforts us. If you will, the Spirit is like “another helping” of the same.

Life may not serve up what we ordered or expected; but the Holy Spirit does. In a world infused with chaos, and filled with change, one thing remains constant: Because of the Holy Spirit, we do not face this world alone!

2011-09-04T19:31:00.001-07:00

In the Gospel of Mark, one of Jesus’ earliest miracles involves a man who is paralyzed. He no longer has the use of his arms and legs; but he does have four determined friends, who are willing to serve as his arms and legs, and carry him to meet Jesus. Unfortunately, when they arrive, what they discover is that the place is packed. It’s a standing-room-only crowd, which means that they will barely be able to hear Jesus, let alone have the chance to see him.

Now, less persistent friends might have shrugged their shoulders and said, “Well, at least we tried.” But these are not the sort of friends who are going to quit that easily. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” they say to themselves. And climbing up onto the roof, they remove a portion of it, and lower the paralyzed man down to Jesus.

It’s a risky strategy, to be sure. Most home owners do not appreciate having their roofs disassembled. Who’s going to pay to fix that? Most paraplegics do not appreciate a one-way bungee drop through a narrow cavity in the ceiling. And most preachers do not appreciate the distraction of a public spectacle right in the middle of their sermon.

Mark never mentions the reaction of the home owner or the man on the stretcher. But we do know how Jesus reacted. He takes one look at the man and says, “Son, your sins are forgiven!”

But pause here for a moment. Are those really the words this man needs to hear? If I was this man, would I be hoping to hear something different? “Take courage, son. Your legs are healed,” or “Your paralysis is now gone,” or “Feel free to resume a normal life.” Why is Jesus giving him mercy, when the man’s problem is mobility?

However, keep in mind that, in Jesus’ day, people saw a direct connection between one’s health and one’s relationship with God. If you were blind, or had leprosy, or were paralyzed, there was a very simple explanation—you had done something to displease God, and God was now punishing you. Thus, before Jesus can heal the man’s body (which he eventually will), Jesus must first heal the man’s relationship with God. If the man gets the use of his legs back, but continues to believe that God is angry at him, then the man has not been fully healed.

The bottom line here is that when Jesus heals us, he wants that healing to be complete and all encompassing. He doesn’t want us just to be pain free; he wants us to be guilt free too. He doesn’t want to heal our bodies, without also healing that gaping wound in our hearts. And in the case of this man, Jesus is not interested in merely seeing him walk again. What Jesus is after is convincing the man that he can walk again with God!

2011-08-28T12:59:00.001-07:00

No doubt, you have heard the phrase, “Charity begins at home.” Usually, this popular expression is employed whenever we wish to justify taking care of our own needs before concerning ourselves with the needs of others.

Several years ago I served on a Presbytery Committee which had the unenviable task of allocating surplus monies to various mission projects. Some of the projects were local; others were in distant lands that the more geographically-challenged among us might have had trouble locating on a map. Still, a strong case could be made for both. The advantage of the local projects is that it allowed us the opportunity to witness firsthand the fruits of our contributions. The advantage of the global projects is that we would be assisting people who were far more desperate for funding.

As our discussion progressed, one of the ministers remarked, “Look, I have nothing against helping people in faraway places. But I think our first duty is to help the folks right here in our own community. As the Good Book says,” he pointed out, “Charity begins at home.”

I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of the committee (although, as a pastor, he probably should have known better); however, the “good book” in which that expression appears is not the Bible. What Scripture teaches us is that, regardless of where it begins, charity should never end at home!

The phrase itself comes from a book titled Religio Medici, first published in 1642 by Sir Thomas Browne. But Browne never intended the phrase to imply that helping people in our own hometown is somehow more important than helping people halfway around the world. He is using the word “charity” in much the same way as the King James Version of the Bible—namely, as a way of speaking about “love.”

What Browne is getting at is that the love we extend to others should grow out of the same love we express to those closest to us. If we are stingy as misers in terms of loving our own families, then chances are, we will be even less generous with the rest of humankind. However, if we start loving our own families, fully and unconditionally, then we may be surprised at how quickly we start seeing the whole world as our brothers and sisters in Christ. That’s the reason “charity begins at home.”

2011-08-21T15:57:00.001-07:00

At one time or another, my guess is that all of us have prayed a “bargaining prayer.” You know the kind I’m talking about. It might occur as you are waiting to interview with the personnel director, and you begin silently praying, “Dear God, if you let me have this job, I promise I’ll go to church every Sunday.” It might happen as you are driving home during an ice storm. “Dear Lord, if you make sure I get home safely, I swear I will never try anything this foolish again.” Even pastors are not immune to the practice. “O Lord, if you would just give me a little help with this sermon, I promise I’ll start working on next week’s before Saturday night.”

In effect, it is the “Let’s Make A Deal” approach to our relationship with God. We are facing a tight situation, anxious about how we will be able to manage it, and so we fire off an urgent, 9-1-1 call to heaven. “Let’s make a deal, Lord! You help me out of this jam, and in return, I’ll be a better, kinder, more loving person.”

As far as I can tell, the ploy is at least as old as Father Abraham, who could wheel and deal with the best of them. On more than one occasion, he tries haggling with God, only to discover that God doesn’t make deals; God makes covenants!

What’s the difference? Plenty. In the Bible, every covenant between God and humankind is initiated by God. In other words, the mistaken assumption of a bargaining prayer is that, in order to get the Almighty’s help, you first have to get the Almighty’s attention.

But nothing could be further from the truth. When we are in trouble, we do not need to entice God into action. We do not need to motivate God with our seemingly irresistible offers. We do not need to manufacture promises, so that it will be worth God’s while. God is already well aware of our situation, and more to the point, God has already promised to be there for us.

As the Apostle Paul so eloquently puts it: “I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Frankly, that’s a better deal than any of us could have ever imagined—much less cut on our own!

2011-08-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

In his letter to the larger church, James writes, “Whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one part of it has become accountable for all of it” (James 2:10). In other words, you don’t have heavyweight sins and lightweight sins and welterweight sins—there is just sin! So if you are trying to plea-bargain your shortcomings from felonies to misdemeanors, you are wasting your time, because in God’s eyes, it’s all one and the same. A sin is a sin is a sin.

That’s a difficult truth to accept, and frankly, most of us don’t. We see murder as being a greater offense than lying, and lying as a greater offense than gossiping, and so forth. Indeed, within the Roman Catholic tradition, there are two distinct categories of sin. A mortal sin is one that is committed deliberately, with full knowledge and intent. A venial sin is one that is committed unintentionally, without the slightest inkling of the damage that you may have inadvertently caused another.

Even within the Bible, there seem to be distinctions. In the Hebrew of the Old Testament, for example, there are three different words for sin. The first word (and by far the most often used) comes from the root “chatah,” and it means “to miss the mark.” It is used to describe David’s plot to kill Bathsheba’s husband Uriah, or Jeroboam’s decision to set up golden calves in the northern city of Bethel. Neither of these men set out to do wrong. On the contrary, they started out as leaders chosen by the voice of God. However, somewhere along the way, they became distracted by other voices. Hence, they “missed the mark.”

The second word comes from the root “avah,” and it means “to act wrongly.” This type of sin usually involves a violation of one or more of the commandments. When Eli’s sons steal sacrificial meat offered to God, for instance, or when the people of Israel start dabbling in Baal worship instead of staying true to Yahweh, they have broken the commandments, and thus, “acted wrongly.”

The third word comes from the root “pasha,” and it means “to rebel.” This kind of separation from God involves a deliberate revolt. When the prophet Micah denounces wealthy landowners for throwing the poor out of their houses and for creating laws that unjustly favor the powerful, what he is accusing them of is an outright rebellion against the authority of God.

Of course, the common thread here is that all three represent acts that go against God’s will. Whether people are just missing the mark, acting wrongly, or launching a full-scale revolt, they are out of sync with the plan God has for humankind.

In effect, I think this is what James has in mind. He is not suggesting that, since a sin is a sin is a sin, shoplifting suddenly becomes the moral equivalent of genocide. That would be absurd. What he is saying is that you are either in sync with God’s purposes or you are not. And if you are not, then it doesn’t matter if you are a beat slow or a beat fast. It doesn’t matter if you are a little out of sync or a whole lot out of sync—either way the glorious music that God composed for your life isn’t being heard!

2011-08-07T15:04:00.001-07:00

These days the word “ritual” often carries a negative connotation—and let’s face it, sometimes justifiably. Ceremonies that are long on pomp but short on circumstance tend to be archaic, hollow, and ultimately irrelevant. Still, I think we need to be careful about dismissing ritualism too hastily.

At its most basic level, a ritual is simply a pattern of repeated actions that remind us of, and connect us to, a deeper formative event. Take the Fourth of July, for example. Obviously, the formative event in this case is our nation’s independence. The rituals would be watching a fireworks display, or perhaps, a patriotic parade down Main Street. To cite another example, celebrating the anniversary of your birth is a formative event. The candles, cake, and singing of “Happy Birthday to You” constitute the rituals.

Where problems occur is when the ritual becomes disconnected from the formative event. In other words, the actions we keep repeating no longer remind us of anything, and thus we find ourselves just going through the motions. What was once a powerful experience has become an empty, meaningless ceremony.

That’s one of the complaints I sometimes hear about church. Worship is too routine, too ritualistic. But I would maintain that the problem is not with the rituals per se; the problem is that those rituals no longer evoke, or even stir, anything in us. Simply put, we have lost sight of why we are coming to worship in the first place.

Thomas Long, my preaching professor at seminary, used to compare it to going to the mail box to see if the mail has arrived. Some days, he said, the box will be empty. Other days it is be will filled only with junk mail marked “Dear Resident.” But the reason we keep going back, day after day, is because occasionally we find something very personal, addressed just to us.

He went on to explain, “We may think of going to the mail box as a habit. But it is actually more of a ritual. It is an action that we keep repeating, day in and day out, because we are convinced that, somewhere out there, someone wants to communicate with us.”

I believe that going to church is rooted in the same conviction. To be sure, there will be Sundays when we show up and don’t really get much out of it. We’ll go through the motions, but fail to find anything specifically addressed to us. However, what keeps us coming back, Sunday after Sunday, is our faith that God wants to communicate with us. Indeed, the rituals we perform during worship are all designed to remind us that, if we are trusting and attentive, God is prepared to deliver a very personal word meant just for us!

2011-07-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

Not all that long ago, if you purchased a Bible, you could expect it to be bound in black leather, printed on thin, golden-edged paper, and available only in a handful of versions. Today, thankfully, you have a much broader selection. You can choose an annotated Bible, complete with its own commentary, or one filled with cross references between the Old and New Testaments. You can select the soaring, lyrical language of the King James, or if you prefer, a translation that is more contemporary and down-to-earth.

All of this variety, of course, has helped ensure that the Bible remains the most widely published book on the planet. But just because practically everyone in the country owns one does not mean that the Bible is being regularly read. For starters, it isn’t the easiest book to understand. In fact, even calling it a “book” is a bit of a misnomer, since it’s actually a collection of sixty-six books—all written by different people, to different audiences, for different reasons, and over the span of many, different centuries. Most folks who decide to sit down and read the Bible from cover to cover (as you would other books) usually find themselves bogging down somewhere in Leviticus, and then abandoning the project altogether soon thereafter!

But if you ask me, the issue goes deeper than just being difficult to understand. After all, it isn’t easy to understand computers either; but most of us still make the effort because it seems worthwhile. And therein lies the chief problem with the Bible—at times, it doesn’t appear to be all that relevant. How does King David’s conquest over the Philistines, for example, inform our current foreign policy? Does Jesus’ healing of the sick offer any guidance for today’s practice of medicine, or possible strategies for managing our health care system?

Admittedly, it would be nice if the Bible supplied clear solutions to some of these complex situations. But the truth of the matter is that we live in an entirely different kind of world. You are not going to be able to turn to a particular passage of Scripture and find explicit directions on which career path to take, or how best to invest your retirement savings, or even which candidate to vote for in the upcoming election. True, the Bible may be a great source of comfort in times of trouble, but in the opinion of many, it’s just not all that practical for life in the 21st century.

But despite such difficulties, I still believe that the Bible gives us profound and incomparable guidance. The key is in how you approach it. Frederick Buechner once described it this way: “If you look at a window, you are likely to see smudges, or dust, or perhaps the tiny crack where Junior’s Frisbee hit it last summer. But if you look through a window, you will be able to see the world beyond.”

In much the same way, the Bible is a window through which we can get a different perspective on the world. Its truths allow us to look beyond the tiny room of our own lives and behold the life that God envisions for us. Indeed, once we catch a glimpse of that world, it is hard to remain satisfied with this one. Simply put, what the Bible does best is to inspire us to establish the kind of world that God intended!

2011-07-01T20:15:00.001-07:00

At the height of his popularity as both a teacher and preacher, Jesus took his disciples to Caesarea Philippi, at the foot of Mt. Hermon, and conducted a brief public opinion poll. “Who do people say that I am?” he asked.

“Well, that’s kind of a tricky question,” they responded. “Some claim that you are John the Baptist returned from the dead. Others suggest Elijah or Jeremiah, or one of the other prophets. It sort of depends on whom you ask.”

Of course, under normal circumstances, to be compared with any of these great prophets would have been considered a high compliment. But I doubt very much if Jesus took it as such, because it meant that people still did not see him as the Messiah. Instead, they saw him as merely another prophet sent to prepare Israel for the true Messiah.

Then again, that may have been part of why he was so popular in the first place. As long as people viewed Jesus as just a messenger and not the genuine Promised One, they could continue to hope for the kind of Messiah they actually wanted. They could admire Jesus’ works and listen attentively to his words; and yet, still hold onto their dreams that, when the real Messiah shows up, things will be different. No longer will there be pain or sorrow. No longer will there be violence or oppression. The poor will have plenty to eat, the homeless places to live, and most important of all, Israel will be restored to her former glory!

Let’s face it; it’s always easier to believe that the Messiah is coming, than it is to believe that the Messiah has already arrived. If the Promised One is still on the way, then at least we have a handy excuse for why the world remains filled with misery and suffering. However, if the Promised One has already been here, then suddenly we have a dilemma on our hands—namely, why is the world such a mess?

Interestingly enough, it is precisely when the disciples start proclaiming Jesus as Messiah that his popularity among the people begins to plummet. Why? Because he isn’t the kind of Messiah they envisioned. In fact, he isn’t even the kind of Messiah they desire. In a word, Jesus is a disappointment.

But therein lies the rub—we don’t get to mold the Messiah into something befitting our own desires. It’s the other way around. The Messiah shapes us to fit his. Hence, Jesus’ original question, back there at Caesarea Philippi, remains a valid one. “Who do you say that I am?”

If you believe that he was really more of a messenger (someone to point the way, rather than someone who is the Way), then you can admire what he said and did, but all the while, secretly keep hoping for someone better—someone who will solve all your problems and satisfy your every wish. However, if you believe that Jesus Christ is the Messiah, then the search is over, and you will need to accept that Jesus did not come to fulfill your wishes. He’s not Santa Claus, or a good luck charm, or your own personal genie.

Maybe the reason the world is still such a mess—despite the fact that the Messiah has already arrived—is because we still have work to do. After all, Jesus told us, “You are the light of the world and the salt of the earth.” Put another way, maybe the question shouldn’t be, “What do we expect of the Messiah?”, but rather, “What does the Messiah expect of us?”

2011-06-26T14:27:00.001-07:00

In an essay written shortly before his death, Walker Percy imagined the following scenario. Suppose a group of top scientists have come together for a weeklong conference to discuss and debate the latest findings on everything from superstring theory to genetic engineering. What would happen, Percy wondered, if in the middle of this meeting, a fire broke out in the convention hall, and a man rushed to the podium and said, “Follow me. I know the way to safety!”

Percy’s conclusion is that the people in the room would quickly be able to distinguish this statement from all of the others they have been discussing. In the first place, the statement “I know the way to safety!” is not a scientific claim. The conferees cannot afford to mull this statement over, debating the pros and cons, and decide to test it out later in a laboratory. An immediate response is required. In the second place, the statement “I know the way to safety!” must be evaluated more on the basis of trust than evidence. In other words, rather than asking the man first to prove that there actually is a fire, the conferees will need to decide, right then and there, whether or not he is trustworthy.

For example, if the man told the scientists to flap their arms and fly out through the skylight, they would likely dismiss him. If he spoke like a lunatic with all manner of ranting and raving, they would likely dismiss him. If they knew him to be a liar, they would likely dismiss him. However, if he spoke with authority, in perfect sobriety, and with every outward sign of good faith and regard for their safety, they would follow him—and likely, with great haste!

The reason I share this hypothetical scenario is to underscore the point that, as Christians, our walk is every bit as important as our talk. Like the man at the podium, we, too, have an urgent message to share; and like his, our message will be evaluated more on the basis of trust than evidence.

Let’s admit it; the claims of Christianity are not the kind that you can analyze in a laboratory, or prove through a series of mathematical equations. We can pontificate on this doctrine or that doctrine until we’re blue in the face; but if we do not appear trustworthy, then most folks will simply dismiss what we are saying as idle chatter.

So how does a Christian appear trustworthy? By having our actions match our words—that’s how. After all, a faith that is professed, but only haphazardly practiced, is hardly a convincing witness. If we want people to follow Christ, we must do more than merely tell them about his life. We must start living it!

2011-06-19T14:38:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that Jesus clearly commanded us to “make disciples of all nations” and spread the good news to “the ends of the earth,” some of us still feel a bit uncomfortable—if not downright intimidated—by the whole idea of evangelism. Part of the problem may be the word itself. Like a lot of “ism” words, some think evangelism carries the connotation of arrogance and ideological superiority, as if the church were saying to the rest of the world, “We have all the answers, you don’t; therefore, you need to wise up and convert!”

But I think the problem actually goes deeper than just the word. It is also one of image. Mention evangelism to most people, and they immediately picture a slickly-dressed TV preacher, or maybe that pushy next-door neighbor, who insists on turning every conversation into an altar call. With these as our prevailing images, it’s no wondering that so many of us have a strong aversion to evangelism.

Perhaps, then, it is time for the church to reclaim the word and change how people perceive it. In the broadest sense, evangelism simply means living the gospel in such a way that it can be seen, heard, and experienced by others. In other words, you don’t have to stand on a street corner handing out pamphlets, or buttonholing strangers at the grocery store and asking, “Have you been saved?” in order to do evangelism.

Thomas Long invites us to think of it this way. Suppose a few inmates in a prisoner-of-war camp manage to construct a crude radio receiver out of a razor blade and some spare scraps of wire. Gathered around this radio late one night, they hear, through the static, a news report informing them that a liberating army is advancing and that their freedom is imminent!

Obviously, this is news of extreme importance, which needs to be shared with their fellow prisoners. No one would dare suggest that it be held, privately and secretly, within the hearts of those who first heard it. They must find a way to tell the others.

However, they also know that doing so will prove difficult—perhaps even dangerous. The reigning powers that still rule the camp will resist the telling of this news at all costs. Moreover, some of the prisoners may have become so despondent in their captivity that they will have trouble believing it. The message of their impending freedom may seem too good to be true. Still, the news must be told; the only question is how.

Standing in the midst of the POW camp and shouting it at the top of their lungs is one option. Whispering it from prisoner to prisoner in the stillness of the night might be another. But make no mistake; at the very least, those who have heard the good news will start acting differently because of it!

In much the same fashion, Christians have received news that is simply too wonderful to be kept all to ourselves. It must be shared with the world. Now, some would have you believe that the only way to do this is to start canvassing the neighborhood and knocking on doors. But I beg to differ. There is no single, right way to do evangelism, because what is well received by one person may be off-putting to another.

We should be getting the message out, to be sure. But if you ask me, the place to start is by living our own lives differently in light of what we now know to be true. After all, in Jesus Christ, we are no longer captives; we have been set free!

2011-06-12T12:19:00.001-07:00

There are two occasions recorded in the gospels when Jesus weeps. The first is standing at the tomb of his dear friend Lazarus. Even though Lazarus is about to be raised from the dead, Jesus sees how grief-stricken the crowds are, and he is moved to tears. The second is when Jesus is approaching Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. He sees the Holy City and cries over it, because he knows that it still doesn’t recognize “the things that make for peace.”

We know that Jesus wept; but did he ever laugh? The scriptures do not specifically mention such a time. Indeed, in the 11th century, John of Chrysostom insisted that the serious nature of Christ’s ministry actually prevented him from “engaging in moments of humor or frivolity.” The Second Council of Constance in 1418 took it one step further, declaring that “any minister or monk who spoke jocular words that might provoke a congregation to laughter would be subject to eternal damnation.”

Ouch. If that’s true, then I’m in a whole heap of trouble!

Frankly, I don’t think John of Chrysostom or the Council of Constance could have been more wrong. If you ask me, the Bible is filled with humor. Think of the story of Abraham and Sarah, for example. They are both getting up there in years, when an angel informs them that they had better check out whether Medicare has a maternity plan, because they are about to have a baby. According to one account, Abraham laughs so hard he literally falls on his face. In another version, Sarah is the one who giggles herself silly. But of course, it’s God who has the last laugh, because when the child is born, Abraham and Sarah are instructed to name him Isaac, which is the Hebrew word for “laughter.”

Consider some of the analogies that Jesus used. Can’t you imagine him chuckling out loud when he speaks of people with a two-by-four in their eye trying to remove a speck of sawdust from their neighbor’s eye? Can’t you see a wry smile on his face when he describes how the Pharisees and scribes “strain out a gnat, but swallow a whole camel”?

Garrison Keillor of “Prairie Home Companion” fame argues that Jesus had a wonderful sense of humor. “He gave his followers a satiric sense of the world, and allowed us to laugh at our own foibles and pretensions, thus transforming the pain involved in ordinary life into a state of gracious joy.”

Think of it this way. What parent doesn’t love to hear their children laugh? Well, how much more so does God take delight in those times when we are delighted? St. Francis of Assisi perhaps said it best: “Leave sadness to the devil. The devil has reason to be sad!”

2011-06-05T11:30:00.001-07:00

A nationwide survey, recently conducted by the Barna Research Group, indicates that the number of unchurched adults in this country is now close to one out of every three—roughly 73 million people. When teenagers and children are included, the total swells to an astonishing 100 million Americans. To put that figure in context, if the unchurched of the United States were a country of its own, it would be the twelfth most populated nation on earth!

Of course, the big question is, “Why are they all leaving the faith?” And the answer, as it turns out, is that they aren’t! According to Barna, many of the unchurched continue to identify themselves as Christians and remain spiritually active. For example, two out of every ten read their Bible weekly, four out of every ten watch a worship service on television or over the internet, six out of every ten pray to God, and nearly one million unchurched adults still tithe—that is, they donate at least 10% of their annual income to charities!

As Barna writes, “A large and growing number of Americans who avoid congregational contact are not rejecting Christianity as much as they are shifting how they interact with God in a strategic effort to have a more fulfilling spiritual life.”

While I am gratified to learn that those who have apparently given up on the church are not, in fact, giving up on Christianity, I can’t help but think of something that John Wesley once observed—namely, “There is no such thing as a solitary Christian.” After all, the vast majority of the New Testament is addressed not to individuals but to communities of believers. If you ask me, something vital is lost when Christianity becomes merely a home correspondence course in self-improvement.

Granted, churches don’t always reflect the kingdom of God as well as they should. But those who reject the church because it is filled with sinners and hypocrites make the erroneous assumption that we, in the church, are embarrassed by our clientele. The church is no more embarrassed over our collection of sinners than a hospital would be ashamed of its sick people.

To be part of a congregation is not to suffer from delusions of sainthood (actually, I have never met anyone in the church with that alleged fantasy). Rather, it is to admit bravely and boldly that we have weaknesses and shortcomings—and more to the point, we wish to work on those in the company of others, instead of continuing to pretend that we can handle life all on our own!

2011-05-29T11:32:00.000-07:00

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” So reads the opening sentence of Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina. Although frequently quoted, I’m not sure that this statement is entirely accurate. True, when you are in the midst of a troubled marriage, it can often feel as if the problems that you and your spouse are having are unique just to the two of you. However, from my experience as a counselor, troubled marriages tend to share many things in common. The particular dynamic may vary from couple to couple, but the destructive patterns that couples develop are usually the same.

Permit me to lift up one for your consideration—namely, the inability, or perhaps the unwillingness, to distinguish between complaining and criticizing. Granted, we sometimes use these words interchangeably, but there is actually a very important distinction. A complaint is a statement of displeasure, or even anger, about a specific situation. A criticism involves blaming—or worse yet, personally attacking—whomever you feel is responsible for that situation.

For example, a complaint might sound something like this: “It upsets me that, when I came home tonight, there were still dirty dishes in the sink. I thought you said this morning that you would wash them.” A criticism (about the same situation, mind you) would sound more like this: “You left the dirty dishes in the sink again! Did you forget to wash them, or were you just too plain lazy? I can’t trust you to do anything, can I?”

Make no mistake; both statements are expressing anger. The difference is that the first statement is pointing out a problem you have with a given situation, while the second is pointing a finger of blame at your spouse. It may seem like I’m splitting hairs here; but trust me, it feels far worse to be on the receiving end of a criticism than a complaint. Moreover, a criticism is far more likely to produce defensiveness, or even resentment, in your spouse than a complaint.

Best to be honest, very few couples can completely avoid having differences of opinion over the course of a marriage. Indeed, expressing those differences—airing a complaint, if you will—though hardly a pleasant experience, is much healthier in the long run than simply bottling up one’s emotions for the sake of keeping the peace.

The real question is how the couple chooses to express their differences. Please don’t misunderstand; being critical is not evil. In the life of a marriage, it sometimes becomes necessary to point out one another’s faults. But if you are not careful, it is also very easy to start out complaining and end up criticizing. Hence, the key is to state your grievance in a manner that your spouse will not hear as a personal attack. Remember, when you are having an argument, the goal is always to try and solve the problem … not just lash out at your partner!

2011-05-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

Most people today take it for granted that to be a Christian means you believe a particular set of truths (e.g., God exists, Scripture is inspired, Jesus Christ rose from the dead, and so forth). Of course, for some, this list would be rather lengthy and include such beliefs as the Virgin Birth, the miracles of Jesus, the Second Coming, and the fact that the world was created in six days. For others, the list would be very specific—baptism is valid only for adults, the bread and wine of communion are literally the body and blood of Christ, and in order to get into heaven, you must be “born again.”

Regardless of whether the list is long or short, specific or general, the common perception is that Christianity requires that you believe certain things are true, and other things are not. Indeed, in some circles, the word “believer” is synonymous with being a Christian. Hence, the question “Are you a believer?” is often just another way of asking, “Are you a Christian?”

However, this preoccupation with correct beliefs has also had a significant (albeit unintentional) consequence—namely, it has tended to intellectualize Christianity and has turned faith into something that is primarily sorted out in one’s head. Since this is the dominant way faith is currently understood, it may surprise you to learn that, prior to the Enlightenment, faith was viewed quite differently. It was not so much a matter of the head, as it was a matter of the heart.

For example, consider the Latin word “credo”—the first word in both the Nicene and Apostles’ Creed. Traditionally, we translate credo to mean “I believe.” And frankly, some people have trouble with creeds, precisely because they think that saying “I believe” is tantamount to saying “I hereby affirm the literal truth, and factual accuracy, of the following statements.”

However, if you look at its Latin roots, the word credo is actually closer in meaning to “I give my heart to,” or “I commit my loyalty to.” Thus, when we say “I believe” at the beginning of a creed, we are not merely asserting the validity of a particular set of intellectual propositions. What we are affirming is, “I give my heart to God.”

And who is this God to whom we are giving our hearts and pledging our allegiances? The rest of the creed goes on to answer that question. “God, the Maker of heaven and earth … God, whose only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ, is of one substance with the Father … God, the Holy Spirit, the Giver and Sustainer of Life.”

Put another way, the object of our faith is not a series of statements; it is a person. After all, Jesus didn’t say, “This is the truth”; he said, “I am the truth.”

2011-05-15T16:03:00.001-07:00

To my thinking, there are basically two ways of understanding the character of God. The first is to see God as a God of requirements and rewards. Much like an all-powerful king, God sets down a series of laws—Thou shalt and Thou shalt not—and it is up to us either to comply, or suffer the consequences. In its most extreme form, this would be somewhat akin to how God is portrayed in the best-selling series of “Left Behind” books; the God who stands ready to render judgment at the end of time—rescuing some, and destroying all the rest. In its less extreme form, this is the God revealed in the person of Jesus Christ, who died on the cross for our sins. The only catch is that you have to believe that in order to be saved. Those who do not believe it—including those who, for whatever reason, have never been given the opportunity to—will find themselves forever shut out from salvation. Simply put, if you wish to receive God’s reward, then you must first meet God’s requirements.

The second way of understanding God’s character is to see God as a God of love, who stands ready to accept everyone—not just those who profess the faith, or who have been “born again,” or who regularly worship in a Christian congregation. God’s acceptance of us is unconditional—meaning that it is not dependent upon the doctrines we proclaim or the deeds we perform. Anyone who preaches a gospel of grace, but insists on adding an “if”—as in, “God will love and accept you, if you do x, y, or z”—has completely missed the point. The unconditional acceptance of God is a love that has no ifs, ands, or buts!

Another way of picturing this is to think of a God of works (requirements and rewards) versus a God of grace (unconditional acceptance); and depending on which side of that spectrum you happen to land, the Christian message will be heard as “bad news” or “good news.” The “bad news” version is that there will be a final exam (either at the end of our individual lives or at the end of history), and you had better study up and be ready for it, or else you’ll be in a whole heap of trouble. The “good news” version is that God is not the least bit interested in testing us, trapping us, or tripping us up. Instead, God wants to transform us.

A common misperception is that these contrasting understandings of God’s character represent the difference between the Old Testament and the New Testament, or if you like, the difference between Judaism and Christianity. However, scriptural evidence for both points of view can be found in either Testament and in both religions.

The real difference is in how you wish to proclaim the gospel, and what you want people to hear. Is Christianity about requirements? So that folks get the message, “Here’s what you need to do to be saved.” Or is it about transformation? “Here’s the path that will change your life: follow it.” Make no mistake; both messages involve imperatives. It’s just that one is a threat, and the other is an invitation!

2011-05-08T13:53:00.001-07:00

The story may be apocryphal, but legend has it that Congressman William Duncan Vandiver, who served in the House of Representatives from 1897 to 1903, once said in a speech, “I come from a state that raises corn, cotton, cockleburs, and Democrats; and frothy eloquence neither convinces nor satisfies me. I am from Missouri. You have got to show me!”

Obviously, the disciple Thomas wasn’t from Missouri; but my guess is that he would have felt right at home there, since he had the same kind of “show me” mindset. He was a realist and a pragmatist, who never shied away from calling a spade a spade. There was that time, for instance, when Jesus informed the disciples that he would be leaving soon, but not to worry, because they knew the way he was going, and in a little while, they would join him there themselves.

The disciples all nodded in agreement … except for Thomas. He broke the silence by stating, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t have the foggiest idea where Jesus was heading, so how on earth was he supposed to get there? “I am the way,” responded Jesus; and while Thomas let it go at that, you can’t help feeling that he found the answer less than satisfactory, and would have preferred something more concrete.

Then, of course, there was that occasion following Easter, when the rest of the disciples kept trying to convince Thomas that they had actually met the Risen Christ. Thomas, however, was a bit skeptical, and speaking like a true Missourian, basically told the others that he’d need to see it for himself. Unless he was personally allowed to inspect the nail marks and place his hand on the gash where the soldier had driven the spear, all of this resurrection talk represented little more to him than wishful thinking.

But eight days later, the very wish Thomas had expressed was granted. The Risen Christ appeared, offering him the opportunity not only to see and hear, but to touch as well; and even good old, doubting Thomas could not hold out against evidence as compelling as that. For the first time in a long time, he was at a complete loss for words. “My Lord and my God!” was all he could manage.

Of course, down through the centuries, various preachers have taken Thomas to task for his lack of faith. But I have always heard good news in this story. What it tells me is that the Risen Christ is willing to come to us even when we are filled with doubts … even when we struggle to make sense of it all … even when we aren’t quite ready to make that leap.

Put another way, we are all at different points along the journey of faith. Some of us are like Peter, who needed only to see the empty tomb in order to believe. Others are like Mary Magdalene, who needed to hear the Risen Christ speak her name in order to believe. Still others are like Thomas, who apparently needed something a little more tangible. The good news is that regardless of where you find yourself on the journey, the Risen Christ is prepared to come and find you!

2011-05-03T06:59:00.000-07:00

From time to time, someone will express to me how good it is to be in church. “I just couldn’t make it Monday through Saturday,” the person will say, “without having my spiritual batteries recharged. Worship is what helps get me through the week!”

There is a lot of truth in that statement, of course. When done well, worship can be instructive and inspiring, and help fortify us for the week ahead. However, worship is also a great deal more. It is not just a holy pep rally aimed at getting us through the next six days. It is meant to change the way we live during those days. In effect, worship gives us a new way of looking at the world, and a fresh vocabulary to describe it.

The renowned physicist Neils Bohr—often credited with being the father of quantum mechanics—once said that the first inkling he had about the nature of the universe came when he was a child gazing into the fish pond at his family home. For hours on end, he would lie beside the pond, watching the fish swim back and forth.

Then one day he suddenly realized that the fish had no idea they were being watched. They were completely unaware of any larger reality. To the fish, sunlight streaming in from above was simply an inner illumination of the pond itself. Even when it rained, the fish saw this not as an event from the outside, but only as mysterious ripples within their own environment. Bohr began to wonder if humans were something like the fish in this regard—being acted on from other dimensions of reality, but unaware of it because of our limited frame of reference.

Bohr’s observation got me to thinking: What if Sunday morning is our chance to lie beside life’s pond, so to speak, and to realize that what often looks and sounds like events within the world are actually interventions from a different realm? What if worship allows us to see and hear what is usually hidden from our eyes and ears during the rest of the week? Namely, that God is present and at work in every corner of our life.

Maybe then we would not so easily say things like, “We go to church on Sunday, and then head back out into the ‘real world.’” As the theologian William Willimon has noted, this expression has it all backwards. Worship is the “real world.” At its most profound, worship is a way of beholding the world as it actually looks in its full, transparent, God-intended reality—a place where we can hear, and see, and experience what is genuinely true about our lives.

Put another way, the reason why we sometimes miss how God is at work in our lives is the same reason that fish don’t notice the water—we’re living in the midst of it. Indeed, it’s what makes our lives possible!

2011-04-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

Every couple of years—usually just in time for Easter—a new book will appear, questioning whether the resurrection was actually part of an elaborate hoax, carefully planned out by the disciples and covered up by the church ever since. As far as I can tell, people keep buying these books, so apparently there is still a healthy appetite among those who hunger and thirst for the latest conspiracy theory. However, this particular theory is not exactly new. In fact, it’s been around as long as Easter itself.

According to the Gospel of Matthew, the chief priests approached Pilate shortly after Jesus died, and suggested that Roman guards be stationed at the tomb—just in case the disciples might attempt to steal the body, and start a rumor that he had been raised from the dead. But since Pilate was hardly in favor of crucifying Jesus to begin with, he wasn’t about to dispatch valuable military personnel to baby-sit the man’s corpse. “Don’t you have soldiers?” he asked them, rather sarcastically. “Well, knock yourselves out. Go and make the tomb as secure as you can.”

Which is precisely what they did—or at least what they tried to do. It was only when Jesus shook loose the shackles of death and strolled out of the cemetery that the chief priests decided that perhaps a rumor was better than the truth after all. So they concocted the wild tale that, as the guards were taking their rest, the disciples took the body!

I suppose part of what fuels all of these conspiracy theories is that, for some reason, the risen Christ doesn’t make many public appearances. He never visits Pilate, for example; or Caiaphas, or any of the chief priests. He doesn’t parade up and down the main streets of Jerusalem, or stand out in front of the Temple so that the crowds can “ooh” and “aah” in amazement. He comes only to those who had been willing to come to him in the first place.

In other words, it is Christians who witnessed the resurrection. Thus, Christians bear the primary responsibility for proclaiming it to the world. If the true meaning of Easter dwindles down to little more than colored eggs and chocolate bunnies, it won’t be Pilate’s fault. We can’t blame the government, or the school system, or big business, or an indifferent society for not getting the message out—because the risen Christ did not come to any of them. He came to us. This is our story to tell!

And if the world is ever going to believe that Jesus got up from the grave on Easter Sunday morning, it will only be because we, who believe it, get up and start declaring it. After all, everyone already knows that Jesus lived. That’s a matter of public record. Everyone already knows that Jesus died. That, too, is a matter of public record. But the fact that, on the third day, Jesus rose from the dead—that is not a matter of public record. As the church, we are the ones who bear witness to the resurrection!

2011-04-17T15:22:00.001-07:00

In John’s Gospel, the very first time Jesus lays eyes on Simon and invites him to take up a new profession—namely, fishing for people—Jesus also informs him that he’ll be doing so with a new identity. From here on out, he will be known as Cephas, which is Aramaic for Peter, and which, in the Greek, means “rock.” Peter the Rock. But whenever Jesus meant business, he usually reverted back to Peter’s birth name and addressed him as “Simon, son of John”—kind of the way my mother used to call me “Robert Samuel” whenever she wanted to make sure I was really paying attention!

A good example of this is at Caesarea Philippi, when Jesus begins to inquire about the word on the street. “Who do people say that I am?” he asks the disciples. They quickly rattle off a number of possibilities—apparently thinking this is a multiple-choice question. “Some say John the Baptist returned from the dead; others think Elijah, or maybe Jeremiah. It sort of depends on whom you ask,” they seem to agree.

“Well, I’m asking you,” replies Jesus. “Who do YOU say that I am?” At which point, the silence becomes deafening, until good old, impulsive Peter weighs in with a rock-solid profession of faith. “You are the Christ,” he blurts out, “the Son of the living God!”

It was a gutsy thing to say, and everybody knew it. In some circles it would have been considered blasphemy, which is why, instead of calling him Peter, Jesus responds, “Blessed are you, Simon, son of John”—indicating both that the answer was correct, and that Jesus wanted to make sure Peter was paying attention to it.

Of course, Peter won’t always be so bold. There is that time in the high priest’s courtyard, during Jesus’ interrogation, when Peter is warming himself by the fire, and a young girl decides to launch into her own interrogation. Three times she asks him if he has any connection with the accused, because she’d swear he did; and each time Peter swears just as vehemently that he doesn’t know what in God’s name she’s talking about. And then, suddenly, the cock crows, reminding Peter of his failure to profess the faith when it really counts; and the tears run down his face like rain washing over a rock.

He gets a chance to redeem himself, though, following the resurrection, when the Risen Christ appears to the disciples on the beach at daybreak. After breakfast, he turns to Peter—only, once again, he calls him, “Simon, son of John,” because if there was ever a time when Peter needed to pay attention, that was it—and asks him three times, “Do you love me?”

Some have suggested that Peter’s threefold affirmation, here at the end, is meant to make up for his threefold denial earlier—and I’m sure that’s part of it. But I also think that Jesus may have been doing what he could to restore Peter’s confidence, so that, from here on out, his faith would be as sturdy and unmovable as a rock!

2011-04-10T16:31:00.001-07:00

Nobody knows for sure who actually wrote the Gospel of Mark because the book itself never says. Some claim that it is the same John Mark who turns up later in the Book of Acts as a missionary traveling companion of the Apostle Paul. Others speculate that, perhaps, it’s the young man who was there in Gethsemane the night Jesus is arrested, and who somehow manages to wrestle free from the soldiers—but not without leaving behind the linen cloth he was wearing, so that he goes scampering off, scared to death and naked as the day he was born! Mark is the only gospel writer who reports that strange incident; and since it’s the kind of thing you’d most likely remember if it happened to you, it could well be autobiographical. Who knows?

One thing seems certain; whoever Mark was, he wrote his gospel as if he was in a hurry to get the story down as quickly as possible. Hence, he leaves out a great deal. There’s nothing about Jesus’ birth, for example—no angel Gabriel, no startled shepherds, no wise men, no Herod, no star. There’s precious little about Jesus’ continued run-ins with the Pharisees, no Sermon on the Mount, no Lord’s Prayer, and only four parables. The word “immediately” becomes one of Mark’s favorites. He uses it three times more than Matthew or Luke, and fifteen times more than John!

But as frantic as the pace is in Mark’s Gospel, when the end finally comes, even he has to slow down. Almost half of his gospel is devoted to that last week in Jerusalem. And when Jesus is nailed to the cross, Mark actually takes the time to give us both his last words, and the language in which he spoke them—“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani”—which Mark translates, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Only Matthew has the stomach to corroborate that. Luke and John either didn’t recall our Lord saying those words, or what is more likely, couldn’t quite bring themselves to report it.

Still, if you ask me, the most intriguing aspect of Mark’s Gospel is where he chooses to stop. Three women go the tomb first thing Easter morning and find it empty. A young man, dressed in white, informs them rather matter-of-factly, “Jesus is not here. He has been raised. Go tell the disciples that he will meet them in Galilee.” At which point, the women flee the cemetery as if the place had been set on fire—and, in a sense, I suppose it had been. Like the burning bush of old, or the pillar of fire that guided the Israelites through the wilderness, the world was now ablaze with the glory of God!

However, as Mark makes clear, these women are not running out of excitement or amazement, or even because “good news travels fast.” The reason for this early, Easter morning sprint, says Mark, is because the women are scared; and as a result, “they said nothing to anyone.” End of story. End of gospel.

Of course, later editors would come to view this ending as being far too abrupt—and frankly, somewhat anticlimactic—and so, they took it upon themselves to add a dozen extra verses, just to round things off and give the story a more fitting conclusion. However, I am inclined to believe that Mark ended the gospel exactly where he intended. Sure, the women may have run off, filled with fear; but the point is—Fear doesn’t have the last word; God does! “Jesus of Nazareth has been raised from the dead,” says the young man in dazzling white. That’s the last word; and when you think about it, what more really needs to be said? So Mark put down his pen, then and there, and stopped writing—almost as if he was subtly saying to all of us, “Okay, enough reading … now it’s time for you to respond!”

2011-04-03T15:28:00.001-07:00

Pontius Pilate’s official title was Prefect of Judea. There were about forty different prefects that made up the Roman Empire during the first century. However, I think it’s safe to say that if you were to rank those jurisdictions in order of importance—or better yet, in terms of prestige—Judea would have landed somewhere near the bottom of the list. It was the kind of job where, if you did well, you could look forward to the promise of being promoted to bigger and better things. But if you did not do well, then you could pretty much kiss your political career good-bye.

The fact that Pilate winds up there in 26 A.D. is a sign that Rome was not terribly impressed with his leadership skills to begin with; and when he manages to stir up a hornet’s nest, shortly after arriving, those suspicious were confirmed. His first mistake is to hang gold-coated shields, glorifying the Roman Empire, throughout Herod’s palace in Jerusalem. Needless to say, the Jewish leaders found such images offensive—if not downright blasphemous—and immediately file a formal complaint with Emperor Tiberius, who sends a message to Pilate ordering him to take down the shields and watch his step from here on out. Strike one!

His second mistake, a few years later, is even more egregious. He raids the Temple treasury—money dedicated to God, mind you—and uses it to fund a pet project of his—the Pontius Pilate Aqueduct, of all things. Once again, the leaders throw a fit and report him to Rome. This time Tiberius summons Pilate to appear in person, and basically tells him, “I’m going to give you exactly one more shot at this. But if I hear so much as a peep out of Palestine, then feel free to notify your next-of-kin.” Strike two!

With two strikes against him, Pilate knows he must keep the peace, no matter what the cost, and on Good Friday morning, at about 6:00 a.m., he learns just how steep a price that will be. The chief priests show up, unannounced and uninvited, with a convicted criminal—someone they claim deserves the death penalty. But as Pilate repeatedly points out, in order to be a criminal, there first needs to be a crime. Sure, this man may have committed a religious faux pas, and stepped on a few Pharisaic toes along the way, but that meant nothing to him, and frankly, he couldn't have cared less. “See to it yourselves,” he tells them.

However, when the chief priests remind Pilate that he’s down to his final strike, and they’d be only too happy to inform Tiberius that he’s “no friend of Caesar’s,” Pilate caves and orders the man crucified. Still, just to make it perfectly clear that he wants no part in this dirty business, he has a basin filled with water and ceremonially washes his hands of the whole affair.

The historical record gets a little sketchy after that. Some reports have Pilate finally being driven into exile by Caligula, Tiberius’ successor; and eventually committing suicide somewhere around 37 A.D. But there’s no hard evidence of that. The one thing we know for sure is that the chief reason Pilate’s name is remembered today—in fact, it’s the only reason—is that he sent an innocent man to the cross for no good reason, and against his better judgment. It’s highly unlikely, of course, that Pilate went out to witness the execution firsthand. But if he had, he might have heard words that were directed as much to him as to the rest of us—“Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing!”

2011-03-27T13:12:00.001-07:00

Scott Peck, author of the bestselling book The Road Less Traveled, was once asked by his spiritual advisor, “Do you have specific times during the day when you pray?” “Not really,” he replied; and then went on to explain, “To set aside particular times seems kind of rigid and lacking spontaneity.”

“Maybe so,” the spiritual advisor countered, “but what I hear you saying is that you communicate with God only when you feel like it, only when you are in the mood to pray. That suggests to me that it is a very one-way relationship. If you love God as much as you claim—and I believe you do—don’t you think you owe it to God to make yourself available at certain times, whether you feel like it or not?”

That insightful comment proved a real eye-opener for Scott Peck—and to be honest, when I first read it, it was something of an epiphany for me as well. Like Peck, I pray every day, but it tended to be random and haphazard. I didn’t really have a set time to pray—7:00 am, 11:00 pm, or whatever. Basically, I prayed whenever I felt the need to, or whenever a situation arose for which I desired God’s input.

But the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder: What does this actually say about my relationship with God? Is prayer an activity I enter into only when it is convenient, or necessary, or when I am properly motivated? Am I willing to intentionally set aside time for God, or am I presuming that the Almighty is at my beck and call?

So, recently, I started to carve out a specific time each day for prayer. Not sermon preparation, or Bible study—just prayer. Admittedly, it took some effort and discipline, and felt a little unnatural at first. But, as best I could, I tried to find a time when I would be undistracted and undisturbed—a sacred time, if you will.

And what I discovered is that my prayer life became much less driven by personal agenda. In other words, I wasn’t going to God only when I needed something or wanted something. I was going to God simply to spend time with the One who knows me better than I know myself, and who can certainly make me better than I could ever become all on my own!

I pass this along because it has made a difference for me, and perhaps will do the same for some of you. In effect, rather than being a means to an end, prayer has become an end, in and of itself.

2011-03-20T16:41:00.001-07:00

There are numerous verses in the Bible that refer to “the fear of God.” When Abraham is preparing to sacrifice Isaac, for example, an angel calls out to him, “Do not lay your hand on the boy, or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God.” The opening chapter of Proverbs declares, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”; and a little later, “The fear of the Lord prolongs one’s life.” Job is praised for being “blameless and upright, and one who fears God.” Paul writes that we should “bring our holiness to completion in the fear of God,” while Peter encourages us to “honor everyone, love your brothers and sisters in Christ, and fear God!”

For a lot of folks, though, this phrase is problematic because it conjures up the image of an all-powerful, authoritarian God, who knows our every secret thought or hidden desire, and who is just itching to start hurling thunderbolts the moment we step out of line. Indeed, we’ll sometimes speak of having a “come to Jesus” meeting with someone, in order to put “the fear of God” into him or her.

But in the Bible, “fear of God” does not mean being “afraid of God,” for the simple reason that fear is predominantly a negative emotion. It is constricting and limiting. It makes us either want to flee from whatever is frightening, or else try to defend ourselves against it. A better translation for “fear of God” would be awe or reverence. Granted, awe is similar to fear, in the sense that we feel overwhelmed by someone, or something, far greater and more powerful than ourselves. But unlike fear, awe is a positive emotion, an expansive feeling. Whereas fear makes us want to run in the opposite direction, awe makes us want to draw closer (although we still might be a bit hesitant about getting too close).

Picture it this way: To stand at the edge of a steep cliff, looking straight down, is likely to generate fear for most of us (if not outright panic!). We would certainly try to get away from such a place as quickly as possible. However, to stand on a mountaintop, surveying the majestic landscape, will likely generate a feeling of awe. We would stay in a place like that for as long as we could. Of the two, being in the presence of God more closely resembles the mountaintop experience!

The mistake we make in interpreting “fear of God” to mean “being frightened” is that we turn God into a nagging parent, or worse yet, a stern taskmaster, with report card in hand, who is just waiting to give us a failing grade. But as the Apostle Paul reminds us, “God is on our side. God is for us, not against us!” Does God still seek our obedience? Absolutely. But not because we feel intimidated or afraid of what God will do to us if we don’t. God takes no pleasure in mindless, groveling, scared-to-death servitude. The reason we are instructed to obey God’s will is because, by so doing, we can reach our full potential as God’s children. In other words, God wants the best for you and me—and knowing that ought to make us feel … well, awesome!

2011-03-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of the bestselling book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, tells the story of a man who once came to him for counseling. “For the first time in my life,” the man confided to Kushner, “I attended the funeral of someone my own age. I didn’t know him all that well, but we worked together, and talked from time to time. Apparently, it was a massive brain aneurism. He just went to bed one night and never woke up. They have already replaced him at the office; and I understand his wife and children are moving to another state to be closer to her parents. Two weeks ago, this guy was working fifty feet from my desk, and now it’s as if he never even existed.”

The man continued, “Rabbi, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since. I keep thinking that it could have been me; that one day I will die, and people will mourn me for a week or two, and then move on with their lives. It’s like a rock thrown into a pond. For a few seconds, there are ripples; but as soon as the water settles, everything returns to normal. Shouldn’t someone’s life have more significance than that?”

Kushner shares this story because he is convinced that what truly haunts us—indeed, what sometimes keeps us awake at night—is not the fear of death. It is the fear that, in the greater scheme of things, our lives will not have mattered; that as far as the world is concerned, our brief sojourn here is of little consequence. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If a person lives and dies, and the world just continues on as it always has, was that person ever really alive?

I think Kushner may be on to something. A lot of the people who set up a counseling appointment with me, come into my office wanting to discuss a certain issue. However, in the course of the conversation, I begin to discern that the issue the person initially planned on discussing is actually the symptom of a much deeper problem—namely, this person’s desperate search for meaning and purposefulness. Their lives may be successful or unsuccessful, filled with pleasure or filled with strife. But do their lives, in fact, mean anything?

To put it a different way, the question that tugs at most of us, day in and day out, is “Why am I here?” Is my life worth anything? Would my sudden absence leave the world poorer, or just less crowded? It’s not an easy question to answer; but in my experience, it is an even harder one to avoid. The need for meaning in our lives is not a biological need, like the need for food or sleep. Neither is it a psychological need, like the need for acceptance or self-esteem. Ultimately, it is a religious need, a thirst that rises up from our very souls. Hence, the only way to answer it is to look to the One who put us here in the first place. The next time you are wrestling with the question of whether your life has any meaning, consider the cross and what Christ was willing to do to win back your life. That should tell you everything you need to know about how much you are worth!

2011-03-06T13:31:00.001-08:00

In recent years, a host of books have hit the shelves attempting to lift up the virtue of “looking out for number one.” Basically, what they suggest is that the world out there is dog-eat-dog, not dog-nurture-dog. It’s made up of winners and losers; and if you wish to be counted among the former, then you had better start looking out for yourself, because if you don’t, no one else will!

On the one hand, I can certainly understand the appeal of such thinking. Many of our daily “to do” lists are filled only with obligations to others—things we “have to do,” “need to do,” or are “expected to do.” There are meetings to attend, emails to return, customers to satisfy, bills to pay, homes to maintain, children to raise, and on and on it goes. The humorist Sam Levenson once quipped, “When I was a kid, they told me to do whatever my parents wanted. When I became a parent, they told me to do whatever my kids wanted. Will somebody please tell me: When do I get to do what I want?” A lot of us, I suspect, can relate to that.

But on the other hand, while I understand the allure of “looking out for number one,” I am not convinced that it actually works as a philosophy of life. The creed of the narcissist—“I’m not here to worry about your needs, nor do I expect you to worry about mine”—is not unique to this generation. As a matter of fact, it’s as old as humankind itself. When God asks Cain the whereabouts of his brother Abel, Cain famously replies: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Mind you, he is saying this not to justify murdering his brother, but to justify his utter lack of concern. “I look out for my own interests,” reasons Cain, “and he looks out for his. It’s every man for himself in this crazy world.”

And what is Cain’s punishment? He becomes a wanderer upon the face of the earth, with no place to call home; no community to support or comfort him. In effect, Cain is the first one to adopt the philosophy of “looking out for number one,” and the consequence is that he spends the rest of his days lost and disconnected. The aforementioned books will tell you that, being unconcerned about the needs of others, allows one to climb the ladder of success with single-minded determination. But once you have reached the uppermost rungs, and are looking down on everybody else, then where are you? All alone—that’s where!

Way back at the beginning, when God first fashioned the heavens and the earth, everything that sprang forth was declared to be “good.” It was created, evaluated, and immediately given the stamp of divine approval. The only thing God deemed “unsatisfactory” was loneliness. “It is not good that the man should be alone,” said God.

That, in a nutshell, is the problem with “looking out for number one.” If you are interested only in looking out for yourself, then you will eventually end up looking out at the rest of the world, all by yourself!

2011-02-27T14:25:00.001-08:00

Until last week, Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter were the most successful contestants ever to have competed on the quiz show Jeopardy. Alas, it now appears that an asterisk will need to be placed next to their names, indicating that they are merely the most successful “flesh-and-blood” contestants. As you may have heard, the “Watson” computer (named after IBM founder Thomas Watson) thoroughly trounced both of them—and on national TV, no less!

Of course, in fairness, it should be noted that Watson is more than just a single computer. He (or it, I guess) is actually 2,800 computers, all cleverly linked together, and into which IBM researchers poured a sea of knowledge—everything from Bible verses to Beatles songs (the rough equivalent of a byte for every book in the Library of Congress). The servers alone occupied the size of a small, one-room apartment. Still, given our track record with computer miniaturization, it isn’t hard to imagine that, one day, Watson’s offspring could shrink down to the size of a smartphone.

So should we be panicked by this latest machine-over-man triumph? Are all of those sci-fi movies—where robots take over the world, and keep humans around as pets—about to be played out in real life? Doubtful. If you ask me, there is much more to admire than fear about Watson’s performance. For example, just imagine a Watson-like machine programmed with every medical journal article ever written, as well as the histories of millions of patients, and how helpful that might potentially prove in diagnosing and treating complex diseases.

Moreover, despite Watson’s obvious proficiency at spitting out miscellaneous facts and figures, knowledge without understanding, or judgment, is always limited. Sure, a computer may be able to guide a spaceship, with pinpoint accuracy, to land on Mars. But can it dream of traveling to Mars in the first place? A computer may be able to calculate the value of pi to the nth decimal place. But can it find beauty in a sunrise, or be inspired by a work of art, or appreciate the giggle of a child at play?

Some of the smartest people I have ever met have also been the most clueless, for the simple reason that having vast amounts of information about life and knowing how to live it are two very different things. I dare say, you can study every book ever published on swimming; but until you actually climb into the water, you won’t have the slightest inkling what it’s like.

Should we be impressed that a computer won on Jeopardy? Absolutely. If nothing else, it is a testimony to human ingenuity. But I don’t think we need to be overly intimidated by it. The computer is an amazing invention, no doubt. However, unlike us, it is still just an invention, not a creation!

2011-02-20T11:50:00.000-08:00

In an editorial I read recently, it was observed that, within our society, there is a fundamental conflict. On the one hand, we love to enjoy ourselves. We want to eat well, dress well, live well; and of course, pride ourselves on possessing whatever is the latest and greatest. As the editorial pointed out, many of us equip our cars more lavishly than the majority of the world furnishes their homes.

And yet, on the other hand, we are spiritual children of the Puritans, who viewed life as a grim and serious business—with the sins of pleasure always trying to tempt us from the paths of righteousness. Indeed, so suspicious were the Puritans of anything pleasurable that they actually passed a law prohibiting laughter on the Sabbath!

Both of these tendencies run deep in our society; and frankly, we have never really figured out how to reconcile the two. One voice inside our heads says, “Enjoy!” while the other says, “Abstain!” One voice says, “Life is short; better make the most of it” while the other says, “Life is short; better not waste it on frivolous pursuits.” One voice says, “Follow your bliss, and do whatever gives you pleasure” while the other says, “Follow the Lord, and do only what pleases God.” No wonder we are confused!

Some have claimed that the source of this inner conflict is our appetites. Ever since Eve first gazed upon the forbidden fruit and saw that it was “good to eat and a delight to the eyes,” we have learned that being led by our appetites is an open invitation for disaster. Hence, we are taught to suppress our appetites, restrain our desires, control our urges—as if these were bad things, filled with evil intent.

But hold on a moment. Who made the forbidden fruit good to eat and a delight to the eyes? Who gave us the capacity to be enthralled by beauty, or excited by pleasure, or swept off our feet by the thrill of being in love? God did! In the Talmud (the collected wisdom of the earliest rabbis), it is written, “In the world to come, each of us will be called to account for all the good things God put on this earth which we refused to enjoy.”

Isn’t that a remarkable statement? No shame or scorn for our appetites and desires. Instead, a sense of reverence for the pleasures of life which God put here for our enjoyment. Of course, like all gifts, the pleasures of life can be misused; but in such cases, the fault becomes ours, not God’s. I am inclined to believe that viewing our appetites with disgust, or even mistrust, is as much a heresy as viewing them with unqualified adoration.

We were not created to live solely in pursuit of our own happiness—that’s true. But neither were we created to deny ourselves happiness. The key, it seems to me, is finding the proper balance between what gives us pleasure and what delights God—and ultimately, if that balance is achieved, we may discover that what gives us pleasure and what delights God are one and the same!

2011-02-13T13:41:00.001-08:00

God has made a covenant with us … or to be more precise, God has made a number of covenants with us—in large part because we seemed to have trouble living up to our end of the bargain. However, the fact that God has kept reaching out to us, time and time again, also provides a compelling demonstration of how much we are loved. The word “covenant” means “coming together”—which, of course, is exactly what God has desired from the very beginning. God wants to “come together” with us.

Generally speaking, throughout the Old Testament, the covenants take the form of “God-for-us.” In other words, God will be on our side—defending us against enemies, protecting us from dangers, delivering us from oppression. A perfect example is the covenant reached at Mount Sinai, with Moses presiding. “I shall be your God, and you shall be my people,” says the Lord. That is, if we continue to obey God’s commandments. If not, then the covenant is rendered null and void.

By way of contrast, the covenant reached in the Upper Room, with Jesus presiding, is of a whole different nature. Jesus raises his cup and announces to the disciples, “This is the new covenant in my blood.” Like Moses, Jesus also believed that, if we continue to obey God’s commandments, God will be for us. However, here he is saying something beyond that. He is affirming that, even if we don’t obey the commandments, God will still be on our side. That is, God’s part of the covenant will be upheld, whether we decide to keep our part or not.

In effect, with the arrival of Jesus Christ, the covenant shifts from being “God-for-us” to being “God-with-us”—meaning that, even in those times when we break the covenant, we do not render it null and void, because as Paul reminds us, nothing in heaven or on earth can ever separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord!

And finally, when the risen Christ prepares to ascend to the right hand of God, he promises the disciples the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Greek word for “spirit” here is “pneuma,” which means “breath.” Thus, the full depth of God’s series of covenants is, at last, revealed, because God now draws as close to us as our own breath.

Put another way, as we move from Moses to Jesus to Pentecost, we move from “God-for-us” to “God-with-us” to “God-within-us.” They are different kinds of covenants, to be sure. But the intent behind them is always the same—namely, God’s eternal desire to “come together” with us!

2011-01-30T16:22:00.001-08:00

Forgiveness is not only an extremely difficult thing to do; I would maintain that, if we are trying to do it all by ourselves, it is pretty near impossible. Jesus once told his disciples, “If a brother or sister wrongs you 490 times in a row, and each time returns and says, ‘I am so sorry,’ you must forgive him or her.”

But have you ever actually tried to do that? It ain’t easy, let me tell you. Even in those times when I have finally worked up the courage to stammer out the words, “I forgive you,” my heart has often remained angry and resentful. Secretly, I have still desired the satisfaction of the other telling me that I was right all along … I still wanted the other to make it up to me somehow, rather than merely saying, “Sorry about that” … I still sought some kind of praise in return—if only the praise of being so magnanimous!

I guess that just goes to show you how much my forgiveness pales in comparison to God’s because God’s forgiveness is unconditional. It is not determined by how profoundly, or profusely, we apologize. It is not determined by our past record of performance, or by the fact that this particular sin represents a “first time offense.” There’s nothing in the Bible which indicates that God grades on the curve!

Some have argued that God cannot forgive us unless (a) we acknowledge our wrongdoing, and (b) we repent of it. But frankly, I’ve never bought into that notion. If God cannot reach out to us until we first reach out to God, then that puts us in the driver’s seat. We are the ones calling the shots—and when it comes to forgiveness, that’s just not the case. God always makes the first move.

In order for God’s forgiveness to be truly unconditional, it cannot be determined by the sinner or by the sin. It doesn’t matter if we have committed a “heavyweight” sin, or a “lightweight” sin, or a “welterweight” sin. It doesn’t matter if we meant well but inadvertently messed things up, or whether we clearly knew better but decided to do it anyway. God will continue to forgive us simply because it is God’s nature to be forgiving.

The well-known petition from the Lord’s Prayer—“Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors”—is frequently interpreted to mean that God can only forgive us to the extent, or to the same degree, that we forgive others. But, once again, that puts us in control—and we’re not. Never have been, never will be.

I would like to suggest that what Jesus is really saying is, “First, receive God’s forgiveness—unconditionally and unilaterally—and then allow that same forgiveness to flow through you and be shared with others.” In other words, just as you have been forgiven … forgive those around you!

2011-01-23T14:25:00.000-08:00

During the first century, Corinth was the commercial capital of the Mediterranean. Situated on a narrow isthmus, the city literally bridged northern Greece with the southern Peloponnesian peninsula; and since it was only four miles across from sea to shining sea, it was easily accessible to both the Adriatic and the Aegean. As a result, almost everything that could be bought, sold, or traded eventually made its way through there.

However, as the Apostle Paul soon discovered, exotic merchandise wasn’t the only thing being offered at bargain basement prices. Moral standards and common decency had also been drastically discounted. In fact, Corinth claimed the rare distinction of actually having its name turned into a verb. To “corinthianize” was a slang term which meant “to go to the dogs”—presumably because it was only wild, ravenous beasts that would feel at home there.

It would be difficult to imagine a more unlikely place for a New Church Development, and most scholars surmise that it was never a particularly large congregation. But for a church with just handful of members, it had a host of problems.

For starters, the members were divided into factions—with some boasting that they deserved preferential treatment because they had been baptized by Paul, while others asserted the superiority of being baptized by Peter. They were split over matters of worship style—traditional vs. contemporary. They were debating sexual ethics and scriptural authority. They were tearing themselves apart over the priority and importance of spiritual gifts. They couldn’t agree on how to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. And most of the members had serious doubts about the historical reality of the resurrection.

Other than that, they were doing just fine!

The Apostle Paul responds by reminding the Corinthians that, despite their differences, they are still members of the same body—the Body of Christ. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need for you.” Nor should the head suggest to the feet, “Since we do different things, you should belong to a different body.”

It is a wonderful image. But of course, it’s one thing to believe that we are members of the same body; it’s another thing to behave like we are. In my experience, most conflicts in the church develop because the brains want everyone to act like brains … and the hearts want everyone to act like hearts … and usually, there is a hangnail or two, who bring out the hangnail in everybody else!

From Corinth onward, the church has always been involved in one conflict or another. Some have suggested that, if we could ever get on the same page, we would provide a far better witness to the world. Perhaps so. But then again, maybe that is our witness. Maybe what the church needs to show the world is that people can disagree and still love one another … that, while we don’t always share the same agenda, we do share the same God.

That, in and of itself, may be what the world most needs to witness!

2011-01-16T15:06:00.001-08:00

It has been suggested that the chief problem with worrying—other than the obvious fact that it is rarely productive—is that it tends to scatter our energies. When we start worrying about all the things we need to do, or feel we ought to do, or are still planning to do, it isn’t long before our minds have set up camp in a hundred places, all at once. In effect, we are pulled in so many different directions that we end up furiously spinning our wheels to the point of exhaustion, without moving an inch!

We all know that excessive worrying does little good, but no matter how hard we try, we still find ourselves fretting about this or that. Indeed, in my experience, one of the least effective ways to stop worrying is to try and not think about it. Maybe that approach has worked for some of you (and if so, I’d love to learn your secret); but whenever I am told, “Just don’t worry about it,” I usually start worrying about it all the more.

This is why Jesus’ advice in the Sermon on the Mount—“Do not worry about what you will eat, or what you will wear”—has always struck me as being somewhat impractical. How can he possibly expect us not to be concerned with the basic necessities of life? Granted, “One does not live by bread alone” … but then again, one isn’t going to live very long without it either!

However, upon closer examination, I think we may be misreading Jesus’ intent. He is not saying, “Just put the worries out of your mind.” What he is saying is, “First, put your minds on the kingdom of God, and then all of those other concerns will fall into place.”

It’s almost as if he were saying, “If you want to worry about something, worry about that which is worth the effort and energy. Worry about larger, more significant things than tonight’s dinner menu or tomorrow morning’s meeting. Worry about the things of God—truth, life, and love!”

Does this mean that we will suddenly stop sweating the small stuff? Probably not. As long as we live in this world, full of tensions and troubles, our minds will never be entirely free from worries. But if we can keep returning our hearts and minds to the kingdom of God, then we may eventually be able to smile at our worrisome selves, and even come to realize that the only things that really matter are the matters of heaven!

2011-01-09T13:48:00.001-08:00

Without a doubt, one of Jesus’ best known and most beloved parables is “The Prodigal Son”—and perhaps the reason that it resonates with so many of us is because we can all relate to the experience of losing our way.

We start following our own agenda, for example, and the next thing we know, we have wandered off the path that God prepared. We resolve to spend a few moments each day in prayer, but become easily distracted and our minds wander off to other concerns and fancies. We decide to devote more time to the family, or to caring for ourselves, but the pressures of work overwhelm us, and like the prodigal himself, we soon find ourselves squandering valuable resources on things that, ultimately, are unimportant and unrewarding.

Simply put, one reason that we so strongly identify with this wayward son is because, on some level, we have all been there. However, what immediately strikes me about the prodigal’s desire to return home is that his motives aren’t exactly 100% pure. He doesn’t start feeling badly because of how hurtful and insulting he has been toward his father. He doesn’t start feeling badly because of how wasteful and irresponsible he has behaved. He starts feeling badly because he is … hungry!

“How many of my father’s servants have food enough to spare,” he says to himself, “and here I am, starving to death!”

Notice that there’s no indication in the parable that the prodigal suddenly developed this newfound respect or appreciation for dear old dad. He is not coming home out of love. He is not coming home out of regret. He is coming home out of necessity. This is a survival technique, pure and simple.

But then again, maybe that’s the point. The father is so anxious to welcome back his lost son that, frankly, he doesn’t care what prompted the boy to return. No explanation is required. Indeed, if you read the story closely, the prodigal doesn’t even get a chance to finish his carefully rehearsed apology—so a full-blown confession of sin doesn’t seem to be required either. The only thing that matters is that the boy is home again, safe and sound. “My son was dead and is alive,” exclaims the father, “he was lost and now is found!”

I don’t know about you, but I find this to be a most encouraging truth—that God does not require a 100% pure heart before reaching out to embrace us. Even if we return only because following our own agenda did not produce happiness, God will still take us back. Even if we return only because our sinful desires provided little satisfaction, God will still receive us. Even if we return for no greater reason than we finally concluded that we could not make it all on our own, God will still be there with opened arms, running out to greet us.

The bottom line is that God will be glad—overjoyed, in fact—just to see us; and that God stands ready to give us everything we could possibly want, or need, just for coming home again!

2010-12-19T13:13:00.001-08:00

In his book The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren observes that everyone operates on one of three levels: survival, success, or significance. Most of the world, for example, tends to operate at the “survival” level. Of the almost seven billion people who currently inhabit this planet, half subsist on less than two dollars a day—and a third of those on less than one dollar. Their primary concern is simply with surviving from one day to the next.

By way of contrast, if you reside in this country, you are likely operating at the “success” level. This is not to suggest that the United States is without poverty; but relative to the rest of the world, most Americans are not worried about merely surviving. We already possess more than enough to survive. Our overriding concern is with being successful. Indeed, that’s a large part of what drives our society—the perceived need that we should have a bigger this and a better that!

The only problem with operating at the “success” level is that, ultimately, it doesn’t prove all that satisfying. You can have plenty to live on and still not have much to live for—which is why, according to Warren, there is yet a third level … significance. To operate at the “significance” level is to recognize that—no matter how much you possess, or what lofty position you obtain—if you don’t have a sense of purpose, then sooner or later, your life will feel pretty meaningless.

So how does one go about operating at the “significance” level? Well, unlike the “success” level, which obviously requires some effort on our part, I do not believe that significance is something we acquire all on our own. You can’t earn significance by getting an advanced degree or by logging in a few more hours at the office. Significance is something we are given—and if you ask me, the clearest demonstration of our significance is the gift we receive at Christmas!

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,” writes the prophet Isaiah, “and his name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Put another way, the good news of Christmas is not that humankind worked so hard, and became so successful, that God decided to award us with a personal visit. The good news of Christmas is that, despite our constant slip-ups and shortcomings, God’s love is so continuous, and so unconditional, that God simply could not stand spending another moment apart from us. That, in and of itself, should speak volumes about our level of significance in God’s eyes!

2010-12-12T14:22:00.001-08:00

On that first Christmas Eve, when an angel of the Lord startled a group of ragtag shepherds with the good news of a “great joy for all people”—the shepherds immediately went off searching for it. And to be honest, some of us still approach Christmas in that fashion—namely, searching for that “great joy.”

We keep searching for it because, frankly, getting ready for Christmas can often be more of a hassle than a source of happiness. We feel pressure instead of pleasure, duty instead of delight. In short, the Christmas Season has become something that a lot of us endure, rather than enjoy!

Of course, there’s no singular reason why we sometimes feel uneasy, lonely, or even depressed during Christmas. Maybe we are at odds with our relatives and dread spending time with them. Maybe we are reminded of a recent loss—the first Christmas without a parent or spouse, or the fact that the kids won’t be coming home for the holidays. Maybe it’s more that, by year’s end, we are flat-out exhausted and can’t quite muster up the energy to have a “holly, jolly Christmas.”

Whatever the reason, I am convinced that the best way to get into the “Christmas Spirit” is to remember that what the birth of Jesus Christ signifies is God’s willingness—indeed, God’s desire—to become one with us. Think of it this way: If you really wanted someone to know the full extent of your love, you wouldn’t send that person an email or a text message. You wouldn’t even send a representative to speak on your behalf. You would go and profess your love in person—which is precisely what God does at Christmas!

Jesus is not a Christmas card from God that reads, “Wishing I was there.” Jesus is God’s way of personally declaring, “I wish to make my home among you.” Theologians call this “the Incarnation”—and what you happen to make of it will largely depend on how you understand God’s intent. If you view the Almighty as a stern taskmaster, who is just waiting for an opportunity to scold you, then the news that God has moved into the immediate neighborhood may be a bit intimidating. However, if you view God as One who already loves you, and who is just waiting for an opportunity to show you how much, then knowing that the Almighty has taken up residence in our very midst is the best news that we could have ever imagined.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that we don’t really need to go searching for the “great joy” of Christmas. It’s the other way around. What we celebrate at Christmas is that God’s “great joy” found us!

2010-12-05T14:14:00.001-08:00

Last week we entered the season of Advent, and began preparing for that holy and silent night on which the angels will sing of “peace on earth.” However, given the current state of global affairs, one wonders if such a thing is even possible, let alone achievable!

Right now there are more than thirty wars being waged around the world. Some are large and widely reported; others are smaller and mostly go unnoticed by the media. But the fact that, as you read this, almost one-third of the world’s countries are involved in some kind of military conflict makes the promise of “peace on earth” seem hopelessly remote.

In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Notice that he did not say, “Blessed are the peacekeepers”—folks who are so desperate to keep everybody happy that, when conflicts arise, they either minimize the problem or pretend it doesn’t exist. Neither did he say, “Blessed are the peaceable”—folks who are so unnerved by conflict that they will agree with pretty much anyone, on pretty much anything, just to avoid having an argument.

So how do we go about becoming “peacemakers”? Well, if you ask me, a good start is to learn the distinction between reconciliation and resolution. (Granted, we often use these words interchangeably; but they actually have very different goals.) Reconciliation focuses on restoring a relationship with someone whom I have hurt or who has hurt me. Resolution focuses on solving whatever issue caused that hurt in the first place.

Put another way, just because I’ve buried the hatchet with you doesn’t mean that I’ve buried the issue. The problem between us may still need to be resolved. However, if I am reconciled with you first, then we can discuss and work on the problem with mutual respect and love, instead of sarcasm and anger. Indeed, in my experience, once reconciliation occurs, the problem itself becomes less significant—and thus, more easily resolved.

On Christmas Eve, when the heavenly host sing of “peace on earth,” they are not suggesting that all of the world’s problems are suddenly resolved. What they are saying is that, with the birth of the Christ child, reconciliation is now made possible … and with reconciliation comes the possibility of resolution … and with resolution comes the promise of “peace on earth”!

2010-11-21T14:59:00.001-08:00

As many of you know, there are a number of books from the New Testament era that never made it into the Bible. Some were discounted because they were deemed to be inauthentic and therefore unreliable. Others were dismissed because their message was not consistent with the Christian gospel. Still others fell into disfavor, because, frankly, they never found much of an audience in the early church.

Contrary to what conspiracy theorists would have you believe, these so-called “lost” books do not contain any dark, disturbing secrets about Jesus’ life. However, a few of them do contain alternative versions of some of his parables.

In the Gospel of Thomas, for example, when Jesus tells the story of the shepherd who left ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness, in order to seek the one that had wandered away, we actually get a description of the “lost sheep.” It was the “fattest” and “most-prized” of his flock—thus, providing at least a rationale for the shepherd’s desperate search.

Or to cite another example, in the alternative version of the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, we are told that those who were hired late in the afternoon worked harder than all of the others, and it so impressed the vineyard owner that he decided to award them with a full day’s wages!

This puts a different spin on the story, to be sure. In fact, some of us might actually prefer that version over the original, because it makes more sense. But unfortunately, it also misses what I think Jesus was trying to teach us—namely, that God dispenses gifts, not wages.

Put another way, when the twelve-hour workers look at what the one-hour workers receive, and start complaining, “This is not fair. Those people are not getting what they deserve”—the workers are absolutely right. It’s not what they deserve … and that’s the point! None of us get what we really deserve; otherwise we would be in a whole heap of trouble.

This Thanksgiving many of us will sit at bountiful tables, eating as much as we like (and probably a bit more than we should). We will relax in warm, spacious homes and enjoy the company of family and friends. And at some point during the day, we will pause to count our blessings.

If you decide to start by enumerating those blessings that you think you deserve, it’s likely to be a pretty short list—because, frankly, we don’t deserve any of it. In fact, when it comes to God’s blessings, the word “deserve” does not even apply!

2010-11-14T12:10:00.001-08:00

In first century Palestine, the chasm between Jew and Gentile was deep and wide. A Jew could not eat with a Gentile, and certainly would never stay at the house of one. A Jewish physician was not permitted to care for a Gentile patient, even if the situation was life-threatening. In short, Jews had nothing to do with Gentiles … unless, of course, that Jew was Jesus! Jesus broke all the rules when it came to Gentiles—and he broke the rules because he was trying to break down the walls.

But even during the early church, a remnant of that wall still existed. A perfect example is the story of Peter in the 10th chapter of Acts. Peter is on a rooftop, praying and meditating, when he sees the vision of a sheet descending from the heavens, filled with food, and a voice commanding him, “Get up and eat.” At first, Peter refuses, because the sheet contained enough unkosher food to uncurl the payos of a Hasidic Rabbi. “By no means, Lord!” Peter cries out. “For I have never eaten anything profane or unclean.”

But the Almighty isn’t kidding about this. God three-peats the vision, leaving poor Peter in a bit of a quandary. Does the Lord really want him to start eating ham? Apparently so—because the voice is very clear on the matter: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

Now, one way to read this story is to view it simply as a modification of the ancient dietary laws—almost as if God is saying, “In days of old, you were taught to eat certain things and avoid others, but I have decided to expand the menu.”

However, if you ask me, the story actually goes deeper than just giving Peter permission to start packing his lunchbox with pigs-in-the-blanket. At the heart of this story is a question, which, frankly, I think we are still wrestling with today. Namely, is it ever appropriate to label people? Clean vs. unclean; liberal vs. conservative; management vs. labor; us vs. them.

Let’s face it; too often the practice of pigeonholing people is used as a clever exit strategy. In other words, if I can categorize you, then I am relieved of the responsibility of actually getting to know you. I can make a snap judgment—based on how you look, or what you do for a living, or where you’re from, or whom you voted for in the last election—and armed with all of those assumptions, I can safely turn and walk away.

Jesus took an entirely different approach. He was all about helping people feel included, not excluded. “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Indeed, Jesus seemed to want us to view others the same way we view ourselves. Blemished, perhaps. Unfinished, certainly. But still redeemed and restored through the grace of God.

Throughout our lives we will come across countless people, and we will always have a choice. Label them or love them? We know what Jesus’ choice was—just look at what he did with us!

2010-11-07T13:21:00.001-08:00

In 1923, the theologian Martin Buber wrote an immensely influential book entitled I and Thou. Buber’s main point in the book is that there are two different ways of relating to other people. We can see them either as objects (“How can I use this other person?”), or as subjects (“What is this other person feeling?”). In Buber’s terminology, if we view the other person as an object, we have an “I-It” relationship; if we view the other person as a subject, we have an “I-Thou” relationship.

Think of it this way: Let’s say that you are having lunch at a restaurant. The food is good; however, the waitress appears distracted. She asks you to repeat your order. She forgets to fill your water glass. She brings you regular coffee instead of the decaf you specifically requested.

How do you respond? Are you simply annoyed—maybe even to the point of not leaving her a tip or complaining to the manager? Or do you move beyond your annoyance, and begin to wonder what might be bothering her? Maybe she has just come from having a biopsy taken at the doctor’s office. Maybe she has a sick child at home. Maybe her marriage is falling apart.

In other words, do you see her as a fellow human being, who seems to be going through a tough time right now, or merely as a vehicle for bringing you your lunch?

According to Buber, to see another human being as an object—or worse still, to use someone as a means to an end—is a sin, because God never intended for us to have “I-It” relationships. The model for how we should regard one another, suggests Buber, is unequivocally demonstrated in how God regards us.

Simply put, God does not see us as objects; nor are we “used” to satisfy God’s needs. We are asked to be partners in establishing the kingdom of God here on earth—that’s true. But make no mistake; the kingdom of God will be established, with or without us.

The reason the Almighty keeps calling to us, and searching for us, and inviting us to take part in the work of the kingdom is for our own sakes, not God’s!

2010-10-31T14:07:00.001-07:00

One of the most influential theologians of the early church was Augustine of Hippo Regius (known today as Annaba, Algeria). He spent his youth studying rhetoric at Carthage; and in his leisure, pursued the wild pleasures of an admittedly hedonistic life. However, in the summer of 386 A.D., he underwent a profound personal crisis, which led him to convert to Christianity, abandon his career in rhetoric, quit his teaching position in Milan, and devote himself entirely to serving God and to the practices of the priesthood. He chronicles this radical transformation in a work titled The Confessions of Saint Augustine, which is widely acknowledged as the first Western autobiography ever written!

During one section of the Confessions, Augustine argues that nothing in this world is evil, in and of itself. Evil, suggests Augustine, is simply a distortion of the good, a disordering of the precious gifts of life. Personally, I’m not sure if I would go quite that far. It seems to me that some things are unmistakably evil. However, I do see the point that he is trying to make.

Consider, for example, someone who restores antique cars as a hobby. Now, no one would call such an activity inherently evil. If anything, we would probably admire how this person is able to take an old, beat-up jalopy and, with consummate skill and artistry, get it running again and return it to its former glory. However, if this same person neglected his or her family in the process, and never had time for friends, neighbors, or God, then we might conclude that this person’s obsession with refurbishing automobiles had become destructive and malevolent.

In other words, what Augustine is pointing out is that even noble activities can prove dangerously iniquitous, if they are assigned an inappropriate priority in our lives. The goal, he argues, is to maintain a life of balance.

That’s easier said than done, of course. Even in my own life, there have been occasions when ministry came at the expense of my family. Hence, a good thing (service to the church) turned into a bad thing (an absentee husband and father). One of my daughters even went as far as to check the column in the Friendship Pad indicating, “Would like a call from the pastor.” Ouch!

Life is a constant juggling act, and rarely will we be able to keep all of the balls up in the air for very long. Despite our best efforts, things will get dropped or fall to one side. Thus, the secret to maintaining a balanced life may not be in striving for perfect balance at any given moment, but rather, in seeking an overall balance. If you have a particular week that demands 14-hour days in the office, then do what is required of you. But make sure, in the following week, that you intentionally schedule some time with the family, or for yourself.

Short-term imbalances in life are inevitable; long-term imbalances are costly—and they can often turn even the most worthwhile of pursuits into something destructive!

2010-10-17T16:41:00.001-07:00

In the twelfth chapter of Acts, King Herod goes on something of a rampage. First, he has the apostle James brutally murdered; and when he notices that it bumps his approval ratings among the Jews, he has Peter arrested. His plan is to have Peter beheaded on the anniversary of Jesus’ death. (How’s that for pouring salt in the wounds?)

It is the first major test of the early church’s faith. And how do they respond? Do they picket the prison, or file a legal injunction, or start writing angry letters to the emperor? No. Do they slump their shoulders, wring their hands, and begin preparing for Peter’s funeral? No, again. According to the book of Acts, they pray. They pray as if prayer was their only hope—because, in a sense, it was! They prayed “fervently to God,” writes Luke.

I mention this only because we sometimes think of prayer as a “last resort,” when it should probably be the first thing we do. After all, does the Apostle Paul tell us to preach without ceasing? Or teach without ceasing? Or have committee meetings without ceasing? No … but he does call upon us to “pray without ceasing.”

Did Jesus declare: My Father’s house will be called a house of study? Or fellowship? Or a multitude of programs and activities? No … but he did say: My Father’s house will be called “a house of prayer.”

In the face of a mountain-sized problem, the early church turns to the One who had once told them that, with faith the size of a mustard seed, they could move mountains. And lo and behold, on the night before Peter is to go on trial, he is awakened by an angel!

Never mind that he is surrounded by sixteen guards, who have all been told, “If this prisoner escapes, you die.” (Think of it as quality control, Herod style.) Never mind that he is bound hand-and-foot in chains behind not one, not two—but three locked doors. The angel simply tells Peter, “Get up, get dressed; it’s time to go.”

True, the Bible doesn’t guarantee that a miracle like this will occur every single time we pray for one. But it does guarantee to put us in touch with the One who performs such miracles. So maybe, instead of thinking of prayer as our last resort, we ought to make it our first priority!

2010-10-10T16:25:00.001-07:00

From the beginning of time, human beings have variously been defined as different kinds of animals—as a “rational” animal, for example, or a “problem-solving” animal; as a “self-conscious” animal, or an animal that uses advanced “language” and “tools.” But perhaps the most satisfactory definition I have ever come across is the one that calls human beings the “unfinished” animal.

Amidst the animal kingdom, we alone seem to have been assigned the wondrous—and rather daunting—task of completing ourselves. Every other species (at least as far as I can tell) doesn’t have to worry about putting on its own finishing touches. The tiger, the rabbit, the dog, the horse, the eagle, the earthworm are already complete, and no further possibilities, either for good or ill, await them.

We, on the other hand, seem to have been conferred the astonishing freedom of shaping ourselves in whatever ways we want. We can elevate ourselves or degrade ourselves. Indeed, we can totally destroy ourselves, if we so choose. Unlike other animals, which are primarily governed by instincts, there are an infinite number of directions that our lives can take—and we’re the ones who get to chart the course!

So the question becomes, “How do we, as a species, wish to complete ourselves?” For the first time in history, we now have the technology, the energy, the knowledge and resources, to unify the human race, to feed everyone, to protect all from want, and to lift the living level of the have-nots without drastically lowering the level of the haves.

And yet, while we have made incredible advances on the intellectual and technological fronts, precisely the opposite seems to have occurred on the social and emotional fronts. We are more divisive, more hostile, more suspicious, more anxious, and frankly, more irrational than at any other time in recent history.

The choice is ours—we can either finish ourselves … or finish ourselves off! It is an intimidating responsibility, to be sure. But among all the other creatures who inhabit this planet, we alone are the ones who have been given it.

Of course, the theologian in me would like to point out that we will never really be able to complete ourselves unless we start looking to the One who created us in the first place. Human beings are “unfinished” animals—that’s true. We have been given the choice of how to finish ourselves—that’s true, too. But keep in mind that, among those choices, is the choice to follow God, who is both our Creator and our Completer!

2010-10-03T14:20:00.001-07:00

The other day someone asked me, “Is it really true that ‘opposites attract’?” My immediate reaction was to say, “Absolutely. I see it all the time in premarital counseling. She drives a Lexus, he rides a Harley … she’s athletic, he’s a bookworm … he’s conservative, she’s impulsive.”

However, upon reflection, I feel the need to qualify that response. On the one hand, there can be little doubt that most of us are fascinated by—and indeed, drawn to—people who possess qualities and traits that we do not have. Hence, someone is who outgoing and the “life of the party” may be attracted to someone else, who is quiet and more reserved. Simply put, we tend to gravitate toward people who have strengths where we have weaknesses; someone who will fill in the gaps of our own character—or as Jerry Maguire famously said, someone who will “complete” us!

But on the other hand, just because you are “a little bit country” and your significant other is “a little bit rock-and-roll” does not automatically guarantee that the two of you will make beautiful music together—because I am equally convinced that, beneath the surface, a couple has to be basically similar, in order to get along.

By “basically similar” I do not mean in temperament or personality, but in outlook. The two people must share a common view of the world. If one has a cynical and materialistic outlook on life, while the other has a compassionate and generous outlook, then conflicts will eventually (and inevitably) arise.

People who are superficially opposite do attract—that’s true. But if they are fundamentally opposite, I’m not sure the attraction can last. As I often tell couples, “Love does not consist only in looking at one another … sometimes love consists in looking together in the same direction.”

In my experience, if you carefully examine those happy couples who seem to be so completely opposite of one another, what you are likely to find is that either their differences are an optical illusion—or their happiness is!

2010-09-26T12:06:00.000-07:00

I read recently that most Americans cannot name even half of the Ten Commandments. That’s not terribly surprising, when you consider how biblically illiterate our society has become. But in this case, ignorance may be bliss—because if we actually knew the commandments, then we would all have to face the stark reality of how often we break them.

The most common misperception about the Ten Commandments is that they are the opposite of grace. They represent the law, which is restrictive and prohibitive; whereas grace is open and liberating. However, I would like to suggest that, in fact, the Ten Commandments spell out the implications of grace. Exodus 20 begins with the statement, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the house of slavery … therefore you shall (or you shall not).” In other words, the Ten Commandments describe a way of life that grows out of—and is in response to—God’s gracious act of freeing us from bondage.

The commandments themselves are pretty straightforward. The first four concern our relationship with God, and the remaining six deal with our relationships with one another. But if you ask me, the most difficult commandment is the final one—“You shall not covet.”

What makes this commandment so difficult is that, on the surface, it seems relatively benign. After all, people who covet don’t actually do anything wrong; they just think about something wrong. And if you’re just thinking about it, then where’s the harm? You’re not actually stealing someone else’s car; you’re just wishing you had it. You’re not actually cheating with someone else’s spouse; you’re just fanaticizing about it. No one is really getting hurt, right?

Actually, someone is getting hurt—namely, you! Instead of being content with what you have, you spend all of your time and energy focused on what others have, and always mumbling under your breath, “If only ….” “If only I had a bigger house … if only I had a better job … if only I was married … or wasn’t married … or married to somebody else.”

Of course, the advertizing industry isn’t doing us any favors. We are constantly barraged with commercials tempting us to covet those with thicker, fuller hair … newer appliances … more income … better bodies … and seemingly happier lives. But the truth of the matter is that none of those things are capable of bringing us happiness. If they could, then we would surely be the happiest and most contented generation the world has ever known, because never before in history of humankind have so many possessed so much.

So what’s the secret of avoiding covetousness? Well, I’m not sure that any of us ever avoid it altogether. But a good place to start may be by learning how to count your own blessings, instead of trying to keep track of everybody else’s!

2010-09-19T15:02:00.000-07:00

One of my all-time favorite movies is “Groundhog Day.” It tells the story of Phil Connors, an arrogant weatherman from Pittsburgh, who is dispatched to the town of Punxsutawney to do his weather report live from their annual Groundhog Day Festival. His disdain for both the assignment and the town is obvious; and he wants nothing more than to get it over with and return home as quickly as possible. However, a sudden winter storm forces him to spend yet another night in Punxsutawney.

When he wakes up the next morning, he is surprised to learn that it is Groundhog Day all over again! Confused, he somehow manages to endure the day one more time—only to discover that the following morning it’s the same thing, and the day after that. It’s as if he is stuck in a time warp, where every day is February 2nd!

Eventually, Connors decides that he might be able to use this anomaly to his advantage. After all, if there is literally no tomorrow, then you can pretty much do whatever you please, because there will never be any consequences for your actions. You can eat like a pig without the fear of compromising your health; you can drink like a fish without being saddled with a hangover. What a deal! But it isn’t long before Connors tires of the endless cycle of self-indulgence.

His second approach comes with the realization that, while the day never changes, he can spend the day changing himself. He starts taking piano lessons, masters ice sculpture, memorizes poetry, and learns a new language. But ultimately he finds that self-improvement—although better than self-indulgence—is still unfulfilling.

His final approach is to use the day to help others. After all, he already knows what the day holds in store. Thus, he saves a man from choking at a restaurant, he catches a young boy falling from a tree, and he intervenes with a couple contemplating the breakup of their engagement. In short, he begins serving others instead of merely serving himself—and it is only then that he wakes up one morning to discover that, finally, it is the next day, February 3rd!

It’s a wonderful movie—filled with humor and poignancy. But I think it also has something to teach us about living “one day at a time.” In the Greek language there are two words for time—chronos and kairos. Chronos has to do with clocks, calendars, schedules, and appointments. Kairos, on the other hand, has more to do with living in the present, and enjoying each moment, and celebrating what we have been given, right here and now.

By and large, when the Bible speaks of time, it is referring to karios; and in a sense, when Phil Connors is forced to endure Groundhog Day, over and over again, he is learning the same truth—namely, that there is a difference between counting each moment and making those moments count!

2010-09-05T16:38:00.001-07:00

It is one of the great moments in the Old Testament. Some might even argue that it is the most important. Moses finds himself a stranger in a strange land—the land of Midian, to be precise, on the east bank of the Gulf of Aquabah. He winds up there because he has murdered an Egyptian; and fearing for his own life, he has no choice but to head for the hills.

In time Moses meets and marries a Midianite woman, settles down, and begins tending sheep for his father-in-law on the slopes of Mt. Horeb. And somewhere up there on that scrubby patch of wilderness is when the moment happens. A bush suddenly bursts into flame. Leaf and stem start blazing and crackling, as if the air itself was on fire. However, even though the bush burns hot and bright, it is not consumed!

Then, in that flaming moment, a loud voice also flames up; and of all the things that it could have said, Moses is startled to hear his own name being called. “Remove your sandals,” the voice continues, “for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Who would have believed it? That barren stretch of no-man’s-land that Moses has fled to for no motive holier than to save his own skin, is holy—filled with the fiery presence of God!

Like many of you, I have often wished that I could have such an experience—a moment when I heard God’s voice speaking with a clarity that was undeniable, and witnessed God’s white-hot presence burning right there in front of me.

“Why doesn’t God do something like that in my life?” I’ll ask myself. But if you go back and reread the story, you’ll notice that God doesn’t actually start speaking until Moses stops what he’s doing and starts paying attention.

In other words, the bush bursts into flame spontaneously—but the voice of God patiently waits until Moses decides to take a closer look. If he had chosen to ignore it, or run from it, then there may not have been a voice at all.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe we are surrounded by burning bushes—glowing reminders that our seemingly ordinary lives are holy ground too! We just need to take the time to stop and listen.

2010-08-29T12:51:00.000-07:00

A while back I came across an article in Reader’s Digest on some of the more unusual bequests that have been recorded in wills. Here are a few examples:

A man from Topeka, Kansas, requested that six of his largest creditors be selected to serve as pallbearers. “They carried me this far,” he reasoned, “so they might as well finish the job.” A devoted golfer from Florida, who felt that he had spent a good portion of his playing days in a certain sand trap, asked that his ashes be scattered in the same trap, so that “he could lie there for all eternity.” A wealthy New Yorker enjoined his executors to auction off seventy-one pairs of his trousers, with the proceeds to be given to the poor. It was later discovered that he had secretly sewn $1,000 into the pockets of each pair!

My personal favorite was a woman in Maryland who left her entire estate to God. Six months after her death, the County Sheriff’s Office reported, “After due and diligent search, it is concluded that God cannot be located in this county.”

Other wills contained very specific conditions. One fellow from Ohio, whose wife always fussed about his cigar smoking, left her a million dollars—provided that she smoke five cigars a day in his memory. A father from New Jersey left each of his sons $50,000, on the condition that they remain clean-shaven and have monthly haircuts.

I guess it just goes to show you that some folks love to have the last word. Even after they are dead and buried, they are still trying to exert control!

Of course, as Christians, we know better than that—or at least we should. The only One who has the last word is God, and God already proclaimed it in the person of Jesus Christ. As the Apostle Paul so eloquently expresses it, “Nothing shall ever separate us from the love of God—not things in the past, or things to come … not rulers or authorities … not earthly creatures, or even heavenly ones.”

We have been named as beneficiaries of an inheritance that is unconditional, unalterable, and imperishable. In fact, as far as I can tell, the only thing that is required of us is that we claim the inheritance and start living as the rightful heirs!

2010-08-22T12:31:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite stories is probably apocryphal, but still worth sharing. It’s about a woman who wished to encourage her young son’s progress on the piano, and so she took him to a concert featuring the renowned pianist Paderewski.

After they were seated, the mother spotted a close friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her. As children often do, the little boy immediately seized the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall. He started walking around, and eventually made his way through a door marked “No Admittance.”

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that the child was missing. Suddenly the curtains parted and the spotlight focused on an impressive Steinway piano at the center of the stage. To her shock and dismay, the mother saw her young boy sitting at the keyboard innocently picking out the notes of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

That very moment, the great piano master, Paderewski, made his entrance, moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy’s ear, “Don’t quit; keep playing.” Then, leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass part. Soon his right hand reached around to the other side of the child and added a high running obbligato. Together, the old master and young novice transformed an embarrassing situation into a wonderfully creative experience.

Now, like I said, I don’t know if that story is actually true, but I do think it contains a significant truth. Each of us lives our lives the best we can, even though we recognize that the results are not always noteworthy. We don’t exactly produce graceful, flowing music all of the time. But with the Master playing together with us, our life’s work can be transformed.

So, the next time you set out to accomplish something, don’t be afraid of failing. Instead, feel God’s loving arms around you, and know that Christ’s strong hands are there, filling in the missing notes, keeping us on key, and turning our feeble melodies into something rich and beautiful. Indeed, if you listen closely, you may even hear the Almighty whispering in your ear: “Don’t quit; keep playing, because I am playing with you!”

2010-08-15T15:11:00.001-07:00

Last weekend my wife and I packed up our daughter—along with what seemed like enough clothing, shoes, and accessories to supply a small department store—and moved everything out to the University of Alabama, where she will be attending school this year. To be honest, Noah probably took less on the ark than we somehow managed to cram into the back of our Toyota 4Runner!

At any rate, somewhere during the eleven-hour trek eastward along Interstate 20, I began to wonder, “Will my daughter ever appreciate everything we’ve tried to do for her?” It’s a fair question—and I’m certainly not the first parent to have entertained it. But upon reflection, I finally concluded that it may not be the right question, because parents who expect their children to verbally, or demonstratively, “appreciate” what has been done for them usually find that the child grows up resentful and rebellious.

Please don’t misunderstand; we still need to teach our children the importance of expressing gratitude. But if you love your children with the sole objective that, one day, they will love you in return, then you have turned love into an obligation—or worse still, a debt.

The famed psychologist Theodor Reik points out that, unlike other relationships, the love parents show their children is not rooted in reciprocity. It’s not meant to be paid back, but rather, to be passed on. Simply put, we love and provide for our children, so that they will eventually do the same for their children.

I’ve heard it claimed that the truest measure of successful childrearing is whether the children grow up to be respectful of their parents. But I’m not sure that tells the whole story. It seems to me that the real goal of childrearing is not to produce dutiful children, but to produce responsible adults, who, because of the love they experienced, go on to become loving parents themselves.

Do I hope that, one day, my daughter will appreciate everything I did for her? Sure. But that’s not why I did it. I’m not looking to be recognized for the sacrifices I made—and I’m certainly not expecting to be reimbursed. If my daughter grows up and gives the same attention and affection to her children that I’ve tried to show her, then that will be reward enough for me!

2010-07-18T14:51:00.001-07:00

In the West, scientists have traditionally identified four basic taste sensations: sweet, salty, sour, and bitter. In the East, two others are added—piquant (the sensation provided by, among other things, chili peppers) and savory. However, more recently, scientists have come to believe that our taste buds are, in fact, so sophisticated that the actual number of sensations may be quite a bit higher. Some people, for example, can taste the subtle distinction between the sweetness of cane sugar and the sweetness of corn syrup.

All of this has led many to suggest that, rather than enumerating our tastes, we might be better off thinking in terms of their being either simple or complex. The taste of sugar, for instance, is simple—it’s just sweet; whereas the taste of cinnamon is more complex—warm, slightly bitter, slightly sweet. Together, the two complement each other perfectly. The cinnamon adds depth and complexity to the sugar and the sugar mitigates the bitterness of the cinnamon.

Now, in case you’re wondering where I’m going with all of this, I often tell couples who are preparing to get married that there are two different kinds of love involved in a successful marriage. There is the blissful state of being “head-over-heels in love,” and there is the unconditional, “in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health” kind of love, which is exhibited in the wedding vows.

“Being in love” is a lot like sugar—it’s sweet, most everyone enjoys it, and too much of it probably isn’t good for you. Loving someone unconditionally is a lot like cinnamon—it gives the relationship complexity and depth, even though by itself it may not be all that appetizing. Ideally, in a marriage, you need both.

If the relationship leans too much toward the thrill of “being in love,” then it lacks the substance necessary to survive over the long haul. Like a “sugar fix,” it will give you a temporary rush, but there’s very little nutritional value in it. On the other hand, if the relationship leans too much toward unconditional commitment, then it may start to feel forced and become arduous and obligatory.

Of course, it’s tempting to think that “being in love” is the less significant of the two, and that only smitten, love-struck teenagers require it. But I beg to differ. I’m not sure that we ever outgrow the need to be swept off our feet, at least on occasion. We all yearn to experience that euphoria which quickens our pulse and makes our heart skip a beat. Indeed, from my experience, the deeper the commitment we make to someone, the more beautiful and enthralling that person becomes to us.

Suffice it to say, every marriage has its share of ups and downs. There will be days when you really have to work at loving the other person, because frankly, you don’t much feel like it. But hopefully, there will be other days when you can’t help but love the other person, because you are “head-over-heels.” Like sugar and cinnamon, the two kinds of love are meant to balance and enhance one another. If you move too far in either direction, you’re likely to wind up with a bad taste in your mouth!

2010-07-11T13:02:00.001-07:00

Sometimes inspiration can come from the most unlikely places. Take the story of Frederic Tudor, for example. For those of you unfamiliar with his story, Tudor was a New England merchant in the early nineteenth century. He had a series of failed businesses, and soon found himself on the verge of bankruptcy. Then, one winter day, as he was looking out across a frozen pond, he got inspired.

“If I could find a way to transport ice,” he thought to himself, “I bet I could sell it.” So he started experimenting with different kinds of insulation. He tried sawdust, but that proved to be a bit messy. He tried rice, but that proved to be rather expensive. And then he tried straw—just plain old, ordinary straw. But lo and behold, it worked!

He chartered a ship, had the entire hull insulated with straw, and loaded it with 180 tons of ice. “I want you to deliver this to Calcutta,” he told the captain.

“You mean in India?” the captain asked in disbelief.

“Precisely,” said Tudor.

Needless to say, most folks thought that he was out of his mind. After all, you can’t go on a three-month voyage from New England to India—in the middle of summer, no less—with a boatload of ice. The only thing that will give you is a big puddle of water and a whole lot of wet straw. However, on September 10, 1833, the ship arrived in Calcutta, still carrying 100 tons of ice.

Since the vast majority of Calcutta had never even seen ice before, let alone had the opportunity to purchase it, it quickly revolutionized life in India. Before long, Frederic Tudor was shipping ice to places around the world, making him one of the wealthiest men in the United States—and all because he had the insight that what is of little value in one context might be extremely valuable in another. A block of ice in Boston in the dead of winter is practically worthless. But if you put that same block of ice in Calcutta, it suddenly becomes worth a king’s ransom!

Now, hold that thought for a moment, and consider the kind of people that Jesus called to be his disciples. They weren’t among the well educated or the social elite. They weren’t among the powerful or the popular. Their names never made the Fortune 500; their faces never appeared on the front-page of the Jerusalem Times. And yet, their work and witness helped to change the world.

“How?” you ask. Well, simply put, because Jesus changed their context. They started out as plain old, ordinary fishermen. But Jesus took one look at them and said, “Come, follow me; and I will show you how to fish for people.”

That’s the amazing thing about God’s love. God can take what most of us would consider worthless, and by changing the context, make it priceless!

2010-07-04T10:37:00.001-07:00

Twenty-first century Americans are unlike any other people in the history of humankind. Never before has there been so much affluence, so broad a range of choices, and such unbridled freedom to do pretty much whatever one pleases. And yet, the popular Rolling Stones' song still sums up what many of us are feeling—“I can’t get no satisfaction … I try, and I try, and I try, and I try.”

Somewhere along the line we became convinced that the more choices we have in life, the greater the likelihood that we will be satisfied. But that’s not always the case, is it? Imagine going into a store to purchase a pair of jeans—just plain, ordinary jeans. It seems simple enough; except that these days you are liable to encounter a dizzying array of choices. Do you want slim fit? Easy fit? Relaxed? Stonewashed? Acid-washed? Button-fly? Zipper-fly? And on and on it goes.

Let’s face it; we enjoy more options today than folks fifty years ago could have ever dreamed of—and yet, studies show that we are not any happier, or more satisfied with life, than previous generations. Indeed, some believe that the reason so many of us are stressed out is because, unlike our great grandparents, we feel the pressure to choose and create an identity, rather than accepting the identity that God has already given us. As the writer James Howell so aptly put it: “We feel empty, not because there’s this gaping hole in our lives, but because we have filled it with all of the wrong stuff!”

It’s worth noting that Jesus did not speak much of “being satisfied”—at least not in the sense of sliding back in our easy chair after a big meal and thinking, “I am completely satisfied.” Actually, in the Parable of the Rich Fool, Jesus seems to point out that we will never achieve satisfaction by filling our bellies, or our barns, or even our bank accounts!

The way to have a full life, said Jesus, is to empty yourself—which, admittedly, sounds a bit like an oxymoron. But think of the experience of being in love. When you love somebody, you are no longer at the center of your own universe—suddenly, the one you love is! The more you love this other person, the more you begin to forget yourself, and even to deny yourself; and paradoxically, the more you deny yourself for the sake of the one you love, the more fully yourself you actually become.

In other words, the Rolling Stones may have had it right all along. We can’t get no satisfaction, no matter how hard we try. However, we can be given satisfaction by emptying ourselves and allowing God to fill us!

2010-06-27T13:06:00.001-07:00

When Jesus first preached the Sermon on the Mount, he spoke in Aramaic. When Matthew recorded it, he wrote in Greek, which means that if you are reading it in English, you are already two languages removed. The inevitable result is that, sometimes, subtle nuances get lost in the translation.

Consider the series of blessings—better known as the Beatitudes—that Jesus proclaims at the beginning of the sermon. The Greek word that we usually translate as “blessed” can also be translated as “happy.” Hence, Robert Schuller’s cleverly-titled bestseller, The Be Happy Attitudes. That translation is not necessarily wrong, but it may be slightly misleading, since our understanding of happiness is quite a bit different from the people of Jesus’ time.

For starters, the groups that he mentions in the Beatitudes—those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who are persecuted and reviled—don’t seem like the kind of folks whom we would ordinarily call “happy.” But more importantly, when we think of happiness, what we usually mean is, “Am I having fun? Am I enjoying myself?” In other words, for us, the question of happiness tends to be directed inward. It’s basically a “me” question. Even the “pursuit of happiness” extolled in our Declaration of Independence is generally understood to mean one’s individual pursuit of whatever it is that will make you happy.

However, in the Beatitudes, when Jesus speaks of happiness, or blessedness, he is not referring to anything we can pursue, or achieve, or even cause to happen. The “-ed” ending on the word “blessed” should be a hint. Being blessed is not something we accomplish; it is something we receive. Simply put, being blessed is a gift from God!

If Jesus had wanted us to focus on what our own resources could bring us, then he probably would have said something along the lines of, “Blessed are those who climb the corporate ladder, for they will have a comfortable retirement,” or “Blessed are those who invest shrewdly, for they will own a second house on the coast.” But instead Jesus seems to want us to focus on those times when we have absolutely nothing.

Notice that he doesn’t lift up the spiritual giants of the world; he lifts up the “poor in spirit”—the ones whose faith is so fragile that they have nowhere else to go but to God. He doesn’t praise the self-reliant; he praises those whose hearts are so heavy with sorrow that they can only look to God to comfort them. He doesn’t commend the popular; he commends the persecuted—the ones who are left feeling that the entire world is against them, and then discover that God has been in their corner all along!

Please don’t misunderstand; Jesus didn’t have anything against personal happiness. He’s just pointing out that, rather than trying to chase it down on our own, we would be better off receiving it from God.

2010-06-20T12:06:00.001-07:00

The very first story involving humankind in the Bible is perhaps the most telling. Adam and Eve are placed in a garden paradise and given everything that two people could possibly want or need. “You are free to enjoy yourselves,” declares God. “The only thing I ask is that you stay away from this one tree—the tree of knowledge.”

But of course, telling your children that something is off-limits is the surest way to spark their curiosity, and it isn’t long before Adam and Eve are seduced into thinking that, since knowledge is power, it might be beneficial to acquire some. The result is literally an “eye-opener” for them! They realize that they are both naked; and even though that wasn’t the least bit embarrassing before, now it fills them with shame.

They quickly sew together fig leaves to conceal their nakedness. Or is it more to cover-up what they have done? Either way, it represents an uncomfortable choice. Fig leaves have approximately the same texture as medium-grade sandpaper. Plus, they tend to dry out and easily tear, which means that poor Adam and Eve will soon be experiencing a series of “wardrobe malfunctions.” Evidentially, eating from the tree of knowledge did not give either of them much fashion sense!

But then again, that could be the point. Maybe the fig leaves represent the fact that sin is a slippery slope, and one bad choice often begets another. Take lying, for example. You tell one lie to escape a troublesome situation, and then you tell another in order to cover the first, and before you know it, you are hopelessly entangled in a web of deceit. As I sometimes tell my own children, “If you dig yourself into a hole, the first rule is to stop digging!”

Simply put, if Adam and Eve could have just admitted their fault and sought God’s forgiveness, then they might have avoided a whole lot of discomfort. But instead, they wind up standing before the Lord, frantically trying to keep their scratchy fig leaves in place and looking rather silly in the process!

Those familiar with the story know the consequences that follow. Adam must start earning bread by the sweat of his brow; Eve must contend with the pangs of childbirth; and the serpent must spend the rest of its days slithering through the dust. But the part of this story we sometimes overlook is that it doesn’t end with these punishments. God immediately gives them something decent to wear. It’s almost as if the Lord says, “Take off those ridiculous fig leaves and let me clothe you in something that will actually work!”

In other words, if the fig leaves represent our own futile attempts at solving the problem of sin, then God’s provision of animal skins represents an act of grace. Indeed, as some scholars point out, since animal skins necessitate the shedding of blood, it is the Bible’s first sacrificial act of atonement. Granted, I may be reading too much into the story. But this much is certain: Whenever we try to cover up our own mistakes, we usually end up making the situation worse. It is only when we allow God to provide for us—clothing us with mercy and grace, so to speak—that we no longer need to be ashamed!

2010-06-13T15:53:00.001-07:00

By the time Moses arrives on the scene, the Hebrews have already been enslaved for four hundred years—which is to say that no one can remember a time when they were not slaves. Indeed, no one can remember even having met someone who was not a slave. It is all they have ever known. And then, by the mighty hand of God, they are suddenly set free!

But old habits sometimes die hard. You can take a person out of slavery with one swift act, but to take slavery out of that same person may require a lifetime of retraining. So, not long after the Hebrews are delivered from captivity, God decides to give them a crash course in the ways of freedom.

Specifically, God commands the people that, at least once a week, they are to rest. “Six days you shall labor and do all your work,” says the Lord. “But the seventh day is to be a Sabbath.” It is by far the longest, and most detailed, of the Ten Commandments. Apparently, with the other commandments—the ones regarding murder, adultery, theft, and the like—it is enough for God simply to say, “No.”

But with the commandment regarding rest, God seemed to know that we are an ambitious lot and would need a rationale. “I only worked for six days, and I had the whole universe to create,” explains the Lord. “So, unless you think your responsibilities are greater than mine, you can surely afford to take a breather, now and then.” Moreover, this day of Sabbath is to be enjoyed not only by God’s chosen people, but by their children, their slaves, any foreigners who happen to be living among them—even the livestock get the day off!

It seems like a simple enough commandment to observe; but like a great many other things, we quickly found a way to make it complicated. Generations of rabbis tweaked the commandment until the Sabbath became such a thicket of rules and regulations that most folks were secretly relieved when it was over, just so they could go back to enjoying life again. And frankly, I’m not sure we Christians have fared much better. Even today, some churches put so many restrictions on the Sabbath that its very aim seems to be to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible—and being restless on our “day of rest” is a strange irony indeed!

Somewhere along the line we lost sight of the fact that the Sabbath is a gift from God. We do not earn it by six days of hard labor; nor do we keep it holy by squeezing every moment of joy out of it. The story of the people gathering manna in the wilderness may be instructive. God makes sure that there is enough manna on the sixth day so that they do not need to collect it on the seventh. In effect, the Sabbath serves to remind the Hebrews that they are no longer slaves. Once a week, they are set free from worrying about whether there will be enough.

And maybe that’s the point. We work six days to provide for ourselves and our families … and then we push the pause button to remind ourselves that, ultimately, God is the One who provides for us!

2010-06-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

In the opening stanza of the beloved hymn “Amazing Grace,” John Newton writes, “I once was lost, but now am found.” Notice that he does not say, “I once was lost, but then repented of my misguided ways and turned back home again.” The idea here is not that he found God, but that God found him—and that’s precisely what makes God’s grace so amazing. The very One who should be sought by us instead starts searching for us.

Consider the story of Cain and Abel, for example. Like any two brothers, I’m sure they had their share of squabbles growing up. Indeed, even as adults, they seem to choose very different career paths. Cain decides to become a farmer, while Abel becomes a shepherd. In time, they both bring their offerings to God, which is where the trouble really begins!

According to the Genesis account, Cain offers up “the fruit of the ground”—not the “first fruit,” mind you … just whatever he could scrape together. Abel, on the other hand, presents the “firstlings of his flock”—the ones possessing “the fattest portions.” True, it wasn’t supposed to be a competition; but all the same, when God takes delight in Abel’s offering and barely acknowledges Cain’s, their sibling rivalry is pushed to the breaking point.

Cain is outraged, and as a result, his “countenance fell”—meaning, basically, that he starts to pout. And frankly, if there was ever a time when I think God would have been justified in leaving Cain alone, this is it. After all, who wants to hang around someone who is pouting? If you wish to host your own “pity party,” fine … but don’t expect me to attend!

However, that’s not the approach God takes. God actually goes out looking for Cain. “What’s with the long face?” asks God. “Why are you so upset?” God even tries to reason with Cain. “Let’s talk this over, because I’m worried about you. I sense that you’re in a bad place right now, filled with evil thoughts. I want to help you, Cain.”

It’s a wonderful example of the extent of God’s grace, because God has every right to say, “Spare me your whining. You brought this upon yourself.” But instead God keeps reaching out.

Of course, if you’re familiar with the story, you know what happens next. Cain ends up taking out all of his frustrations at God—and at himself, no doubt—on his innocent brother, and then has the chutzpah to try and act innocent himself. When God comes asking where Abel is, Cain just shrugs his shoulders and says, “Beats me,” which doesn’t fool God for a moment … and then adds, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” which doesn’t even rate as an answer!

It’s not a pretty story, to be sure. But it does illustrate how willing God is to keep pursuing us, even when we’ve given God every reason to consider us a lost cause. Cain still must face the consequences of his actions and set up home somewhere east of Eden’s city limits. But God promises to look after him nevertheless, and even puts “a mark” on Cain to protect him from future retaliation. Now, I’m not sure what you’d call that … but I’d call it “amazing grace.”

2010-05-30T11:59:00.001-07:00

By most accounts, Pentecost was the single, busiest day of the year for Jerusalem. It was one of three sacred festivals in which all devout Jews, at some point in their lifetimes, were required to visit the Holy City. Indeed, some historians estimate that, at Pentecost, Jerusalem swelled from its usual population of a hundred thousand to more than a million inhabitants—all crammed into a space of about three hundred acres!

And somewhere in the midst of all of that, a tiny group of Jesus’ followers gathered together to study scripture and pray. It is one of the earliest appearances of the church. But notice where God has placed them. Not isolated in a barren desert or quarantined in a protective bunker. Not separated from society at all—but right smack-dab in the heart of one of the largest cities at its busiest time.

In other words, God has the church exactly where God needs it. And then, says Luke, the Holy Spirit came upon them suddenly — not predictably, or expectedly, or customarily -- but suddenly! That’s usually the way it is with God, isn’t it? The Almighty pays little heed to our timing or techniques. The attitude of “We’ve never done it that way before” is not going to work with God, because ours is a God full of surprises.

The next thing you know, the disciples begin proclaiming the gospel in a multitude of different languages. Andrew starts describing God’s grace in Egyptian. Thomas is busy explaining God’s love in Latin. Bartholomew launches into a sermon to the Cretans. John is relating the resurrection story to the Cappadocians.

To be sure, some cynics in the crowd accuse the disciples of a little early morning inebriation. But others are amazed and ask, “What does this mean?”

Good question. What does it mean? Well, at least this much: God wants the message of Jesus Christ to be heard by everyone. There is no one to whom the church can ever say, “This is privileged information, and it’s not really meant for you.”

Ultimately, the church needs to be able to speak in ways that all people can understand. Hence, we need to learn the vocabulary of that discouraged neighbor down the block, and the vernacular of that lonely coworker across the hall, and the idiom of those moody teenagers who roll their eyes whenever we open our mouths.

It seems like a tall order. But then again, we are not doing this all on our own. The disciples never enrolled in a Rosetta Stone course to learn Mesopotamian; the Holy Spirit gave them the ability to speak. They were just open to the possibilities. Simply put, the church did not create Pentecost … Pentecost created the church!

2010-05-23T14:38:00.001-07:00

Joshua Bell is considered one of the most accomplished violinists living today. Indeed, some place him in the company of such greats as Itzhak Perlman and the late Jascha Heifetz. But on January 12, 2007, he chose an unlikely forum for a virtuoso performance. Wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baseball cap, Joshua Bell stood in a Washington, D.C. metro station and played his violin.

He played for nearly an hour, performing six classical pieces. During that time, over a thousand people passed by, occasionally tossing loose change into his open violin case. Typically, someone of Bell’s talent can command up to $1,500 a minute. But on that day in the subway station, he managed to collect only $32.17—barely enough to purchase a cheap pair of shoes!

You can’t fault the instrument. He was playing a Stradivarius violin built in the golden period of Stradivari’s career, and worth $3.5 million. Nor can you fault the music, as Bell flawlessly performed pieces by Johann Sebastian Bach, one of the most gifted composers the world has ever known. However, of the thousand people who rushed by, only seven stopped to listen—and they only stopped for a minute or two before pressing on.

It is kind of startling when you think about it. Here you had one of the world’s premiere musicians, playing on one of the world’s most prized instruments, performing some of the world’s most beautiful melodies … and scarcely anyone noticed!

Of course, the context probably didn’t help. After all, who would expect to find such majesty in a subway station, with a shoe-shine stand to one side and a magazine kiosk to the other? Plus, this was a workday, with people scurrying back and forth to meetings and appointments. Who has time to stop and notice beauty when you are busy trying to catch the next train?

In Matthew’s Gospel, the very last parable that Jesus tells concerns the final Day of Judgment. On that day, according to Jesus, all of humankind will be separated into two distinct groups—sheep and goats. The sheep represent those who noticed Jesus and stopped to offer him assistance; the goats represent those who didn’t. But the curious thing is that neither group can recall when such a thing ever occurred. “When did we see you and come to your aid?” ask the sheep. “When did we see you and fail to lend you a hand?” ask the goats.

In other words, those who wind up being labeled goats are not necessarily mean people. They are not rude or unfeeling. They don’t have hearts of stone or mountain-sized egos. If anything, their fault is that they simply weren’t paying close enough attention. They had things to do, places to go, and people to see—not unlike, I suppose, the countless multitudes in that subway station, who walked right pass one of the world’s greatest violinists and never even noticed!

2010-05-16T15:28:00.001-07:00

For some strange reason, God must place a great deal of value on routine and ordinariness, since this is clearly where we spend the bulk of our time. Unless your life is wildly more adventuresome than mine, most of our days are filled with the mundane, the easily forgettable, and frankly, the downright boring. We make our beds, do the dishes, shop for food, mow the lawn, run errands, answer e-mails, drive the kids to endless events, attend committee meetings, watch television, balance the checkbook, and so forth and so on.

I read once that, if a person lives to be eighty years old, that person will have roughly spent: 2,000 hours brushing his or her teeth … 204,400 hours sleeping … 43,800 hours eating … 58,400 hours performing household chores … 14,600 hours stuck in traffic … and 87,600 hours doing routine assignments at work. If anything, these estimates are probably on the conservative side for most of us. Still, it is startling to think that of the 700,800 hours that we will enjoy on this earth by the time we reach our eightieth birthday, we will have spent at least 410,000 hours—more than half of our lives!—doing what appears to amount to a whole lot of nothing.

Of course, you can always try to increase your efficiency by becoming a master of time management and squeezing a little more productivity out of each and every day. But no matter how well you happen to prioritize and multitask, there are certain tasks that must be done—and chances are that a good many will be “routine and ordinary.” So how do we glorify God, if our lives are constantly consumed by the tedious and insignificant?

One possibility is to follow the path of Brother Lawrence. Somewhere around the year 1638, Brother Lawrence (whose real name was Nicolas Herman) entered the Discalced Carmelite Priory in Paris, France. Since he lacked the necessary education to become a cleric, he was assigned instead to the monastery kitchen, where he spent his days cooking and cleaning.

However, rather than seeing his work as non-spiritual, Brother Lawrence decided that, with the right attitude, even the most common of tasks could be done to the glory of God. Before long, the other monks noticed the zeal and enthusiasm with which he worked, and were inspired to attend more faithfully to their own labors. “The key to spiritual growth,” said Brother Lawrence, “does not consist of replacing our daily tasks with more spiritual ones; but rather, in understanding that even the ordinary and mundane can serve to praise God.”

True, many of us will still have our fifteen minutes of Andy Warhol fame. We may receive a prestigious award at work, or win a game in the last second, or see our photo on the front page of the paper. But for every fifteen minutes of fame, we will likely spend hundreds of thousands of hours involved in the daily routine. So which is more important—the fifteen minutes or the hundreds of thousands of hours? I dare say that if all we are living for is those fifteen minutes, then we are not living for very much. It is the time we spend attending to the little things that counts for the most!

2010-05-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

Many of us believe that the will of God consists of a specific path that we should follow into the future. God, of course, knows exactly what this path is, but since God’s plan is not always apparent to us, we need to be about the business of discovering it. In other words, from the multitude of different roads that our lives could travel, we must figure out which is the one that, in fact, God intends for us to travel. As a result, we pray for guidance, we look for signs, we seek the counsel of others, we read the Bible for insight, and we search our own hearts.

Eventually, though, the moment arrives when we must choose. After all, we cannot stand at that fork in the road forever. Sooner or later, a decision has to be made, regardless of whether we have a strong sense about which is the right path or not. And so, we lift our foot and take that first, tentative step—secretly hoping that, as we forge ahead, God will provide us with some kind of confirmation.

But what if that confirmation never comes? What if we keep second-guessing ourselves, always questioning if we made the wrong choice? Would that imply that we forever missed out on the call of God? What if we became an accountant, for example, instead of the teacher that God intended us to be? Or what if we married this person, when God actually planned for us to marry somebody else? What then?

If you are like me, you have probably wondered about such things—maybe even worried about them. But when it comes to worrying about the future, Jesus is pretty clear on the matter. He says, “Don’t! Do not worry about tomorrow (if for no other reason than because it’s not here yet). Just concentrate on today. Strive first for the kingdom of God.”

In other words, I’m not sure that I subscribe to the concept that there is only one, specific person on the face of the planet that God has selected for us to marry, and if we don’t happened to marry that one person, then God’s plan for our lives is forever thrown off-track. Nor is there only one career that God has mapped out for us, and if we fail to pursue it, then God’s plan will be hopelessly ruined. It seems to me that there are probably a multitude of paths that we could follow and still achieve God’s will—just as long as we are consistently putting first things first.

“Strive first for the kingdom of God,” says Jesus. “Pay attention to what God would have you do today—right here and now.”

If we do that, then we don’t really need to worry about tomorrow, or even to second-guess whether we made the right choice yesterday. All we have is today, and if we can put God first today—and continue that practice every day hereafter—then everything else will fall into place!

2010-05-02T14:25:00.001-07:00

Prayer comes in a variety of forms, and some people, who claim that they don’t pray, actually do—they just don’t think of it as praying. But anytime we are moved by the world around us, I believe that we have entered a time of prayer. That “ah-h-h-h,” for example, that spontaneously floats up from us when we see something beautiful … or the “oh-h-h-h” we suddenly express when we hear of someone else’s pain or misfortune—those are every bit as much a prayer, in my opinion, as anything you will find in the Book of Common Worship.

They are prayers because they come from somewhere deep inside us, and they are voiced to somewhere far beyond us. Indeed, the whole point of prayer is to put us in touch with the eternal and the infinite. Granted, we often pray for specific needs—food, health, forgiveness, safety—but beneath all of that, what we are really praying for is to have the experience of God’s presence.

In other words, while we sometimes speak of a particular prayer going unanswered, the truth of the matter is that, if we have experienced God in the process, then the prayer already has been answered! Even if God never speaks a word, and simply holds our hand as we walk through the valley, our prayer has been answered—because what we are truly praying for is to be in communion with God.

There is a wonderful scene in the film Shadowlands, which is based on the life of C.S. Lewis. Lewis has returned to Oxford from London, where he has just been married to Joy Gresham. The marriage ceremony took place at her hospital bedside, because she is dying of cancer.

Upon his arrival, Lewis meets up with an old friend, Harry Harrington, who asks what news there is. Lewis hesitates; and then, deciding to speak of the marriage rather than the cancer, he says, “Ah, good news, I think, Harry. Yes, good news.”

Harrington, not aware of the marriage and thinking that Lewis is referring to Joy’s medical condition, replies, “I know how hard you have been praying … Now, God has finally answered your prayer.”

“That’s not why I pray, Harry,” Lewis gently responds. “I don’t pray in order to change God; I pray so that I can be changed.”

If you ask me, that is the perfect way to understand prayer. It doesn’t change God; it changes us. Which is why, regardless of what we are praying for, our prayers are always answered, because in the very act of praying, we receive what we are truly seeking—communion with God.

2010-04-25T13:33:00.001-07:00

If you are a blues aficionado, then you are probably familiar with the legendary blues master Jimmy Reed. However, for those of you who aren’t, Jimmy Reed is widely credited with being among the first to bring the rhythm-and-blues of the Mississippi Delta into the popular rock-and-roll mainstream of the 1950s. His hits included “Big Boss Man,” “Bright Lights, Big City,” and “Baby What You Want Me to Do”—a song that ended up being covered by everyone from Elvis Presley to the Grateful Dead.

I happened to be listening to one of his CDs the other day; and if you listen carefully, you can occasionally hear (ever so faintly in the background), a soft woman’s voice murmuring, in advance, the next verse of the song. The story that grew up around this was that Jimmy Reed would become so absorbed in the bluesy beat and the throbbing guitar riffs of his music that he would sometimes forget the words of his own songs. Thus, the woman’s voice is none other than that of his wife, who would stand next to him during recording sessions, devotedly coaching her husband by whispering the upcoming stanzas into his ear as he sang.

Whether or not this story is accurate, it is nevertheless a wonderful image for the role of the Holy Spirit. In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells the disciples, “I will ask my Father to send you an Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to remind you of all that I have said.” Hence, the main task of the Holy Spirit is to jog our memories, so to speak, by whispering the lyrics of the never-ending hymn of faithful obedience into our ears.

I mention this only because the Spirit is usually described in flashier terms. It is the Spirit, for example, that excites us and moves us out of our lethargy … it is the Spirit that evokes speaking in unknown tongues … it is the Spirit that prompts dramatic acts of passion and ecstasy. All of which is true, of course; but that is not the primary work of the Spirit. According to Jesus, the chief reason that the Spirit is being sent is to help remind us of our Christian calling.

Let’s face it; when it comes to being faithful disciples, we all tend to be notoriously forgetful. Indeed, one of the early Christian definitions for being lost was “to have amnesia.” Like the great Jimmy Reed, we get caught up in the rhythms of life and absorbed in our own little worlds, and we simply forget the lyrics—the story that our lives should be telling. And it is precisely in those times that the Holy Spirit stands beside us, leans in close, and whispers a gentle reminder of who we are and what we should be doing!

2010-04-18T14:20:00.001-07:00

Matthew is the only gospel writer who seems to remember that, following the crucifixion, the chief priests were still a little anxious about Jesus—only it wasn’t the resurrection that concerned them. No one in their right mind honestly believed that that was ever going to take place.
What worried the chief priests was not that Jesus might actually be raised from the dead … but rather, that his disciples would steal Jesus’ body, and then start a wild rumor that he had been. And, apparently, it was enough of a concern that they were willing to break the fourth commandment—namely, that no work be done on the Sabbath—by going to Pontius Pilate (on the Sabbath, mind you!) and asking that he station some guards down at the tomb, just in case.
However, since Pilate was hardly in favor of crucifying Jesus to begin with, you can imagine how he reacted to the request that valuable military personnel be assigned to babysit a corpse. “Don’t you have you own guards?” he asked the chief priests, rather sarcastically. “Well, knock yourselves out. Go and make it as secure as you can.”
Of course, what they didn’t realize is that, in the case of this tomb, the security issue was not going to be keeping the disciples out; it would be keeping Jesus in. And on Easter Sunday morning, when the Risen Christ shook loose the shackles of death and strolled right out of the cemetery, the chief priests quickly decided to start spreading their own wild rumor.
According to Matthew, they bribed the guards, and instructed them to say, “His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were asleep.” In fact, to this very day, says Matthew, there are still those who claim that the resurrection was all a great conspiracy.
Now, admittedly, I don’t know a whole lot about conspiracies, but from what I can tell, those who start them usually do so either to get rich, or to protect themselves. Hence, the question we need to ask is how exactly the disciples benefitted from making up a story like this? They certainly didn’t get rich, that’s for sure … nor are they any safer. On the contrary, by sharing the good news that Jesus Christ has risen from the dead, they get harassed, ridiculed, persecuted—some of them even wind up getting killed!
So what do I believe actually took place on that first Easter Sunday morning? Well, I’ll tell you—what I believe happening is that Jesus Christ got up from the grave. Don’t ask me how—I can’t explain it, let alone comprehend it. But, somehow, he got up!
True, I wasn’t there to see it for myself. But then again, I wasn’t there to see the sun rise this morning either. And yet, I affirm that it did for the same reason that I believe Christ did—because, as I look around, the world has been flooded with light!

2010-04-04T12:14:00.001-07:00

The Easter story in the Gospel of John is different from the other gospels in a number of respects. However, the most apparent is the fact that, whereas the other gospels have a group of women going to the tomb first thing Sunday morning, John has only one—namely, Mary Magdalene.

Moreover, unlike the other gospel accounts, she is not worried about who will roll away the stone, because, frankly, she has no intention of anointing the body with spices. Actually, there’s no mention that she even brought spices, which would seem to indicate that her pilgrimage to the cemetery is about something other than simply tying up the loose ends from Good Friday.

Perhaps Mary went to pay her respects … or to leave some flowers by the grave … or to whisper the words that she wished she would have said to Jesus while he was still alive. John doesn’t tell us why she goes, but the fact that she does, tells me that this is a very personal journey for her.

And maybe that’s the point … maybe what John is saying is that the Good News of the Resurrection does not come to the world addressed “Dear Occupant,” or “Current Resident,” or “To Whom It May Concern.” The experience of the Risen Christ is always a personal one!

Jesus once told his disciples, “I am the good shepherd … I know my sheep, and I call for them by name”—which, of course, is exactly how Mary eventually comes to realize that Christ has risen from the dead.

She finds the tomb empty; but rather than thinking resurrection, her first thought is desecration. Someone has moved the body—or worse yet, stolen it! “Is it not enough that they took the man’s life?” she sobs to herself. “Did they have to take his body too?”

Even when the Risen Christ approaches her, she doesn’t recognize him. She mistakes him for the gardener and begins to plead, “Sir, if you have carried the body away, please tell me where you have laid him.”

And then comes that moment—that glorious moment—when the Risen Christ speaks her name … “Mary.” That’s when her eyes are opened!

The same is true for us, of course. We do not need to conduct an Easter expedition back to the empty tomb to realize that Jesus Christ is risen today. We do not need to explore metaphysical explanations of how dead tissue can be regenerated, or perform yet another radiocarbon dating test on the Shroud of Turin.

We know that Christ is risen the same way that Mary knew … because our Risen Lord has called us by name!

2010-03-28T15:53:00.001-07:00

Each Palm Sunday the same question occurs. Why is it that Jesus is greeted with shouts of “Hosanna” on Sunday … but come Friday, everyone is screaming, “Crucify him”? How do you go from being the grand marshal of a victory parade to hanging from a cross in the span of just five days? What could the man have possibly done to turn the entire city against him in less than a week?

Well, more than likely, it wasn’t what Jesus did; it is what he didn’t do. Simply put, he failed to meet expectations—and make no mistake, there was a great deal expected of Jesus.

For starters, since Passover was basically Independence Day for the Israelites, there were probably a fair number of zealots in the crowd—folks who were just waiting for the right opportunity to challenge the authority of Rome and throw off the shackles of oppression. All they needed was a leader … someone charismatic enough to claim the people’s allegiance and courageous enough to strike the first blow. Hence, when Jesus shows up—the same Jesus who had said, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword”—the zealots look at one another and say, “I like the sound of that. Grab a palm branch, fellows, because our mighty conqueror has arrived!”

But they were not the only ones who lined the streets on Palm Sunday. There were also the Sadducees—folks who recognized that, while being an occupied country was hardly ideal, getting along with the Romans was far more profitable than starting a revolution. What they were looking for was someone who could pacify the people and persuade everyone to make the best of a bad situation. Hence, when Jesus shows up—the same Jesus who had said, “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s”—the Sadducees nod at one another and say, “Sounds like we’ve found our man. Grab a palm branch, fellows, because our great diplomat has arrived!”

And then you had the Pharisees, who were not nearly as concerned with the threat of Rome as they were with the threat of moral decay. What they were seeking was someone who could inspire the people to pay closer attention to the rules and rituals of Judaism. They had their problems with Jesus, to be sure. But they couldn’t deny his skill as a public speaker; and mind you, he had said, “I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.” So I’m guessing that there might have been a few Pharisees who were willing to join this parade: “Grab a palm branch, fellows, because our esteemed teacher and priest has arrived!”

One by one, Jesus will prove to be a disappointment to all of them. He is a conqueror, yes … but it is not Rome that he intends to conquer. He is a peacemaker … but it is not the peace that the world gives. He is a priest … but rather than offering a sacrifice, he will become one. And he simply could not hold on to the crowd’s expectations with one hand, and God’s expectations with the other, without winding up with his arms outstretched on a cross.

I suppose the bottom line is that if you are looking for a Savior to meet your own expectations, then Jesus is bound to disappoint. However, if you are looking for someone to help you meet God’s expectations … then by all means, grab a palm branch, because our Messiah has arrived!

2010-03-23T05:21:00.001-07:00

In the year 1100 A.D. Jerusalem belonged to the Muslims, and Christians throughout Europe burned with indignation at the thought. Over the next one hundred and fifty years, there were no less than seven different Crusades to recover the holy lands and any holy artifacts. Among the most zealous were the Knights Templar, who wore mantles of white with red crosses to signify both their purity and devotion. They plundered the ancient city of Constantinople (modern-day Istanbul) and recovered—or so they claimed—Christ’s crown of thorns, as well as several large pieces of the cross. At Antioch they reportedly discovered the lance that had pierced Christ’s side, and even the sword that was used to cut off John the Baptist’s head.

However, they failed to find the one artifact that they most coveted—namely, the Holy Grail. Legend had it that Joseph of Arimathea had collected some of Christ’s precious blood while interring his body, and then, years later, brought it to Britain, to a town called Glastonbury. But not long after that, it disappeared. Some said that it had been taken up to heaven, and now could only be apprehended as a vision to those who were pure of heart. Others said that it had been moved to a secret location but was still very real and tangible—a treasure of immense value, because it possessed miraculous powers.

Somewhere along the line the legend of the Holy Grail became linked to the Holy Chalice, the cup supposedly used by Jesus at the Last Supper. According to Roman Catholic tradition, this cup was safeguarded by Saint Peter, who took it to Rome. After Peter’s death, it was passed on to successive popes until 258 A.D., when Emperor Valerian demanded that all holy relics be turned over to Roman authorities. The Holy Chalice, however, was not turned over, and instead was smuggled by Saint Lawrence into Spain. Today it is said to be housed in the Saint Mary of Valencia Cathedral. In fact, Pope Benedict XVI celebrated Mass with it as recently as 2006.

None of this can be proven, of course—but that’s never stopped folks from seeking the Holy Grail. Movies like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and Dan Brown’s bestseller The DaVinci Code, continue to fan the flames of popular imagination. Just goggle “Holy Grail” and you’ll find hundreds of internet sites devoted to this ongoing search.

The reason I mention this is because the Pharisees once asked Jesus about when the kingdom of God was coming, and he responded, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17:20-21). The word Jesus uses here is entos—which can mean either “among” or “within.” The kingdom of God is among you … it is within you!

Thus, whenever we gather to break the bread and share the cup, the kingdom of God is already present. It doesn’t matter if we are drinking from a silver chalice or from tiny plastic glasses. It’s not the container that is holy; it’s the community.

The next time we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, if you take a close look at the communion table, the Holy Grail will be on it. Or for that matter, take a close look at your own dinner table tonight, as the family sits down for a meal. The Holy Grail will be there, too—because wherever two or more are gathered in Christ’s name, the kingdom of God is present. If Christianity needs a Crusade, it needs one that will open our eyes to the truth of what is already among us and within us!

2010-03-14T14:08:00.001-07:00

According to the gospel accounts, Jesus hung on the cross from noon until about three … and for those who loved him, and followed him, and believed in him, it must have seemed like the longest three hours of their lives. After all, it’s never easy to watch someone suffer—especially someone who had meant the world to you. Frankly, they may have been somewhat relieved that his death didn’t drag on, late into the evening.

Of course, for the chief priests and scribes, who had argued with Jesus, and monitored his every move, and ultimately decided that they had heard and seen enough—they might actually have preferred that his death last a little longer. Not necessarily because they enjoyed watching him suffer, but because they were trying to send a message to any would-be messiahs, who might be waiting in the wings, that you had better watch your step or this could be you. From their perspective, the longer this crucifixion took, the louder the message.

And then you had the Roman soldiers, for whom this was pretty much just another day on the job. More than likely, it didn’t matter to them, one way or the other. They were still going to have to put in their eight hours, even if Jesus died in three—so what’s the difference?

Three hours is all it took … too quickly for some … too painfully for others … and just another Friday afternoon for most. However, in the span of those three hours, Jesus spoke on seven different occasions—that is, if you take all of the gospels together. Both Matthew and Mark record him speaking once, Luke remembers him speaking three more times, and John adds three more to that.

They are commonly referred to as “The Seven Last Words.” But given the fact that crucifixion is actually death by suffocation, what we need to understand is that every time Jesus hoisted himself up to say something, it was not only excruciatingly painful, it was energy depleting. In effect, he was shortening his life by speaking. So, you have to believe that he said what he said for a reason, because every single word came at a very steep cost.

Toward the end, when Jesus was practically on his last breath, he said something that no one has ever really figured out. “It is finished,” he said, in a hushed whisper. Maybe he meant his work, or his ministry, or his time here on earth. You can almost take your pick, because all of those were now finished, to some extent or another. But whatever the “it” refers to, what Jesus was getting at is that there was nothing more that he could do … and more importantly, nothing more that we needed to do.

We didn’t have to worry anymore about earning God’s approval … or paying off the mountain of debt that we had accumulated … or finding a scapegoat and driving it into the wilderness … or going to the Temple for the umpteenth time to sacrifice the blood of yet another unblemished lamb. All of that was now over. It had already been accomplished for us—or better yet, Jesus accomplished it instead of us.

The truth of the matter is that we were incapable of getting it done, no matter how long, or hard, or faithfully we worked at it. The only way that we would be able to enter into a new covenant with God is if the old covenant were either fulfilled or finished … and on the cross, Jesus did both!

2010-03-07T15:11:00.001-08:00

As the Roman prefect of Judea, Pontius Pilate had the last word on pretty much everything—which is to say, he could have saved Jesus from being crucified, if that was what he wished to do. And judging by the gospel accounts, it’s clearly what he would have preferred to do.

For starters, after interrogating Jesus at some length, Pilate came to the conclusion that he had not really done anything wrong. “I find no crime here,” he bluntly told the chief priests. Maybe the man had committed a religious faux pas here and there or stepped on a few too many Pharisaic toes. But that was of little concern to Pilate. Frankly, he had neither the time nor the inclination to become entangled in what he considered to be a meaningless turf war among the leaders of the Sanhedrin.

Moreover, the last thing Pilate needed—especially at Passover—was to stir up a hornet’s nest by making a martyr out of some wannabe Messiah. “You’re the ones who have a problem with him,” he said to the chief priests. “Settle it yourselves.”

But this was not something that was going to settle down; and it quickly became apparent that, if Pilate set Jesus free, an even nastier hornet’s nest would be stirred up. So, eventually, he gave up, and gave in, and ordered the man’s execution.

At one point during the trial, Pilate had boasted of being practically omnipotent with regard to Jesus’ fate. “Do you not know that I have the power to release you, and the power to crucify you?” he shouted.

However, in reality, Pilate is basically powerless here; and everyone—including, perhaps, ol’ Pontius himself—knew it. He orders a basin to be filled with water, so that he can symbolically wash his hands of the whole dirty affair. But the truth of the matter is that, washed or unwashed, Pilate’s hands were tied.

The one thing that he had always prided himself on was having the last word. But in this instance, he doesn’t even get that. Jesus has the final word … and he delivers it from the cross, of all places. “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

With those words, Jesus shifted the entire context of his death. Up to that moment, it looked to everyone as if his life was being taken from him. But by saying what he did, in that final dying breath, Jesus’ life was removed from the hands of his accusers altogether. He—and he alone—is the one commending his spirit to God … not the chief priests, not Caiaphas, not even Pontius Pilate.

Simply put, those who occasionally speculate about who is to blame for unjustly taking Jesus’ life have missed the point. No one took his life … he gave it!

2010-02-28T14:16:00.001-08:00

History tells us that Caiaphas was the high priest of the Jewish Sanhedrin between the years AD 18 and 37. He was appointed by Valerius Gratus, the Roman governor prior to Pontius Pilate; and the primary reason that Caiaphas was able to hold on to the position for close to two decades is that he did exactly what was expected of him.

Basically, his job was to ensure that everything continued running as smoothly as possible: first, so that Jews stayed out of jail and off crosses, and second, because there were some clear advantages to cooperating with Rome. The roads were easier to travel, the streets safer at night, and having Roman troops at every corner obviously kept Israel from being invaded by anybody else!

True, the taxes were terrible; and no one really enjoyed living in an occupied territory. But the cost of challenging Caesar’s authority was considerably higher than the cost of compromising with him. You know the old saying—“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

And for most of the year, this forced alliance worked just fine. People may have grumbled about the Romans, but they usually did so under their breath and out of earshot of the soldiers. Passover was the only time when things could get a little dicey because of course, Passover was the celebration of Israel’s dramatic release from captivity, and it never took much to remind folks that release from captivity was still the number one priority.

So when the high priest heard reports of an itinerant Galilean preacher named Jesus, who was stirring up the people, and who was making his way toward Jerusalem for the Passover, Caiaphas’ mind went into overdrive. If he ignored the reports and simply let the agitator go on agitating, then who knows what could happen. The flames of religious fervor were easily stoked this time of year. There could be rioting in the streets. There might even be a full-scale revolt.

The result would be a swift and merciless crackdown by Rome, with many innocent people killed in the process. No matter how Caiaphas did the arithmetic, it always came out the same—better that one person should die than have an entire nation perish! I’m not sure what he had against Jesus personally; he was just being practical and taking care of business. If he wanted to keep his job, he needed to keep the peace.

The irony is that Jesus eventually reached the same conclusion—better for one to die so that everybody else can be spared. Only here’s the thing … Jesus’ death was not to keep the peace; it was to bring peace to us. For Caiaphas, it was “just business, nothing personal” … and for Jesus, it was all personal!

2010-02-21T15:33:00.000-08:00

The baptism of Jesus is one of those mountaintop experiences. No sooner does he come up from the water than the heavens break open, a dove descends, and the voice of God announces for all to hear, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” It is an event so spectacular that there were probably some in the crowd who wondered what God would do for an encore.

But rather than another high point, what we get instead is Jesus hitting rock bottom, because what follows his baptism is forty days and nights spent out in the wilderness, where there is no sign of God’s presence at all. No doves, no reassuring words from heaven—just Jesus, the loneliness of the desert, and eventually, a visit from Satan himself!

I’m inclined to believe that Satan showed up toward the end of those forty days, because he obviously knew better than to try and test Jesus while he was still fresh and well fed. The Tempter simply waited—watching from a distance—as God’s Beloved went from standing, to sitting, to crawling, until he was so weakened from hunger and thirst that he could barely move. And that is when Satan decided to make his move.

He begins by inviting Jesus to turn stones into bread … and then to prove God’s protective powers by leaping into midair … and finally to be given authority over all the kingdoms of the world in exchange for a little Satanic worship and adoration. But the important thing to notice about these temptations is that they are actually Satan’s way of hinting that Jesus deserves better treatment than this. After all, why should the Son of God be starving to death? Why should he so much as stub his toe, or be subject to Caesar’s rule when every knee, including Caesar’s, should be bowing down to him? “If God cannot do any better than this for a beloved son,” the Tempter subtly suggests, “then maybe Jesus should start shopping around for another father.”

In effect, this is a story about Jesus’ identity as God’s Son, but insofar as we are all children of God, it is also a story about our own identity. Let’s face it, there are plenty of times when we may be tempted to believe that we deserve better treatment. That devilish voice inside our heads starts whispering things like, “If you are really a child of God, shouldn’t things be going a little smoother for you? Shouldn’t you be happier, healthier, safer, more successful? Where are the supposed blessings that come with being a faithful Christian? If this is how God’s own children are cared for, then we may have a case of child neglect on our hands!”

More than likely, that voice will not come when you are in the midst of a mountaintop experience. However, it may come shortly thereafter, when you find yourself out in the wilderness, lost and alone, and struggling just to put one foot in front of the other.

But you know what you need to say at that point, right? “Away with you, Satan! I would rather be a hungry child of God than a well-fed guest at your table. Now shoo!”

If you can manage to say that, then chances are extremely good that before long you will hear another voice—a voice infinitely more reliable than the first. “This is my beloved child,” the voice will say, “in whom I am well pleased.”

2010-02-14T19:53:00.001-08:00

Each of the gospel writers records the life of Jesus in a different way. Only Matthew and Luke, for example, include stories about Jesus’ birth; and John is the only one who tells us the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. In Matthew we get the Sermon on the Mount, while Luke seems to recall that the same sermon actually took place on a wide plain.

But one story that all four gospel writers remember is the miracle of the loaves and the fish. It is a story that emphasizes Jesus’ ability to provide not only for our spiritual needs, but also for our physical needs. When people were sick, Jesus healed them … when they were sad, he comforted them … and when they were hungry, he fed them.

According to Matthew’s account, there were five thousand men present—and so, when you add in the women and children, Jesus practically ends up feeding a small town. But it is a miracle that almost didn’t happen, because the disciples’ initial suggestion was to send everyone home. It’s not that they were uncaring; they were simply being practical. After all, night was falling, they were out in the middle of nowhere, and frankly, their own stomachs were beginning to growl.

But Jesus had a better idea. “They need not go away,” he tells the disciples. “You give them something to eat.”

I wish I had been there to see the look on their faces. They must have thought that Jesus had been out in the sun too long. “Lord, there are over five thousand hungry people out there. How can you ask us to give them something to eat? We barely have enough here to feed ourselves.”

“Then bring me what you have,” said Jesus.

More than anything else, I think that invitation is the key to understanding this story—because while God is ultimately responsible for this miracle, the disciples still have to do their part. Or to put it another way, this is not a story in which the disciples just get to sit back and watch for a miracle to occur. It’s almost as if Jesus had said, “Stop thinking that bread is suddenly going to fall from the sky and share what you already possess!”

“Bring me what you have”—that’s the point when true discipleship begins, isn’t it? Because that’s the point when we stop waiting for a miracle and start participating in one. We may look at our meager contributions and think that there will never be enough to go around, but God looks at the very same offering and says, “I can do wonders with that! Just bring it to me.”

2010-02-07T14:14:00.000-08:00

One of the most difficult things that Jesus ever said comes at the end of the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant (Matt. 18:23-35), in which a king forgives the debt of a certain servant (a debt so massive, by the way, that the servant was never going to be able to repay it), and then discovers that this same servant refused to show similar mercy to someone who was in debt to him for a relatively meager amount. In anger the king throws the unforgiving servant into jail—at which point Jesus says, “So my heavenly father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

On the surface, it seems like a lesson about the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Or to put it more bluntly: Do unto others as you would have God do unto you, because according to this parable, if we don’t forgive one another, then neither will God forgive us!

But frankly, I find this reading of the parable to be terribly problematic. If the only reason I am forgiving my neighbor is to save my own neck, then it is not something that I am doing out of love but out of fear—and that doesn’t sound like something Jesus would teach.

When I think about my own experiences with forgiveness, I find that the primary reason I am able to forgive is because I have been forgiven. That is, I know how it feels to have my debt cancelled, my credit restored, my relationship renewed—and I am also aware that in order for this to happen, the other person has borne the cost.

In other words, forgiveness is never earned. It is a gift. And more than anything else, I think this is what the unforgiving servant missed. He didn’t see the king’s gracious act as one of forgiveness. He just figured that he had outsmarted the old man and gotten away with it.

Think back to the last time you managed to talk yourself out of a speeding ticket. Did you regard it as being truly forgiven, or merely let off the hook? Did you understand it as a gift that you really didn’t deserve, or more as the result of your own powers of persuasion?

If we tend to think of forgiveness as pulling a fast one, then we probably are not going to be all that forgiving of others. After all, fool me once shame on you … fool me twice shame on me.

But forgiveness does not come about because you happened to fool someone. Forgiveness is the result of the other person—the one whom you’ve hurt, the one whom you owe—deciding that being in relationship with you is more important than getting even or settling the score. Simply put, the reason we forgive is because we know what an incredible experience it is to have been forgiven.

Hence, the point of the parable is not: Do unto others as you would like God to do unto you. The point is: Do for others what God has already done for you!

2010-01-31T13:26:00.001-08:00

Several years ago there was a survey that asked how long a person should mourn the death of a loved one. The answers varied from forty-eight hours to six months—which just goes to show you that, as a society, we don’t understand the grief process very well. Clinical tests reveal that it actually takes closer to two years, and even that is somewhat misleading, since all of us grieve differently.

The main problem with misunderstanding the grief process is that too often we try to rush people through it. We say things like, “You need to get your act together and stop moping around,” or “It’s high time that you got back out there and started living your life again.”

Although well intended, such comments probably do more harm than good. If you had broken your leg, no one would criticize you for using crutches until it fully healed. If you had just undergone major surgery, no one would be pressuring you to run a marathon the following month.

The loss of a loved one is no different. It is a major wound in your life. Moreover, no one—including yourself—knows exactly how long it will take for this wound to heal, because each of us heals in our own way and according to our own timetable.

Getting through the grief process in a relatively short amount of time does not indicate that you are morally superior, nor should it ever be used as a measuring stick for how much you loved someone. I actually heard someone once suggest that “So-and-so must not have really loved his wife, because just look at how quickly he got over her death.” A statement like that is not only wrong, it is downright hurtful!

In my experience there are at least two ways in which we sometimes rush people through the grief process (and mind you, we may not even realize that we are doing it). The first is by saying too much. It is as though we think that, when a tragedy occurs, we somehow need to defend God and explain why this had to happen. But the fact of the matter is that even our best theological arguments don’t offer any real understanding, much less true comfort.

None of us fully comprehends the mind of God, and suggesting to grieving people that there is a perfectly rational explanation for all of this, if they would just learn to accept it, sends the subtle message that they are not moving through the process fast enough.

The second way we tend to rush people is just the opposite—namely, we say too little. We avoid the subject altogether, under the mistaken belief that by not mentioning the hurt, it will heal more quickly. However, this also sends the subtle message that, since the rest of us have moved on, the grieving person should too.

The bottom line is that grieving is as natural as eating when you are hungry, sleeping when you are tired, or sneezing when your nose itches. It is nature’s way of healing a broken heart. Thus, we should never view grief as an enemy that needs to be overcome or subdued.

We ought to give people permission to grieve in their own way and at their own pace. We can walk with them through that process, to be sure … but hurrying them along is not helping them, and more importantly, it’s not healing them either!

2010-01-24T12:17:00.001-08:00

Paul Harvey, the renowned radio broadcaster who died just last year, used to do a regular feature called “The Rest of the Story”—and I came across a story the other day that I think is worthy of that segment. I certainly won’t be able to tell it with the flair of Paul Harvey, but here goes.

Joseph Scriven was born in 1819 outside of Dublin, Ireland. He grew up in a prosperous home, graduated from Trinity College, and was engaged to marry his childhood sweetheart. It seemed as if everything was falling nicely into place for this twenty-five year old young man—when suddenly everything fell tragically apart.

His fiancée accidentally drowned the night before their wedding, leaving Scriven devastated and disillusioned. Rather than try and rebuild his life in Dublin, where he would be surrounded by painful memories, he left Ireland altogether and moved to Ontario, Canada. There, he met another young woman and fell in love. Soon they were engaged. However, she also died shortly before their wedding day.

Grief-stricken and feeling utterly lost, Joseph Scriven decided to adopt a new way of life by taking literally the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount. From that point onward, it is said that he gave freely of all his possessions—even sharing the shirt off his back, if necessary—and never once refused help to someone in need. He stopped dwelling on the disappointments of the past, or worrying about the uncertainty of his future, and resolved instead to live one day at a time and lift everything to God in prayer.

Upon learning that his mother was seriously ill back in Dublin, he wrote her a short poem called “Pray Without Ceasing.” Some time later when Scriven himself had taken ill, a friend stopped by the house to visit him and noticed the poem scribbled on a sheet of scratch paper near the bed.

“Did you write this?” the friend asked.

With typical modesty, Joseph Scriven replied, “The Lord and I did it between us.”

“Could I borrow this?”

“If you like it that much,” said Scriven, “you can have it.”

Eventually, the poem found its way into the hands of Charles Converse, a part-time church musician, who put the words to music, and introduced it to his congregation as a hymn the following Sunday.

Joseph Scriven died without ever realizing that his poem had become a hymn. However, the words that he had originally intended to comfort his mother went on to comfort countless others around the world—including, perhaps, yourself—because what Joseph Scriven wrote is this:

“What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer!”

And now, as Paul Harvey would intone, “you know … the rest of the story!”

2010-01-17T14:56:00.001-08:00

I was thinking about the Parable of the Prodigal Son the other day, and I found myself wondering what the father felt as he watched his youngest son pack up and prepare to leave. Did he already have a parental intuition that this young man was making a terrible mistake and would wind up regretting it? Did he do anything special during those last few days—maybe throw a going away party, or have a final heart-to-heart with his son about the risks of living on your own?

I guess I picture the father as being rather sorrowful. Not sorry that the young man is seeking his independence necessarily, because as every parent knows, that is all part of the journey. Children grow up and move on. I think the sorrow came more from the realization that his son is now moving into a stage of life that is beyond the father’s protection, and more importantly, beyond his capacity to offer assistance.

I imagine that first week there were plenty of sleepless nights for the father, as he wondered what his son was experiencing, and whether he was still safe. No doubt, there were repeated trips to the mailbox to see if any letters had arrived … and every evening he sat out on the front porch, anxiously scanning the horizon.

And when the silhouette of his son finally does appear, the father can’t believe his eyes. His deepest prayers have been answered, and he rushes out to welcome the prodigal home.

All the way back, the son had tried to anticipate his father’s reaction. He had even rehearsed an apology—hoping that if the old man wouldn’t accept him as a son, he could at least be considered a servant. So imagine the young man’s surprise, when he actually sees his father racing toward him, with a broad smile and outstretched arms!

If you ask me, the point of the parable is to get us to picture God in the same way. We do not have a scorekeeping God who is ready to pounce on us the moment we break the rules. Nor do we have a grudge-holding God who is ready to scream at us, “See, I told you so. I bet you’re sorry now!” Who would want to go home to a God like that?

For those of you who have ever wondered how to feel closer to God, I think the first step is to know that we have a God who actually wants us to get close.

And the second step is to start making your way back—not in defeat or humiliation—but with the confidence that your return will be welcomed. Indeed, like the prodigal, you may not even get a chance to apologize for leaving in the first place. You may be welcomed home, simply because that is where you belong.

Which brings me to the final step … if you really want to feel close to God, then picture yourself being so far away that you are just a silhouette on the distant horizon, and then imagine God racing toward you, with a broad smile and outstretched arms!

2010-01-10T11:14:00.001-08:00

One of my all-time favorite biblical stories is God appearing to Moses at the burning bush and directing him to go to Pharaoh and demand the release of the Hebrew slaves. To which Moses responds, “What is your name? If I go to the Israelites and they ask me, ‘Who sent you?’ what should I tell them?”

At first glance, it seems like a strange question. God tells Moses, “I am the God of your ancestors, and I want you to go to Egypt and lead my people out of there,” and Moses immediately replies, “Excuse me, what was your name again?” But what we need to realize is that, in biblical times, your name was more than just a convenient way to identify you. Your name was your essence; it defined who you were, and more importantly, what you stood for.

In effect, Moses is asking, “What is your distinguishing characteristic? In Egypt we had an abundance of gods—fertility gods, harvest gods, gods of war. What kind of god are you?”

God answers him with three words that ultimately defy translation, “Ehyeh asher ehyeh.” It is usually rendered, “I am who I am,” or “I will be what I will be.” But what does that mean exactly?

Some scholars explain these words to mean simply, “I exist.” In other words, “I am pure being—without beginning or end.” Others suggest that God is saying, “Who I am is more than you can possibly comprehend. My essence cannot be contained by a mere name!”

However, I have always been drawn to the interpretation that connects God’s answer to the use of the word Ehyeh (“I will be”) two verses earlier, when God tells Moses, “When you go to Pharaoh, I will be with you.” For me, that is God’s defining characteristic. Ours is a God who is always with us.

The Apostle Paul once asked, “If God is with us, who can be against us?” and then answers his own question by stating, “Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor death, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God.”

When bad things happen to us—and inevitably they will—the challenge is not to explain them, or to justify them, or even to accept them without any questions. The challenge is to survive them and keep on living. And the key to surviving them is to realize that we do not face such things alone.

“What is your name?” asks Moses—meaning “What kind of God are you?” And God answers, “I am the One who is always with you … that’s the kind of God I am!”

2009-12-20T11:57:00.001-08:00

In the third chapter of the Book of Genesis, you will find the first two questions that God ever addressed to us—“Where are you? Why are you hiding from me?”

They are very simple questions. But in this case, the answer was not so simple because it involved the shame of having to admit that we had disobeyed God. As a result, we were forced to give up the paradise known as Eden.

But God did not give up. God kept looking for us. And when God found us in captivity, God told Moses, “I have seen the hardship of my people in Egypt, and I want you to lead them out of there.”

Once we were free, God said, “Okay, maybe I was a little vague back there in the garden about what was expected. Let me give you some more specific guidelines—Ten Commandments. Just follow these and life will go smoothly for you.”

But of course, we didn’t follow them. We broke the commandments, left and right. In fact, we even broke the stone tablets they were written on!

And so, eventually, God said, “All right, Ten Commandments are obviously too much for you to keep up with, let me try and simplify it. Instead of ten, just remember these two—Love me and love one another.”

But it still didn’t work, and God kept asking the same question that had been raised at the very beginning. “Where are you? Why are you hiding from me?”

Finally, God said, “I’m going to take a different approach. Put the old covenant on hold, because I have a new kind of covenant in mind. It’s much harder for me, but hopefully, it will prove easier for you. From now on, you don’t have to meet me halfway; I will come to where you are. I will make my home with you.”

This radical step by God is what we celebrate each and every Christmas. The secular world may sing, “There’s no place like home for the holidays.” However, the point of Christmas is not that we get to go home … it is that God decided to make a home with us!

2009-12-13T12:15:00.001-08:00

Most of us know someone who, at least on the surface, appears to have it all together—someone who is calm, cool, and collected, when the rest of us are stressing out … someone who knows what to do and how to handle any given situation … someone who exhibits all of the characteristics and abilities that we secretly wish we had.

We admire such people, to be sure. But let’s be honest, we also find it rather difficult to relate to them. Indeed, this may help to explain why we seem so hungry for gossip and sensational tabloid stories concerning those who have fallen from their lofty pedestals. Tiger Woods is just the latest example. But before him, there was Jon and Kate and their eight children, and South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, and Martha Stewart, and on and on it goes.

Mitchell Stephens, a journalism professor at New York University, recently observed that many of us seem to take a special delight in watching someone, who is powerful and successful, be torn down. “It allows us to sit back on our couches and say, ‘I’m glad that I’m me.’”

In the German language, there is actually a word for this phenomenon. It’s called Schadenfreude, and it means “pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.” But what causes it? Is it envy? Is it spite? Is it the fact that when the high and mighty receive their comeuppance, we somehow feel justified?

Please don’t misunderstand; I’m not condoning the actions of Tiger Woods or Mark Sanford. I just think it is curious that, as a society, we find their personal tragedies so entertaining.

We can rationalize all of this, of course, by saying that, “Such is the price of fame,” and “With being a public figure comes public scrutiny.” But there is a difference between exposing the hypocrisy of our celebrities and celebrating their downfall.

The Book of Proverbs states, “Do not rejoice when your enemies fall, and do not let your heart be glad when they stumble …” (Prov. 24:17). The Apostle Paul writes, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together” (1 Cor. 12:26).

The fact that these larger-than-life figures experience many of the same frailties and failures that others do should allow us to sympathize with them, instead of scandalizing them.

I do not fault the media for covering the story; that’s their job. But I do question whether we should ever derive pleasure from the misfortunes of others. As Christians, it seems to me that we should be pointing people in the right direction, rather than celebrating how they took a wrong turn.

2009-12-06T11:16:00.001-08:00

From a dramatic standpoint, the opening of the Gospel of Matthew leaves much to be desired. It is basically just a list of names—fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen generations from David to the Babylonian Exile, and then fourteen more from the Babylonian Exile to Jesus.

Unless genealogies send your heart all aflutter, most people skip the first seventeen verses of Matthew and move straight to the story of Joseph and the birth of the Christ child. Even the Common Lectionary never calls for preachers to explore this long, tedious list of tongue-twisting names.

But in recent years, scholars have begun asking whether Matthew might have been doing something far more profound than simply diagramming Jesus’ family tree. Some have suggested that this genealogy actually illustrates one of the dominant themes of the gospel—namely, that God works in mysterious ways.

For example, most genealogies list the father, followed by the firstborn son. But this one doesn’t. We are told that Abraham begat Isaac; but there is no mention of Ishmael, who was, in fact, Abraham’s firstborn. Then Isaac begat Jacob; but of course, Esau was the eldest, not Jacob. Then Jacob begat Judah; but again, Judah is not the firstborn (that would be Reuben).

Stranger still are the women that Matthew includes in this genealogy. Nothing is said about Sarah, or Rebekah, or Rachel—the upstanding patriarchal wives of Israel. Instead we get Tamar, a Canaanite, who disguised herself as a prostitute and seduced her own father-in-law. And Rahab, another Canaanite and a real prostitute this time. And Ruth, the Moabite, yet another outsider. And Bathsheba, who is named only as the wife of Uriah, whom King David had killed so that he could marry her himself.

In other words, the circumstances of each of these women are somewhat scandalous—including the fifth and final woman named in this genealogy: Mary, the mother of Jesus, with her unconventional pregnancy.

And then we have a series of names that are a total mystery to us. Who was Azor, or Achim? Who was Eliud, or Eliezar? What did they do? What kind of men were they? Your guess is as good as mine, because other than this genealogy, their names do not appear anywhere else in Scripture.

So what does all of this say about God? Well, if God can work through scoundrels as well as saints … through children of the covenant as well as complete outsiders … and through so many other obscure and undistinguished people … then it is a pretty safe bet that God can use even us, with all of our individual flaws and gifts.

The bottom line is that the genealogy of Jesus is more than just a list of historical names. It is an illustration of the mysterious and miraculous way that God works. And of course, you could continue the list, because eventually Jesus called Paul … and Paul called Timothy … and Timothy called someone else … and someone called you … which means you now need to reach out and call someone else!

2009-11-22T14:26:00.000-08:00

Since Thanksgiving is just a few days away, I thought I would devote this week’s blog to the topic of gratitude. I recently finished reading a delightful book called Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer by Brother David Steindl-Rast, a Benedictine monk.

One of the things he mentions is that the way we speak can sometimes lead us to believe that life is mostly about taking. We will talk about “taking” a trip, for example. We “take” an exam … we “take” a job … we “take” a drive … and then, when we are thoroughly exhausted by all of this taking, we “take” a nap!

But as Steindl-Rast points out, we cannot really take any of those things without also giving. In other words, “taking” a nap is a bit of a misnomer. What we are actually doing is “giving” our bodies a rest … or, if you like, “giving” ourselves over to some much-needed sleep.

Gratitude is always a reciprocal process, giving and receiving at the same time. We accept a gift, and we give thanks for it. We bless the giver with our appreciation even as the giver blesses us with his or her kindness.

The remarkable thing about gratitude is that, like forgiveness, it is a favor we do for ourselves more than it is something we do for the recipient of our thanks. God encourages us to develop the habit of gratitude, not because God needs our thanks but because when we acknowledge our blessings, we come to feel differently about our own lives.

But if gratitude is so basic and beneficial—and if it helps us view our lives differently—then why do so many of us find it difficult to be consistently grateful? One reason may be a sense of entitlement. People who believe that they have earned their blessings, or somehow are entitled to them, are very rarely satisfied. They constantly measure their lives by what they still lack, rather than by what they already have.

It is a surefire way to be miserable—because, let’s face it, you will always be able to find someone who has something that you don’t. In fact, if you focus only on what you lack in life, then you will spend the rest of your days saying, “If only.” “If only I had a better job … if only I lived in a bigger house … if only I was married … or wasn’t married … or married to somebody else.”

The secret of contentment is to realize that life itself is a gift. It is not something that we earn, or deserve, or even are entitled to—it is a gift from God. And if you can learn to want what you already have, you may discover that you already have everything that you could possibly want!

2009-11-15T11:05:00.000-08:00

In my opinion, the heart and soul of the 23rd Psalm is found in the fourth verse—“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.” Everything prior to this builds up to these words, and everything that follows flows out from them.

In fact, if you pay close attention to the pronouns, there is a remarkable shift here. In the first three verses, God is referred to in the third person—“He makes me lie down in green pastures … He leads me beside still waters … He restores my soul.” But beginning in verse four, God is referred to in the second person—“I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

Notice that the psalmist does not claim that we will fear no evil because there is no such thing as evil. Nor does he suggest that evil will only befall the wicked. Clearly, evil exists in this world, and good people are as vulnerable to experiencing it as bad people. The reason that the psalmist is not fearful is because he knows that, as he walks through the dark valley, he is not alone!

Some years ago, a psychology professor at a major university conducted an experiment in pain tolerance. He invited several dozen students to measure how long they could keep a bare foot immersed in a bucket of ice water. One of the things he discovered was that if someone else was in the room, the students were able to keep their foot in the bucket nearly twice as long. Somehow the pain was not quite as painful when another person was there with you.

I think there is a lesson in that for all of us. When we know people who have experienced a tragedy, often the best thing we can do is simply to be with them. We do not need to explain their suffering or justify it as part of God’s eternal plan. We do not need to help them see “the bright side,” or try to make them feel better by pointing out that there are other folks who are worse off.

In my experience, people who are in pain seek consolation far more than they do explanation. Simply being there, silently holding the other person’s hand, is what helps most, because it is always easier to face a troubling present and an uncertain future when you know that you are not facing it alone.

But helpful as it is to have someone there with you, it is even more helpful when that someone is God. When the psalmist writes, “I will fear no evil for You are with me,” he is not only saying, “I can face this because I have not been left alone.” He is also saying, “I can face this because God, who is all powerful, will be with me, and give me the strength to face it.”

2009-11-01T13:04:00.001-08:00

The gospels tell us very little about the disciple named Nathanael. In fact, he is not even listed as Nathanael in the first three gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke call him Bartholomew. It’s only John who refers to him as Nathanael.

However, it’s a pretty safe bet that we are talking about one and the same person, because Bartholomew was actually a last name. “Bar” means “son of”—thus, “Bartholomew” literally means “son of Tolmai.” Nathanael, son of Tolmai.

But even though we don’t have much information about the man himself, we are given more details concerning Nathanael’s call than any of the other disciples. According to John’s Gospel, it was Philip who first brought Nathanael to Jesus. “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote. It’s Jesus from Nazareth!”

To which Nathanael sarcastically responds, “You’re kidding, right? Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Now, in terms of scripture, Nathanael makes an excellent point. The Old Testament never mentions Nazareth as a place of messianic importance. In fact, the Old Testament doesn’t mention Nazareth at all. It had produced no great priests, no kings, and no prophets—so how likely is it that the Messiah would come from there?

Of course, the other thing you need to consider is that Nathanael was from Cana … and Cana and Nazareth were neighboring villages. If there had been high-school football in those days, these two towns would have been the fiercest of rivals. So it could be that Nathanael is a little biased when it comes to Nazareth.

Whatever the reason for Nathanael’s skepticism, Philip has the perfect answer—“Come and see for yourself!” And as Nathanael approaches, Jesus announces, “Here is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit” (some translations use the word “guile”). But either way, it seems as if the quality that most characterizes Nathanael is that he is forthright.

In other words, if you’re looking for an honest opinion, then Nathanael is your man. He will tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He doesn’t have a hidden agenda … he’s not trying to mislead or impress anyone … he is secure enough to speak his mind, regardless of how his candor is received.

If you are like me, you have probably known a Nathanael or two in your life. They are the ones who are honest to a fault—sometimes brutally so—which is why they are very rarely elected to public office. But in a world where there is so much misinformation, political spin, and false advertising, I sometimes wish that we had a few more Nathanaels.

I realize that the truth can hurt. But as Jesus himself reminded us, the truth is also the only thing that can “set you free.”