What Lent Really Is, a response

Today's clarification is based on a conversation with a good friend, Jason Laurie over at School of Fish, who I respect for many reasons.  One of which is that while we heartily disagree on many topics (probably more than we agree on), we remain friends.  Yep, that's possible.  We have spirited discussions, albeit mostly via the interwebs due to a proximity issue, push on the weak spots of the other's argument, and still treat one another as equals who deserve respect.  Thus without further ado, I give you Mr. Laurie's perspective on Lent, followed by mine.  
   
          || Lent means something in particular and it does not mean to the Roman Catholic (leadership) what we have made it into on the Protestant side.  It is yet another sacrament in Romanism and sacraments, not observances, are let’s just say problematic for me.  “The two elements which are especially characteristic of Lent – the recalling (a nice way of saying renewing or redoing) of baptism or the preparation for it, and penance” – Vatican Council II.  Since AD 325 Lent has been celebrated for “renewing baptismal commitment.”  Baptism in Rome is not baptism in Protestantism it is a sacrament.  I don’t think it’s accurate to compare Lent to the order of service and of course baptism and communion are biblical so that doesn’t work and we don’t celebrate either as sacraments anyway.  Furthermore, Roman Catholics don’t give up things to point to Christ but: to point to how an extremely watered down gospel (an unsaving one in my opinion) that puts salvation on human perseverance, punishment and indulgences is more obvious to participant thus forcing them into rebaptism so they can be [sic] be “resaved” after a period of reflection leads them to better understand how they have wronged the Roman Catholic church.

            Most of my friends, obviously including yourself, do participate and it’s probably okay, but it is a conscience issue in my mind and I can’t in good faith participate in a religion that I believe is adverse to the true Christ. ||

For the sake of continuity, I will start with where we do agree: 


Like Mr. Laurie, I do not believe that sacraments have salvific properties, nor will they cause me to be ‘holier’ in God’s eyes, for God only sees me through Christ; I am hidden in Him through my faith and thus deemed righteous.  Neither do I believe that good works will assure my standing as righteous before God.  If my so-called good works could get me in, undoubtedly my bad works would get me kicked out! 


I do not believe that any church can effect my standing before God either, Roman or otherwise.  Thus, my loyalties lie in Christ alone – no human can save me from my sins.  Excepting, of course, the fully Divine \and equally\ fully human person, Jesus Christ.  He is the only Savior. 

I also agree that the sacraments within the Roman Catholic tradition have been considered to have inherent salvific properties that are antithetical to the gospel of Christ; thus the Catholic Church places too great an emphasis on sacraments.  However, I believe that in our Protestant, knee-jerk reaction to avoid any semblance of association with salvific sacraments, we threw the proverbial baby out with the bath water.  {This is where I refrain from saying anything about how the catholic – universal – church existed centuries before Luther was born, and is the stem from which modern Protestantism grew; the root obviously being Judaism.  But again, I am refraining.}  The practices and creeds of the early catholic church were both formative and protective; and I believe that when the Roman Catholic Church loyalties have been sifted out, are still of great benefit to individuals and the whole Church alike.   

As such, I will continue to use the word "sacrament," for in contemporary vernacular it is defined as: “An important Christian ceremony (such as baptism or marriage)” Mirriam-Webster // “Ecclesiastical.  A visible sign of inward grace.” Dictionary.com.  Thus, baptism and communion are sacraments within the Protestant traditions.  I would further clarify that these practices are also expectations within the Protestant church because once we pronounce our faith in Jesus Christ, we are admonished to make this a public declaration by participating in the act of baptism and partaking of communion.  We expect followers of Christ who wish to become a new family unit to participate in the sacrament of marriage; in fact, we know it is sinful for two consenting adults to have intimate relations outside of this sacrament.  Therefore, the ceremony has spiritual ramifications for each person's soul.  Thus giving credence to my argument against the position held by Mr. Kassis.           

I am continually convinced that we, who follow Christ in less liturgical ways, can find value in these ancient practices.  Is it not beneficial to me to recall – renewing or reaffirming – my baptism?  As I am baptized in Christ, would not my reaffirmation be to Him as well?  We agree that baptism has no salvific properties; it is an outward sign of inward grace. 


In our western, Protestant culture, we renew wedding vows to celebrate milestones in our marriages.  This renewal does not void the previous commitment, nor extend it; rather, the renewal honors the original and celebrates it.  In this celebration we again chose to stand in front of those whom we love, those who would hold us accountable to our promises, and publically declare our commitment to this person with our entire lives.  Does Protestant baptism differ from this?  Would we do wrong by reaffirming our commitment to Christ?  Like marriage vows, I believe we would not; I also believe this reaffirmation is not a requirement.  It is, as I said before, a way to honor and celebrate the original.[1]  This type of somber meditation does not imply that one's baptism "didn't take."  Rather, it expresses the desire of a sinful person to remember their sins, the cost of these transgressions, and the power of the Resurrection of our Risen Lord and Savior.        

Further, I see both examples of Protestant baptism as circumstantially dependent, and therefore relevant.  These being: spontaneous baptism (which is found in Scripture) and an examined, albeit delayed, baptism.  Thus, for congregations who practice examined baptism, isn’t the time leading up to this particular event akin to Lent?  Are we not exhorted to recall our sins and the price Jesus paid for them, so that we may be born again and baptized into new life in Him?      
   

As for penance (which was originally the sacrament of confession), we agree that it does nothing to improve, or detract from, our standing with God.  Christ alone is our righteousness.  However, I do see great benefit for me to be immediately and intimately aware of the price of my sins.  For they cost Christ’s blood.  Should I not be brokenhearted over the grief I cause the Holy Spirit when I sin?  Should I not recognize the pain I have caused the Father in that He gave the life of His Only Son to pay for the damage I have inflicted?  Further, as Jesus succinctly summed up the greatest commandment and its second (“Love your God with all your heart, mind, and strength…and the second is like it, ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’”), should I not strive towards reconciliation with those whom I have wronged, so far as I am able to do so without inflicting further harm?  Even to the extent that this reconciliation might require some sacrifice from me? 


Is that not the love of Christ, to give sacrificially of one’s self for the sake of another?

As you well know, I am not Roman Catholic, thus my Lenten practices are not to express my loyalty thereto; nor are they intended to better my standing with any church.  I do hope that my practices will improve, in me, my loyalty to the Church, Christ's bride; for something my Lord loves so much is also something I should aspire to love.   My Lenten practices are to recall, in my body, mind, and spirit, the miracle that is Easter; to strain, with all that I am, away from wordly distractions, reaching ever more toward the power and beauty and hope that is the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

                  This is Lent. 

It is death – me trying daily to die more to myself so that Christ may live more fully in me. 

It is resurrection – all things being made new: me, my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my relationships here on earth, the relationships between all humanity, the relationship between humanity and creation. 

It is victory – recalling that the Spirit of Almighty God resides in me, as He does in every believer, so that neither death nor demons nor any part of creation may ever separate me from my Heavenly Father again. 

It is hope – the truth that what has been broken will be made whole, what was been wounded will be healed, what has been wronged will be made right.  Now and in the Time to Come. 

It is a way to celebrate who Christ is and who we are in Him.               

          Lord, have mercy on us.  Christ, have mercy on us.  Amen.

---

[1] People in recovery ministries celebrate their sobriety by telling their stories on their anniversaries.  If we look at life in Christ through this lens, we might do well to remember our “before and after” lives, tell the stories of each, and celebrate with others our recovery from sin and death, so that we can now walk in life and truth.  Similar to the practice of “sharing our testimony;” which is one element by which the enemy is overcome.  As we contemplate Easter, would this also not be a timely practice?  Remembering what our sins cost – the cross – and then proclaiming what it has won – our lives.

All of me ~ for Lent

It’s the second day of Lent.  You already know that.  By now, you’ve likely read what everyone else is giving up, adding, and practicing for the next 40 days.  Perhaps you have some disciplines of your own that you’re using to observe the season leading up to Easter.  You may have read articles such as this one, posted at Patheos, extolling the spiritual benefits of Lenten observations.  Or this heavy-hitter by Krista Dalton reminding us that care for the poor is how we are to worship God and draw nearer Christ. 

Though it’s possible you swing the other way, as Daniel Kassis articulates in “What is a Protestant to Make of Lent?”  Wherein he remarks, as is popular thought among many fundamental evangelicals, the signature mark of freedom in Christ is being “set free from observances, expectations, and demands that come from religious obligation;” meaning there is “no need to follow such practices, as they have no power to make us holier or ‘closer to God.’”[1] 

I’ve written on this topic before, but for the sake of clarity I’ll be brief: that’s crap.  Yes, we are only holy {read: set apart, righteous} through our faith in Jesus Christ.  However, as Christ-followers, we all have observances, expectations, and demands—Communion or baptism, anyone?  How about the order of service: three worship songs during which the congregation stands, a sermon delivered while the audience sits, congregants singing one more song, and then everybody goes home?—to which we adhere in our worship of God.  I remind my anti-liturgical sisters and brethren that if we claim to follow Christ, we are religious.  But not to worry, Jesus was religious, too.  He observed feasts and holy days and Sabbaths; he fasted and prayed, and told his followers to do the same.  Because, as fully Divine and fully Human, the Lord Jesus Christ knew that humans need disciplines to get their minds, bodies, and spirits to stop focusing on themselves and draw their attention to God.  We need rhythms and seasons and practices to get our wayward minds and wandering hearts back to where they’re supposed to be: focusing on God and caring for each other. 

This is what happens when we do Ash Wednesday at home.

I am again this year aiming for a holistic approach: body, mind, spirit, and hope. 

·         Body: I am practicing clean eating.  To heal the damage my gluttony has caused.  Lord, have mercy.

·         Mind: I am reading Wright’s tome on Pauline theology and the corresponding scriptures.  To find unity and justice in the words meant to guide and form us, in these Now-and-in-the-Time-to-Come days.  Christ, have mercy.

·         Spirit:  I am turning off my nightly television and replacing my shows with Psalms and Proverbs.  I am fasting and praying on behalf of a dear friend; I will do so for a brave group of women setting out on a pilgrimage towards healing.  I am praying and memorizing a prayer, by St. Francis of Assisi, which I will share with you in days to come.  To bend my life more into Christ’s likeness.  Lord, have mercy.

·         Hope: I am working on a project that has long lived in my heart, to be completed by Easter.  It is in faith that I look toward this finish line and the usefulness of this project; that people may know the fullness of hope that is Jesus Christ in them.  Christ, have mercy. 

Because Lent illuminates our fallen-ness.

Because Lent leads to sacrifice.

Because Lent is, ultimately, about hope.

Hope that we can be Christ to the poor and outcast and hurting.  Hope that we can put aside our different ideas and care for each other.  Hope that no matter the circumstance, we can offer the love and healing of our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

Amen.   

---

[1] http://www.fencepostblog.com/2011/03/what-is-the-protestant-to-make-of-lent/

Shifter's Compass Recovery Program

I will say it again: I’ve been unsettled in my heart of late.  My compass (not my True North) has faltered and is spinning erratically.  I am dizzy with indecision, weary of the incessant pummeling of a particular external entity, and deeply saddened by my increasingly predictable response.  There are days when I simply want to stay at home and hide.  Yet, because I know who I follow, the God who Sees Me, I know that this, too, shall pass.  I merely need to recover my orientation, regain my footing, and restart my journey.  And though it will require discipline on my part, it is not something that I alone can do – I will need the Holy Spirit working in me for this to be accomplished.  But I am ready to recover my compass. 

Do not think that I have lost my faith; on the contrary, what I am loosing are my false theologies, idols that I didn't realize wheren't representative of the One True God.  Thus, while my faith is being sifted, I can see it is being strengthened even  as I type.  But I will not deny that this is a season of shifting in my soul.  A separating of chaff from wheat; a refining of what is true and a melting away of what is insignificant.  It is because I can recognize this season that I can equip and arm myself accordingly.  Thus, I have purposed to engage in a more liturgical discipline over the next month, so that I might taste and see what the Lord has for me, even amongst these ashes. 

A beautiful former mentor wrote a prayer, one that I have been praying [at least in part] daily.  She calls it the “Shifter’s Prayer.”  It is, as is so much of her work, art.  And insight.  And deeply personal, because in it she allows for soul shifts that recognize that God is still God, even while I’m being redefined in and through Him.  I have included it below, just in case anyone else out there is being sifted.

I also recently purchased the Common Book of Prayer and beginning yesterday, I purposed to follow the offices therein.  That I might recognize that I am a part of something far greater than myself; something even greater than myself and my relationship with Jesus.  I am a member of a world-wide body of believers (both temporal and heavenly) who recite these prayers, who keep these offices, who need the same grace and the same mercy from the same God as I.  So that I might lift my eyes from my personal shifting to see, quite frankly, that the world does not revolve around me. 

It should only ever revolve around Christ Jesus.  For the glory of God.  Forever and ever.  Amen.     

a shifter's prayer template  by Kathy Escobar

God, i used to think you were... (any qualities of God that you used to really believe)

i used to be able to say to others, to myself... (one or two phrases that you were sure

of in your faith)

when i read the Bible i used to feel... (several feeling words)

now i sometimes feel... (several feeling words)

oh, how i miss... (several things you miss about your faith before)

but God, i'm trying to lean into the present, to experiencing you in new ways.

i see you in... (several areas of your life where you are seeing God somehow, some way)

i feel you in... (several areas of your life where you are feeling God somehow, some way)

i hear you in... (several areas of your life where you are hearing God somehow, some

way)

i smell you in... (several areas of your life where you might smell God somehow, some

way)

i touch you when i touch... (several areas of your life where you are touching God

somehow, some way)

thank you for these gifts.

despite all the things i don't know, i can still cling to this.... (one truth that is

sustaining you right now)

and for that i, too, am thankful.

God, please keep sustaining me in these shifts.

i do want more of you in my life.

amen.

// www.kathescobar.com september 2012        

           

How to construct Love

Declaration 2:  This new creation that is me converses with her God every day: through prayer, reading and memorizing his word, still listening, and private worship; for

Love is built one moment at a time.

In our highly literate society, with the prevalence of words and shocking availability of scripture, I find a tendency towards reading about scripture…instead of reading scripture.  As western one-third-world dwellers, we’re more likely to attend a study taught by a favorite celebrity-teacher than to crack open our Bible with a group of believers.  We prefer readily distilled and easily digested lessons gleaned from others, from their scriptural immersion, to wading into the ocean of scripture for ourselves.  Why? 

We [myself first and foremost] can quote movies and books, sing entire operas, recite plays, speeches, and poems; even relate our favorite jokes.  But can only vaguely paraphrase the Holy Scriptures in our own tongue.  Memorization feels cumbersome, tiring, and more like a chore than the delight of a soul in love.

I lift friends and family and my needs up in prayer; tossing them to God like a last-ditch lateral with the clock working against me and the day pressing in like the defensive line: “here, take this; I’m about to be sacked.”  I ask questions, but don’t tarry for their answer.  More “status update/tweet” than genuine conversation. 

Worship.  This is the most embarrassing of all.  I worship corporately, I sing in the car.  But in my own house, all alone, I struggle to loose myself in it.  When it does overtake me, surprising and without warning, I pull back; like over-thinking a passionate kiss.  I should revel in the emotion and immediacy of it.  I should ache for it; physically crave it, as a lover craves her beloved’s touch.  But in the drought I have forgotten romance, left the flame of passion untended.  In doing so, my soul has become brittle; and my attempts increasingly awkward.      

How will I fall in love, if I never listen to the One for whom my soul longs?  How will I stay in love, if I let the day-to-day overrun spending time in Love?  How will I experience love, if I rebuff its intimate advances?

Today, I have resolved to pray as a lover.  I want to know my beloved; know his ways, his desires, what makes him happy, what makes him sad.  This means I have to listen.  I have to spend time alone with him.  I must be still.  Today, I have resolved to read the Holy Scriptures.  Every.  Single.  Day.  And to memorize it, that it might become the delight of my soul.  Today, I have resolved to worship; sometimes through music, through poetry, through enjoying beauty, through recognition of who God is.  And to let this worship fill me with pleasure and a growing desire for more of God. 

HOW?

When I pray, I will begin with Richard Foster’s “Prayer of Relinquishment” so that I may set aside all of me to become more immersed in Christ.  Then I will be still; and listen.  Even if all I hear is silence, resting in the presence of God will be exactly what my soul needs.

The Officer began a new reading plan, and has shared it with me.  While I haven’t followed it as strictly as he, it is teaching me the discipline of carving out specific time every day, for God’s word.  A list of other plans can be found here, at David Platt’s Radical Experiment website.

I am going to shut the windows, draw the blinds, and silence the phone.  Then I will put on music and sing at the top of my lungs [even if it scares the dog] to my God.  I might dance a bit.  I might talk out loud to Him about how spectacularly awesome He is.  I might watch videos, or listen to lectures, or read the Ontological argument to try to wrap my mind around His majesty.  I might go outside and wonder at the petals of a flower, the quaking of leaves, or the stately grace of the mountain; and offer praises to the Creator.  But whatever I do, I will do in private; as a lover delights in her beloved.  I will save my worship for my God and create an intimacy in our relationship that is the picture of my love for God.

I encourage you to find ways to read, memorize, pray, listen, and worship daily.  I know that everyone’s lives look different; that we’re all in different places in our walks with the Lord.  Just don’t let creation become more important than the Creator.  And know that whatever you do, God will delight in meeting you right there, and with songs and rejoicing will overwhelm you with His love.

What Joy looks like through tears

Read: Job 1:13-22, Psalm 142

source

Today was hard.  I had to let go of something that has been a source of deep and abiding joy for me.  And yes, I waited until the last possible moment; hoping for the hail Mary pass that didn’t come.   Instead, I’m left praying it’s not a permanent release.  Yet if it is, God is still sovereign.  This morning also brought with it news that has the ability to stifle hope.  Again.  And the Officer and I, together, are still smack-in-the-middle of a time of decided trial which has been marked with a series of false peaks and mirages; this wilderness has consumed a quarter of our year, and still we have no respite in sight.  Another beloved of my heart has had news of the life-altering flavor; and I can’t but hurt with them.           

So a resolution to joy may seem forced.  But joy isn’t a painted on smile and an “everything’s peachy-keen” attitude.  Joy might be recognition of who attends your situation; the acknowledgement of the One from whom your strength, on the weariest, days comes.    

In the first chapter of Job and Psalm 142, we find two men encountering different varieties of the pain a fallen world can provide.  Both Job and David knew what to do in times of hurt; times of grotto dwelling and ash sitting.  Each first recognized the hurt they felt, and then proclaimed God sovereign over his circumstance.

Within the space of four verses, Job loses his entire fortune, all of his servants, and each one of his children.  We could understand how Job could have lost every shred of joy.  And we do see Job react to the news in an emotionally appropriate way: he tore his clothes and shaved his head in mourning.  Yet immediately afterward, he fell to the ground

…and worshiped.

We are told that in his proclamation that “naked [he] came from [his] mother’s womb; and naked will [he] depart.  The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised,” Job “did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing.”[1]  Job recognized the sovereignty of God, in spite of and even through his circumstances.  And so while he was in full mourning (and appropriately so), Job demonstrated what scriptural joy in crappy situations looks like.

David is known for crying out to God in every situation, good or bad.  In Psalm 142, he cries out to God for mercy and rescue.    He proclaims an expectation that God will be good to him.  He says that the Lord is his refuge, even when rescue is in the future tense.  Speaking thus, David is able to decry his circumstance and still claim God as sovereign over even the situations (and people) that have driven David into hiding, into literally skulking about in a cave, fearing for his life and the as-yet-to-be-made-real promises of Almighty God.  
         
Thus, I submit that joy is neither circumstantial, nor does it mean faking happiness.  Joy allows for truth in our emotions.  We can cry, we can mourn, we can say that our situation sucks.  So long as, at the end of the day, we land firmly on the truth that God is God.  And He is sovereign over our stuff, our circumstances; and He is deserving of our worship.  Even if all we can say is, “You are God.”

On days like Job’s or David’s, even my today, joy looks like breathing.   In and out.  In and out.   

And worship can simply mean saying, “God reigns.” 

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[1] Job 1:21-22

The wearing down of joy

This summer has worn me down.  Not in the way I anticipated, with too much sun and frivolity.  But in an I-never-thought-we’d-be-here fashion.  Yet, here we are. 

After a year of such spectacular filling and learning and revelatory delights, I am found in the valley.  Where the only portion of scripture that is ringing truth into my heart is the psalter.  And the chords which these poems strike are not high and taut with the universal beauty of Christology or soteriology; but achingly and tremulously deep, with a resonating truth for me.  Right here.  In this breath.   

 Les Larmes de Jacqueline (Jacqueline's Tears) Op.76 No.2 / Harmonies du Soir Op.68 composed by Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880), dedicated to Arsène Houssaye.  Performed by Werner Thomas with Münchener Kammer Orchestre; dedicated to Jacqueline Du Pre.

I have always loved the psalms for their intimacy, their naked honesty before God.  Those that flow from the quill not, at least initially, meant for others’ consumption; those are the ones that I find forming themselves in my chest before I even know how to pray on these days.  So many were penned in moments of intense, personal emotion; some as praise that incorporates a [hopeful] complaint, and others as lament ending in worship.  Thus we find there is room for the entire pendulous scope of human emotions, in either at one time.

And so I am here, recalling that yes, the Word of God is meant for teaching, and rebuking, and guiding, and forming.  But it is also a salve.  When too long in the refining fire my soul has been made to linger.  When I am weary of the vastness of my wilderness; when the loop-the-loop nature of my journey has caused me to yearn to lie down in a cool, dark, safe place. 

Therefore, I am dedicating these next few posts to joy.  A focus to which I committed my year; and one from which I do not feel I’ve strayed.  But these next two weeks I will address the abiding joy that is not circumstantially dependent; joy that sustains through the storm, yet is neither forced nor false.  Joy that is big enough to allow for tears and great disappointment, for pain and genuine wounds.  A joy that might not look anything like the common typography of the word.  Because there is a difference between jumping up and down, clapping one’s hands while declaring the Lord’s praises, and only having the strength to lift your face, wet with tears, long enough to say, “Today, God is still God.”  Yet in both, joy resides.  And it is neither sinful nor weak to inhabit the later for a time. Both are equally valuable in His eyes.  Both are attended to with the same Divine devotion and tenderness.  And both are allowed to be expressed in the throne room.       

Let me encourage you, if you are in the midst of your own storm, if you feel you are drowning, you are not.  If only you trust in the Lord.  If you are dancing because the joy inside must be expressed, turn your praises to God and delight in where you are.  But count what we will cover in the next two weeks as preparation.  Tuck the words away, as provision for what may come.  And know that even if the sheen of your delight never dulls, you may be called upon to use these lessons to care for someone who hasn’t the strength to recover their joy.  You may be the one who must help carry them through their storm.

If you have never tried the spiritual discipline of praying through the Psalms, may I suggest that you do?  If this seems too daunting, pick one: a favorite, one you’ve heard taught before, or just open the book and choose the first one you see.  If you can’t connect what you’re reading with your life immediately, move to the next psalm.  There is one that will.  When you find it, pray it.  Replace the second person with your name or personal pronoun (Jen, or “I”, or “me”); replace the third person (“The Lord”) with second person (“You”).  Make it personal.  Talk to God using the words found in scripture; and let the Holy Spirit do the work in between.  Do this for a few days this week; try for at least three.  Write it out; speak it out loud.  Do whatever will make this a conversation between you and God.  About you and Him; about your life right now and your relationship to Him right now.  It may feel stilted at first, it may feel rote; but give it time.  You will find the gamut of human experience within the psalter, and seeing your life reflected back from the Word of God can be one way to experience a new depth of intimacy with God.

The Only Ecclesiology that Matters

Ecclesiology:  Theology as applied to the nature and structure of the Christian church

As with so many other things, I am guilty of this myself; and, I truly believe it’s rooted in pride.  I, until very (milliseconds ago) recently, thought I had the lock down on ecclesiology.  I’ve thought this before, in different seasons of my life.  Yet each time I think I’ve got it all figured out, I’ve learned something new, I’ve grown in a different way, and I’ve come into a deeper and more beautiful experience of the grace of Jesus Christ. 

But after reading/listening to yet another Christian-bashing-Christian blog/podcast, I am ever more convinced that neither I nor any other fully-human-and-not-divine person completely understands or practices the ecclesiology of Christ himself.  Nobody has ever expressed the perfect praxis of the gospel that should be the nature and structure of the bride of Christ.  We’re too myopic, too self-oriented, too prideful, too fallen.

Origin

Like ancient Israel, we busy ourselves with the daily preening that comes with I’m-better-than-my-fellows-because-hold-the-patent-on-God’s-truthiest-Truth.  And like the ancient Hebrews, we are very, very wrong.  In our fractured version of the Church, our us-versus-them or me-above-you theologies, we have lost sight of the very tasks to which we have been called.

I doubt that the father trying to hold his child through the tangle of endless tubes and amidst beeps and alarms and the acrid smell of sanitation, will care whether I’m pre- or post-trib; so long as I’ll pray with and for them both. 

I can’t see the mother, racking her brain to think of how she’ll feed her kids their one meal for the day, caring about whether I’m Calvinist or Arminianist or Molinist; so long as I give her children food.

I have a hard time believing that the girl, who is trying to lance her pain out of her very skin, actually gives a rip about whether I’m complimentarian or egalitarian; so long as I walk with her on the road to her healing.

I don’t think the homeless person, who hasn’t showered in months and who hasn’t been called by his name in decades, cares if I’m Catholic or Reformed or Non-demoninational; so long as I look him in the eye, ask his name, and speak to him as though he were a human being.   

I can’t imagine that the boy, whose father has run off and who now lives with his mom’s abusive boyfriend, cares in the least whether I’m fundamentalist or liberal; so long as I can protect him from the hurt. 

In the darkest nights of our souls, these labels don’t matter.

Yes, a well-reasoned apologetic is necessary: to reach the lost and defend the truth.  Yes, sound doctrine is essential: to maintain the gospel and follow the Lord.  And, yes, appropriate theology is crucial: because we can’t love a God we don’t know.  Without these, works are meaningless and faith is dead.  But we have to stop slaying one another over the minutia of human systems and labels. 

Because Christ didn’t become human to give us labels.  He came to remove them.  Christ didn’t die on the cross to divide people.  He came to unite us in him.  Christ didn’t rise again to keep people out of his kingdom.  He rose from death to gather all those who call him Lord into his house, that he may call us friend and beloved. 

That, cherished friend, must be our ecclesiology.  Faith in the Truth and Love in our praxis. 

To Pray or to Do, that is the question

What do you do in a state of absolute panic?  Or utter desperation? 

Isabella by James Christensen

I have two people, my most absolute core, upon whom I can call at any moment.  In any situation.  One will spring to action, delegating and orchestrating, walk me through each step of the what-could-possibly-come-next scenarios.  And I know that when we hang up, or finish our frantic texting, she’s praying.  If she wasn’t already.  The other, because of geographic locale, will put down the phone and in that instant hit her knees.  They are one of her least favorite features; but I think they are her most beautiful.  She fights so mightily on them, she wields such remarkable power because of her willingness to bend them.   

To be clear, neither reaction is superior to the other.  I need both.  I need someone to remind me to breathe, and who will repeat until I believe it, “you’re okay.  You’re okay.  You’re okay.”  Someone who tends first to the immediate, physical needs of my person.  And then prays. 

Jesus did that. 

And I need someone to hand every shard of what I’m experiencing over, immediately, to the only One who can help.  Someone who sees the depth of need in my spirit, alongside the threadbare workings of humanity; and calls upon the mighty name of God for respite.

Jesus did that.

Thus, let me first encourage you.  Whatever your knee-jerk reaction to another’s suffering, be it of the fixing variety or the pray-it-out flavor, it’s okay.  Do that.  Do first what comes without examination.  If you’re a pray-er, then by all means, pray!  If you’re a doer, then do!   

Pray.  Do.  Both of these are exactingly displayed in the incarnate ministry of Jesus Christ.  One is not greater than the other.  Do not neglect these practices on behalf of your fellow believers.  I cannot express the relief in receiving these gifts, action and prayer.  Each, in a unique and meaningful way, ministers to our holistic person: physical and spiritual.   

When you are overwhelmed or desperate, I pray that you have someone who tends your physical needs and someone who carries you into the throne room of God, interceding on your behalf.  And when you have the opportunity to be a warrior or servant for another, I pray that you rise up to fill that role.  For the beckoning of the kingdom resides in the mouths and hands of His servants.  And the glory of the King is made manifest in the words and deeds of His people.               

When the coffee's gone cold

I quit coffee a few months ago.  It was time.  Recently, though, I’ve been wondering what always draws me back in.  Why do I crave it?  It wasn’t the warmth; tea steps in rather nicely.  It wasn’t the caffeine; after it was gone, I felt better than before.  So, was it really just the liquid; or could it be something different entirely?   

What I have discovered is that coffee, for me, pivots on relationships.  It’s the cozy cup I hold when listening to the joys of best friends.  The drink I offer before tears flood beloved eyes, hoping the tangible warmth can be enough in those moments. It’s the excuse to see beautifully familiar faces again.  It’s the catalyst for getting to know new friends.   It’s the steaming liquid beside my journal and Bible, when it’s just Jesus and me.  When I can talk, openly, and He listens; when I grasp it in my hands, and really hear what He’s telling my heart. 

All of this beauty, all of this truth, all of this life,

poured out and shared over

such a simple liquid canvas.

At the end of a semester, the close of my first year in grad school, I’m craving coffee.  Not for the caffeine jolt [though the boost for finals wouldn’t be terrible], but for the vividness in those together times.  For the listening and being heard that happens around it.    

This season has been a trying one.  After so much involvement in ministry and the lives of people I’ve grown to love dearly, I’ve had to pull back, to withdraw from quite a bit of community.  I’ve had to be extremely selfish with my time, and how it’s spent; and I have felt the greed of it tugging in my heart more often than not.  I’ve spent most of my time learning, which is entirely different from listening.  I’ve spent a good deal of time forming opinions and presenting them, which is very unlike being heard.  And while it has been a season for exponential growth in my spirit in an expansive place, one in which my heart could grow into a new freedom; it has been a bit weary.  Lacking, just a bit, in the vibrancy of community.

A cup of java might just soothe that weariness away; let my spirit unfurl, and shake out stiff feathers.  If this is the case for me, how much more so is it for others?  Because, for all my self-imposed isolation, I have my core of people who won’t let me disappear entirely.  They keep calling, keep inviting; keep asking, even if it’s only a two-minute conversation, how I’m doing.  And they mean it.  And I know I’m loved.    

Which makes me wonder if love can really be as simple as saying, “let’s grab a coffee.”  Would that approach to community, to joining the lives of others, would that make a difference?  If instead of living horizontally-socio-economic lives, we spread our coffee times out among all the different strata of poor, rich, young, old, healthy, sick, believers, non, urban, rural.  Could we change something in this weary, lonely world?  If we looked one another in the eye, over a cup of joe, and said “you matter to me.”  Then shut up and listened.  And then let others do the same for us.

While it’s unlikely that this tiny gesture would be enough, it would be a start.  A window, opening in a soul otherwise fettered against hope or love.  I think we’re a society that is so lonely, we drive ourselves mad with distractions from this racking sadness pervasive in our hearts.  Everyone’s talking, but no one’s listening.  We all ache to be heard, to be known; but no one takes the time to truly know others.               

Perhaps a good cup of coffee could soothe some of that weariness away.  And open the door, just a bit, for love to break in to lonely and dying hearts. 

Are you willing to try to be that change with me?  Recognizing we won’t change the entire world over night; but hoping that we may change just one day for just one person. 

Look around today.  Whose existence is calling out to be noticed? 

          Who could you start to know, over a cup of coffee?