What Matters Most?

Last post for today as I finally get through the list of random thoughts and questions I constantly jot down in a little notebook in my pocket.  Today's question sounds a lot like others I have asked, but with its own particular twist.  "What matters most, that we believe, or that we love?"  You can see where this is going.  It cuts right to the heart of that lasting struggle between truth and mercy.  But why should such a struggle even occur in the Church of Jesus Christ?  Why does it seem like the latest trend within the churches in my geographic region is a return to legalism based on an absolute (meaning our version is right) truth and building walls where there ought to be none?  Suddenly their version of Christianity does not seems so much like good news as in "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me for He has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free."

Truth is a bludgeon, no one can stand before Moses when he starts swinging those tablets.  But Jesus came for freedom's sake and in Him mercy meets truth on an even plane, the righteous demands of a holy God embrace peace in a holy union.  That is good news, much better than the standard fare of hoop jumping or dogma collecting that is common in so many churches.  For the record, it matters most to me that I love even when it conflicts inside of me with what I believe is the truth in any matter.  I guess I'd rather give account before God that I loved too much instead of that I believed zealously.

An Observation on Evangelicalism and Republicanism

This is a random thought that has popped into my head as I watched a slick trailer in church for the National Day of Prayer (did you know it had a trailer complete with a rousing soundtrack, Mount Rushmore, the US constitution, quotes from the founding fathers, a fire-side family praying, and a movie like "save this date" type of ending), and then later listened to countless broadcasts about the NDP on Christian radio.  This is an observation only, I have no comment on it and no theological insight on it except to note it is sometimes hard to see where evangelicalism ends and political agenda begins.  I noticed that certain evangelicals have now filled out the "trinity" of national prayer causes.  To the survival and strengthening of the family, and the overthrow of abortion on demand, they have now added prayers for the upholding of our military forces.  It is at this point that I clamp down on my tongue, or more accurately force my fingers to stop typing.  Observation only, I don't know what I think about that trend yet.  How about you?

Lord, You Know that I Love You

Some Sundays ago in Eastertide we read the account in John's gospel about Jesus confronting Peter three times about whether Peter really loved Him or not.  I ask myself that same question a lot, in different ways and times, but all boiling down to the same question, "Do I really love Jesus in a way that leads to a life that is lived in accordance with what I believe He would have me do?" Or is my whole life just a religious facade that I have cobbled together over the years, borrowing a little from this denomination, incorporating a little from that church, and so on?  I honestly don't know.  Let me give you an example to illustrate.

Some of the most profound worship songs that I have ever heard -- you know those songs, the ones that tug your heart, bring tears to your eyes, and through the tears help you to see light like you have never seen it --, well those songs were written by habitual sinners, drunkards in my particular story.  People who knew the power of God in a way that many of us cannot relate to because they spent so much of their life making a mockery of everything they held sacred and yet, even at the lowest points, knowing that God loved them even then.  And while drinking does not tend to be my personal demon, I have others that I wrestle with, we all do; things that are secret, things that remain hidden, tendencies that cannot be indulged because of what follows.  And so when Jesus asks me if I love Him, how do I answer?  I can give Him the biblically correct answer, but when I start to speak all of my failure and wasted life gets replayed in my mind and the answer dies on my lips.  Imagine Peter wilting under this interrogation.  The man who three times betrayed Jesus only days before is now asked whether He loves this Jesus who stands before Him.  I've been there too, I think you have as well.   But the struggle of Peter to answer finally breaks through, and I lay hold of it as well and make it my own.  I don't know if I love You as I ought, my life certainly has not reflected the reality of that type of relationship; but You know that I love You, otherwise You would not be standing in front of me and asking me these questions.  You can look beyond my weakness, my constant and consistent failure, and my wishy-washiness where my own eyes always get stuck to see eternity set in my soul, and in Your eyes I see that You know that I love You.  When the Son sets you free, you are finally free indeed!

What's the Point?

I used to think that church on Sunday sometimes was uneventful at best.  The people are great, but the entire congregation is stuck in a confederation that is 50 or 60 years old and no longer fits their current demographics, and they have inherited a liturgy that is sacrosanct and not easy to change.  So there is a lot of up and downs in the pews, and 200 year old songs stuck here and there, and forms that can never be wavered from.  It makes one think "What would happen if the Holy Spirit really did show up as everyone prays and blew wherever He chose to do so?"  But there is the benefit of reflection, both inward and Godward, and I get my best questions in the pews, rarely answers, just many, many questions.  And I find that the closer I get to asking the right questions, the closer I feel I am getting to laying hold of who God is, who I am because of Him, and what my life is intended to amount to.

So last week's questions included this one.  What is a better starting point for trying to live the Christian life, absolute truth or sincere doubt?  Anything needs a foundation to build on and I have always been told that the truth of God's word was the very best foundation for my life.  And because it was my foundation I defended it to any length necessary, because if the foundation starts to get shaky, so does what is built on it.  But I found, as I have aged and journeyed, that when people exhort you to build your life on the solid rock of God's word they usually have an implied version of interpreting God's word that they are foisting wholesale on you.  And that is when good solid granite gets mixed in with cheap brick to fill in those inconvenient areas, and that leads to a foundation with gaps, weak spots, places where water tends to seep in.  So I ask the question again, what is a better starting point?  Should we cling to our version of absolute truth and defend it to the death, often against common sense or the witness of life itself?  Or should we have the decency and honesty to say, "I don't know" and come to God with the prayer of the honest man who said "Lord, I believe, but would you help my me where I cannot believe"?  My life has tended to follow the latter path.  By now I should have amassed a wondrous amount of wisdom but instead I have a notebook of questions that one by one I wrestle with.  Some I bring to resolution, others I set aside for a time.  The sad fact is that is is far easier to learn something right the first time then to have to unlearn something that habit and time have reinforced.  Renovations, rebuilding, correcting structural defects are always more expensive in terms of time, resources, and energy.  But I've stayed the course this far and I don't intend to abandon the journey.  Rather fixing my eyes on Jesus, I press forward.  He is the one that started what faith I have inside me and He is the only one that can bring it to any fulfillment.

The Older Brother

One of these past Sundays we were reading the story of the prodigal son.  This is a familiar story and the father's love for his returned son are the subject of countless sermons and that is as it should be.  And I have read many commentaries on this story and they sometimes turn into a diatribe against that familiar scapegoat, the Pharisees.  They were the ones zealous for the law, sometimes to such an extreme that they pit the strict keeping of the law against doing works of mercy, healing, compassion.  They seem renowned for the degree of separation from all that is not in keeping with what they perceive to be the will and purpose of God...the picture of the Pharisee drawing in his robes in the marketplace to avoid defilement by an inadvertent contact with sinful humanity is classic sermon fodder.  But then I thought that if scripture is universally true, transcending time and geography, then a retelling of the story today would sadly cast us, the formal, established, set-in-our-ways Church as the older brother.  We are always with our Father through the work of His son Jesus, and all that He has is ours, because He delights to give to us the kingdom.  But what the Father's love really done for us, what types of people are we?

We are decidedly uncomfortable when the world sets foot on our turf.  We jealously guard the sanctuary of God  lest any part of the world invade it, and when these "others" enter in, drawn by a remembrance of a father's love, we become stern gatekeepers; because like it or not, these newcomers are covered and clothed in the world and its ways.  How many hoops do we force them to negotiate before they pass muster and are accepted into the fellowship of believers, admitted to the Lord's table, granted church membership, or even just given genuine attention and compassion?

I think this occurs because our perspective of the Father is limited, it may even be dead wrong in many areas.  In our hymns we sing about God as immortal, invisible, the only wise God, beautiful, perfect, transcendent and a dozen other words.  But this is theology singing, and even though we sometimes seem overly fond of it, it skews our perspective of God, how He works, and how he views the prodigals of this world.  We are the ones that are ever with the Father as the story goes, and all that He has is ours because it is His delight to give His kingdom to us....but what happens in us when He also delights to give it to flagrant prodigals who have squandered the better part of their life in worldly living far separated from Him.  And that makes it difficult for us to rejoice with the Father when one of "them" stumbles home stinking of pig manure.  But in the end of the matter, it is the prodigals who are the ones who remember what the Father is really like and who have no reservation of coming back knowing that they deserve nothing and instead find that they receive everything.  It is us who have forgotten what grace is able to accomplish and we are the ones who cry out that it is unfair.  I think it is time we took a second look at the whole way that we have organized and run our churches and let the Father once more transform them into havens of forgiveness and grace.

The 300 Pound Pig

I have decided to characterize this time of my spiritual journey as the time of the 300 pound pig. Let me explain. My son and I used to slaughter farm animals for friends and neighbors some years back (those nice packages of pork chops or bacon just don't grow on trees you know). We knew our equipment limitations (scalding tub size, lifting equipment) and were content to kill and prepare 200 to 225 pound pigs. So when a neighbor called late in the season I queried him if the pigs were really the right size. He assured me that they were and off we went. When we pulled up, set up the equipment, got the water to heating we went inside the barn to look at the pigs. These were not your nice 200 to 225 pound piggies, these were 300+ pound porkers. I had my doubts and should have walked away but chose to proceed. I put the first one down and bled it. When it took both of us to drag it out of the barn I should have known we would have problems. When we hoisted it up and it bent my hay hook out straight like an awl I should have suspected it was worse than I thought. When we finally had it up and plopped in the tub and there was literally no room between it and the tub walls (imagine big, big fat person, naked, lying on back in small tub and you get the picture). At that point my son and I bent over the pig with scrapers in hand and he asked the very pointed but obviously belated question, "What do we do now?" Faced with no easy way out I said, "Start scraping", and we did. And we scraped and scraped, and pushed, and prodded, and ached, and swore, and vowed that we would never be suckered into doing this again (even though we knew we had a second monster pig waiting in the barn). But when you are faced with a 300 pound pig and have made the commitment to start, the only way to get through it is to throw yourself at it and keep at it for however long it takes to get through the job at hand. And that is why I feel that where I am spiritually is wresting with that 300 pound pig. I know that there is an end, even if it is not in sight yet, but the only way there is to keep at it.

Halfway through Lent

So it turns out I did have some random thoughts about halfway through Lent. On the fourth Sunday of Lent I dutifully recorded some ideas in my little pocket journal and then promptly forgot them. The first was that we tend to pray in categories. I glean that observation from years of listening to corporate prayers being read in church, or looking at printed prayer lists, or being on phone chains for prayer (now email chains). I don't have all the categories worked out, but I have some. There is the prayers of separation...we have an addiction or a problem or a sickness or a difficult relationship and we want to be free from it, separated once and all. Or it can have a positive spin as well....we sense our separation from something and we want it to be joined back to us. And so we pray or ask for prayer that it would happen. But I wonder if we are putting too much on God and not enough on ourselves or the individuals we are praying for. The writer of Hebrews said we had not yet got to the point of shedding blood in the struggle against sin, but as I have said in the past, many times we are not even willing to break a sweat. Maybe these types of prayer are more about personal choices and facing our own demons and realities. Another type of prayer related to this is the prayer of limitation. We become acutely aware that we cannot do all things well and therefore we pray that God would remove this limitation and make it possible. Maybe we are always short of cash, or overweight, or struggling with our job performance, or unsure in our marriage relationship, you get the idea. And if God would just make that limitation go away everything would be all right. But again those types of demons don't just go out by command or prayer alone, but with much fasting....effort, facing up to shortcomings and challenges, seeking opportunities, doing all that is within our power to prevail.

The second note I jotted down is a quote from Joel 3:14 (the pastor decided to preach through Joel in Lent for some reason). Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision! I know that is about end times and all, the days of judgement and such. But what decision are we setting before these multitudes to consider? To follow Jesus, to be born again, to become a church member or even more importantly a member of a committee, to contribute faithfully, to be in attendance on this or that day? I don't see any real good choices being set before us any more by the local congregations. We still seem more concerned about keeping the doors open another year and conducting our business as usual, and the ultimate questions that lead to the important decisions are never broached openly.

Half thoughts from a point halfway through Lent.