god can’t be kept out

the internets are filled with suggested responses to the connecticut school shootings. some are moving, some are sensible and some are ridiculous.  some are moving and some are infuriating.  in my humble opinion, rachel held evans has written one that needs to be shared.

Those little Advent candles sure have a lot of darkness to overcome this year. I see them glowing from church windows and on TV, in homes and at midnight vigils, here in Dayton and in Sandy Hook. Their stubborn flames represent the divine promise that even the smallest light can chase away the shadows lurking in this world, that even in the darkest places, God can’t be kept out. 

It’s a hard promise to believe right now, I know. The children in the pictures are just too young, too familiar. Our hearts ache; the darkness seems so heavy and thick. 

We all grieve in different ways, and we must be patient with one another as we do, but there is a rumor floating around among the people of God that is so vile, so dangerous and untrue, it simply must be called out. It’s a rumor that began long before the shots rang out at Sandy Hook and long before this Advent season. 

It’s the rumor that God can be chased out. 

You might have heard it from Bill O’Reilly and those who, every Christmas, work themselves into a frenzy over the “War on Christmas.” They storm checkout counters to demand that clerks issue them a “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays,” crying persecution when inflatable manger scenes are moved from public courthouses to private property. They demand that every gift purchased, every mall opened late, every credit card maxed out must be done so in Jesus’ name…or else Christ will be taken out of Christmas. They do it because someone told them that God needs a nod from the Empire to show up, forgetting somehow that God showed up as a Jew in the Roman Empire.

In a barn.  

As a minority. 

After a genocide. 

To the applause of a few poor shepherds. 

If the incarnation tells us anything, it’s that God can’t be kept out. 

Or you might have heard the rumor from a red-faced preacher who insists that if we can’t keep God’s name in our pledge, on our money, and on our courthouse walls, then we can’t keep God in our country. He has convinced his congregation that the fight of faith is a fight for power, that we win when we see God’s name on our cash, on our statues, on our idols, and in our legislation. He thinks that the removal of God’s name is the removal of God’s very self. He has forgotten that when God showed up, God was executed by the government. 

On a cross. 

Emptied of all power. 

Only to rise from a borrowed grave three days later because God can’t be kept out.

Or, most recently, you might have heard the rumor from Bryan Fischer, from Mike Hucakbee or a friend on Facebook, saying that God abandoned the children at Sandy Hook because, though children have every right to pray in public schools, those schools cannot sponsor prayer events out of deference to religious freedom. When asked where God was on that awful Friday morning, these Christians have said that God did not show up at Sandy Hook because “God is not allowed in public schools,” because “ we have systematically removed God” from that place. 

Brothers and sisters, let’s call this one for what it is: bullshit.  

God can be wherever God wants to be. God needs no formal invitation. We couldn’t “systematically remove” God if we tried. 

If the incarnation teaches us anything, it’s that God can be found everywhere: in a cattle trough, on a throne, among the poor, with the sick, on a donkey, in a fishing boat, with the junkie, with the prostitute, with the hypocrite, with the forgotten, in places of power, in places of oppression, in poverty, in wealth, where God’s name is known, where it is unknown, with our friends, with our enemies, in our convictions, in our doubts, in life, in death, at the table, on the cross, and in every kindergarten classroom from Sandy Hook to Shanghai.  

God cannot be kept out. 

And although my doubt and anger make it hard for me to believe today, I will keep lighting those little Advent candles like a religious fool until they help me in my unbelief. May their flames be a reminder to all of us that we don’t have to know why God let this happen to know that God was there…. 

and here,

and in those swaddling clothes, 

and on that cross, 

and in that grave, 

and on the throne. 

For no amount of darkness can overcome the light. 

amen.

 

 

the daisy cutter doctrine

here’s another great piece from the guy who is quickly becoming my favorite christian thinker, skye jethani.

We’ve all gotten used to hearing the drumbeat of revolution; how we are going to change the church, change the culture, change our generation, and change the world. I call it the Daisy Cutter Doctrine: “Change the world through massive cultural upheaval and high-impact tactics.” The Daisy Cutter, if you don’t know, is the nickname of the largest non-nuclear bomb in the military’s arsenal. In this day of laser guided “smart” bombs, the Daisy Cutter isn’t dropped to destroy targets but to intimidate the enemy. When impact is more important than precision, there’s nothing better than a 15,000 pound daisy cutter for the mission.

Likewise, the Daisy Cutter Doctrine is an approach to ministry that values high-impact and visibility above all else. This explains why most presenters at ministry conferences are leaders of big churches. Their ministry’s size is valued, and in some cases envied, by those in attendance who have come to learn how they too can ignite their full potential for maximum missional impact.

This shock and awe approach to mission is extremely appealing to leaders in our consumer culture. It taps into our consumer-oriented desire for big impact and feeds the assumption that large equals legit. The psychological appeal is never explicit but always present: by making a huge impact you can convince the world of God’s legitimacy as well as your own. That is an enticing promise particularly for younger ministers as many of us have yet to establish our legitimacy and tend to carry latent feelings of inadequacy.

Sadly, the church has so accepted this idea that it is often the very reason we are drawn to ministry. We tell people, implicitly or explicitly, that “full time ministry” is what really matters, and other callings are somehow less vital to God’s mission in the world. We create an atmosphere in which young people may be attracted to ministry roles not out of a genuine calling that emerges from their communion with Christ, but out of a desire to be significant and valued by a community that honors missional effectiveness above all else. We draw them to pastoral ministry from a shadow desire for significance, honor, prestige, or ambition rooted in self rather than Christ. And once they enter ministry the pattern continues. Now that they’ve chosen the “right” vocation, they have to prove it by having a big impact.

But what concerns me is that a Daisy Cutter view of ministry leaves no space for failure. It cannot tolerate a theology of ineffectiveness. So what is a pastor not having an impact supposed to do? How do we reconcile are desire for impact with our failure to produce it? If my legitimacy is linked to my impact, does a lack of impact mean I am an illegitimate pastor? A misfit minister?

These questions tap into the core of our identity, and when it comes under attack we will do nearly anything to protect ourselves or nurse our pain. Why are we seeing an epidemic of pornography and other addictive behaviors among church leaders? Why do ministry families struggle so deeply and secretly? Why do so many of us struggle with anger, jealousy, and resentment in our church roles? There are many causes, but I don’t believe these outcomes are accidental. We have created a system that attracts us to ministry for the wrong reason, motivates us with the idol of impact, and then leaves us bloody and wounded when we fail to produce it. As Dallas Willard is fond of saying, “Your system is perfectly designed to produce the results you are experiencing.” Our church culture is designed to attract, consume, and eject pastors. It is built for failure, but ironically it refuses to give us a redemptive theology of failure in the process.

What is the answer? I suppose one option is to get out of ministry, and maybe out of the church altogether. It’s an options more and more people are choosing. But running away is not the way of Christ.

We must learn to separate our identity from our impact. We must learn that who we are is NOT what we do. I’m reminded of the Prodigal Son parable in Luke 15. If you recall, the older son rooted his identity in his faithful service for his father. “All these years I have served you,” he argued. But he was not getting the reward he expected. The father responds by taking the focus off his son’s service, and places it upon what he valued most–his son’s presence. “You are always with me, and all I have is yours.” For the father it was not his younger son’s disobedience that mattered most, or the older son’s obedience–but their presence. This explains why he embraces the prodigal when he returned, and why he entreated his older son to come in and join the celebration.

Until we understand this truth about our heavenly Father, we will be incapable of escaping the damage inflicted by the Daisy Cutter Doctrine. God isn’t primarily concerned that we accomplish great things FOR him, but that we learn to live every moment WITH him. And very often we are drawn into his presence though our failures, not our successes. Only a theology of a life with God, rather than for him, gives room for a theology of failure.

 

 

excess at every turn

is anyone besides me tired of all the fiscal cliff conversation?

i mean, i know it’s a big deal and i realize that the outcome of this struggle could have huge implications on our economic future.  but it is what it is, right?  despite all the political posturing and doomsday scenarios, the problem is either going to be solved or it isn’t.  big picture, it really doesn’t matter who wins the debate or which party is to blame–we’re either going to survive or we aren’t.

what can we do about it?

i’ve had conversations lately with several precious people who are really struggling. and even though life is difficult, their struggle is not external, it’s internal.  ”i’m praying and reading my bible,” they complain, “why can’t i overcome this particular issue?  why do i feel so miserable?”

the most comforting thing i can say is, “i know exactly how you feel.”

paul described this dilemma in his letter to the galatians, “So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature. For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.“ as long as we’re alive on this earth–and striving to become christlike–life will be a grind.

here’s a sobering thought: what if it’s supposed to be that way?  what if the struggle is normal, even ordained?

scripture says that god “...set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.“ we are designed with a compulsive yearning for heaven.  we could literally have everything in the world and we would not be fulfilled. temporal things, no matter how spectacular, are incapable of satisfying the deepest desire of humanity.

in his book “the progress paradox,” gregg easterbrook writes…

Most Americans enjoy a higher standard of living than 99.4 percent of the 80 billion human beings who’ve ever lived. Yet we’re not content. Our lives are characterized by too much of a good thing and that’s precisely the problem, excess at every turn.

we are driven to distraction.  we cannot conceive of life without our electronic connections.  and even with all these modern conveniences, we sleep three hours a day less than our grandparents.  we keep thinking that the next deal, the next promotion, the next conquest will make us feel better.

not gonna’ happen.  there will always be tension in this life.  there will alway be another mountain to climb.  there will always be another fiscal cliff.

we might as well embrace the struggle.

 

 

what if we’re not supposed to defend ourselves?

this morning i read isaiah 53 in the message.  i am undone.

He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn’t say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. Justice miscarried, and he was led off—and did anyone really know what was happening? He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people. They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man, Even though he’d never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn’t true.

Still, it’s what God had in mind all along, to crush him with pain. The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.  (Isaiah 53:7-10)

i am devastated by the fact that jesus resolved to speak not one word in his defense.  he allowed religious snobs to silence him, and pagan bullies to trample on his rights.  he refused to resist false arrest, even when his friends wanted to fight.  he willingly laid down on a cross, and spread his arms to receive nails with my name on them.  and scripture tells us that this injustice was not only orchestrated by his father, but that he was somehow pleased by it.

and here’s why i am heartsick this morning.

we have several groups that use our building: scrapbookers and girl scouts and soccer teams.  we house a child care center.  two different churches meet in our facility.  so, as a matter of course, i sometimes find a mess when come i in the morning.  i don’t know why this surprises me, but it does.

more surprising to me, though, is my attitude.

this past monday morning, i found myself muttering (to myself…we’ll discuss my advancing senility in another post), ”why can’t people clean up after themselves?  they use the space for free, and still they have no consideration for the property of others?”

and then my whining got personal.  “i’m the pastor.  don’t these ungrateful people realize how busy my schedule is?”

and i was quite enjoying my self-pity party right up until the moment i began to complain to the lord.  “you called me here…is this what you had in mind for my ministry?  to clean up other people’s messes?  and no one seems to be grateful or even notice!”

and then i remembered isaiah 53.  and matthew 6.  and philippians 3.

for the sake of his mission, jesus relinquished his rights.  he allowed invited people to use him and interrupt him and take advantage of him, and he was always patient and compassionate.  he was always seeking to teach the hard lessons with his life–even to the laying down of his life.

sometimes i wonder if i am even a christian.  i feel sorry for myself when people use me.  i am quick to defend my ideas/positions.  i avoid high-maintenance people.

it’s pride, pure and simple.

but what if, in some convoluted way that i am not smart enough to understand, god’s plan might prosper through my pain?  what if god is doing something that costs me a little now, but turns out to be priceless in the end?  what if god has ordained for my life to be spent rather than saved, invested rather than hoarded?

what if god is trying to make me like jesus?

bad santa

today i engaged in a miserable annual ritual–i dressed up as santa for our daycare pictures.

i can’t figure out why…

1.) i’m always the one who has to play santa every year (it might be due to the fact that i have white hair, and when i laugh my little round belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly.  i refuse to be jolly, though.), and

2.) i always agree.

inevitably during this thrilling yuletide activity i am reminded once again that most parents are morons.

the toddlers seem to be terrified by the notion of sitting the lap of a huge man in the red suit, and most have a meltdown when they are handed over by their mothers.  poor santa pastes a smile on his face and tries feverishly to hold the shrieking, squirming youngster long enough for the photographer to get some semblance of a shot.  all the while, mom is standing in the background screaming her baby’s name and violently shaking a jingle bell.

that’ll be a great photo.

the older kids, on the other hand, are enthralled with the idea of visiting santa and eagerly crawl into his lap.  it seems, though, that they are not the slightest bit interested in a portrait.  they just want to carry on a conversation with saint nick while mom is insistently imploring her progeny to pose for a keepsake.  the little elf remains oblivious to his mother’s pleas.

some parents bring their entire brood, pile them on santa, and demand shot after shot until each of their children are possessed of angelic expressions while looking directly at the camera.  all four of them.

i actually heard one mother say, “i paid five dollars for this picture and, by god, i’m getting a picture!”

my wife put it quite succinctly when she said, “to drive a car you have to take a class, pass a test, and get a license…but any idiot can have a child? really?”

maybe the parents are not the ones with the problem.  maybe the gullible dork who puts on the santa suit year-after-year is the moron.

 

 

the pull of shopping

this past weekend we celebrated one of the most exciting days on the christian calendar: black friday (what, you thought i was going to say thanksgiving?).

retailers report that moving the commencement of black friday to thursday evening was a smashing success.  it has become a frenzy that overtakes people…even christians.

is it possible we’ve crossed the fine line between shopping to give and shopping to self-gratify?

now that i’m a grandfather, i find that i am much more impulsive than i used to be. planning goes out the window.  if my grandchildren seem excited about some particular toy, i will go to (almost) any length to get it, and i will have a ball observing their reactions when they open the package on christmas morning.  i confess, though, that i am a little hurt when they lose interest in about 8 minutes, and the treasure i worked so hard to find is forgotten by new year’s day.

why would i care?  when did christmas become about how great the gifts were?

i remember many of the family christmas gatherings from my childhood.  i remember special moments with my grandparents, and embarrassing encounters with my cousins.  i am moved by warm memories of earlier editions of my mother and father as they enjoyed the squeals of joy from their kids (just like the ones that i am now enjoying with my grandchildren).  and not one of those memories involve a gift.  in fact, i can remember almost nothing i ever received.

so why do we get so wrapped up in shopping?

to be honest, i like the way shopping makes me feel.  comparison shopping becomes a competition, and finding a “deal” feels like a victory.  and it’s all so easy to justify because, after all, i’m not spending money on myself…i’m simply trying to make others happy.

tim challies articulated the problem beautifully (and painfully) in this post:

Recently I’ve been convicted of my own propensity to try to spend my way into happiness or fulfillment. I’m no shopaholic and more often than not I do not buy the things I find myself drawn to. So it’s not the act of buying that disturbs me as much as the pull I feel. When life is busy I feel like buying that new device or that new piece of software will restore order. When I’m bored or feeling down, I can find myself thumbing through the Best Buy catalog, just browsing, hoping to notice something that will make all the difference. It’s joy I want, and I somehow think I can buy it.

am i suggesting we should stop buying christmas gifts?  of course not.  but as for me, i am going to be more aware of what’s really important.  i understand that i will enjoy precious few holidays while my grandchildren are small. while i have the opportunity, i plan to invest far less emotional energy in finding trinkets that will end up in a garage sale.  instead, i will make sure i am “in the moment” with them, making relational memories that have a chance to last.

and maybe even provide some genuine joy.

 

 

 

prayer is a desire to see good come out of pain

i love marshall shelley.  shelley is probably best known for being the editor at leadership journal, but he is an elegant writer in his own right.

several years ago, i read an article he’d written for christianity today entitled, “two minutes to eternity.“  in it, shelley described the heart-wrenching experience of watching his newborn son die.  i was shocked by his candor and overpowered by the example of his faith.

marshall shelley has again written about his pain.  this time the piece is entitled, “my 4 clearer views of god.” again, i am devastated.

shelley recounts four lessons he’s learned in the twenty years since his tragedy, and the one i most related to was “prayer is less specific, more intense.”  as a pastor, i often find myself trying to defend god because this one got healed and that one didn’t, or why a particular prayer wasn’t answered when scripture promises that it would be.

i’ll let marshall shelley speak to that…

After desperate pleas for our children’s healing, for the ability to swallow, for lungs to breathe, for an end to seizures–and then to see Toby and Mandy’s days on earth end–my prayer life has changed.

It’s harder to confidently make specific requests. It’s now clear that God’s redemptive agenda may, or may not, include granting my current passionate desire–even a passionate desire for my son or daughter to breathe.

The day after Toby’s birth/death, one of the labor-and-delivery nurses handed us a recording by Wayne Watson; the title song, “Home Free,” described us with uncanny accuracy.

“Out in the corridors we pray for life, a mother for her baby, a husband for his wife. Sometimes the good die young, it’s sad but true. While we pray for one more heartbeat, the real comfort is in You….

“Pain has little mercy, suffering’s no respecter of age, of race, or position. I know every prayer gets answered, but the hardest one to pray is slow to come: O Lord, not mine but your will be done.” (copyright 1990 Material Music and Word Music)

God’s clear answer to our prayers was not to provide additional heartbeats. It was “Toby and Mandy will live–but with resurrected bodies in heaven with me.” If his answer was so much deeper than what we requested, then it’s hard not to imagine him also reconfiguring our more mundane requests about jobs, relationships, schedules, and surgeries.

Now, I’m not sure I even want him to grant my daily wish list. What I really want is to see God’s eternal work and to be a part of it. Prayer is now an intense desire to know God, to understand his ways, and to see good come out of pain.

Do you remember the classical distinction between virtue and innocence? Virtue, unlike innocence, has successfully passed a point of temptation.

Perhaps a similar distinction can be found in faith–innocent faith can trust God because it hasn’t seen the abyss; virtuous faith has known the terror and chooses to trust God.

As Abraham Heschel observed, “Job’s faith was unshakable because it was the result of being shaken.”

Even as a child, I loved to read, and I quickly learned that I would most likely be confused during the opening chapters of a novel. New characters were introduced. Disparate, seemingly random events took place. Subplots were complicated and didn’t seem to make any sense in relation to the main plot.

But I learned to keep reading. Why? Because you know that the author, if he or she is good, will weave them all together by the end of the book. Eventually, each element will be meaningful.

At times, such faith has to be a conscious choice.

Even when I can’t explain why a chromosomal abnormality develops in my son, which prevents him from living on earth more than two minutes …

Even when I can’t fathom why our daughter has to endure two years of severe and profound retardation and continual seizures …

I choose to trust that before the book closes, the Author will make things clear. And to remember his words through the prophet: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope” (Jer. 29:11, NKJV).

Clinging to that promise, even when the weight of sorrow makes our knees buckle, makes faith intentional and, I trust, unshakable.

wow…so profound!  i am confused by/grateful for a father who loves us enough to “reconfigure our more mundane requests about jobs, relationships, schedules, and surgeries.”  he knows best, doesn’t he?  the hard part for us is that when our prayers are not answered as we see fit, we have to trust.  and “such faith has to be a conscious choice.”  not fate or divine providence, a choice.  a tough choice, but a choice nonetheless.

i want to go there.