Author: Pastorbrentmiller

A Father’s Love

There are a few stories I could tell today, but this one rises to the forefront of my mind. 

I was in sixth grade, and my basketball team was returning from a father and son outing to see the Nets play the Knicks at the Meadowlands.  I can’t remember who won, but I certainly remember what happened on the way home.  We were cruising back down the Garden State Parkway in a greyhound bus when the driver asked all the rowdy kids to quiet down and remain in their seats.  It wasn’t a simple matter of his being distracted. There was a serious problem. 

The bus’s accelerator was stuck, and the driver couldn’t slow it down.  (No, Keanu Reeves does not enter this story).   

As first, the kids (including myself) thought this was awesome, especially as we zoomed through our first toll booth.  Our dads took it a bit more seriously, and as the adventure continued, their concerned looks convinced us that this was no laughing matter.  I soon realized that unless something happened to slow the bus down, we would eventually run out of highway, and that would not be a good thing. 

Our escapade continued for over an hour, complete with police cars racing ahead to clear the way.  As I sat in my seat, I kept looking at my father, who was sitting next to me.  While he seemed a bit concerned, he kept telling me not to worry, that things would be alright, smiling confidently as he spoke, which went a long way toward putting my mind at ease.  Thankfully, after a while, the bus driver managed to regain control of the bus, and we arrived safely at our destination.  When we did, the whole thing didn’t seem so bad – more like a grand adventure, one that I and the other kids were sure to brag about the next day at school. 

But the most important part of this so-called adventure was what I overheard later that night.  My Dad was talking to my Mom about what happened.  As I said, on the bus, my Dad kept projecting an attitude of calm confidence.  But when he talked to my Mom, all of that shattered.  He had been really shaken up by the whole thing.  He really thought that we were going to crash.  And as I continued to listen (I was a bad little eavesdropper, I suppose), I heard my Dad say something I will never forget.  He said, with his heart rising in his throat, that he had been ready to put me on the floor and wrap himself around me to protect me from being hurt in the crash.  The words sank into my mind with lightning speed –my Dad was saying that if the bus had crashed, he would have been willing to put himself in a position to absorb the full impact of the disaster, giving up his own life in the process, in order to save mine. 

Looking back, I can say this was one of the most impactful moments of my life.  I already knew my Dad loved me.  But to hear him say he was willing to give his life for me – that told me how much he loved me.  And when you know that you are loved to that extent, well, that really changes the way you feel about yourself.  That changes the way you feel about – everything.  Life is never the same again once you know that someone sees you as worth dying for.  It lets you know you are more than a little special in their eyes. 

It was years before I communicated to my Father what that meant to me.  But eventually I did.  In the past few days, I had the opportunity to remind him.  I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of a father looks like.  And I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of God looks like.  It looks like Calvary.  It looks like a love willing to wrap itself around the beloved and absorb the full impact of a disaster, giving up its own life in the process in order to save the beloved. 

Yeah, my Dad taught me that.  In the love he showed to me, I saw the love of God. 

Yesterday morning, I lost my Dad to Covid-19.  We had suspected he had it for a week, and when the test came back positive, we knew there was a good chance that this would be it.  As we talked again and again, my Dad remained my Dad.  He never once seemed concerned about himself.  His only concern was that the rest of his family was safe and well.  And if he could have, he would have gladly wrapped himself around each of us, and absorbed the full impact of the disaster, to save even just one of us. 

That was my Dad.  And now, he is face to face with the One who wrapped his arms around him. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Above Mirkwood

‘I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint’ – Jeremiah 31:25

‘Is there no end to this accursed forest?’ – Bilbo Baggins, in The Hobbit

Bilbo and the Dwarves were spent.  Passing through Mirkwood had proven to be even more of a challenge than expected.  During the opening days of their passage, they experienced occasional beams of sunlight that slipped through the canopy above, but as they moved deeper into the forest, light became a memory.  Tolkien writes:

‘The nights were the worst.  It then became pitch-dark – not what you call pitch dark, but really pitch; so black that you really could see nothing.  Bilbo tried flapping his hand in front of his nose, but he could not see it at all.  Well, perhaps that is not true to say that they could see nothing; they could see eyes.  They slept all closely huddled together, and took it in turns to watch; and when it was Bilbo’s turn he would see gleams in the darkness round them, and sometimes pairs of yellow or red or green eyes would stare at him from a little distance, and then slowly fade and disappear and slowly shine out again in another place.  And sometimes they would gleam down from the branches above him; and that was most terrifying.’

Before many days passed, they ran low on supplies, and then, following a most unfortunate attempt to cross a stream, lost what little remained.  They were out of food and water, and nearly out of hope.  It seemed the journey through the darkness would never end. 

Finally, Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarves’ leader, suggested that ‘someone’ climb a tree to see if the edge of the forest could be seen.  ‘Someone,’ of course, meant Bilbo Baggins. 

And so up Bilbo went.  He didn’t have much experience climbing trees, but he made the best effort he could.  This too was hard going.  He had to push his way through branches, catching many a ‘slap in the eye’ as he did, and nearly fell several times.  But at long last he made his way to the top. 

Where he was amply rewarded for his trouble.  At first, he was nearly blinded by the light after having lived in darkness so many days.  But as his eyes adjusted, he took in a brilliant view.  The sun shone in all its glory.  He felt its warmth upon his face.  Beneath and all around he beheld a sea of dark green, rippling with every breeze, and thousands of butterflies.  Bilbo looked at the butterflies a long time, basking in the sunlight and breeze.  After so many days in a dark forest, it was a taste of heaven. 

Sadly, he didn’t see the end of the forest, and so, when he went back down, didn’t have any definitive answers for the dwarves as to how much longer their dark journey might last.  But the beauty he glimpsed atop the boughs of Mirkwood were lifegiving and sustaining, which may explain why, for those who know the story, while the dwarves would lose their heads in coming days, Bilbo would be able to keep his. 

Walking through this weird COVID-19 experience, my mind has returned over and again to this episode in The Hobbit.   I find myself yearning for, and thankfully finding, moments ‘above Mirkwood.’  At times it feels as if we are traveling through a darkness that seems to have no end, or at least no end in sight.  And once in a while, we look out and see ‘eyes:’ nasty tidbits in the news; reports from hospitals; stories of friends, neighbors and even family who are infected; bills we may not be able to pay; pantries running low on supplies and grocery stores with bare shelves; outrageous remarks from leaders who should be leading but are instead grandstanding and acting like fools (yeah, I’m talking about him); and other nonsense that only serves to heighten our anxiety.  The eyes disappear for a time, but then reappear, and it is eerie beyond belief.  Indeed, it is at times most terrifying. 

Which is why it is so important to find time above Mirkwood.  How do we do that?  Well, climbing trees might help, but I think the idea is that we need to rise above the darkness and stand in the presence of the One who makes all things bright and beautiful.  Perhaps you don’t have much experience in doing that, but that’s OK, just be like Bilbo and do your best.  Perhaps you are so overwhelmed with things to do that it seems you cannot find time for God.  That’s OK too.  Just push your way through the branches.  If you slip a few times and fall short, just try again.  Eventually you’ll make it. 

When you do, I promise you will be rewarded for your effort.  You will feel the warmth of God in the core of your being.  You will sense signs of beauty and new life around you.  You will sample a taste of heaven.  And even if, when you come back down, you are still unable to know when things will ‘get back to normal,’ you will at least have found strength for the journey, and be better positioned to keep your head in the days to come.  The lifegiving and sustaining experience of God works wonders for the soul. 

Folks, these are dark and scary times, and we won’t make it if all we do is stare into the darkness.  We need to spend time in the presence of the God who refreshes the weary and satisfies the faint. 

We need to spend time above Mirkwood. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Greatest Wake Up Call Ever – a Word for Holy Week

‘Pilate replied, ‘You are a king then?’  ‘You say that I am a King, and you are right,’ Jesus said.  ‘I was born for that purpose.  And I came to bring truth into the world.  All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.  ‘What is truth?’ Pilate asked (John 19:37-38(a) NLT). 

Pilate was a cruel and brutal man.  History records that he routinely executed men without benefit of trial.  He was the kind of guy who would as soon crucify you as look at you, and not lose a wink of sleep.  His delighted in provoking the Jewish people at every conceivable opportunity.  This style of governance resulted in many savage outbreaks of violence, followed by just as many bloody crackdowns, and the historical evidence suggests that he had been warned by Rome that no further mistakes on his part would be tolerated. 

One might therefore have expected that when asked to deal with Jesus, a man who had purportedly defied Caesar by claiming to be ‘King of the Jews,’ Pilate would have ordered a summary execution.  Instead, he equivocated.  Not to his credit, unfortunately.  His equivocations were most likely due to concern for his own skin.  Jerusalem was a tinder box.  The city had swelled to the point of bursting with Passover pilgrims.  Of all the times for a riot to start, this was not it.  And so, it seems that Pilate’s hesitation in deciding Jesus’ case was simply to ascertain the direction of the political wind.  Would a riot be more likely if he killed Jesus, or if he set him free?  By morning’s end, it was clear his safest course of action was the former.  Jesus was a man of peace, neither he nor his followers would riot if he were killed.  On the other hand, as the religious leaders had not so subtly threatened, if Pilate released Jesus, word would surely reach Caesar that he had failed to execute a man who challenged Roman authority (see, John 19:12).  And so, Pilate’s decision was made.  He sentenced Jesus, as he had sentenced many others, to death on a cross.   He might have at least had the decency to spare him the flogging.  But remember, Pilate was a cruel and brutal man.

And yet.  When we look at the Gospel narratives concerning the encounter between Pilate and Jesus, we see two things happening simultaneously.  First, Jesus reached out to Pilate.  He explained to Pilate the nature of his Kingdom.  He practically begged him to listen to his voice and hear the truth.  When Pilate asked his famous question, ‘Que Veritas?’ or ‘What is truth?’ Jesus just stood there.  Get it.  He just stood there, as if to say, ‘Here I am Pilate.  I am the truth.’  You must remember, of course, that Jesus gave his life for Pilate as much as for anyone else.  Remember John 3:16: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son that whoever [Pilate, Caiaphas, Judas…] might not perish, but have everlasting life?’    Yes, in the encounter between Jesus and Pilate, Jesus reached out.  He wasn’t going to force himself on Pilate, but if Pilate wanted him, well, he was right there. 

Secondly, as Jesus reached out, Pilate’s world was seriously disturbed.  True, his ultimate decision was cold hearted, practical and selfish.  But it is impossible to read the accounts of the encounter between Pilate and Jesus and not sense that Jesus had called into question everything Pilate had ever believed, and Pilate felt it.  So much so that even a cruel and brutal man like Pilate was given pause. 

A few years back a woman named Susan Boyle auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent.  She was 47 and in no danger of being asked to pose for the cover of Glamour Magazine.  As she took the stage, the audience snickered.  They were, like Pilate, proud, hard-hearted, cynical, and cruel.  Nonetheless, the judges (feeling rather smug themselves) let Susan sing.  Her song choice was I Dreamed a Dream from Les Misérables, and the audience laughed out loud when she announced it (who was she to have dreams?).  

But then the music started, and she began to sing. 

Susan Boyle sang with the voice of an angel.  Five notes in, and the once cruel and cynical audience was cheering wildly.  The judges were stunned.  Mean old Simon Cowell looked like a schoolgirl who had just caught her first glimpse of the High School Football Captain.  Ms. Boyle literally took his breath away.  By the time she had finished, everyone was on their feet.  Every member of her audience, the proud, the glamorous, the hard-hearted, the cynical, and the cruel, had been won over by the beautiful, yes, beautiful, Susan Boyle.  Susan’s performance was, as one of the judges said so well, the biggest wake-up call ever. 

As soon as she finished, she put the mike down and began to walk off the stage, as if she had done what she had come to do, and that was that.  But of course, that wasn’t that.  The judges and audience begged her to come back.  And of course she did – she wouldn’t force herself on them, but if they asked, well, she was more than willing to come back into their lives. 

Keats said that beauty is truth, and truth beauty.  And if that’s true, and it is, I wonder if perhaps behind Pilate’s question, ‘what is truth?’ may have been his desire to discover the true and beautiful.  I wonder if perhaps, as he stood in the presence of Jesus equivocating, deep down there a part was reacting like that audience when they first heard Susan Boyle sing.  True, it wasn’t a large part of him that day.  He didn’t have his breath taken away by Jesus, as Simon Cowell did by Susan Boyle.  Clearly, he did the wrong thing.  But I have always wondered if, at some point, the memory of Jesus might have eventually taken his breath away – and brought him to his knees.  If perhaps Pilate, thinking back on the song that Jesus had sung on that dark day of Calvary, thinking back on both the truth and beauty that Jesus was and is, perhaps experienced his biggest wake-up call ever.  If perhaps Pilate, realizing that everything he had ever believed had in fact been wrong, finally got it, and embraced the truth and beauty of Jesus. 

We have no way of knowing, of course.  At least not until we touch eternity, or perhaps I should say, until eternity touches us.    It may well be that Pilate’s heart was too hard.  Not everyone appreciates the beauty of Susan Boyle.  And not everyone appreciates the beauty of Jesus.  But make no mistake people.  Jesus is beautiful.  Jesus is truth.  And in the final analysis, I believe that most people – if given the chance to see Jesus in all his beauty and truth, as someday all will – will have their breath taken away.  Most will fall to their knees.  Yes, in the final analysis, there is hope for everyone, Pilate included.  And if there is hope for a brutal, cruel man like Pontius Pilate, surely there is hope for you.

Do me a favor, will you?  Just for a moment, close your eyes.  Imagine the cross of Jesus Christ.  Do you see him?  Do you see his love?  Do you see his beauty?  Do you see his truth?  Do you?  It surely takes your breath away doesn’t it?  It surely is the biggest wake-up call ever.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Value of Dots

Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? – Harry Lime, in The Third Man

Harry Lime was a scoundrel.  Working in post WWII Berlin, he made a killing stealing penicillin from military hospitals, watering it down, and then selling it on the black market to desperate people who could not afford it elsewhere.  People were dying as a result. 

Such is the plot of the film, The Third Man, an intense drama starring Orson Welles and Joseph Cotton (and written by Graham Greene).  The film is perhaps best known for its ‘Ferris Wheel Scene,’ in which Lime (Welles) is confronted with his crimes by his long-time friend, Holly Martins (Cotton).   The two men ride a Ferris wheel to its apex, at which point Martins asks Lime if he knows any of his victims.  Lime derisively directs Martins’ attention to the fairground far below, where people appear as mere dots moving around, and says the following in defense of his crimes:

‘Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?  If I offered you 20,000 pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep the money?  Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare?  Free of income tax, old man…free of income tax.  It’s the only way to save money these days.’ 

Such is the moral system of Harry Lime.  Dots, that is, human lives, are expendable. At least from a distance.  And for the right price. 

I hear echoes of Lime’s philosophy in our world today.  Ours is a time of crisis.  A novel virus is spreading, and the government has sensibly imposed certain restrictions.  Social distancing.  Stay at home orders. The closing of non-essential businesses.  All designed to slow the spread and save lives.  The science behind such moves is indisputable.  But these steps come with an economic cost.  People have been laid off, some temporarily, some perhaps permanently.  Businesses are on the brink.  The stock market has plunged.  There may well be a global recession, or worse, a depression.  The actions we are taking to save lives are having a deleterious effect upon the economy. 

And that has made some people angry.  In an infamous post on social media that has generated tremendous debate, a California attorney made the case that we should not sabotage the economy to save lives.  Especially because, in this attorney’s view, those most at risk are unproductive.  In other words, the elderly, the immune-compromised, and the weaker ‘dots’ in our society are expendable, all in service to the national economy.  And he is not alone.  Many in our society, and our government, are echoing the same sentiments, even if expressed in more subtle terms.  Heck, even some Christians, who supposedly follow a Savior who cherished the most vulnerable, have come down on the side of saving the economy over saving lives. 

And so the question resounds across our land – and in the church: is it worth risking the economy to save lives?

Before answering that question, I want to acknowledge that I know this is not just a question of what happens to the money of billionaires.  Ordinary people are hurting.  Workers have lost jobs.  Small businesses face closure.  In all of this, it will surely be the poor who suffer most.  This is real.  It is therefore encouraging that there are many in government who are at least trying to ameliorate the effects of social distancing on the economy.  I applaud the effort, and encourage elected officials on both sides of the aisle to use this opportunity to not only aid those impacted by this crisis, but to restructure society and systems to ensure that everyone, and especially the poor and vulnerable, in both times of prosperity and times of crisis, has enough.  And I would certainly encourage the Church to use its resources to help those who are hurting.  John the Baptizer’s advice for people with two tunics to share with those who have none is crucial for these times (see, Luke 3:11).  If our neighbors are hurting, those in the Church with resources to help must give generously to ensure those most impacted by this crisis receive the assistance they need. 

But at the end of the day, the answer to the question of whether it is worth risking the economy to save lives is a resounding, ‘Yes!’  Of course it is worth risking the economy to save human lives!  Why?  Well, if you really need it spelled out for you, it’s because each one of those lives, each one of those ‘dots,’ even the weakest, most vulnerable, and unproductive, matter. 

They certainly matter to God.  During Holy Week, we remember that they matter so much to God that he was willing to send Jesus to die on a cross for every one of them.

And if dots have that much value in the eyes of God, if they matter so much that he was willing to pay such a price for them, then certainly we can stay home and watch Netflix, all the while looking out for each other, in order to protect them.  Can’t we?

Or are we no better than Harry Lime?

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Wind and Waves

But when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink – Matthew 14:30

In the fourteenth chapter of his Gospel, Matthew tells of a time when the disciples were overtaken by a storm at sea.  It was hardly the first time.  Many of them were fishermen, and even those who weren’t had at least once been in a similar situation (See, Matthew 8:23-27).  On that occasion, the disciples had simply run to Jesus, who had been sawing wood in the stern of the ship as if nothing were happening.  Jesus woke up, rubbed his eyes, looked around, and shouted, ‘Silence!  Be still!’  And just like that there was a dead calm.  The disciples learned that day that even the wind and waves obeyed their Master. 

But this time, things were different.  This time, Jesus wasn’t with them. 

He had insisted that they cross the sea alone while he went into the hills to pray.  Then, when the disciples found themselves far from shore, the storm hit.  They battled the wind and waves long into the night but were no match for them.  They were in over their heads.  All hope seemed to be lost. 

Jesus, however, had sensed their distress.  We can imagine that as soon as the storm arose, he looked seaward.  There, intermittently illuminated by flashes of lightning, he saw his struggling friends.  And so, he left the hills and walked to the shore.  And then kept walking – on the sea. 

As he drew close, he shouted, ‘Take courage!  I am here!’  

Simon Peter, filled with fresh courage, shouted, ‘Lord, if it’s really you tell me to come to you!’

Jesus beckoned to his impetuous friend.  ‘Yes, come!’

Simon Peter stepped from the boat and began to walk on the water, fixing his eyes on Jesus.  It was amazing.  But then, well, most of us know the story: ‘when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink.’

Jesus doesn’t let him sink of course. But we are going to stop right there for an important lesson. It’s a lesson many of us have heard before.  I first learned it as a kid in Sunday School.  In fact, it’s such a familiar lesson that you may wonder why I would take time to repeat it.  The reason is that sometimes, the simplest lessons are the ones that bear repeating.  So here it is:

Simon Peter was fine so long as he fixed his eyes on Jesus.  It was when he turned his attention to the wind and the waves that he began to sink. 

Right now my friends, there is a storm raging.  It’s called the Covid-19 virus.  It has us all scared.  We are doing our best to fight against it, but like the disciples battling the storm, we know that we are in over our heads. 

But just as Jesus saw the disciples in their distress, he sees us in ours, and as surely as he does, we know he will come to us. 

The question for us is therefore the same as it was for Simon: will we fix our attention on Jesus, or the storm. 

John Eldredge issued a short message the other day noting that in the current crisis, the battle is for our attention.  Will we focus on the storm and lose peace?  Or will we focus on Jesus and find it. 

As things continue to unfold in coming weeks, it will of course be important for us to pay attention, use common sense, and adhere to safe practices to ensure the health and safety of ourselves, our families, and our neighbors.  But as we do so, let’s not become so fixated on the storm that we begin to sink.  Let’s remember there is one who sees us with every flash of lightning.  There is one who comes to us in our distress.  There is one who calls us to fix our eyes on him and rise above the stormy sea. 

Fix your eyes on Jesus.  The Master of the wind and waves.  He is the one who will save us from the storm. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

P.S. – I continue to recommend John Eldredge’s Pause App as a tool to help keep your eyes on Jesus in this time.  It is free, and you can find it here or in the the App store.  It has been a tremendous help to me, and I hope it will be the same to you. 

God’s Economics

‘Speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice’ – Proverbs 31:9

A couple of weeks ago, a friend forwarded an article by an Evangelical author who posited that it was the duty of every Christian to support Donald Trump because, among other things, he is the only thing standing in the way of the United States becoming a ‘Socialist Country.’  He argued that all Democrats are Socialists and had to be stopped at all costs.

It’s hardly a new argument.  I’ve listened to it most of my life.  A Democrat (or wayward Republican) proposes a program to help the poor, and suddenly Karl Marx is at the door. 

(Never mind the vast difference between Marxism and the various degrees of Socialism; it’s all the same to those who ring such alarm bells.  I once had such a person nearly shout at me, ‘Haven’t you read Animal Farm?’ only to be reduced to incoherent rambling when I explained that Orwell was warning against communism, and was himself, in fact, a Socialist). 

As recently as a couple of weeks ago, it seemed likely that Bernie Sanders, a self-described Democratic Socialist, was destined to become the Democrats standard bearer against Trump in the 2020 General Election. Trump and his minions were practically salivating, so thrilled were they at the prospect of pitting their right-wing extremism against the great bugbear of Socialism. Things have changed dramatically since then, with former Vice-President Joe Biden (not a Socialist) mounting a tremendous political comeback, but that hasn’t changed anything.   It remains the plan of conservatives to play the ‘S’ card in 2020. Indeed, the recently completed Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) repeatedly billed the upcoming contest as ‘America v. Socialism.’   In other words, it won’t matter who the Democrats nominate, because, as the evangelical author noted above says, all Democrats are Socialists. Anyone who wants to even marginally level the playing field between the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’ is.

But even if that were true (it isn’t, but let’s just run with it for argument’s sake), would the election of a socialist, or even a socialist-leaning Democrat, be so wrong?  Is it really the duty of every Christian to oppose socialism – in all its forms and gradations? 

It’s not my intention to describe all of socialism’s forms in this post.  I’d certainly oppose National Socialism for instance (which is one reason I speak out against Trump; too many parallels there).  Nor is it to defend Bernie Sanders’ brand. It is simply to question why providing for the poor in the manner Sanders and others propose would be considered by so many Christians to be morally wrong?    

So indulge me for a moment in a thought experiment.  Let’s say that a new world has just been discovered.  It has ample resources and abundant land.  As we enter this new land, a decision is made by our leaders.  Every household will be given an equal portion of land.  Every family will then work their land, utilize its resources, and live off its bounty.  They will also be free to sell their land if they desire, or, if they run into problems while working it.  This will, of course, result in others having more land than they.  But that’s OK, because it is to be expected that some will manage land more productively than others, and so, we will allow this (free market economics).  However, in order to prevent any one household or group of households from acquiring too much land over time, we will impose a rule: every few decades, the system will reset.  All land that was purchased will revert to the original owners (or their descendants) free of charge.

The rationale for the rule is this: we want to allow those with greater gifts and expertise to make the most productive use of the land (hence they can buy it and use it for decades at a stretch).  But we do not want to allow any one household or group of households to get so far ahead that we create a permanent upper and lower class.  We want to provide for learning curves and fresh starts.  And so we will not allow a scenario where the rich forever get richer while the poor forever get poorer.  We will restart the game from time to time. 

In between restarts, we will have other rules.  For example, we will offer assistance programs to ensure that everyone, especially the vulnerable (those who have suffered loss through natural disasters, death of a spouse or parents, etc.), has sufficient resources to live.  We will do this by requiring those with the resources, aka the rich, to make a portion of what they possess available to those who have fallen behind. 

Additionally, given that those who fall behind might incur debts as they go about the business of daily living, and might even make contracts that obligate them to serve the rich, we will make further rules that will require debt forgiveness and the termination of such contracts every several years.  This will provide further protection for the poor and will prevent their exploitation at the hands of the rich.

Basically, every several years, everyone gets a mini-fresh start, and in the longer term, a brand-new start.  And all along the way, everyone will be able to participate as dignified members of the new society.  No one will be left behind. 

Is that Socialism? 

I know many Christians who would answer yes.  Equal distribution of land. Limits on wealth accumulation.  Forced sharing with the poor.  Debt forgiveness.  Returning property to the people who couldn’t handle it in the first place, property that had been lawfully acquired with hard earned cash – and worked for decades – for free!   Good God, if any politician proposed such a system today, he or she would be branded a Socialist for the rest of his or her life. 

But here’s the thing (and some of you know this already).  I didn’t make that system up. 

God did. 

When the Israelites came into the Promised Land, this is exactly what he told his people to do.  He divided the land (Joshua 18 and Numbers 26).  He imposed a fifty year give back program called the Year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25; Deuteronomy 15).  He instituted a Sabbatical year that forgave debts and set indentured servants and slaves free every seven years (Deuteronomy 15:1-6; 12-18).  He instituted laws on tithing and gleaning to help the poor and vulnerable (Deuteronomy 14:28-29; 26:12-15; Leviticus 27:30-32; Numbers 18:21-32).  Heck, he even imposed environmental restrictions on the use of land to prevent people from depleting its resources (Exodus 23:10-11; Leviticus 25:2-7). 

Sounds like God’s a bit of a Socialist. 

Before you flip out, you should know that I’m not actually labeling God a Socialist.  I am, however, saying that leveling the playing field and making provision for the poor are ideals God cares about very much.  Jesus himself gave away free health care.  He created a food program that fed thousands (Luke 9:10-17).  He shared a common purse that was used to help the poor (John 13:29).  And he created a community of brothers and sisters who shared resources to such an extent that there were no needy persons among them (Acts 4:34). 

And if all that is true, and it is, then is it really the duty of every Christian to oppose policies aimed to achieve the same things? 

Of course not. 

Look, I’m no economic expert. I’m just a theologian. But as such I know that in the Old Testament and through Jesus, God commands us to care for the poor.  Call the plans and programs to do so ‘Socialist’ if you want.  But don’t tell me that I’m doing wrong if I am in favor of them. 

Because it isn’t my Christian duty to oppose policies that help the poor.

It is my Christian duty to support them. 

That’s God’s economics.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Thank you to Ronald J. Sider, my Professor and Mentor from seminary, for his seminal work, Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, from which I gleaned the Bible passages quoted above. 

We Are Not as Strong as We Think We Are

‘And with these hells and our heavens so few inches apart, we must be awfully small, and not as strong as we think we are’ – Rich Mullins

I was just a kid when Mount St. Helens, located in Washington State, erupted with the force of a 24-megaton blast, 1600 times the power of the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945.  So much ash and dust were thrown into the atmosphere that for days it floated above my head in Brick NJ.  Yes, it had traveled all the way across the country. 

My Dad waxed theological.  He thought the eruption was God’s way of telling us proud and boastful humans that we weren’t as powerful as we thought we were.  ‘Oh, you have nuclear bombs, huh?  Well look what I can do.’  I wasn’t so sure that was what God was trying to say, but I had to admit my Dad had a point.  At the very least, the eruption was a reminder that we are not the most powerful force on the planet, let alone the universe. 

In recent days, as the reality of a pandemic hits the United States, I have been thinking about my Dad’s comment.  It’s not that I think God is inflicting us with the corona virus to show us who is boss, or worse, that he has sent it to us as some sort of divine punishment. But it strikes me that there is a message here not very different from my Dad’s view of the Mount St. Helens eruption. 

I live in the suburbs of Philadelphia.  Suburban people, whether we realize it or not, have it pretty good.  Oh sure, we have our struggles and problems, but our lives are, for the most part, extremely comfortable when compared with the lives of many in the world.  In fact, many of us act as if we have it all figured out.  We work hard to build carefully manicured lives.  We strive for perfect homes and perfect lawns.  We build safe communities for our families.  We seek material success and financial security.  Most of us have decent health insurance and safety nets in case something goes wrong.  Sometimes, such a life leads to complacency, the idea that it will go on forever.  We feel indestructible, as if nothing could ever disturb our well-crafted lives.  We become self-sufficient, dependent upon no one, and darn proud of it. 

In such environments, God is often forgotten.  I mean, who needs God when you have all that?  Even Christians, who should know better, fall into the trap.  We go to church on Sunday but then take care of everything else on our own throughout the week.  We begin to believe the lie of our self-sufficiency.  We become like Bart Simpson, who once offered this simple grace: ‘Dear God, we paid for all this stuff ourselves, so thanks for nothing.’  When you are comfortable and well cared for, when you have proudly provided for your family and become the captain of your own life, when everything is coming up roses, when you have planned well for the future, and when it seems as if you have nothing to worry about, you tend to get a bit lax with your faith. 

Until catastrophe hits. 

It can hit in any number of ways, and when it does, everything changes.  Right now, the catastrophe is a pandemic.  We stand at the precipice of something most of us have never experienced, and we are acting accordingly.  Suddenly, our well-manicured lives have been upended, and we don’t know what to do.  We race to stores in a desperate attempt to obtain what we need, only to find the shelves bare.  We have confronted the limits of our self-sufficiency; that some things are beyond our control.  We see the gap between our nightmares and dreams, our hells and our heavens, narrowing.  We see that despite all our efforts, we cannot save ourselves from the worst that could happen. 

We thought we were so strong, but now know the truth: we are not as strong as we think we are. 

And that’s a good thing. 

If there is a silver lining in the corona virus scare, or any scare for that matter, it might be that.  That we might realize our finiteness. That we might see that we are mere creatures, dependent upon our Creator. That we might realize that our self-sufficiency is a delusion, and that we are, in fact, hopelessly dependent upon the One who is so much stronger than we. 

No friends, we are not as strong as we think we are. 

But there is One with the strength we need. 

I pray that in the days ahead, we all find our rest in Him.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Pastor Brent

Sympathy for Qaddafi

‘God doesn’t want anyone to be destroyed.  He wants everyone to come to repentance’ – Peter, aka The Rock, in 2 Peter 3:9

I remember the day I saw the video.  Muammar Qaddafi, the man responsible for countless acts of terrorism, had been found hiding in a culvert by revolutionaries seeking to end his reign in Libya.  The video depicted an old man in the hands of his enemies, being led through the streets and pelted by rocks.  The crowd mocked him as he was led away to his death.  He appeared bewildered and begged for mercy.  The rocks continued to fly.  So did the fists.  The crowd was having a good time watching their enemy suffer.  Thankfully the network cut the video before the most brutal part.  In the end, Qaddafi was shot several times while pleading for his life. 

The video affected me in an unexpected way.  I had been trained from my High School days to see this man as the enemy – a brutal thug who needed to be brought to his knees.  Here he was, being brought to his knees.  Justice was being served.  Qaddafi was getting what he so richly deserved. 

But I didn’t feel any of that.  Instead, as I watched Qaddafi beg for his life and saw the profound sadness in his eyes, the bewilderment he felt as he realized his life had come to this, I found myself feeling sorry for him.  I even found myself praying for him.  Specifically, I found myself praying that God had used those final moments to draw Qaddafi to Himself, that he might realize the futility of his former ways, repent of all he had done, and fall into the arms of Jesus. 

I could hardly believe it.  Why was I feeling sorry for a guy like Qaddafi?  What in the world was wrong with me?  So much of the world was rejoicing.  Celebrating the notion that he would rot in hell.  And there I was, yes, this is true, with tears in my eyes, praying for his salvation. 

Seriously, what was wrong with me?

But then I remembered Good Times. 

For those of you too young to remember, Good Times was a 1970s comedy loosely based on the play, A Raisin in the Sun.  It chronicled the lives of the Evans family – an African American family living in the projects on the south side of Chicago.  The most famous character was the eldest son, J.J. Evans, whose signature, ‘Dy-no-mite!’ was all the rage for a time.  Other characters included J.J.’s siblings, Thelma and Michael, their parents, James and Florida, and of course, their nosy next-door neighbor Wilona. 

One episode had a profound impact upon me. It revolved around J.J. falling in with the wrong crowd.  He had taken up with a street gang, whose leader was a dude called ‘Mad Dog.’  I remember his first introduction to the family.  After meeting Thelma, he laughed and said, ‘Thelma?  What kind of mother would give birth to a daughter and name her Thelma?’  Thelma shot back, ‘the same kind of mother who would give birth to a boy and name him ‘Mad Dog!’  The long and the short of the story is that the Evans family tries to keep J.J. from further involvement with Mad Dog’s gang, and when J.J. attempts to break away, Mad Dog shoots him.  Fortunately, J.J. pulls through. Mad Dog, however, is left to pay the piper in a court of law.

J.J.’s father, James, Sr., goes to the courthouse for Mad Dog’s sentencing hearing to make sure the punishment is as severe as it should be.  He tells his wife Florida that if the judge doesn’t do his job, he will take care of the matter himself.  As the hearing unfolds, it looks like it just might come to that.  The judge is told there is no room in the jail, so Mad Dog escapes with probation.  James Evans Sr. is livid.  The man who shot his own son is getting away scot-free.  Mad Dog walks out of the courtroom, cocky as ever, followed by his mother, and then James, loaded for bear.  Just as he is about to turn the corner and confront the man who shot his son, he hears Mad Dog arguing with his mother, and in the course of listening to the argument, he learns a thing or two about Mad Dog’s past. 

Mad Dog had a pretty rough life.  Among other things, he had been abandoned by his father.  He and his mom argue some more, and the mother walks away.  She informs her son that she is washing her hands of him forever. Mad Dog shouts, ‘Fine!  Leave me just like everyone else!  See if I care!’  That’s when Mad Dog notices that James is standing around the corner.  He runs over to him and says, with tears in his eyes, ‘You want to hit me, go ahead and hit me!’  James suddenly can’t do it; ‘I don’t want to hit you son,’ is all he can say.  Mad Dog gets angrier, ‘Go on man, hit me, everyone else does!’  James again refuses, ‘No son, I won’t hit you.’  Mad Dog shouts, ‘Stop it!  Why are you calling me son?  Don’t call me Son!  What’s the matter with you!  What’s the matter with all of you!’  And then, tearfully, Mad Dog walks away. 

Florida comes around the corner.  She’s heard everything.  She goes to James and holds him.  James breaks down.  ‘I had him Florida,’ he says, ‘he even asked me to hit him, and I couldn’t do it.  What’s wrong with me?  Tell me, what kind of a father feels sorry for the man who shot his own son?’ 

I’ll never forget Florida’s response, ‘the right kind James – the right kind.’ 

Even as a kid that brought tears to my eyes.  It does even now.  It taught me something about mercy, understanding, and forgiveness.  It taught me about the kind of love that leads us to feel sorry for our enemies.  That episode, and especially that line – ‘the right kind James – the right kind,’ has had a profound impact on the way I think and act, at least in my better moments, down to this day. 

And so, I suppose that maybe, the reason I felt sorry for Qaddafi had a lot to do with James Evans.  Blame it on Good Times. 

Or maybe, blame it on God. 

Because you see, God loves and understands people the way James Evans does.  He loves and understands all the Mad Dogs of the world.  He understands why they are the way they are.  Even Qaddafi.  In fact, from the very foundations of eternity, he saw Qaddafi, and a whole slew of others like him who might make you want to turn violent yourself and said, ‘I love these guys.  I love them so much that I have decided to die for them that they might be restored.’

And if God thinks that way, shouldn’t we?

Which is why, to this day, whenever I think of Qaddafi’s last moments, I still feel sorry for him.  And I hope that somehow, God in his infinite and matchless grace found a way to reach him.  Even if it was at the very threshold of eternity.  I hope that something happened between the two of them that led to Qaddafi’s repentance, and that someday, at the ‘universal restoration of all things’ (Acts 3:21), when everything is restored to the way God intends it to be, Qaddafi will be there, renewed by Jesus, living as the man God intended him to be. 

And if that bothers you, well, what can I say?  Take it up with James Evans. 

Or better still, take it up with the God who desires everyone to come to repentance. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: the image featured above is a portion of an early work of art from the catacombs. The full image imagines the scene from the Last Judgment as described in Matthew 25: 31-46. The portion shown here depicts Jesus rescuing a goat.

Loving Enemies, Loving Jesus

‘If you love me, you will keep my commandments’ – John 14:15

I’ve never been a fan of the National Prayer Breakfast.  Reason being that it doesn’t seem to be a prayer breakfast.  Oh, I’m sure there are people of faith who go for that purpose, but it’s mostly an opportunity for the wealthy and powerful to meet behind closed doors and make deals.  It’s a place where politicians can be politicians while pretending to be spiritual.  A place where allegiances to America and God are so syncretized that you couldn’t separate them with a knife.

But something happened at this year’s Prayer Breakfast that deserves our attention. Conservative Christian and Washington Post Columnist, Arthur C. Brooks, delivered the keynote address.  His topic was Jesus’ command to love our enemies (Matthew 5:44).  Brooks’ hope, it seems, was to temper the acrimony that pervades our national discourse .  It was an attempt at reconciliation, directed at everyone present, including members of Congress and the President of the United States, who was the next speaker at the breakfast. 

Before turning to the President’s response, it is important to note that loving enemies is not a peripheral issue for Christians.  It is a central one.  Love for enemies lies at the center of our theology of the Cross (‘God proves his love for us in this: that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us’ – Romans 5:8).  Jesus loved his enemies every step along the Via Dolorosa.  He loved the religious council that condemned him, the Roman Governor who sentenced him, the soldiers who flogged him and hung him up to die.  He loved you, me, and everyone else in the world who is ultimately responsible for what happened there.  Yes, love for enemies is central to the Christian faith.  It is a command of Jesus that his followers have no choice but to obey.

The President, however, wasn’t on board.  He took the podium and started his speech by saying, ‘Arthur, I don’t know if I agree with you.’  He then attacked his political opponents and questioned their faith. It was embarrassing. Unfortunately, this was just his opening act on a day when he would prove his complete and utter disregard for the command of Jesus.

The main event came later at a bizarre ‘news conference’ in the east room of the White House, where Trump, surrounded by congressional and other supporters (including evangelical Christians), lambasted his enemies.  In the course of characterizing the investigation into his abuse of power as ‘bullshit,’ he called his political opponents ‘lousy,’ ‘vicious’ and ‘horrible’ people.  They were ‘evil’ and ‘corrupt.’  Undeserving of love.  Undeserving of respect.  Undeserving of even the most basic civil courtesies.  His supporters (including the evangelicals) stood and cheered.  Arthur Brooks had given the President an opportunity to help heal the nation.  Instead, he attacked his opponents, dehumanized them, and deepened the nation’s wounds. 

None of his words surprised me.  Nor was I particularly offended.  The President, you see, is not a follower of Jesus.  He is the leader of an empire.  As such, I do not expect him to love his enemies.  That is not to say I condone the fact that he doesn’t.  It’s just that imperially minded people never do.  That the leader of an empire (and yes, America is an empire) wouldn’t buy into the concept of enemy love should not surprise anyone.  That the world should behave like the world is no more surprising than that a dog barks or a cat meows. 

But what is surprising, although these days it is becoming less so, is that as the President spewed hatred and anger at his opponents, his evangelical minions, both in the room and around the country, clapped and cheered.  That is not what followers of Jesus do.  Followers of Jesus model the way of enemy love before the world.  They show that the way of empire is wrong and that the way of Calvary Love (enemy love) is right.

One might have thought that as the President exemplified the opposite of Jesus’ teaching, they would have come to their senses.  But did they?  Have they?  No.  They continue to proclaim him to be God’s man.  They continue to hold up a hater as the one worthy of Christian support.  They continue to exalt the politics of hate over the politics of Jesus.

It’s time we stated the obvious: these religious charlatans clapped and cheered Trumps shenanigans because they, no less than the President, do not follow Jesus’ command to love enemies.  For them, Jesus’ core teaching is disposable.  They don’t believe it.  Indeed, I’m not sure they ever did.  For years we have seen them working to crush their opponents.  They have spewed hate at people who struggle with particular types of sin.  They have stoked the fires of war and then cheered as the bombs dropped.  They have demonized all who disagree with their politics.  In the wake of President Trump’s election, when asked whether the Trump-Evangelical Christian alliance might hurt the cause of evangelism among younger, more progressive folks, one prominent evangelical leader wrote an op-ed that insisted, ‘those liberals don’t like us anyway.’  In other words, if you’re not already on our side, why should we care if you come to Jesus?  His view is hardly an aberration in the right-wing Evangelical world. Their record is clear: they do not love their enemies any more than the President does. 

But forget about enemies, I’m beginning to question whether these clapping and cheering evangelicals love people at all.   Well, maybe some people – the ones who are like them.  But certainly not those who are different.  They don’t love Democrats.  They don’t love independent minded Republicans.  They don’t love the poor.  They don’t love immigrants or refugees.  They don’t love LGBT people.  Many don’t love people of color.  People who look like them or share their affinities, they love them.  But anyone else, forget it. 

But even that may not be the worst of it.  Given that Jesus commanded us to love everyone, including those who are different from us, including those who might even be our enemies, there is one more conclusion we must reach about the kind of Christian who cheers and claps while the President demeans both his enemies and those who are different. It is a conclusion I’ve tried very hard not to reach but honestly cannot deny any longer.  Even as I come close to writing it I pray that I am wrong. But it is a conclusion as plain as day in light of Jesus’ clear statement, ‘if you love me, you will keep my commandments.’ 

No matter what they say or how loudly they say it, no matter how many church services they attend, no matter how many fish stickers they put on their cars, they don’t love Jesus. 

God help them.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Courage

‘One man with courage is a majority’ – Thomas Jefferson

It’s not that Jefferson couldn’t do math.  He just knew there were moments in the course of human events when a single brave person could make all the difference in the world.  That person might not be able to change the immediate course of events, but they sear consciences for generations, and, even if there be no immediate impact, provide an example that will one day be hailed as just and true.  Jefferson knew that one man or woman with courage could make a greater difference than an entire pantheon of cowards. 

This is of course a Biblical principle.  Consider the story of Daniel and the Lion’s Den.  Or Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and the Fiery Furnace (OK, in that case it was three men with courage, but the point still holds true).  Or any number of stories regarding the stances of Jeremiah (and other prophets) against the madness of foolish kings and their accomplices.  Or brave Queen Esther.  And then there is Jesus, the bravest man of all, dying at the hands of the maddening crowd, providing an example that forever changed the course of both history and eternity.  Jefferson may or may not have meant to do so, but when he made his famous statement about one courageous person, he was echoing Biblical truth. 

Jefferson’s principle springs to mind today in the wake of the acquittal of Donald Trump.  The President of the United States had stood trial for abusing his power in a manner that threatened the integrity of American democracy.    The evidence was overwhelming, but the verdict was never in doubt.  The jury was dominated by the President’s own party, a shameless assortment of quislings, cowards, and coconspirators whose sole concern was to keep their exalted positions in the United States Senate.  After a sham of a trial, it seemed all but certain that they would march in lockstep in a show of unflinching subservience to their master.  They would, to the last man and woman, vote to acquit, even though doing so would give, not only this President, but future Presidents the kind of power that may very well leave America’s system of checks and balances and constitutional government in shambles.  They all understood this risk.  But they were too cowardly to stand against it.  Too in love with their privilege and status.  Too desirous of power at the cost of their own souls. 

I was certain that none would dare break from the crowd. 

I was wrong. 

Standing on the floor of the Senate, Senator Mitt Romney defied his party and voted to remove the President from office.  He explained that what the President did: ‘was a flagrant assault on our electoral rights, our national security interests, and our fundamental values.’  Noting the vicious response he knew would come for daring to break with the pack, he simply referred to his oath to do justice and the overwhelming evidence in the case: ‘Were I to ignore the evidence that has been presented, and disregard what I believe my oath and the Constitution demands of me for the sake of a partisan end, it would, I fear, expose my character to history’s rebuke and the censure of my own conscience.’

In other words, no matter what the crowd did, Romney’s conscience would only permit him to do what he believed to be right. 

Romney is now walking around with a target on his back.  He has invited the hatred and scorn of millions.  I have no doubt that in coming days he will receive tons of hate mail, be booed at public appearances, and maybe even be threatened with harm.  He knew his vote would cost him dearly. 

But in casting that vote, he has gained so much more.  He has gained a place in history.  He has kept his integrity.  He has held on to his soul. 

In this he has proven himself greater than the balance of his Republican colleagues.  He has, as one man, proven himself greater than all of them, individually and collectively.  He has taken a stand that will resonate throughout the halls of time as a testimony to both his honor and the abject cowardice of those who listened to him defend it in a speech that might have, in other, less Trumpian times, pricked the consciences of nobler men and women.

Romney may not have made a difference in the outcome of the trial.  But he has proven Jefferson right. 

One man with courage is greater than a majority.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Photo by Oliver Cole, courtesy of Unsplash.