catching his breath

It is too hard to write during this time of the year. So I’m going to take a break.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday season.

Cheers!

Check out this article in Slate.

I don’t know about the war on Christmas and my part in it. So let me just think out loud for a minute.

When I read the Christmas story in Scripture I get the sense that we’re to embody the presence of God in humility and sacrifice––and that it has nothing to do with making a list of Christmas friendly store or the debate of whether it’s “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas.”

Christmas is a mixed bag for me theologically. It doesn’t come off as “merry” to think about the real story of Mary (a virgin cast out as a whore, a poor, crying baby in a stinky, poop-filled barn or the weeping mothers of Jerusalem wailing for their dead sons). It means I have a God who has work for me to do and sometimes it’s not peaceful or merry. There’s a mess and he’s rolled up his sleeves and jumped in; he turns to us and says follow me. Answering this call can turn life upside down. Participating in God’s incarnation entrenches me in the messiness and ugly realities of life.

Basically, I don’t have time for the war on Christmas.

The employees at Sonic make very little per hour. Typically, they receive a limited amount of hours at that low hourly rate. Also, a good number of Sonic employees happen to be single mothers trying to make ends meet. These realities ought to impact the Christian’s decision of whether or not to tip at Sonic.

Until a few years ago, I never even thought about it. But increasingly these small moral confrontations occur in my life. Jesus keeps challenging me to live his resurrection.

A small matter? Maybe. But not to someone struggling to scrape together a common hourly wage in two.

Think about it.

I’m currently working through several readings for grad school. One paper spoke to the mission of the church and had several sections that admonished churches to move from a neutral/negative identity into a productive one. I particularly liked the advice that encouraged congregations to move beyond collecting members to developing ministers.

Churches that stagnate gather spectators. Churches that grow promote a collective effort of ministry. Nobody gets to sit around. Nobody gets to watch.

For this to take place some things need to happen.

There needs to be work to do. God will provide if we will ask. Pray. Watch. Jump into what God is already doing in the community.

Each minister (member) needs to assess his or her gifts and seek to use it in bringing God’s presence into their life context.

Leaders must empower and let go of control. Ministers (with a capital M) have often been guilty of crippling the real ministers by hijacking their ministry. The best leaders refuse to lead.

The work available needs to coincide with real life. Resist the temptation to fabricate stuff to do at the building and ask people to put up tables and chairs and call it ministry. Church happens, or should happen, outside of the building.

A genuine commitment to hard work is needed from each minister. The collective attitude of the church should foster an understanding in each one that it will take hard work to live as the body of Jesus in this city.

What do you think? Anything else you want to add?

Paul warned the Colossians of worldly philosophies that could potentially pull them away from their initial allegiance to Christ. He didn’t arm them with counter arguments though. Instead, he encouraged them to get to know Jesus and one another more intimately. He didn’t take them to school he pushed them to socialize on a deeper level.

The commitment followers of Jesus pledge to one another under the reality of a risen savior trumps any ability to argue or defend against dissenting doctrines. Straight thinking arises from within a group of people committed to one another. Paul doesn’t push a textbook to combat heresy, he encourages family.

Here is how he said it: “My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I tell you this so that no one may deceive you by fine-sounding arguments” (Colossians 2:2-4).

What keeps them from deception? Encouraged hearts. Unity made by love. A relational connection to Jesus, the mystery, the very core of God’s plan to redeem the world. So that they could avoid being duped, the Colossians (and Laodiceans) were encouraged to give their lives to creating and developing relational solidarity within their community by living out the gospel of Christ.

Failing to embody truth throughout the community put people’s faith at risk. The philosophical alternatives offered by the world can become viable options to Christians disenchanted with a breakdown in community. This disastrous possibility resonates with the authors of Colossians Remixed who wrote: “In the face of such failures to be a community that embodies the truth that came to save the world, it is no wonder that alternative visions become more plausible to us” (p. 130).

Critical to this point is understanding that the word for “know” in Colossians 2 carries with it connotations that go beyond mere head knowledge. It’s the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew word used here: “Now Adam knew Eve” (Genesis 4:1). So relationship matters most in fending off destructive philosophies that threaten the faith of Jesus’ followers.

It’s terribly difficult to simply drop people you care about and who care about you, a family that has struggles and suffers with you, for mere abstract arguments and philosophies. Paul knew this and so emphasized relationship above religion.

As long as I can remember, one way I’ve tested the soundness of something I’ve constructed (say a tree-house fort or a bookshelf or a table) is by attempting to bring it down. I shake it, push against it, tug on the support features and do my best to deconstruct it. If it can’t stand against my physical scrutiny then it needs a do-over; it’s not safe.

Some ideologies create unsafe atmospheres for those underneath their ideological constructions. They encourage these dangerous situations through resisting inspection and honest attempts at deconstruction. You aren’t welcome to poke around or push against a support beam; don’t rattle it to test it’s sturdiness. Often those seeking to deconstruct are accused of negativity. They’re blamed for constantly trying to tear stuff down.

Is this fair?

Several people I know squirm at the thought of subjecting their theological edifices to any type of deconstruction. They’ve built it and it’s done. Going back over it repeatedly is uncomfortably negative; perhaps too much work or potential rebuilding. Yet, some who see the rickety theology for what it is fear that it will come crashing down and inflict untold damage to those nearby. They wonder why its builders chain themselves to the wrecking ball refusing to abandon such dangerous conditions.

Unfortunately, the inevitable happens. Religious ideas and dogmas that have refused quality control have collapsed under their own weight and misconstruction. They’ve squashed and mangled lives of countless people who remain trapped beneath the pile of twisted reason. Those passing by feel helpless to drag the dying wounded from the carnage.

It’s easy to miss the real culprit when those scared of deconstruction shout against it in the name of staying positive. Look closely and discover that debasing a deconstructive motive poses the real threat to life. The intentions of deconstruction simply seek to ensure what is being built sustains life; and, though it contains a negative aspect, it’s ultimately a positive and life-affirming agenda.

Here are some undeveloped thoughts I’ve begun kicking around because of a question asked of me yesterday (by an eleven year old girl no less!).

Her question asked, “If all humans sin because that’s what humans do then how, if Jesus was human, did he not sin?” You could immediately offer some canned responses, but I think this question implicitly deconstructs some of our accepted dogmas of what it means to be human.

God created us in his image and did so perfectly. God dubbed humanity very good (Genesis 1: 31). God in Jesus became flesh, he became human. And if Hebrews 2 is saying anything it at least says that Jesus is the perfect human.

Back to the question. Maybe in our considerations about sin and humanity we are too quick to include sin as a part of the human make-up. Jesus says no. Sinning leaves us short of humanity, sin dehumanizes. Jesus’ humanity and sinlessness walked together hand in hand. He didn’t perform superhuman feats, he lived the entirety of his life as human.

To sin is not human. What do you think? How does this deconstruct the phrase “I’m only human…” that is often uttered when we sin.

I read Mike Cope’s blog regularly and he often has thought provoking stuff. The other day he posted a sermon on Psalm 137 that is part of a book honoring Prentice Meador.

It is simply brilliant.

I think it’d be good for everyone to check it out. Here is a taste:

The psalmist honors the freedom of the enemies by recognizing that they have a will and they have used the will for great harm.

But he won’t remain a victim. That’s not a role he’s auditioning for. He isn’t whining. He is praying – out loud! – his bold resistence to evil. He exposes it for what it is. He does battle with the evil by exposing it before God and by expressing his hurt, his anger, his red-hot bitterness.

But let me emphasize again: he takes this all to God. He prays it. Again, I think Brueggemann is right on target: “It is an act of profound faith to entrust one’s most precious hatreds to God, knowing they will be taken seriously.”

Find the rest here.

A great deal of confusion swirls around in my mind. I change my thinking or direction about Christianity on a regular basis. The scholars I read cover the spectrum and keep my probing, digging and forcing me to reconcile their conclusions.

It hurts to even get into it so I won’t provide an example. But, if you feel the need to torture yourself, you can skim back through some of my writing on the blog and probably pick out a few contradictions here and some inconsistencies there. I’m well aware of this frustrating reality.

It frustrates me but it doesn’t ruin me. Here’s why.

For a long time now, I’ve lived within the knowledge that God’s presence in my life isn’t dependent upon my ability to accurately and thoroughly articulate the riches and depth of his revelation. I’ve lived for 30 years. He revealed a portion of his mind over thousands of years. I can’t completely get it. But here’s the point. I do believe that my understanding of Scripture improves and tugs me deeper into God’s way of seeing things. I have grown. But that leads to something completely unexpected.

The more I learn the more I realize the need to act. God wants me to learn him so that I can express him. He isn’t content to stay put in my head; he’s making his way to my heart. So whatever I know doesn’t matter unless the love God has for people moves me in the same direction. I can know that I should love people, but the power of God’s word pushes me to love them. There’s a difference. And it’s one that brings comfort.

As his heart (understood in his revelation) journeys to my heart and prompts me to act, the contradictions and confusion of my interpretations are reconciled by his love expressed through me. I can have it wrong about Paul’s theology of religious identity but have that corrected through the practice of love which, after all, is the central expression of any theology or biblical interpretation.

A quarterback drops back and surveys the field to realize his receivers have busted the play. He improvises and directs the tight end in the flat to start blocking. He takes off. He has but one goal and that is to score. The pass matters little now.

He scores! Nobody knew it was meant to be a pass play. They didn’t care. They’re just glad he ran it in for a touchdown.

Some of us have a broken and busted execution of theology bouncing around in the noggin. Still, we continually seek to extend God’s love to everyone because we understand that’s the point. The one putting coats on his kids to warm their freezing bodies doesn’t care about the details of how that fits into Paul’s soteriology. He’s just moved that it happened.

Getting God’s knowledge to the heart matters more than the amount of it we accumulate in the head.

Time to play, pretend, acting as if your soul has no grime,
smile, back-slap, swap them: the pleasantries, they’re a dime.
Entering church, game on, gotta do this. Smile and nod, friend;
get finished, shake, side-hug, move, almost there, almost. The end.
Did it. Nobody asked, nobody knew. I kept it up and feigned on through.
They didn’t care about it and neither did I…I, well kind of, but who
would even care if I told them? I accept the play, the game, the untrue.

The land of make believe, Holy-wood hills, I get it but hate it.
I slide through it, never noticed, never pressured. Reckless fidget,
wondering, do they know, will they ask, will they pervade and push
right in to me, my life, my thoughts, the real me, the one I wish
they’d care some more about? Can they handle the truth I can’t take?
Hard exterior, nothing inside, at least you won’t find out, it’s mine. Wait,
someone approaches, smile, wipe that brow. Take two…action! One last try,
and I do, again, not a clue. And the Oscar goes to         …about to die.

It’s hard to breathe when you’re plastic, I must break out, let loose, live.
Reality beckons me and it’s what I want, truth, ugly truth, for that I’d give
all of this up, everything. Shallow suffering and fantasy, please, stay in your place,
don’t invade life with the fake. But you persist, and how I wish for just a taste
of the real, the life, edgy and uncut, but what exists?…nothing, blank rounds of smiles.
It’s alright. It’s alright. I’ve done this…I can maneuver my way through the aisles.

No! It can’t be this way, I need to find the real, behind the façade, the phony
person. A life that doesn’t want to live. It’s as if we’re dancing to a symphony,
the score for “The Stepford Wives.” Everybody feel good, look good, sound good, for
that’s your goal and your life. Do this, step here, walk there. Yes, that’ it. No, more.
No, less; just right. Smile. Pause and look away. Now move on. Very nice
to meet you. You did it well. They never noticed, they couldn’t tell, your act sufficed.

When will it end, this life of lies, staying in character? The only thing real is that…
it’s not real. Should I satisfy my thirst with that drop of truth or break the act
over my knee and melt the plastic into nothing? The furry swells inside, the feeling
that I can’t escape the shroud of secrecy looming over the living. The living?

Is that right, because I couldn’t tell? Reality exists but not in real time, the charade must
go on. For this act contains the only piece of truth left. Inside I fight and thrust
outward, trying to explode on to the scene, to scream, “Here I am it’s me!”
Really me, yeah, I know you don’t know me, but it’s me, I want you to see,
for yourself, but not the you I know, the you inside of you, the one inside the shell,
the one that speaks, the one that hurts, the one that’s watching this from hell,
the prison inside a plastic world. I want to live, to understand the free,
those that cry but not on cue, those that laugh outside the script, those that see
behind the scenes, those that distinguish their dreams and forget their lines,
those that have mined their feelings and brought them to the surface of life.

Real people, real problems, real hurts, real concerns enveloped in a world
of plastic. People trapped, anxiety ridden, scared their thoughts may unfurl.
But let them. Open up and stop pretending. Open up and quit reliving
the same steps the established programmed into your existence. Go on and give in
to the urge to be you, uncensored. Reject the life piety sells. Step to that raw
honesty. Let rage for dishonesty melt the plastic away. Exist, scars and all.