IN-siders and OUT-siders

       Or how, after 2,000 years I have finally got it right.*

Recently, I’ve read quite a few articles bagging on “mega” churches.  In the past few months, I’ve sat in round-table discussions focusing on how denominational representation was absolutely necessary to keep believers from stumbling off into the cult-ish wilderness of quasi-doctrinal belief.  I’ve heard stances on submission, authority, worship, “religion” (yes, I’ll interject here to say how I despise the misuse of that word.  We’re all religious, we only differ in what and how we serve.  And yes, that includes the pagans and atheists and naturalists and Christians and every-blooming-person on the earth.), theology, soteriology, historicity, interpretation, and all manner of topics.

And where I’ve landed, after looking at the Jesus revealed in the gospels, hoped for in the Pentateuch, promised through the prophets, ached for in the wisdom literature, proclaimed in the epistles, and again in the Revelation, is that not a single one of us has gotten it right.  Granted, there were a literal handful of folks in Jesus’ time who saw who he really was.  But even that was through a direct revelation on the Holy Spirit. 

So, 2,000 years later, how can any one of us claim to have cornered the market on Jesus?

Yes, we study the scriptures to discover as much as we can about what he did, who he was, and how to emulate him.  Yes, we beg the Holy Spirit to mold our decrepit and rotten hearts to be more like his.  And yes, we must rely on God’s revealed character as a litmus test against which we measure our findings.  And yes, all of this is best done within the protective boundaries of doctrinally-sound communities.          

Yet, I hurt when I come across Christian-bashing.  By other believers.  Those in the mega-churches saying the liturgical are faithless robots.  The seeker-oriented gatherings bash mega-church attendees as godless zombies.  Those in the liturgical traditions treat their liberal fellows as if infected with anti-Christian-plague.  We, brethren, are the body of the one, true Christ.  We are all outsiders, seeking entrance, through grace, into the glorious kingdom of the Father. 

And not a single, solitary person among us is worthy to be let in.

                But for Christ… 

Jesus loved the outsiders.  Yet, he still found time to minister to the insiders.  He touched Roman and Jew alike.  He healed without care for class or ethnicity.  He rebuked Pharisees and a Syrophoenician with the same authority.  He taught men and women just the same.

Jesus gives each one of us His Truth.  That He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that no one comes to the Father but through Him.  Jesus allows each of us to decide whether we accept or decline his sacrificial death on our behalf.  And if we do, He expects obedience from us.  Be we Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female.  Our allegiance to His Father requires our submission to His will.  We are to listen for His voice and be obedient to Him. 

And in our obedience, we are to love one another.  Whether the other happens to be our polar opposite or not.  We, as Christ’s followers, are to be known by our love for one another.  Jesus said so.     

Thus, I have to ask: can we look at one another, in love, and strive to live peacefully as far as it is up to us.  And admit that none of us have it exactly right

But for Jesus.



*I say this entirely tongue-in-cheek.  I'll be the absolute first to admit that I, in fact, do not have it all right.

Just so we're clear...

(a type of worship)

Basilica

It is historically documented.  It is intellectual folly to deny that a first century, Palestinian Jew by the name of

     Jesus

was crucified by the Roman government.  There is no scholarly debate: Jesus was a man.  Fully, completely, no-way-around-it, human, male.  This man, worshiped over 2,000 years later, could not then, nor ever have been a woman.

As a man, Jesus was a Jew.  He was raised in an orthodox Jewish home.  He practiced the Jewish religion (yep, I said that Jesus was religious.  Which, in the anthropologistic and historical sense implies that he practiced his religion…, well, religiously).  He followed the Mosaic Law to the letter.  Not one iota was ignored, not one minutia disobeyed.  His lineage was carefully documented to prove that he was the answer to eons of prophecy.  He was educated in the Hebraic traditions and scriptures; and he observed all the festivals and Sabbaths as one who understood their true purpose.  He taught with authority and corrected the misunderstandings of the mortals he came to save.  Of the Israelite leaders, he expected much.  To those on the fringe or outside the faith, he offered a way in.         

Jesus hung out with sinners and outcasts; ate with them, walked with them, talked and laughed and wept with them.  He saved them; he forgave them; he loved them.

                HE WAS NOT ONE OF THEM.

Jesus was Divine.  Before the universe was formed, before humans drew breath, before time began and after time ends he will continue to be always and forever Divine.  One with the Father and Holy Spirit in perfect and complete communion. 

Jesus came to earth, while sinners were sinning, to rescue humans who didn’t know they needed saving.  He died in the stead of every sinner who ever was or ever will be.  But only,
     Only
if the sinner chooses to trade his or her wickedness for Jesus’ all-encompassing righteousness.  To trade their own, impending and eternal torment, for his atoning death on the cross.  This choice is always in the heart of the sinner.  Like a marriage proposal, anyone can accept or reject this love.  Unlike a proposal, this love is offered every moment of every life.  Until the moment when life is over.  Or until that soul grows so hard from scratching out a life in the wilderness of death and constant pain, that Jesus [whom I picture weeping bitterly, as he did over Jerusalem just prior to his crucifixion] says to that sinner, “your will be done.” 

To be completely clear, Jesus was everything the Holy Scriptures say he was.  Jesus, the Promised Savior, the Only Son of the Almighty God, will never be a sinner.  He came to save sinners.  He died to redeem sinners.  He lives to give Love to sinners.  If we would but accept it.    

He was, in a specific and tangible and documented portion of linear time, God housed in flesh.  He was Eternity in temporal form.  He is the Healer of the broken, Redeemer of the damned.  He is the One who loves each sinner so much that He would trade his life, his oneness with the Eternal Almighty LOVE Itself, for the sake of that one sinner to be welcomed into His Father’s house. 

But He is not to be made in our image.  He is not a domesticated kitten, upon whom we may assert our ideals or morals or compunctions.  Our culture does not dictate, any more than the ancient Hebraic or Hellenistic cultures which comprised his earthly context, his will.  Jesus’ will was always that of the Father.  And the Father’s will does not deviate from scripture.  Regardless of what our favorite authors may tell us.  Or how we feel, as one-third-world dwellers.

Jesus the Christ is the Lion of Judah, who will return not as prophet or pacifist, but as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  Robes dipped in blood; Warrior for His Father’s kingdom, who will reclaim all that evil has stolen.   And He will win.

For LOVE, true and honest and just LOVE, wins. 

     For His glory and Kingdom and Power are forever.

Amen.

 

 

Please leave a comment below if you have any questions regarding this theology. 

 I am happy to supply scripture references (as well as secular and scholarly). 

John Mark McMillan's "Death In His Grave"

 

 

Enjoying this study?  Here's a link to other articles in this series: The Women Who Knew Jesus

The gods of our own making

Dogma, origin

What happens when we stay tucked into our familiar comfort-zones, the places and people that look and sound and feel most like us? 

For one, we can stop growing; if we’re not being pushed outside what’s comfortable, we have a tendency towards stagnation.  We can also stop seeing the forest and only see the leafless and wilting branches, nit-picking the theology and practices of those whom we claim as spiritual family.  Or like an inverted nautilus, we can wind more tightly into our own ideas so that our theology begins to more closely resemble the body which developed it than God himself.  This final tendency being perhaps the most dangerous of all.

There is, within contemporary Western Christianity a fascination with Love. With Jesus as not so much as prophet or good-guy-who-had-some-radical-ideas, rather, with Jesus as the ultimate embodiment of Love.  And only Love.  As if the totality of the Divinity of Christ could be so succinctly summed up: Love, and nothing more. 

Yes, God is Love.[1]  Yes, Christ did die for Love.[2]  And, yes, it is by our Love that followers of Jesus will be known. 

Yet we mustn’t forget from whence that very Love comes.  This Love can only come from God: the God of the New and Old Testaments.  The God of Christians and the Israelites.  The God of Love and the God of the Law.  Glennon Melton’s assertion, in her most recent post at Momastery, that Love trumps the Law, due to Jesus’ seeming flouting thereof as “Sinny McSinnerton”[3], is a back-handed rejection of the God from whither the Law first came.  It is the repudiation of Christ’s assertion that He came not to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it.  It is the narrow-minded, Western, one-quarter-world view that all we need is Love. 

What about Justice?  What about Righteousness?  What about Holiness?

Where do those fit in with the nothing-but-Love paradigm that is so flagrant and prolific and, frankly, seductive in our seeker-driven worship?  Because if Jesus (and thus by extension, God Himself) is only Love, then my sins are of no consequence.  My lifestyle, my choices, my actions are meaningless; because by golly, Jesus loves me.  And so long as I in turn love everybody else, all will be right with the world. 

But if my sins (and by extension, the sins of everyone else) are of no consequence, then why did Jesus have to die?  Why kill Love?

I maintain that Jesus had to die, because my sins (and yours and those of every other person ever to live) do matter.  Because my actions, my lifestyle, my human-ness and my very propensity towards sin twists and perverts everything about me and God’s creation, Jesus had to die to fix it.  To redeem it, to yank creation and me back from evil, and say, “Oh, no you don’t; this is mine!” 

Therefore, Christ wasn’t just a guy who loved people radically.  Yes, He did that.  But he was also the foretold Messiah, the Savior of the world.  He wasn’t merely a revolutionary who was also an outcast who loved other outcasts really well.  Yeah, he did that, too.  But the Divine-Incarnate Jesus, as Mrs. Melton posits in her article, could not have come today, or ever, as a black, lesbian teenager.  I do not say this because I agree with John Piper’s teaching that God is inherently masculine, and NOT because I believe Jesus hates anyone because their sexual orientation (I very, very firmly believe that God so loved the entire world—every person of every race and gender and age and worldview—that he gave his only Son not to condemn the world, but to save it; so that all who believe in Christ will not perish but have eternal life); but I say this because Jesus had to be who he was in order to fulfill the prophecies proclaimed about him in the centuries preceding his incarnation.  Jesus was exactly who he was supposed to be.  And he walked the earth at exactly the time he was supposed to walk it.

When we forgot or purposely neglect this, we have in essence forgotten the God who sent his Son to die in our place.  We make the Son greater than the Father.  We bend the Divine human to fit our worldly human desires.  We create a god who looks more like we want him to look than he actually does.

Had Jesus been anything else other than a 1^st century Palestinian Jew, his very existence would have made God a liar. 

And you can call me a stuffy, old-fashioned, fuddy-duddy [or you can pick from other, more colorful pejoratives should you chose; trust me, I’ve both heard and used them before,] Christian.  But I have a knee-jerk reaction when anything we posit about God could be construed in such a way as to make him a liar.  Because doing so makes him not God.  And if he’s not God, then from whom was Jesus sent, and whose kingdom are we proclaiming?  A god of our own making?  

Or the Lord God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, of all that seen and unseen, whose thoughts are not human thoughts, and whose ways are not humanity’s ways? 

Then ask yourself: Upon which would you stake eternity?   

“What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”

A. W. Tozer

 

---

[1] 1 John 4:8

[2] John 3:14-18

[3] Glennon Melton, “I Think Jesus’d be gay…Or No She Didn’t,” Momastery, http://momastery.com/blog/2012/05/28/i-think-jesusd-be-gay-orno-she-didnt/ 

Chasing Joy

The new year is all about what we want to change, isn’t it?  It’s a time for taking stock and becoming aware of what’s lacking in our lives.

Coming off of a semester of reclaiming my Awesome (albeit a life-long endeavor to maintain), I was a little leery of looking too long for what’s missing.  Though, after rumination I came upon what I want:

Not to fill an empty space in my life with yet another program or activity or goal.  Instead, I want to strip away all of those and to run hard and fast after what’s truly meaningful.  I want Joy. 

Abounding, uncensored,

 riotous, alluring,

                unadulterated, transforming,

Joy.

Because my time, and yours dear one, is too fleeting upon this blue mot to fritter away a joyless existence.  Each moment holds such potential for it.  Even the ones so infused with pain they crush all but the glimmer of hope.  Because joy isn’t the hapless smile slapped on your face the moment the church’s threshold is breached.  It isn’t the giddy ecstasy bounding out of wedding vows.  It is the abiding, sustaining undercurrent of life, if in Christ we reside daily.  If through Christ we absorb the pure source of joy. 

So this year, I have resolved not to chase after the wind.  I will chase joy.  I will dwell in it.  I will bring it with me into the world that is in such need of it.  I will gladly share it with anyone I might.  This year, I will write about joy: how I find it, where it leads me, who it calls to me, and to whom I am called because of it.  I will write about what steals it, how to fight for it, from where it can be drawn.  And why it is so vitally important.  Granted, I will write all of this as: me.  I can give no perspective other than this, as it should be.  And I want to encourage you to consider these things as only you can.  Let me know what you learn along the way.  Join me, friend, in abiding in joy.      

This year, I purpose to seek joy.  I purpose to fight for joy.  I purpose to allow joy to embody me, especially when circumstances dictate otherwise.  In this endeavor, I purpose to be true to my emotions, because joy isn’t a fleeting feeling; it is a state of being. 

I pray this journey changes me.  That at the end of this year I can turn back and see a more joy-filled path carved from my current one.  I pray that joy abounds in and through me.

In 2012, I will Chase Joy.      

Faith like a child

People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them.  When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.

~Mark 10:13-16

In our house, theological discussions often include the phrase, “what does Blomberg say?”  My husband and I enjoy mulling over theology, turning scripture over in our minds and processing it out loud.  Because we own a few Blomberg texts (and the bibliographies therein are great jumping off points), we like to start there.  Dr. Blomberg has done more research than either us will (undoubtedly) be able to in what remains of both our lifetimes.  Thus, for the sake of expediency, we generally start (after reading the scripture up for discussion) by “getting the Blomberg.”

Our kids are privy to these discussions; sometimes originating at the dinner table (“what’s God showing you today?”), sometimes in the car (“this week I was reading…”).  While they’re not always attentive, the kids are aware.  This is evidenced by a question posed by the 5 year old at the end of one such drive.  Sighing deeply, he asked, “Mom do grown-ups think talking is fun?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “Why?”

“Because you do it so much!”  Obviously, for the 5 year old, a robust theological discussion of the discipline of God, in the context of Hebrews 12, is not on par with an epic battle of small, plastic army men. 

The 8 year old rolled her eyes, and informed her brother, “Of course they like to talk.  It’s all they do.”  Again, our conversation not as riveting as the original Nancy Drew series. 

And sponges that they are, they can ignore us to a point and still soak up what’s being said.  There was the day when Mommy had to get her reading done, and the 5 year old wanted nothing to do with his daily, quiet reading time in his room.  “Alright,” I bargained, “you can sit in my lap and I’ll read my book to you.”  He clammered up, delighted at having won his way.  I smirked, opening the Blomberg text, knowing that within a few moments, he’d head off to his room to find something more entertaining.  I started reading.  The assignment had to do with a passage in the New Testament regarding baptism; certainly not dry, but far enough, I assumed, over the 5 year old’s head that he wouldn’t last long. 

The 5 year old stayed.  He held still.  He listened.  And at the end of the passage, he said, “Mom, I think I should get baptized.” 

The youngest, baptized by the former Bible Man [then pastor] in August of 2012

 

I was mute with surprise.  He’d absorbed what I just read; he hadn’t been absently turning the wheels of his motorcycle?  “Can you tell me why,” I asked when my faculties rebooted enough for a response.

He proceeded to give me a rundown of the points listed in the Blomberg text regarding baptism.  The 5 year old said, though it wouldn’t forgive his sins, it was what he wanted to do because he wanted to follow Jesus with his whole life.  He wanted the whole world to know that he never wants to turn away from Jesus.  Because Jesus died on the cross for the 5 year old’s bad choices, so the 5 year old could be forgiven. 

“And because,” he concluded, rather importantly, “I already asked Jesus to live in my heart.”

What argument could I offer?  That our church says you have to be at least 8?  That I’ve heard and digested valid arguments for believer’s baptism, and have been generally warned against baptizing one so young?  Yet, his was one of the most efficient and straightforward presentations of the gospel I’d heard in a long time. 

Though I shouldn’t have been surprised, coming from the kid, who less than 3 years ago heard that in order to get into Heaven, Jesus has to live in your heart.  So he daily prayed that Jesus come into his heart; usually from his carseat, which begs to question my driving...  One day, during this phase, when he asked me if dogs can go to Heaven, I hesitated, not wanting to be wrong, but not wanting to give a false answer.  “Well, buddy,” I started, “the Bible doesn’t really say…”

Hoping up from his chair, he bent over the supine Huskador on our kitchen floor, and said, “Oso, do you want Jesus to live in your heart?”

The dog lifted his head and licked the boy’s nose. 

“Okay, buddy,” the then-3 year old held a paw, “Jesus, please come and live in Oso’s heart so he can live with you when he dies, because You forgive all the bad things in the world.  And Oso needs his bad things taken away, too.”  Lifting his head, the boy beamed and declared, “Now Oso can get into Heaven.  Jesus lives in his heart!”  He proceeded to evangelize our Labrador and pray for her salvation as well.

There was never a question in his mind: Jesus, as far as his 3 year old understanding held, would live in your heart and forgive your “bad things” if you asked Him to.  And then, when you die, you get to be with Him forever.  Faith.

And to this 5 year old, the Bible says if you claim to be a follower of Christ, you need to be baptized.  So, he asks, in the black-and-white mindset of 5 year olds, why shouldn’t he be baptized?  Jesus said to do it; therefore I should do it.  Faith.  Obedience. 

My mind still turning over why he could/couldn’t be baptized, he looked at me.  His gaze was firm, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say almost condescending.  Sighing, he added, “Mom, Dr. Blomberg says so, too.”

There it was, the truth: I was relying too much on the wisdom of humanity.  I have to engage theology intellectually.  I have to hear the arguments for and against; I have to weigh the evidence.  I need to know that someone smarter than I has put their mind to this topic and come to a well thought out conclusion.   I don’t have the easy faith of a child.

It’s what Jesus cautioned his disciples against.  It’s what adults do: reason our way to confusion.  Muddy the waters.  Complicate simple truth until we don’t know which way is up anymore.* 

What I need to do, is complicate things less.  Scripture says that if you want to follow Jesus, repent and be baptized.  Who I am to prevent anyone (5 or 95 years old) from this?  God created the world with dogs in it; and God promises both a new Heaven and a new Earth.  Who says there won’t be dogs there?  (Though if you only see a black Huskador and Lab, you’ll know how they made it.) 

What if I approach the Bible with the faith and innocence of a child?  What if I simply believed that God is who He says He is; and He will do what He says He will do?  What if, like my little boy, I simply took God at His word, instead of looking to humanity to make the call for me?

What if I had the faith to trust God enough to let him outside of my box, without prior expert handling?      

Our eldest, being baptized by the Officer and me in 2011.

* Now, I’m not saying that we should take everything on what some would consider blind faith.  Faith, in order to be genuine, has to be reasoned out.  It has to be compelling.  We are admonished to test everything, hold all teachings (both inside and outside the Church) up to scripture and ensure their trustworthiness.  And everyone needs to express their faith within the context of a responsible, scripture-based community; so that we are protected from being misled, and can correct misleading that we see in others.  But I believe that each Christ follower can do this, while engaging God on a personal and abandoned level.    

In Response to the anti-Lent

I respectfully submit that I disagree with those who feel that the season of Lent is a hollow, ritualized observance that actually detracts from the “real” Jesus, as evidenced by the debauchery and debasement exhibited by some on Fat Tuesday (aka: Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday).  Or that it is counter to Christ’s purpose, as He stated, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10b).

First, I view using the American celebration of Mardi Gras (a la New Orleans’ Bourbon Street) as evidence that Lent is pointless akin to using MTV reality shows to make the point that abstinence is outmoded.  Mardi Gras, particularly in its Americanized form, is the worldly antithesis to the reverence and spiritual fruit that can exist through the observance of Lent (Galatians 5:22, the last fruit of the Spirit listed being “self-control”).        

To the latter, I would like to point out that the passage in which Christ says this (John 10:7-18), is a parable concerning the Good Shepherd, who willingly, and with all authority, lays down His life as a sacrifice for his sheep; only to take it up again, with the same authority, in the victorious conquering of death.  This passage is not an entreaty to seek out fulfillment in life abundant in anything but Christ.  It is an example of the love and authority shown by the Shepherd on behalf of those in His charge, so that the sheep will not later be persuaded to follow grotesque facsimiles of the Incarnate Deity; nor to chase after hollow idols, be they universal or of our own making.     

The Lenten season is intended to symbolize Christ’s sojourn in the desert prior to the beginning of His incarnate ministry.  He fasted and prayed, drawing closer to the Father for 40 days.  Certainly, every believer in every church needs to draw more near to God.  Fasting and prayer are indeed lacking in many congregations, as our daily routines crowd out the movement of the Spirit in our lives and our weekly commitments drown out the voice of God in our hearts, and our frantic busy-ness suffocates the love of Christ from being expressed in our actions.

Instead of the assumed, Pharisee-esque, self-denial often associated with Lent, I instead find great merit in spending a season reflecting solemnly on our individual need for a Savior, and the cost at which we have been redeemed.   For if we cannot personally and in an immediate way, relate to our need for a Savior, do we not tend to diminish His sacrifice?  Instead of Christ dying for my sins, my thoughts become, “Christ died for the sins of the world.”  And while this is an indisputable truth, I have, with one word, removed myself, my sins, my need for Christ’s grace from the equation.  I begin to drift towards thinking I’m okay, because I’m better than “those people” (non-believers, people who don’t come to church like I do, people who don’t attend the Bible studies, retreats, fellowship events I do, people who don’t respond in worship the way I do, etc…).  I start to gauge my relationship with God through my works, my attendance, my personal activities.  And from there, it is a quick descent to the point where I am setting myself up as judge over others.  Thus, I have lost myself among the thistles of self-reliance and am in grave danger of complacency and simply going through the motions.    

To combat this ever-present danger, in the weeks leading up to the holiest day of the year, for certainly if one identifies him/herself as a follower of Christ, the most sacred and set apart of all days is the one on which we, as a body, gather to remember and celebrate the glorious hope that is the bodily resurrection and spiritual triumph over sin and death that is the Risen Christ!  What if, in preparation for that, we examined the rhythms of our lives? What if we took the temperature of our hearts?  And what if we honestly desired to have less of our flesh, and more of Christ in us?  And after that examination, what if we purposed to make some changes; if we cut certain habits that have the propensity to rule us, and replaced them with life giving practices.  Not merely giving up meat, or sweets, or alcohol, or your favorite social networking site, just to show others how holy you are.  But, in submission and humility, asking the Holy Spirit to show you what is keeping you from a deeper relationship with Jesus?  And then entreating the Holy Spirit to empower you to overcome these roadblocks, so that you may enter into a deeper trust of, a great reliance upon, and a closer communion with the triune God.  So that when Easter morning presents itself, your spirit is less fettered than before; and you can come into this celebration lighter, more free, and full of greater rejoicing at the victory of the King of Kings, than if you had wearily frittered away your time in the monotonous distractions in which we are all currently mired. 

Isn’t that the abundant life which Christ references: a life free of fleshly entanglements, a heart unfettered by this world, so that it can love Jesus and those whom He created?  That is my prayer for this Lenten season.  That I may, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, let go of more of this world, so that I can grasp onto even more of Christ.

Empty Vessel

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all [believers].

~ Ephesians 4:1-6 [note added]

You’ve likely seen the shirt, or bumper sticker, or status update: “Jesus hates religion, too.”  It’s the post-modern anthem for the Evangelical’s idea of Luther-esque freedom.  Let’s throw out rigid adherences, toss away antiquated practices, and dispose of the “old” way of doing things.  Let’s take a sledgehammer to the pipe organ, set fire to the pulpit, and never, ever, ever say anything that looks like rote prayer.  In fact, if you mention denominations that have even the slightest liturgical flavor, you must do so with a look of puckered disdain, all sour and “we-know-better.”

But this trite dismissal of all things religious leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  I have to ask, does He really?

I know the common response, when looking for Christ’s example of anti-religious sentiment is His attitude towards and reaction to the Pharisees.  However, I have to note, that Jesus did not roundly renounce the Jewish faith.  Not once did He utter any anti-Semitic pronouncements.  Rather, He calls into question the state of the hearts of the individuals in leadership.  In fact, His ministry centered on reaching the most religious people of His time: the Jews, the remnant of God’s first covenant with humanity; though He knew they would reject him.  And let’s not forget that the foundation of their religious practice was instituted and directed by YHWH Himself.

And isn’t that wasn’t wrong with our religious institutions today?  People.  Our junked up, fallen way of dealing with others, with God’s word, with trying [and inevitably failing] to be God’s emissaries to the lost, the broken, and, frankly, each other.  It’s what the Pharisees were supposed to be.  It what we, the “un-religious” Church, are supposed to be.  Not anti-religion, but pro-relationship.  The two are NOT mutually exclusive.

So if nothing else, I take offense at the misuse of the word.  Much like there is a marked difference between schizophrenia and multiple-personality disorder (another pet peeve), the presence of religion does not immediately equate the absence of Christ.  Simply because someone practices an older, more liturgical brand of faith does not make them an empty vessel; they are not one who has no relationship with Christ, only hollow practices and numerous restrictions.  Frankly, we can not see the state of their hearts, what’s inside their jar of clay.  Only God can; and therefore, it is not our place to play judge.  By definition, religion is: the service and worship of God or the supernatural (2) commitment or devotion to religious faith or observance (3) a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practice.

“Service and worship of God,” isn’t that what we do?  Is that what we’re called to?  Isn’t that who we, as Christ’s body, are?

Which means I have a bit of a shock for my fellow non-denomers: by definition, WE ARE RELIGIOUS.  But don’t dismay, that’s as it should be.  Which brings us to another potentially uncomfortable truth: as the body, we are to live in harmony with other believers, even [or especially] our liturgical, “religious” brethren.  In fact, so long as the religious “they” holds fast to the truth of the gospel, we are told in no uncertain terms to “put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander.  Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good” [1 Peter 2:1-3].  That means we don’t talk badly about other denominations, we don’t react poorly to their various spiritual disciplines, and we treat all members of the body of Christ as He does: with tenderness and love.

So the next time you or I see that tag line, let’s remember, Jesus was religious.  He wasn’t disparaging, malicious, or slanderous.  Let us strive, within the appropriate boundaries of the gospel, to be harmonious, peaceful, and loving.  That, and not denominational disputes, is what the world needs from us.

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

~ Romans 15:5-6

Training

Theologians.

Seminarians.

What’s the first thing that comes to mind with these words?  For me, it’s stuffy old men in starched white collars and traditional all black attire.  Gigantic King James Bibles, overstuffed leather armchairs, solemnity, severity.  Aloofness.  Almost a holy distance from reality and the people who inhabit it.

May I admit that I’ve had a love/hate/scared-out-of-my-mind/love relationship with the idea of seminary?  When I first came to faith, anyone who had more time in the faith, and certainly anyone who had devoted their life to studying God’s word, was in my mind far superior in spirituality than I.  Frankly, this was true to a degree.  I was an infant, and they [whoever they were] had more experience with God, more maturity than I.  These people, with their formal religious training, were untouchable. Pious and righteous in ways I didn’t think applied to me; and I admired them from a distance.  This was the case for quite some time.  But as I grew in my faith and matured a bit, I began to realize that the same Holy Spirit who indwells the Billy Grahams and Beth Moores of my time also indwells me.  It was then that I wondered at the need for seminary.  I even scoffed at it for a period (yes, I was anti-seminary for a while), feeling that those who undertook this type of training were puffed up and rigid in their thinking.  Yet, after a measure of time and certain events too lengthy to relate here, my husband decided to go.  He loved it; he couldn’t stop talking about all that he was learning.  And honestly, these discussions reshaped my faith quite a bit.  I let go of prejudices, opened my heart to different ways of spiritual growth, revamped my study techniques, and even started reading his textbooks and listening to lectures for fun.  I eventually audited a class and couldn’t get enough.  In the end, I loved it.

During this time, I was given the opportunity to revise a curriculum that is close to my heart [a work that is still in progress].  At first, I was obstinate [a familiar theme, no?], it was a scripture based work that, frankly, worked.  But I started trying to modify it to fit the parameters I thought I’d been given. I met with individuals I greatly admire to get their take on it.  And one day, as I was plugging away, the severity of what I was trying to do accosted me.  This was God’s word that I was attempting to use for a specific purpose.  What if I got it wrong?  What devastation could follow?  My work ground to a halt.  I was petrified of inadvertently hurting someone with my inaccurate, inexperienced use of the sword of the Spirit.

That’s when it dawned on me: I don’t need theological education for my personal study.  But if I ever want to apply God’s word to other people’s lives, I’d better know for certain what I’m doing.  Much like training for battle, anyone can pick up a sword and learn to use it on their own.  But on the battlefield, if my only tactic is to wildly flail about, I will eventually wound my brethren.  To fight or lead effectively requires training.  Such training can come from multiple different sources: a seasoned warrior [mentor], a group of soldiers further along than I, or a school which specializes in technical training.

I picked all three.

At the inception of my training, I was strongly admonished by a dear professor regarding the extreme importance of using God’s word accurately, appropriately, and for His glory.  It was during this particular lecture that I slunk down in my chair, feeling the weight of her words on my chest.  I don’t really want that responsibility.  I’m afraid of it.

So do I now think that seminary [the specialized training to which I am subjected myself] will launch me into superior knowledge of the scriptures and God?  Hardly.  I will merely train with new [to me] tools and gain experience in the life of a follower of Christ.  I will be stretched and challenged by life-long teachers; encouraged and strengthened by the faith and insight and testimony of fellow students.  Hopefully through this process, I am better able to recognize my presuppositions and mistakes; and quicker to revised and correct them.  I pray that I leave more humble than I came in; knowing a bit more [while realizing how little that “more” really is] of our unknowable God.

Just 2 inches deep

On somewhat of a whim, we decided to pull up our front lawn [composed mainly of: creeping vines, crabgrass, and dandelions] this weekend and replace it with new sod.  We were weary of fighting a loosing battle with weeds and thought a fresh start would be best.  So, we bought the sod, [to be delivered later today], tore up the existing “grass” and began prepping the ground for the new.  Sadly, we discovered that originally our soil had been poorly prepped, if at all.  A mere two inches down, the roots stopped; because the ground had not been prepared, not loosened, not even broken.  It looked like the crews had come along and slappdc down the rolls of sod on top of whatever was already there.  We found more discarded construction material than not, and little [if any] soil enhancers.  Needless to say, we finally understood why our yard has been such an uphill battle these past few years.  Our grass was only two inches deep, and everything that lay under those two inches, or that could penetrate that depth, was taking over.

After digging and hauling and raking the results of shoddy lawn prep, this Sunday I heard a teaching about 2-inch deep spirituality [I love how God uses visual metaphors with me].  Our teacher was trekking through chapter seven of Ecclesiastes and noted that oftentimes we are the fools who prefer the vanity of laughter, which is like the crackling of thorns in the fire, to a wise man’s rebuke [vs. 5-6].  He noted that we would rather pretend that we’re okay, that we’re not going through struggles, than be vulnerable and admit it.  Or to even ask for help.  This teacher noted that we, as a Church [big C], don our plastic smiles and “everything’s-peachy-keen” attitudes when around others and try to hide what’s really going on behind closed doors, in our own hearts.  Because it’s the outward appearance that we’re striving for, not genuine transformation.

When we allow ourselves to be these plastic people, our relationships and spirituality become much like my lawn.  At first blush it’s green [we even had people driving by pull over to ask why we were tearing it out]; and our lives, at least to those on the outside, are nice and tidy.  But little by little, the creeping vines and dandelions and crab grasses start popping up.  Christ warned us of this, of the state of our hearts, when he said, "What comes out of a person is what defiles him.  For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness.  All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person." [Mark 7:20-2].

Initially, there were only a few weeds, and we were able to control them by pulling them out; much like the darkness in our lives, we treat the external symptoms by trying harder at being good enough, at not letting the ugly parts of ourselves show through.  Then there were more, so we resorted to specific chemicals [retreats] and fertilizers [Bible studies] to feed the grass that was left.  It is like still striving under our own power, not really letting anyone in to see the problem underneath, just treating the symptoms.  But in the end, there were too many weeds, their roots were deeper, and they simply overwhelmed the tenuous hold the fescue had on that plot of land.  And if we, as followers, continue in this course our spirituality, our relationships, even our testimonies will mirror my lawn: choked by weeds, slowly dying, hopeless.

But if we give up our plastic selves, turn these masks over to God, we will be a new creation in Him.  He will till the ground, so our roots may deepen. He will remove what defiles us, if we let Him.  He will change us, and transform those with whom we share this remarkable journey.

The Psalmist marks just this [Psalm 119:25-3]:

Daleth

My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your word!
When I told of my ways, you answered me; teach me your statutes!
Make me understand the way of your precepts, and I will meditate on your wondrous works.
My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word!

Put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law!
I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I set your rules before me.
I cling to your testimonies, O LORD; let me not be put to shame!
I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart!

We cling to that which is useless, our strivings and appearances.  It is dust.  The only lasting and meaningful life is found rooted deeply and daily in the word of God.  We have to tell our Father the truth, not merely platitudes of praise, regarding the state of our hearts.  If we hurt, we need to tell him.  If we’re mad, we need to tell Him.  If we’re struggling, if we’re trapped in sin, if we’re so lost we no longer know the way out ~ we have to tell Him!  He will answer us.  He will teach us, strengthen us, change us!  If we ask Him, He will help us abandon our plastic selves.  He will reinforce our faithfulness with His own.  He will not shame us, but use our stories to free others and increase His glory!  He will enlarge our hearts to be more like His.

We will be what draws others to the Savior’s arms; a lush, and green pasture that invites the lost, the broken, and the weary to lie down and find rest, find peace ~ in Him!

Day 34: A --less update

Psalm 93: The LORD Reigns

The LORD reigns; he is robed in majesty;the LORD is robed; he has put on strength as his belt. Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved. Your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting. The floods have lifted up, O LORD, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the LORD on high is mighty! Your decrees are very trustworthy; holiness befits your house, O LORD, forevermore.

Under the veil of transparency I sit, searching for a conversation with you, imaginary reader, that captures what has happened up to this point. I promised, a few weeks ago, to keep you abreast of my fasting. I had, quite honestly, hoped that I would have a report filled with spiritual wonders; a greater closeness to the Lord; a deeper understanding of the mysteries of Heaven. But between you, me, and the keyboard, this hasn’t been the mountain top experience I’d envisioned…and yet, I have felt the Lord move in ways that were missing before. I am coming out of a drought, parched and weary, into a place of new growth. Tiny shoots of life scratching through brittle soil. I am moving towards unfettered joy found only in the resurrection of Christ. I can see hope on the horizon. And my expectation increases daily.

Matthew 5: 20 ~ For I [Jesus] tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

The absence of sugar. For 24 days, I held fast. No sugar. No sweeteners, other than honey on occasion. I discovered a new love of fruit. My coffee was abrasive. I delighted in the metaphor of how bitter and joyless my life is without the resurrection of Christ, every time I poured a cup, or craved a treat. I gave my cravings over to the Lord, I rejoiced in His strengthening me. And then, without much warning, I felt the quaking of self-righteousness within me. I became the master of my cravings. I was the one holding out. I could get through 40 days. Me. For me.

And then, I got sick. I was exhausted, hungry, and miserable. On the way home from the doctor (day 3 of pain and no food), I prayed. I wanted so much to honor my commitment, to stick to it with my own power. But I asked for permission to have a milkshake ~ something to numb the fire in my throat and fill my belly so I could sleep. And the answer I got: my self-righteousness had gotten in the way of my worship. I had given up sugar to take things out of the way of my relationship with my Lord. But in doing so, I’d unwittingly erected another wall ~ my works. I had become like a Pharisee, righteous for my own sake. All show and no heart. Clinging to ritualized commitments, instead of to the Lord.

So I asked for forgiveness. I recognized that I could give up sugar for the rest of eternity and still miss the point. It is only through Christ’s work (not mine) that I find right standing with God. No amount of fasting will ever change that. So I had a shake (or 3). And I got back on my fast, with a new focus: God, not me keeping away from sugar.

Mark 1:35 ~And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, [Jesus] departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed.

In regards to my snooze button: once. Only once have I risen early to spend time in prayer and meditation. And I will admit that was only when the sun had begun rising earlier (before the “spring forward” time change which causes my room to stay dark until well after I should be up). I’ll also admit that the time wasn’t of high quality; it was of “get-it-out-of-the-way” sort. And I have lamented this. I’ve been my typical guilt-ridden self. Hardly the point.

But in that, I’ve been instructed in and therefore open to the idea of 1 degree of change; which paraphrased to fit my illustration says, if I can take 1 step of faith growing closer to Christ, I have (from an eternal perspective) changed my entire trajectory. So, I’ve taken to praying differently (from a stance of relinquishment instead of pleading); and focusing more time throughout the day on God, His word (even just 1 line of scripture repeated at different points throughout the day), and His attributes. And, not surprisingly, I have grown. My worship is reflecting a slight difference. My thoughts are quicker to quiet, more readily on my Father when I wake than before.

While from the outside it looks like I’ve failed in this, I am changing. I am discovering new means of quality time with my Heavenly Father. And for that, I am glad.

Luke 10: 38-42 ~ As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

Finally, to the one thing I’ve given up and actually stayed away from: the internet distraction of a certain social networking site. I haven’t visited it, haven’t thought about it, haven’t even wanted to. And I’ve found lots of time, time previously wasted, to devote to the Lord. But all that time has only resulted in was more doing, more busy-ness, more activities, more weariness, more striving – SIT DOWN, MARTHA! My soul is screaming. Sit at the Master’s feet. Be filled. Be still. Be at peace.

So there it is: seeming failure on all fronts. And yet, maybe not. Perhaps each is 1 degree of change, movement in a more Christ-like direction. I will keep trying, with the help of the Holy Spirit to guide and support me. And I will quietly delight in the metaphor that without the resurrection of Christ, all of my striving is hollow ceremony.

Pedigree

For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.  ~ 1 Corinthians 1:26-27 (ESV)

In the movie, Legally Blonde there is a scene where the main character, a stereo-typed, California sorority girl is introduced to her classmates at Yale Law.  Within the briefest exchange of dialogue, the differences between this girl and the members of her orientation group become painfully obvious.  All but the lead hold multiple graduate degrees from challenging programs, most have years of extensive volunteer service, and each is confident of their place at Yale.  The heroine has only her life experience to offer as her qualifier for her admission.  And that is seemingly hollow and superficial.

Have you ever felt as if you were the glaring misfit in a group of highly qualified individuals?

Recently I had the opportunity to be introduced to a group of men and women who all held what I consider to be the Christian Pedigree.  Most of these individuals’ stories resemble the following:

• saved at young age (4/5 yrs old)


• families strong in ministry (children of pastors or missionaries)


• home-schooled or private Christian schooled; appropriately followed by attendance at Christian University


• met spouse in youth group (junior high/high school)


• engaged faithfully in decades (if not multiple) of service (missions, orphanages, homeless, at-risk inner-city youth, etc…)


• certain, in the absolute, in what God wants to do next in their lives.

This information was gleaned as we sat around a table, introducing ourselves and explaining what had brought us to this particular venture.  I had the privilege of going last, of listening to the 15-plus individuals share their shining histories, seemingly unmarred by the world.  May I tell you that during this experience, I vacillated between sinking lower in my chair and arching my neck in self-preserving pride?  It wasn’t pretty.  In situations like this, I have a tremendous propensity to measure myself against other believers.  This particular tendency was more pronounced than ever in this room full of people with whom I was all together unfamiliar.  The seeming religious élite.

I, in my mind, smacked of this world.  Literally reeked of it.   I was tempted to gloss over, yadda-yadda, through certain parts of my story; then in the next instant, enticed to test the acceptance of these alleged little-Christs by flooding them with gory details.  Would their eyes bug out of their heads, mouths hang agape?  Would I be able to read the judgment on their faces?

Upon contemplation, I was reminded that my path puts me in the company of another woman for whom Jesus displayed a great tenderness.  In Luke 7:36-50, we find Jesus dining at the home of a Pharisee called Simon, one of the Israelite Pedigrees of His day.  No doubt Simon had the right family, he had certainly been educated in the appropriate schools; he had undoubtedly pursued a relative form of higher education and internship under a notable teacher of the day.  Simon’s acts of service were most likely judged by his entire community and deemed worthy of a man in his position – a religious leader.  While we are not sure why he invited Jesus to dinner, we can not assume it was to merely laud his own position.  Perhaps this Pharisee truly wanted to be close to Christ, to know Him, to come into a relationship with Him.  As voyeurs into this brief moment, we can not judge Simon’s heart.  We can only observe what is revealed to us directly through Scripture.

At some point during the meal, a woman “who had lived a sinful life” enters the Pharisee’s home with an expensive jar of perfume (37).  She positions herself behind Jesus, weeping, wetting His feet with her tears.  To dry them, she uses her hair and then kisses the feet of the Master.  She finishes her act of worship by bathing Christ’s feet in perfume.  This moment is so personal, so tender, so completely unavailable to us distant observers, that there is no dialogue.  It is an act solely between a broken sinner and her Savior ~ her heart to His.

This intimate act was likely unsettling to those who were immediately privy to it.  The Pharisee, while observing the silence, has an internal monologue, noting that if Jesus was truly a prophet, He would know that this woman at His feet was unworthy of touching them – that she was a sinner.  Christ, however, being able to hear the thoughts in Simon the Pharisee’s heart, responds with a parable: two men owed money to a lender, one indebted 500 denarii, the other 50.  The moneylender forgives both debts.  Jesus then asks, “Which one will love him more?”  Simon responds logically: the one whose debt was greater.  To complete the lesson, Jesus points out to Simon all the differences between his actions and those of the sinful woman:

• Simon offered no water for Christ to wash, the woman wet His feet with her tears


• Simon did not greet Jesus with a kiss (as was custom), the woman did not stop kissing Christ’s feet


• Simon provided no oil with which to anoint Jesus’ head, the woman bathed His feet in perfume (the more expensive of the two).

Jesus ends His lesson with these words: “Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." (47)

When my turn finally came, I landed where I generally do: truth.  In God’s perspective, we are all the same ~ Christian Pedigree or sinner.  Their pedigree is mine, in that we share kinship as children of God.  These saints are as depraved as I without Christ.  Their birth rights no nobler, influence in the kingdom no greater, nor sins no less than mine.  These pristine sheep simply walk a different path.  And in that, I am called to share my experiences, not to shame my kinsmen, but to glorify the name of our God.  We are each members of one body, useful in different ways, and all completely dependent upon the sacrifice of Christ.

As for the table full of believers, of whom I was unsure would count me worthy, they did not judge.  They embraced me as a sister in Christ.  Alongside me, they acknowledged and offered praise for the grace and mercy in all our lives ~ and the source from whence it comes.  Christ alone.

Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don't see many of "the brightest and the best" among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn't it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these "nobodies" to expose the hollow pretensions of the "somebodies"? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ.

~ 1 Corinthians 1:26-32 (the Message)