Where Is Your Faith?

Recently I have been reading through the gospel of Luke. A few days ago my reading was from the well-known story of Jesus calming the storm. It begins like this:

One day Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” (Lk. 8:22-24a)

There on the lake, the disciples are meant with a danger that they cannot control. A storm is a thing of chaos. It’s destructive. And it is beyond our ability to really manage. Even 2000 years after that storm in Galilee, we are unable to control the weather. Tornados and hurricanes come whether we plan for them or not, and we can’t divert their paths. Blizzards, droughts, windstorms – they’re all beyond our reach.

The coronavirus pandemic isn’t so different. On the Every Thought Captive Podcast, my old professor Doug Welch described the pandemic as the slowest-moving tornado in history. It is chaotic and destructive, just like a storm, but it doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. So like the disciples in the boat, we feel that we are being swamped. The pandemic crashes in on us like waves against the sides of the hull, and like the disciples, we find ourselves crying out, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!”

Luke’s account continues:

He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. “Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples. In fear and amazement they asked one another, “Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.” (Lk. 8:24b-25)

These past few days, I’ve been struck by that question Jesus asks his shipmates. “Where is your faith?” I wonder if he is asking us the same question today.

The pandemic has done many things, and I believe that one of those things has been to expose our idols. In our modern world, we tend to place our trust in a people and institutions other than God. We turn to them for a security and safety. But this year, we have been forced to acknowledge that, in the face of a storm, they have been unable to live up to the hopes we have for them.

Is your trust in the economy? We’ve seen unemployment rise, businesses shutter, and markets stumble.

Is your trust in politics? Our leaders have been unable to provide a coherent strategy for dealing with the virus.

Is your trust in technology? Even with all of the advances we have made over the centuries, all of the best minds of our world haven’t been able to prevent the 600,000 global deaths (and counting) from the virus.

Is your trust in education? Our schools and universities are struggling to figure out what education looks like this fall in light of the crisis.

As a human race, we are so confident in the things we have built. We are the people of Babel, erecting our tower to make our name great and to prevent ourselves from being scattered. But in spite of our ingenuity, a microscopic strand of RNA has brought all our striving to a halt.

So where is your faith? That’s the question I’ve had to wrestle with this week. Is my faith in myself? Is it in my society? Is it in the works of human hands? Is it in what we have built? All of these have proven inadequate.

So let’s put our faith in the one who calms storms. Let’s put it in the one who is Lord over all things (even pandemics). Let’s use this season, as frustrating and frightening as it is, to allow our idols to be stripped away and to place our trust only in the one who “commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.”

The disciples made it to the other side of the lake, and I believe our world will make it to the other side of this pandemic. I hope we reach the other shore as different people than we were when we set sail. I hope we have more humility, more faith, more trust in our Storm-Calmer.

Granted, when the disciples got to the other side, they were met by a demon-possessed naked man. I hate to think what the epidemiological parallel to that would be, but let’s hope it stays where it is for a while!

Parapets & Pandemics

Did you know that there’s a global pandemic going on? I know, right?

I recognize that writing anything about the pandemic seems to invite criticism from one side or the other, so maybe I’m being foolish. But my goal isn’t to comment on the specifics of whether or not schools should reopen this fall, or the constitutionality of the government imposing restrictions on businesses or churches, or whether the national media is overhyping or underselling the seriousness of the situation. All I want to do is share a passage of Scripture that has affected how I understand my personal responsibility during this time.

In Deuteronomy 22:8, God gives the Israelites this command: “When you build a new house, make a parapet around your roof so that you may not bring the guilt of bloodshed on your house if someone falls from the roof.”

I know, this passage seems random and irrelevant. At first glance, this building code seems tied specifically to the Israelites’ cultural context. In ancient Israel, the roofs of houses were flat. Because it could get so hot and stuffy inside the house, it would be common for people to do various things on the roof. (Remember, for example, how King David was walking on his roof one evening when he noticed Bathsheba.) So God commanded the Israelites to build a parapet — a little protective wall — around the edge of their roofs to help prevent people from falling off. It functioned like a guardrail.

I imagine that doing this would come with some personal cost. It would be a little inconvenient. And it would have been easy to say, “Well, if someone falls of my roof, that’s their own fault! If they don’t feel safe, they don’t need to come over.” And yet, the people were expected to build these parapets. Why?

When I read this passage a couple months ago, I thought about what underlying principle is at play here, and how it might apply today. And what I saw is this: The Israelites understood that they had a responsibility for the health and wellbeing of others around them.

And boy oh boy, is that principle relevant today! It has saddened me to see the pandemic-response become such a partisan issue. Sometimes it feels like we’ve gotten so distracted by arguments about who’s right and who’s wrong that we’ve forgotten to ask this simple question: “What responsibility do I have for the other people around me?” It’s not just a matter of politics. It’s a matter of discipleship, and a matter of love.

During this time, many people have said how they hate having someone else tell them what to do, whether it’s in relation to social distancing or face masks or quarantining. And I get that, because I hate people telling me what to do too! To be honest, I hate wearing a mask. It’s uncomfortable, it fogs up my glasses, and it robs people from being able to see how good-looking I am. And in the early days of masks being recommended, I usually didn’t wear one when I went to the store. It didn’t seem to be worth it, and I didn’t have one that fit anyways. But after reading Deuteronomy 22, my thoughts changed. I realized I needed to stop thinking only about my own comfort and convenience, and begin thinking more about the interests of others (Philippians 2:3-4).

My goal isn’t to condemn or point fingers (Isn’t there enough of that in our world these days?). Otherwise, I’d have to be pointing most of the fingers at myself for the times I’ve put my own comfort or convenience ahead of the needs of others — not just in this pandemic, but throughout my life! But what I do hope is that as people who are following Jesus, we really reflect on what it looks like to love our neighbor well in this time. What are the “parapets” we need to build in our lives to help protect others?

I know all of us are kind of making it up as we go. After all, we’ve never been in anything like this before! But wouldn’t it be great if the world could look at Christians and see us as the people who are most willing to deny ourselves? As the people who are most willing to lay down our rights? As the people who are most willing to be inconvenienced for the sake of others?

After all, we follow a Savior who sacrificed his personal prerogatives for us. Doesn’t it only make sense for us to do the same?

For the One

I’m writing this one for my wife.

Over a year ago, I started writing again (after a hiatus of several years before that). I said, “Alright, I’m going to stick with it this time! Let’s get this thing rolling!

And then I wrote two posts and quit again.

Since then, my wife Katie has often said, “You should write a new post!” I always say, “Eh…I don’t know. I don’t have much to write about. And besides, I don’t think anyone will read it.” To which she replies, “I’ll read it.”

And as I’ve thought about it, that’s probably enough.

These days, we live in such a performative culture. We want everything we do to be noticed and appreciated by as many people as we can. We ask, “If people aren’t watching, then what’s the point of doing it? If I don’t get many likes on my Instagram post, should I just delete it? If my video doesn’t get many views, was it worth the time? If what I write doesn’t find many readers, should it have been written?”

In our digitally-connected age, we so often seek the attention of the crowd, no matter how anonymous they may be to us. It makes us feel good to get good numbers in our site analytics or to get a lot of comments.

But in all of this, perhaps we’ve lost something. Maybe we’ve forgotten the goodness of doing things, not to be noticed by the digital crowd, but to bring some pleasure to the people closest to us. Isn’t there value in doing things for a single person – especially when that person is the most meaningful individual to you?

As I’ve been rolling this idea around, I’ve also thought of a spiritual application. I’m reminded of Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven” (Mt. 6:1). Instead, Jesus talks about doing things only to be noticed by God, who “sees what is done in secret” (Mt. 6:4).

Jesus’ words confront our cultural obsession with performance. The hypocrites might have asked, “Is it worth giving to the needy if no one is paying attention? Is it worth praying if other people can’t hear you? Is it worth fasting if others don’t witness your piety?”

Or maybe we could turn these questions around into something like this: Is it worth living in love and obedience, even if the only person who will notice is God?

The answer to that last question has to be an emphatic “Yes.” We aren’t called to live righteously in order to impress the crowd. We’re called to live righteously to honor the One. In a world where we place so much focus on getting the attention of others, this is an important truth.

I’m not sure if many people who read this post. And I’m pretty okay with that, because I know my wife will. And I don’t know if many will see any of the good things we do as a followers of Jesus. But God sees, and that’s probably all we need.

Fighting Violence with Peace

Here’s something crazy: This is my first blog post since April 17th! That’s over three months! You may be wondering what’s been going on in my life over these few months. Here are the highlights:

1. At the end of June, I began an exciting new stage of life when I started to serve as the new Associate Minister at my home church–Town & Country Christian Church in Topeka, Kansas. After all the changes that have happened in my life over the last 10 years, I never thought I would end up right back where I started, but I am grateful for the opportunity!
2. Chick-fil-A changed the type of barbecue sauce that they use. And while the new sauce isn’t bad, I would say it’s not as good as the original.
3. I got engaged! I’ll be getting married this coming November. Actually, that may be the main reason I haven’t written in a while. I started this blog with the goal of using it to impress girls. Mission accomplished!

So that’s pretty much all the important stuff. Now for what I wanted to write about today:

Recently I read an interesting, yet sobering, article from CNN by Paul Cruickshank, who is described as CNN’s terrorism analyst. He writes about the recent murder of a priest in Rouen, France at the hands of two ISIS-associated killers. Cruickshank points out that the attack is yet another instance of ISIS’s specific targeting of Christians. There have been serious attacks against Christians over the past couple years in Libya, Egypt, Nigeria, and Pakistan.

The thing that stands out to me most about Cruickshank’s analysis is when he explains one of the reasons ISIS would target a priest. He writes, “The goal in going after such a provocative target? To trigger a backlash against Muslims in France and drive the country’s Muslims into the recruiting arms of the Islamic State.”

Terrorist groups like ISIS want Christians to fight back. They want retaliation, because when we seek revenge, it allows them to replenish their ranks. It feeds into their narrative that Christians (and, by extension, the entire Western world) hates Muslims.

It puts Christians in a difficult spot, because we want so badly to fight back. When we get hit the way we have, we want to hit back harder. Isn’t this the way we can provide security for ourselves and for others?

But then I am reminded of what Jesus said about how his followers are to respond to such things. He said, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” He said that when someone hits you, you don’t hit back. He says we should reflect the mercy of the Father (Lk. 6:27-36).

The apostle Paul echoes similar ideas in Romans 12:14-21. He writes, “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” He goes on:

Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by doing so you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

The material in the CNN article makes sense when read alongside what we see in the New Testament. Satan wants to create violence, chaos, and hatred. ISIS and others create violence, hoping for a violent response, which allows them to continue to act violently. It creates a spiral–violence responded to with violence; hatred with hatred.

But Jesus offers another path. He shows that the answer to violence isn’t violence. That only creates more violence. Rather, the answer to violence is peace. It’s love. It’s prayer. Only this can stop the spiral. Only this disrupts the designs of the hateful.

I realize, of course, that I have not real right to even comment on issues such as this. I’m safe behind a computer in the Midwestern United States. I’m not a believer in the Middle East or in France or in one of the other places in the world where the violent threat of ISIS may be a daily reality. It’s unearned and easy for me to say what those facing persecution should do.

So all I can really do is pray–pray that the worldwide church listen and heed the teaching of Jesus. We pray that we might have the resilience and the faith to be peacemakers in the midst of a world that wants anything but peace. We pray for the courage to love those who hate us. And we pray that, by suffering, we someone comes to more fully participate in the life of Christ.

To Know Nothing Except

One of the things I really enjoy about reading the letters of the New Testament is that, in them, we often get a glimpse into the mind and life of the apostle writing them. We believe that Scripture is inspired by God but also that the human writer plays an important role. This is a good thing for us as readers today, because we can frequently identify with the writer–we can share in his joy, in his confidence, in his frustration, or in his pain.

Reading I have been reading through the book of 1 Corinthians, written by the apostle Paul. And with all of the above in mind, a passage that has stood out to me is 1 Corinthians 2:1-5. Here’s what it says:

And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

Here Paul references when he first came to preach in the city of Corinth. It’s handy that we are able to jump over to the book of Acts and see what the circumstances were surrounding Paul’s arrival in that city. What we see, I think, is that Paul had had a rough number of weeks before he got to Corinth. Acts 16 tells of his ministry in Philippi, which involved being put in prison and beaten. He went from there to Thessalonica, where the gospel begins to spread before an angry mob gathers and threatens the Christians, forcing Paul to move on to the village of Berea (Acts 17:1-9). In Berea, Paul finds a receptive audience, but then the same mob from Thessalonica tracks him down there, “agitating and stirring up the crowds” (Acts 17:13). This again forces Paul to move on–this time to Athens, where he has a chance to preach to the local philosophy-club, and he receives a mixed reception there.

All of this leads to Paul going on to Corinth. When we bring together Acts 16-18 with 1 Corinthians 2, I think we get a picture of a worn-down Paul. He has been going from city to city, and while he has experienced some positive reception to his message, he has also experienced opposition–ranging from active, violent opposition to apathy and disbelief. The struggles of life and ministry have been taking their toll on Paul, so he comes to Corinth “in weakness and in fear and much trembling.” I think these words that Paul uses when he writes to the Corinthians are more than just a sign of humility. They are an accurate representation of what his life was like at that point.

Most all of us have been there before, at least in some sense. Perhaps we haven’t faced the type of opposition or persecution that Paul had, but we certainly know what it is like to have life begin to wear you down. I’ve been there, and I imagine you have as well. We wrestle through marital conflict, or stress at work, or health issues, or unemployment, or overdue bills, or disloyal friends, or feelings of spiritual emptiness. The list could go on and on. Like Paul, we come to a point in life in which we are “in weakness and in fear and much trembling.”

So what did Paul do when he was in that place? He clung as strongly as ever to the message of the Jesus’ cross. He “decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

It’s when we are in those deepest trenches of life that we most need to be reminded of the gospel of the cross. In our pain, frustration, and weakness, we need to hear once again that Jesus entered into our pain and into our weakness. He has joined us in the trenches. In Christ, God experienced humanity with all of its struggles, and he demonstrated his power precisely through the weakness he experienced.

So when we are suffering, we remember that we worship a Savior who suffered. When life is wearing us down, we turn to the one who, because he gave his life, offers us life in abundance. Because Christ joined us in our weakness, he extends to us the chance to share in his power. We’re invited to know nothing except Christ and him crucified. And I think that’ll be enough to get us through the day.

Forgiven and Sent

If you’re anything like me, you’ve often felt unqualified to serve God in any meaningful way.

And you’re probably right to feel that way. Each of us is woefully inadequate for the task of ministry (and by that, I don’t just mean being on a church staff or working as a missionary, but rather the various ways each of us serve God and others). We have sinful pasts, and we continue to battle temptation in the present (a battle in which we sometimes fail). We have flaws in our characters. We struggle to clearly perceive the will of God.

But that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s really the only way things can be. None of us have proven ourselves worthy of being used by God. And that’s sort of the point, I think, because the fact that God still chooses and calls us to his service is a means whereby we see his love most clearly put on display. Three examples from Scripture come to mind:

First, we read about the famous call of Isaiah in Isaiah 6. Here Isaiah sees a vision of the heavenly throne-room, where God is seated and is surrounded by worshipping angels. God calls out, and the entire room shakes from the power of his voice. And here Isaiah cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (v. 5). After this, one of the angels touches Isaiah’s mouth with a burning coal, and God then sends Isaiah to work on his prophetic task.

Second, John 21 recounts a conversation between Peter and the resurrected Jesus. As readers of this text, we remember Peter’s recent failings with regard to his thrice-repeated denial of Jesus–an event that the gospel-writer himself recalls with the mention of a “charcoal fire” in verse 9 (cf. Jn. 18:18). As Jesus and Peter talk, Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?”, and each time, Peter replies that he does. This leads to Jesus giving Peter three instructions: Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.

Third, Acts 9 includes the first telling of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. Even though Paul (then called Saul) had been “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (v. 1), Jesus appears to him in heavenly light and sends him to Damascus, where Paul soon comes into contact with a Christian believer named Ananias and is baptized. When Paul later recounts the events in Acts 26, he tells that Jesus had also said to him, “I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you as a servant and witness to the things in which you have seen me and to those in which I will appear to you” (v. 16).

That brings me to what stands out to me in each of these passages: In each one, forgiveness and commission are joined together. The prophet/apostle is in some sense reconciled with God, but at the same time he is given a job to do. This might sound like a rather insignificant observation, but I think it’s key to fully appreciating these passages and what they mean for us today as we grapple with our inadequacy before God.

When I read these three passages, I expect there to be more of a gap between the forgiveness and the commissioning. There should be some sort of “trial period” for the newly-appointed prophet. After Isaiah’s lips are touched with the coal (symbolizing the removal of his uncleanness), I expect God to say, “Okay, great…now get out of here for a while and prove to me that you’ve got what it takes. Go pray a lot, and help some people out, and don’t curse or smoke, and in a  couple months maybe I’ll call you back and we’ll see how we can use you.” But that’s not what happens. God cleanses Isaiah, and he sends him on his task. And it’s the same with Peter and Paul–the demonstration of forgiveness is tightly wound up with their apostolic calling.

I think this should help us be more comfortable with our inadequacy. In just these three examples, God calls and uses sinners, deniers, and persecutors. They haven’t proven themselves, and yet they are sent out as witnesses of God’s Word and of what God has accomplished through Christ.

God doesn’t forgive us of our sins only so that we can enjoy a reconciled relationship with him. As Paul writes in Ephesians 2:10, we are created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” God cleanses our sins, but he does more than this. He gives us a purpose. And stepping into God’s purpose for you is itself an experience of grace.

It’s amazing to me that God chooses to have a relationship with crummy, sinful people like me. And it’s equally amazing that he chooses to utilize crummy, sinful people like me.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. (2 Cor. 4:7)

Darwinism and the Embrace of Weakness

“Survival of the fittest.”

That’s a pretty common phrase that you probably hear on a near-regular basis. It’s most closely associated with Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection, in which organisms most suited to their environment are more likely to produce offspring, thus causing evolution within the species over time. But we use the phrase in other ways as well: when we talk about business, sports, politics, and a host of other things. In fact, survival of the fittest may be one of the true cornerstones of the way we live our lives in the United States. But lately I’ve been thinking: How does survival of the fittest resonate with the Christian message contained in the Bible?

I started thinking about this a couple weeks ago as I was reading a new(ish) book by N. T. Wright titled Surprised by Scripture. In the first chapter, Wright is discussing the the relationship between science and faith when he makes this observation:

Basically, the American dream is that if you get up and go, you’ll succeed; the egalitarian hope is that the fittest will survive the economic jungle. This is simply a given, an unexamined presupposition that lies behind, for instance, the gut-level reaction against any kind of health-care proposal: after all, if these folks were fit to survive, they’d be out there earning a living! It also works at the international level: America has grown to be the leading superpower, so if America doesn’t like a regime somewhere else in the world, then America–with a tiny bit of help from her friends, of course!–has the right and duty to go and bomb it and effect regime change. And my point, as you will readily see, is the great irony that often those who are most opposed to Darwin when it comes to reading Genesis 1 are in fact most deeply in thrall to him, or to the wider application of his theories, when it comes to social and international policy. (pp. 16-17)

Could Wright be right?…er, I mean, could he be correct? Is it true that while many conservative Christians dispute Darwin in matters of biology, we’ve accepted his principles in other areas of life and society? Has survival of the fittest even affected the way we understand faith and church? And how does this mesh with the message of Jesus and the apostles?

Wright mentions issues of health-care and international relations, but with a little thinking, I imagine all of us could see how survival of the fittest affects a number of other spheres in life. We live with the unstated assumption that the best, brightest, and most talented will rise to the top and thus deserve a higher level of status, position, or attention.

Think about how the hiring process works in any business. Whoever is in charge of hiring looks through resumes and applications for the “fittest”: the one with the best experience, the most education, and the most impressive references.

Think about how scholarships are given out to universities: to the ones with the highest GPA’s, the most extracurriculars, or the most athletic talent.

Think about how we choose political leaders: we are often drawn to those who project the greatest image of strength or bravado, perhaps without concern for other elements of that person’s character.

For my friends involved in the world of the church, think about how publishers choose their authors or how conferences schedule their speakers: it’s typically those pastors who lead the largest churches and have had what most would readily recognize as “success.”

My point is not to say that all of these practices are necessarily bad. When I take my car in to the shop (which I don’t do nearly as much as I should, by the way), I hope that they have hired the most qualified mechanics and not the least qualified ones. But I do think it’s important to recognize how much of an ingrained assumption survival of the fittest has become in the way we manage our lives, and also to identify ways in which this assumption is at odds with the values of God. Especially when we go to our Bibles and read passages like this:

Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to fall, and I am not indignant? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness. (2 Cor. 11:29-30)

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 12:9-10)

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (Matt. 5:3-10)

When they came, [Samuel] looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed is before him.” But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Sam. 16:6-7)

Darwin’s world is one in which the strong survive. And because this is such a central tenet of our own culture, it’s tempting lean on our own strength. We don’t want anyone to notice the chinks in our armor. We do it in our relationships, in our jobs, and even in our churches. We think that the ones who are obviously closest to God are the ones who seems to “have it all together,” that is, who do and say the right things out of their own spiritual strength.

But the truth is that we worship a God who prizes weakness; who blesses the poor and meek and hungry, and who chooses the youngest of eight brothers to be a leader. We worship a God who achieved victory, not through Darwinian strength, but through suffering on a cross.  And so maybe it would be best for us to stop clinging to our own strength, to accept our weakness, and to embrace the grace and strength of the Creator and Savior.

Maintenance

I’m pretty good at starting stuff. But I’m not always so great at continuing it.

My guess is that’s you’ve discovered the same thing about yourself, at least at times. Now that we’re a full eleven days into the new year, you may even be discovering this at this moment. You’re asking yourself, “Why did I ever make that New Year’s resolution? I never really wanted to get in shape in the first place, did I? And besides, how was I supposed to know that Wendy’s was going to start this 4 for $4 deal?”

The beginning is the easy part. The maintenance is the difficult part. And what I have found, at least about myself, is that I often focus on the beginning and don’t even think about what it’s going to take to maintain a project. It’s one thing to start, and even to accomplish a goal. It’s another thing to maintain the fruits of that goal.

It’s something you realize when you go for a jog for the first time in six months and have trouble making it past the end of your driveway.

You realize it when your plane lands in another country and you naively assume that you’ll remember everything you learned in your two years of foreign language class in high school.

You realize it when you’re car becomes stranded on the side of the road because you never took it in for a tune-up.

You realize it when you sit down to pray after having gotten out of the routine, only to find your mind wandering to everything other than thoughts about God.

You realize it when you sit down to do your July budget and notice that you didn’t write anything down for April, May, or June.

You realize it when you haven’t written many blog posts for a while and have trouble tapping out every single word.

You realize it when you notice that you haven’t done well keeping in touch with an old friend, but now it’s been so long that it would just be awkward to call.

We like to start new things–to start a new exercise regimen, a new diet, a spiritual discipline, a relationship, a habit, and so on. But if we don’t plan to maintain these undertakings, our starting of them doesn’t do much good. And that’s the key: we can’t just plan on how to get it off the ground. We also have to plan for how to keep them in the air. We have to plan for maintenance, and we have to do this planning at the outset.

If my goal is to get in better shape, I can’t just create a plan on how I’m going to lose 10 pounds and then leave it at that. I have to plan on how, once I lose those 10 pounds, I’m going to live in a way that keeps them from coming back to find my like the animals in Homeward Bound.

And if my goal is to develop greater intimacy with God, I can’t just make a plan for how I’m going to devote time to worship and prayer and Scripture-study over the next month. I have to think about how I’m going to continue to do those things when something unexpected comes up, or when my life gets really busy, or when the initial fire and excitement dies down.

If a couple is planning to get married, they have to do more than think about the details of their wedding ceremony: the music, the flowers, the food, and which song they want their friend David Heffren to sing at their reception. More importantly, they need to think about how their relationship will continue to grow and how they will continue to be devoted to each other years after their honeymoon is over.

When we make short-sighted goals, we often lose focus once we reach those goals. And when we lose focus, we lose intentionality. And when we lose intentionality, whatever gains we’ve made in that area begin to deteriorate, whether it’s physical, financial, relationship, spiritual, or whatever else. Once that happens, we end up right back where we were in the first place and are forced to start the whole project over again.

So what I am continuing to learn is that I need to prepare for the long haul from the start. And maybe the next time I go for a run, I’ll be able to make it out of my driveway and all the way to the end of the street. Lucky for me, we’re only the fourth house down.

Sibling Rivalry: Fighting in Narnia, the World, and the Church

It’s been a really long while since I’ve had a guest-post up here on the blog, even though some of you out there have promised to write one but still haven’t sent me anything. (And you know who you are!)

With that being said, today’s post comes from Cameron Tate. I first met Cameron in 2010 when he was a high school student in the youth group I interned with in Oregon. Even then I was impressed with his giftedness in ministry and his level of insight. Since then, Cameron has gone to Bible college himself, spent a year mentoring students at a Bible school in Austria, and is currently working with First Presbyterian Church in Boulder, Colorado.

Recently I had a chance to look at some material Cameron had put together for his church’s Advent series, which is relating C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia with Christian truth from the Bible. I asked if he would be willing to share some of those thoughts here, and he was gracious enough to do so. If you’d like to check out some of the other material Cameron put together for that series, you can see in in First Presbyterian’s 2015 Advent publication here.

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Lucy went first, biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan.

-C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian

Since many of the main characters are children, one of the issues that The Chronicles of Narnia deals with is sibling strife. Though the conflict in C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian is between two literal sisters, it’s safe to say that figurative brothers and sisters in Christ also deal with discord on occasion. Strife has entered into all of our lives. We’ve all allowed the conflict and negativity that characterizes this world to affect our relationships. It’s evident in the innocent bickering amongst children, and how much more evident (though expressed differently, often more passive-aggressively) in our tense relationships with co-workers, family members, and fellow church-goers.

That’s why I believe the witness of a simple children’s book penned by a man who lived through two World Wars may give us some insight into conflict resolution. A man who witnessed first-hand “Christian” brothers fighting on behalf of their respective “Christian” nations. A man who had heated arguments with one of his closest literary associates (J.R.R. Tolkien) over the differences between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism. Certainly this man knew a bit about conflict, both in and out of the church. Yet in the quote above we see an insight into the ultimate and eventual solution to all conflicts, be them fraternal squabbles or global warfare.

Paul’s letter to the Ephesians calls all Christians to unity (Eph. 4:1-6); unity is Jesus’ prayer for the Church (John 17). Yet how often do we quarrel amongst ourselves? When was the last time a fight over something petty caused some to leave your church? To whom do you compare yourself when you scan your eyes over the congregation on a Sunday morning? Is there resentment in your heart, causing some inward groaning, grinding of teeth, biting of lips? Does the word “unity” come to mind as you glance in the eyes of others in the pews? Do you resent me for writing pews instead of chairs?

Rather than looking with eyes of envy, greed, lust, or pettiness at others, let us look to Jesus. See, sometime in between paying bills and reading the news we’ve lost sight the mystery and majesty of God. In so doing we have accidentally discarded the awe and reverence that are due Him. Our eyes are unfixed. We’ve thrown out that initial focus we had when we first saw Christ. Maybe for us, as it did in Susan, Lucy, Peter, and Edmund’s case, it’s become harder to recognize Christ in our lives. We need some vision correction; we need to refocus.

This is, perhaps, the greatest value of these books by C.S. Lewis: recasting the familiar story of the Gospel in an unfamiliar and therefore intriguing way. It allows the seeker to become enraptured (or re-enraptured) with Christ’s splendor. Many times throughout The Chronicles of Narnia, when a character looks at Aslan (the Christ-figure of the story), everything around him seems to fade. This is a beautiful and biblical analogy. Many of us may be reminded of the old hymn we sung as children ourselves:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

When our focus is on God pettiness is rendered unimportant, borders are irrelevant, pleasures of this world become insignificant, revenge is unappealing, and sin loses its magnetism. When conflict arises, we often either focus on the problem or the person, but the quickest, best, and most holy solution to any quarrel is to draw nearer to Christ. Communication methods, diplomacy, compromise, discipline, punishment: these can be helpful tools in every day conflicts such as office politics. There will be, however, no resolution with satisfactory finality employing those techniques alone. The Church has the unique opportunity and responsibility to show the world a better, more interminable resolution: unity with Christ through the Holy Spirit. This is how we break open a window to what life will be like in eternity. The lion laying down with the lamb, which is to say: the end to all human and non-human conflict.

What a lofty goal! To display a slice of heaven through our relationships amongst Christians. Yet this is Paul’s vision for the fledgling community in Ephesus. It remains Christ’s prayer for all Believers. And I truly believe getting one step closer to this ideal begins with each person reading this and considering the brothers and sisters in your life. Perhaps there is someone in your life that has you biting your lip in anger; to which Paul would say: “Don’t let the sun go down while you’re still angry.” Instead, make amends today. Instead, put divisive pettiness to rest in the Church. Instead, fix your eyes on Jesus.

Turtles, Tyrants, and the Messiah

I loved to read Dr. Seuss books when I was a kid. One of my favorites was Yertle the Turtle. In case you’re not familiar with it (and if you’re not…for shame!), here’s the general gist, without all of the rhyming:

Yertle the Turtle was the king of a pond, but he became dissatisfied with his throne, which was made of a stone. He couldn’t see far enough, and he was upset that his territory wasn’t bigger. So, Yertle called nine other turtles and made them stand on top of each other, with him at the very top. From his new vantage point, he could see much farther. He was proud to now be the king, not just of the pond, but much more: a cow, a mule, a house, a blueberry bush, and a cat. He exclaimed, “I’m Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me! For I am the ruler of all that I see!”

But it didn’t take too long for Yertle to become dissatisfied once again. So he called more turtles and stacked them up higher. From his new throne, he could see forty miles. He declared himself to be king of trees and birds and bees and butterflies, and even the air itself. There was nothing higher than him.

Or at least, there was nothing higher than Yertle until the moon came out. He was shocked that the moon would dare to be higher than he was himself. So he called even more turtles in an effort to raise his throne even higher. But eventually, a turtle named Mack, who was on the very bottom of the stack, burped. The turtle came tumbling down, and Yertle fell in the mud.

When I think of Yertle the Turtle, it reminds me of something we read about at this time of year: the biblical account of Herod and the magi from Matthew 2. The first three verses of that chapter go like this:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.”

There is already a tension felt in these few verses. I don’t think it’s an accident that, in both verse 1 and verse 3, Herod is specifically called “Herod the king” (in the rest of the chapter, he is simply called “Herod”). Matthew emphasizes that Herod was the political ruler. But sandwiched in between these to references to Herod’s kingship is the magi’s question: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?”

When you’re a king like Herod, you don’t like people talking about a new king having been born. Or, if you’re a turtle like Yertle, you don’t like that the moon is higher in the sky than you are. And so, as Matthew 2 goes along, Herod tries to eliminate this new king–first by trying to trick the magi into revealing the child’s location, and eventually by simply massacring all of the baby boys in Bethlehem.

Herod recognizes an important truth: There can only be one king. There weren’t two thrones in Jerusalem. He wasn’t seeking co-rulership. When he heard that a new king had been born, he (rightly) thought, “It’s either him or me!” The tragedy for Herod, however, is that instead of submitting to Jesus the Messiah, to the true king, he sought to maintain his own power and authority. He rejected the Messiah, knowing full well, “If Jesus is king, I can’t also be king.”

Herod’s story is still relevant for us today, and perhaps especially at this time of year. During Advent, as we remember the true King’s entrance into the world, we are confronted with the question: “Who is king in your life?” Because there can only be one king, and Jesus wants to fill that role for each of us. Jesus famously said, “No servant can serve two masters.” At the time, he applied to a choice between serving God or money, but I think the principle can apply in a number of other ways as well. You can’t serve both God and power. You can’t serve both God and sex. You can’t serve both God and popularity. You can’t serve both God and pleasure. You can’t serve both God and comfort. And, at the end of the day, you can’t serve both God and yourself.

At Christmas, we remember the first coming of the King Jesus. But we also remember that this King is coming back. And whether we’re sitting on a throne of turtles, a throne in Jerusalem, or the throne in our own hearts, the day will come when all of the Yertles and Herods of the world stand before the heavenly throne and give an account to the one Scripture calls “King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”

Herod rejected the Messiah because he wanted to maintain his kingship. Many of us continue to do the same thing as we choose to follow our own inclinations over and against God and his Word. But what Scripture (and, conveniently, Dr. Seuss) teaches us is that this can’t last. Eventually, the kingdoms we build crumble, and we’re left with nothing more than the title “King of the Mud.”

Too often we follow the example of Herod. Fortunately, the Bible gives us other examples in the accounts of Jesus’ birth. Maybe my favorite, and one that strikes me as being so different from that of Herod, is what we see in Mary, who prepares for the coming of the true King by simply saying, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Lk. 1:38). We’re not the king. We’re not higher than the moon. We are servants of the king. And that’s not a bad thing to be at all.