Vintage '45

Yes, I've been quiet for a while. Perhaps it has to do with my 45th birthday which came and went last Sunday. Actually, that's not the reason, but it's as good an excuse as any.

All in all, it was a good day, full of the ordinary moments which make life extraordinary. It began with every preacher's worst fear: oversleeping on church day. Having been in ministry more than half my life, I've set the Sunday alarm at least 1000 times. As best I can recall, this is the first time ever that I've overslept. But hey, what better way to begin your 45th birthday than with a rude awakening?

For once my recurring nightmare came true. I don't know if you have recurring nightmares, but I do. It's a pretty predictable plot: church is ready to begin, everyone is waiting, and I'm desperately seeking my shoes, or my shirt, or even my pants. "Wait! Just a minute! I'm not ready yet!" The panic is palpable as the clock ticks; I wake up in a cold sweat. I hate that dream. It may sound innocuous, but then it's not your nightmare, is it?

Anyway, no sooner had I gotten out of the shower and dressed when someone called to borrow our van. Seems a mix-up meant we had no means of transporting the trailer to our worship site (we're a brand new portable church). So while I'm hustling to get ready I'm stewing about how we're going to get all our equipment in three small vehicles and still open up on time. The nightmare continues.

All for naught, I find, for as I arrive I find virtually everything prepared. Nobody appeared stressed. I was pleased, impressed, and relieved. Usually works out that way. You'd think I'd learn....

Sunday's message was "God Forgives Me." It's one of my favorite things about God, maybe because I need it so much. But as I feverishly worked on it the previous night I was -- you guessed it -- stressed. It seemed pedantic and propositional, as if to prove the need for, basis of, and results of forgiveness. What was I trying to do? Present a case before a jury, or offer hope to sinners like myself?

Blecch. I'm sick of treating messages like theme papers. It comes so naturally; I was born and bred in modern expositional evangelicalism. When will I learn that forgiveness is less about clearing a slate, and more about restoring a relationship? Why breathe all the drama out if it by turning it into a lawroom debate? Why is St. Paul's argument in Romans 3 better than Jesus' story in Luke 15? (No lightning, please!)

It was too late to reimagine my whole message, so as I began to speak I did what you should never do: I said, "I don't really like this message, and here's why." I think (hope) you can get away with that once.

What astounds me about God's forgiveness is that he seems to get such a kick out of giving it away. If you doubt me, take a close look at Ephesians 1:4-7 and notice the words (written by, ahem, Paul), "in love," "his pleasure and will," "grace ... freely given," and "grace ... lavished." Love ... pleasure ... grace ... freely given ... lavished. Sounds like God is having way too much fun with this!

And he is. He doesn't fold his arms while Jesus pleads our case to him (apologies to St. Paul). "But you've got to let them go, Sir!" Jesus begs. "Okay, if I must." He glares at us as he pounds the gavel. "Not Guilty! You're lucky he's on your side," we imagine him saying to us. We walk out, free but shamed, our tail between our legs.

My goodness! What kind of picture is that? But it's the natural picture I have of my heavenly father and me. He loves me, but just barely. "Oh, you again?" I know he loves me unconditionally and forgives me fully, but we're not talking here about my head. It's my heart where I get things mixed up.

I just can't get over this forgiveness thing. It was apparently in place "before the foundation of the world" (Ephesians 1), before sin even happened! It's like God said to himself, "I want a canvass on which to paint my grace. I want it be magnificent, lavishly painted with extravagant colors. How shall I do it? I know: I'll make a world full people who'll need my grace in heavy doses."

Later the text says (4 times) that our greatest honor is to live "to the praise of his glorious grace." What is it that so magnificently demonstrates God's grace in our lives? Our sin and his forgiveness. "Look at this one," God says. "You should have seen him before I got hold of him. He was a liar, a cheat, a wife-beater, a real mess. He was -- and is -- a real grace project. I've never had so much fun!"

"Where sin abounded, grace super-abounded." God's having a lot more fun forgiving our sin than we religious-types like to think. At least that's what I think.

Anyway, my message didn't have any of this good stuff in it, so I had to figure out how to sneak it in at the last minute. It came out kind of convoluted, I'm sure, but I hope everyone (especially me) got the point: "God loves to forgive."

After church we invited people to our home for burgers and brats. We do it once a month in order to allow us to get to know one another, and our church a little better. Afterwards, I began, as usual, to talk. "I know we're just a small church," I said, "but...."

A person brand new to our church interrupted me: "Wait a minute. I don't think you know how good you are. You're an air freshener...." Everyone laughed, but he was right on target. We say we want to "cultivate contagious Christians who receive God's love and share it with others." We could just as well say we want to be air fresheners for the kingdom of God. Or, to put it in Bible terms, we want to carry the "aroma of Christ."

When will I stop selling God short in my life? I'm so quick to recognize God's grace in others, so slow to see it in myself. Thanks for the reminder, new friend. I'll gladly be God's air freshener, any day of the week.

We scurried from our home to my son's baseball game. Other parents knew of my birthday and had baked me some cookies. I appreciated their thoughtfulness. I thought of the ten years I've been attending or coaching my son's games, mostly with this small fraternity of friends. Together, we've cheered our guys to three state championships, and we're hoping for a fourth. "You were our son's first coach," she said, and I remembered those carefree days a lifetime ago." I may not have many more of these," I thought as I watched him take the mound in this, his senior year of high school.

I remembered handing him to a surgeon for three successive high risk surgeries when he was only three months old . "My child belongs to you, Lord," I said back then with glistening eyes. That was seventeen years ago. Today he was on the mound, healthy, confident, and really good at what he's doing. I was proud and grateful. Watching your son pitch on your birthday is not half bad.

The game ended and we made our way, famished, to Applebee's. My cell phone rang (my, how times have changed) and it was my daughter calling me from college. "Happy birthday, Daddy!" she said as only she can say. "Daddy" is the coolest word in the English language.

I ate potato skins and the usual: Santa Fe chicken salad. I've had it a hundred times, usually with my family, around a high top table in view of a television, often after a baseball game. Tonight we watched football. Despite my hopes, the best team won. Oh, yeah. I got a free dessert complete with an enthusiastic song.

Homeward, and an evening with the family playing Scrabble (which we quickly abandoned -- too much thinking) and Nerts (a favorite family game kind of like group solitaire on crack). It's the game I played when I fell in love with my wife, way back when we were sixteen. Sitting there next to my son and his girlfriend, both of whom are older than we were back then, I marveled at the passing of time and the grace of life. My, how time flies....

Late at night I sat at my computer trying to write some of the words you now read. But they seemed too ordinary, and I wanted to wax eloquent on such an auspicious occasion. Now, however, I realize there are no ordinary moments, for these are the moments, one by one, which make up that very extraordinary thing we call life.

All in all, a pretty outstanding day. I'm now a vintage '45. Happy birthday to me.

Wrong Aroma

At first I was pleased. Then I was offended. Now I'm furmished (is that a word?)

I was pleased ...

because a friend from long ago emailed me out of the blue. She'd gotten our annual Christmas card and responded with a few greetings of her own. As a vital part of a former church, she had gone on to marriage, parenting, and the like. You know, the usual stuff. I was pleased to hear from her and delighted to know something of what was happening in her life.

Then I was offended ...

for suddenly the tone of her letter changed. It started with the words, "I am writing you to let you know about a fantastic business opportunity. Have you ever heard about...?"

What? Give me a break! How naive does she think I am? Does she really think I don't see through her blatant recruiting effort?

Now I'm furmished...

which is a word my friend uses when ever he sees me stewing over something. Like this: How many times have I used the same technique to interest people in Jesus?

The apostle Paul wrote about two approaches to church planting in his letter to a small church in Corinth. On the one hand, there are those who "peddle the word of God." On the other, there are those who are unpretentious and approach people "with sincerity." These are the people carry on them "the aroma of Christ."

Unfortunately, the way many of us approach evangelism, the only aroma that we give the kind that makes you hold your nose.

Left Behind

Warning: Thinking out Loud.

I've begun to read novel called The Red Tent. It's a story about Dinah, Jacob's only recorded daughter in the Old Testament. One of the new believers in our church told me she'd read it, so I decided to give it a whirl. So far, it’s a pretty good novel, but critiquing it is not my purpose here. Instead I’ve got some thoughts rattling around my brain which I’ll now inflict on you, my unsuspecting reader.

I was raised on the Old Testament and I’ve grown really tired of how it is always viewed as a book of "principles" and "promises." Evangelicals loathe reading story simply as story. We somehow feel the need to tie up all loose ends, explain every detail in light of the new covenant and keep everything nice and tidy. We’re uncomfortable with the ambiguities of real life and prefer instead to make the Bible merely a textbook for theology, not a story of God's love affair with the human race.

The problem is, in so doing we tell only part of the truth at best, and sometimes obscure the very truth we seek to proclaim. We minimize the fact that God works in a full palette of colors, not simply black and white – no matter what we’d like to believe. Beyond that, not only do we misread truth in the process, but we also fail to see the power of story – all by itself – to bring about the very transformation we desire.

For instance, I believe God hates divorce, and that it’s rarely if ever what God wants. But how do I reconcile that conviction with this fact from my life: if my wife's parents had never divorced, I would likely never have met her?

What am I to make of that? Am I to think that divorce was God’s plan for her parents? Am I to think that she and I were never supposed to meet? Am I to believe that God was going to bring us together anyway if her parents hadn’t divorced? (Which is ludicrous, by the way.) What theological construct allows for both the wrongness of their divorce and the rightness of our marriage?

If you’re from my background you know I’m not making this up; these are legitimate questions from my spiritual journey. I know the “principles” informing the discussion: God is able to work despite human sin; God’s grace extends even through our failures; even though divorce wasn’t plan “A” God is still able to work out plan “B”. Yada, yada, yada.

Poppycock. It’s not merely that the answers are inadequate; it’s that the questions themselves reflect a wrong view of reality. Life is a story, not a formula. It is not tidy, it’s complicated. It’s got rough edges. It’s not linear. You can’t reduce life to principles and promises, tips and techniques. It’s deeper and richer than that. It just is.

But my theology has rarely accounted for that. I’m beginning to think the theology of my background seeks to make our lives a “paint by numbers” affair rather than affirming the rich tapestry of colors God meant for it to be. (Note to self: that's a pretty good analogy!)

Some of my readers may think I’m slipping into liberalism by the mere mention of this question. Nothing could be further from the truth.

If I dare to read the Bible simply and honestly (without my “systematic theology” lens) I see a wild story of drama and passion, love and betrayal, guilt and grace. I see a God who told Hosea to marry a prostitute as a human object lesson! What’s that all about? How do you systematize that?

Or consider Bathsheba. Was she meant to be Jesus’ great…grandmother? She entered the family line through King David’s adultery and murder. Was that God’s will? Why, among David's many wives, was Bathsheba the one through whom Jesus was born? How do I view that through a principles and promises lens?

I can’t. (Some of you are already formulating a theological construct for this question. And your arguments, though true, will miss the point.)

When evangelicals read the Old Testament they have to sanitize and systematize everything. In so doing they make it sterile. Solomon’s sexual love for a young woman gets reduced to an allegory for Christ and his church. Maybe Solomon was just horny! Maybe God really did want to kill his people before Moses interceded on his behalf. Maybe God’s relationship with his people is as complicated as love and just as difficult to figure out.

I know I’m just ranting here. I guess what I’m saying is this: God knows life is messy; and God embraces the messiness that it is. He gave us a book of stories, not principles, and he doesn’t need us to tidy it up with textbooks. He knows that stories teach truth better than “truths” do. (Or was Jesus’ style of teaching was wrong?)

But we’re uncomfortable with that kind of ambiguity. We’re like the Pharisees of Jesus’ day: so concerned to protect the law that we end up missing the point. Straining at gnats, swallowing camels.

What does all this have to do with The Red Tent, a biblical novel written by a devout Jewish woman? Maybe nothing. As I said, I’m only in its opening chapters. Thus far I see a story deep in character development, filled with imagination and wonder, unflinchingly reflecting the primitive and pagan roots of our spiritual ancestors. Whether it evolves into a healthy monotheism or not at the end, I do not know. But I wonder: what kind of book would an evangelical have written?

Judging by what I’ve observed, evangelical authors would not carefully craft a story rich with ambiguity and wonder, love and betrayal, drama and passion. Instead, if recently successful Christian fiction is any indication, our version of Dinah’s tale would be stale, heavy-handed, preachy and poorly-written. We no longer have authors like Tolkien and Lewis, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, Chesterton and MacDonald, Sayers and O’Connor.

Perhaps I should say it like this: if we continue to minimize the role of the imagination in communicating truth, we’ll have to leave effective storytelling (and its life transforming capabilities) to others. In the quest to say something meaningful about God’s continuing love affair with the human race we’ll be, sadly, left behind.

Blown Away

"But you've got to kill the terrorists before the killing stops. And I'm for the president to chase them all over the world. If it takes 10 years, blow them all away in the name of the Lord." (Jerry Falwell, CNN Late Edition, October 24, 2004).

Does this statement trouble you? It does me. I'm certain that I am to pray for others in the name of the Lord. It's also clear that I am to baptize disciples of Christ in the name of the Lord. I recall a text where men were honored because they "risked their lives for the name of the Lord Jesus Christ." Then there's Paul's tearful statement to his friends in Acts 21: "I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die ... for the name of the Lord Jesus." The scriptures include admonitions to give thanks in the name of the Lord, to anoint with oil in the name of the Lord, to do everything in the name of the Lord, and to call upon the name of the Lord for salvation.

All of these make perfect sense to me.

But an admonition to "blow them all away in the name of the Lord?" Hmm.... I don't remember that one. In fact, it doesn't resemble anything I can think of in my Christian faith. And hearing it suggested by a fellow minister of the gospel ... well, I'm kind of, if you'll pardon the pun, blown away.

Trinketianity

Like many adult males I did a little last minute Christmas shopping. My motto is, "why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?" (I keep angling for a new motto, but it seems these things rather find us than the reverse.)

Anyway, I wanted to buy a Christian book for a good friend. Usually I'd simply order it off the internet but, as I said, this was the last minute.

I instinctively ventured into a well known Christian bookstore. I should have known better. I was immediately bombarded with gadgets, trinkets and "testamints" (breath mints with Scripture verses on them). I found wall hangings, posters, gospel tracts and Christian videos.

As for books, I could find scores of them about the "end times" (by the way, has anyone else ever mused about the similarity between the words eschatology and scatology?). I could read about the Christian family or about how to pray or how to have "driven" life complete with book, journal, daily devotional, music and keychain, just in case I forget. I could also find dozens of "The Passion of the Christ" dvds, as well as some thinly veiled political propaganda. And a host of other things.

I'm really not quibbling about that. (Well, maybe a little.) I know a bookstore has to market what sells. But what really troubled me was this: why couldn't I find any books by Dallas Willard, Alister McGrath or G.K. Chesterton? Doesn't anyone care to read these authors and others like them? Are Christians really so shallow that there is no market for thoughtful reading?

I guess they are. So I grabbed a few "testamints" and went on my way. Almost immediately I started feeling more spiritual. Or maybe it was just indigestion.

Mary's Aunt

Mary's in a fix. Her family's all upset and I can understand why. A few days ago her aunt died. Well ... "Aunt" is what she called her, though she wasn't your typical kind of aunt.

See, Mary's aunt was the long time companion of Mary's aunt. Yes, Mary's Aunt Mary was "married" to Mary's aunt. Or sort of. You get the picture.

I'm not defending Mary's "aunts." I'm simply telling their story -- a true story, despite altered names. For Mary it had never been very complicated: she simply had two aunts. It had always been that way and until she got old enough to think about it, she never thought about it.

But now she was thinking about it a lot. For Mary's surviving aunt was in a terrible mess. Rightly or wrongly she had built an eighteen year relationship with someone she deeply loved. Her grief was as real as that of any "normal" couple. She had lost someone whom she deeply loved, and to whom she had devoted her life. Together, as far as they were concerned, they were family -- all of them.

But the state doesn't see it that way. Mary's surviving aunt can make no legal decisions on behalf of her departed soulmate. It's as if she doesn't exist. For nearly twenty years everyone in Mary's family thought of her as family, but now in their moment of crisis the state won't even let them decide whether she is cremated or not. Can you imagine the trauma added to trauma that this scenario creates for Mary's family?

So Mary's taking a day off work to help locate a long forgotten relative of her aunt. Someone who may not even know or care that about the deceased. Someone who share's her aunt's blood lines, but has little connection to her love lines.

Does this story trouble you? It does me. A lot.

I freely confess to a worldview which has always held that Mary's "aunts" were involved in a lifestyle outside of God's preferred plan. I share the concerns of my religious peers over the erosion of traditional marriage values.

Still, would it really be so harmful to provide some sort of legal protection for people who want to commit their lives to one another as Mary's aunts did? Would the venerable institution of marriage crumble? Can there be a distinction between a civil union recognized by the state and a "sacrament" recognized by the church? Why should the church be so dependent upon the state to support its view of marriage anyway?

I don't know what the right legal answer is to Mary's family predicament. But from now on I won't be able to think about this question without thinking about Mary's family.

John Donne

John Donne (1572-1631) has long been my favorite poet. Following are two reasons why:



Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurpt town, to'another due,
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce me,'untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I,
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

-- Holy Sonnets, XIV, John Donne



Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vowes, and in devotione.
As humorous is my contritione
As my profane Love, and as soon forgott:
As ridlingly distemper'd, cold and hott,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and to day
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
To morrow I quake with true feare of his rod.
So my devout fitts come and go away
Like a fantastique ague; save that here
Those are my best dayes, when I shake with feare.

-- Holy Sonnnets, XIX, John Donne

Ending and Beginning

How to begin a new year? Perhaps with old words.


Homer...
Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story
of that man skilled in all ways of contending,
the wanderer, harried for years on end,
after he plundered the stronghold
on the proud height of Troy.


TS Eliot: Four Quartets, Little Giding, stanza V...
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

.....

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.


J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings...
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.


Again...
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost.