Category: Church

Church. Why Bother?

‘All we are is dust in the wind’ – Kansas

I recently presented my church family a survey asking what questions they or others they knew had regarding faith.  Not surprisingly, someone asked why people need to go to church. It wasn’t a snarky question; it was legit.  They were relaying a question someone had asked them, someone who didn’t see the value of going to church, and wanted to know, I presume, how best to answer it.  Now, if it were a believer who asked such a question, I would of course give the standard answers: you should go to church because Jesus calls us to community; to worship; to grow; because we need each other; because the church is God’s chosen means to make disciples and spread the Gospel.  If all that failed, I might pull out Hebrews 10:25 and close with the old ‘because God says to’ bit.  But the question didn’t originate with a Christian.  It came from a professed unbeliever who thought church was a waste of time. 

How to answer such a person?  Why should they, or perhaps you, reader (for after all I don’t know who is reading this and shouldn’t presume you believe) bother with church? 

For starters, I let me say that if you are asking why you should go to church for religious reasons, why you should enter a building on a Sunday morning to take part in an institutionalized religious service, I don’t think you should.  Yes, I know that sounds weird coming from a pastor who leads religious services every Sunday, but honestly, being religious has never had much appeal to me.  If you go to church to ‘get religion,’ I’d say you would be better off to stay home.  That isn’t why I go to church, and it isn’t why you should go either.  

I think you should go to church for a different reason. 

I think you should go because it is the place where you just might discover what life is about. 

Perhaps you think you already know what life is about.  A lot of people do.  I see folks every day who find meaning and value in quite a noble place: in each other.[1]  In family.  In friendships.  In loving and being loved.  There are far worse places to find meaning, I’ll grant you that.  If you view the universe as nothing more than a vast cosmic accident, or, if you think accident too indelicate a way to put it, then something that just happens, ‘each other’ would be a good place to find meaning.  You should spend your time, transient though it may be, cherishing your loved ones, nurturing your relationships, and working to make the world a better place for them.   I see great appeal in this.  I have seen Carl Sagan’s Contact and am moved somewhat by the revelation in the story that, in the end, in all the universe, all we have is each other.  And so, if you believe that’s all there is, then by all means, love those around you as much as you can while you can.  Make the most of your journey from the cradle to the grave by loving and being loved.  You will live on in the memory of those you leave behind.  Perhaps in the effect you had on them.   

But of course, if you believe that is all there is, then you must acknowledge something.  Your memory in and impact on the hearts and minds of those around you may not be as great as you like to think.  Sure, you matter to those around you, but mattering is only a transient thing.  For one day, you will die, as will those who love you.  Your memory and impact may live on, in your children, your grandchildren, perhaps even others.  But one day, even those who remember you, even those you impacted, will pass from the scene as well.  Eventually, there will come a generation that no longer remembers you.  I mean, honestly, how much do you know about your great-great-grandparents?  Or their parents?  Not much I bet.  And as for your impact, well, perhaps you will leave an indelible mark on history, but for most of us, even our greatest impacts will one day become so attenuated they will hardly be felt at all.  In the end, a day will come when no one will remember you, and the life you lived will fade from both memory and history. 

All the more reason to make the most of life while you can, right?   To seize the day, love for all you’re worth, and give as much transient meaning to this transient life that you can.  For yes, if the physical universe is all there is, that’s really all we have.  All we can really do is make the best of what is, in the final analysis, a crappy situation.  Enjoy life and forget about the fact that in the end, even if you do manage a legacy that lives on in memory and history, even if you do make an impact that matters for millennia, one day even the universe itself will burn out, perhaps devour itself as stars collapse and black holes consume one another, until finally, as Steven Hawking suggested, everything ends in darkness, in a moment when, if anyone were around to see it happen (which there won’t be), they might say the only two words that could possibly sum up the meaning of the universe’s entire history: So what? 

That’s what life means if it’s just something that happens.  Fill your world with all the transient meaning you can.  But in the end, it will end.  Nothing will matter.  There will have been no meaning to it at all. 

But what if there’s more? 

What if life is more than a cosmic accident, something that just happens?  What if life is more than the inevitable if lucky conglomeration of just the right molecules?  What if life happened by design?  What if there is a Designer who imbues all life, each life, with eternal beauty and purpose?  What if we were made for more than fading memories and attenuated impacts?  What if, as the songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman sings, there is:

More to this life than living and dying,

More than just trying to make it through the day…

More to this life,

More than these eyes alone can see,

And there’s more than this life alone can be? [2]  

If there were, wouldn’t you like to know it? 

A church, that is a community of faith as opposed to an institutional religious event, is a place where people seek to know if this is true.  A place where people have opened up their hearts and minds to the possibility of more.  It is a place where you can hear the experiences of others who have found something more.  A place where people have found deeper meaning than the transience of memory and impact.  A place where people have found something more than a universe destined to end in darkness.  A place where people have found, okay I’ll come right out and say it: God. 

And in God, they have found more life and love than they ever imagined.  They have found a universe filled with love, created and held together by love, in which they may, by all means, cherish their loved ones, treasure their relationships, and work to make the world a better place, but may do so knowing that their relationships and loves are more than transient.  They are eternal. 

I would offer this to you, dear skeptic, as a reason to go to church.  That you might open your heart and mind to the stories of those who have opened theirs to such possibilities – and found something more.   

And maybe, just maybe, discover that they are right. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] I am aware that some people don’t find meaning here at all.  They are self-absorbed and could care less about those around them.  I am choosing, reader, to not count you among them.  If I am wrong about you, I would suggest that you should perhaps go to church to, if nothing else, learn to come out of yourself. 

[2] Steven Curtis Chapman, More to This Life. 

Growing Young

‘So, Peter, you’ve become a pirate?’ – Wendy Darling

What happens when the boy who never grew up grows up? 

That is the question at the heart of the movie Hook, Steven Spielberg’s 1991 sequel to Disney’s 1953 animated version of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.  At the start of the film, the adult Pan, played by Robin Williams, is a far cry from the scourge of pirates he once was.  Years before, he had made the decision to grow up, and grow up he did.  He has a family of his own, which is nice, but has lost his childlike spirit, his faith, his ability to fly.  He has no memory of who he was.   Living far from Neverland, the adult Pan has adapted to the ‘real world,’ adopted its practices, become adept in its ways, and forsaken his true self.  On a visit to the now elderly Wendy Darling, with whom he once had grand adventures (Pan is now married to her granddaughter) he explains that the business that keeps him from visiting more often involves ‘mergers and acquisitions,’ i.e., he has become a corporate raider.  This provokes a shocked and disappointed Wendy to speak the words in the epigraph to this post: ‘So, Peter, you’ve become a pirate.’  The once great Pan who conquered pirates has become very thing he once fought. 

This sad tale of Peter Pan growing up came to mind recently after a conversation with a friend, wherein I found myself remarking that if the early disciples of Jesus were to visit Christians in America today, they would likely mistake many of us for Romans.  The early disciples knew all about Romans.  They lived under their rule.  The Romans believed that the way to change the world was from the top down; seize power and impose your will on everyone below you.  Theirs was the way of violence; they used force whenever they deemed it expeditious to ensure the ascendency of their cause and the defeat of their enemies.  In a Roman world, if you wanted something, you made it happen, by any means necessary.  The Roman way was, if I may stick with the Peter Pan analogy, the way of the pirate, the way of the sword.  And they pulled it off quite well. 

Jesus however, had taught his disciples another way.  Once, when his disciples attempted to shoo some kids away, he said, ‘let the little children come to me, for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.’  On another occasion, he remarked that unless a person became like a little child, they could not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.  Jesus, in other words, told his followers to stay young, to refrain from ‘growing up.’  They were not to make things happen by any means necessary; they were to live as children, trusting in their Heavenly Father to lead them through the ups and downs of life.  They were not to become violent to advance causes or defeat enemies; they were to love enemies and leave the future to God.  They were not to seize power and impose their will on others from above; they were to become servants and make the world a better place from the bottom up.  Theirs would not be the way of the pirate, the way of the sword.  It would be the way of the cross, the way of the Lamb. 

And for a time, Jesus disciples pulled it off quite well.  Even as the Roman pirates threatened and attacked, as happened for centuries, they insisted on being, to borrow Rich Mullins’ phrase, ‘children who loved while the nations raged.’  Their response to a world arrayed against their beliefs and values was not to attack, but to love and serve.  As threats mounted, they simply drew closer to Jesus.  They continued, like children, to trust that he and their Heavenly Father would take care of them, and that such an approach to life would work.  They believed that God was in control, and that one day they would be rewarded for their faithfulness, for their refusal to become pirates themselves, as they witnessed the return of Christ and the restoration of all things.  And so, like faithful children, they continued on their way, refusing to become pirates. 

But somewhere along the line, the Church decided to grow up.  Like Peter Pan, it adapted to the ‘real world,’ adopting its practices, becoming adept in its ways, forsaking its true self.  The Church grew powerful.  It no longer sat at the bottom but stood on top, and from its privileged position began to impose its will from the top down.  It even employed violence, pursuing any means necessary to advance its goals and defeat its enemies.  It became a church of pirates. 

Not all Christians went along, of course.  Some remained faithful, and these inspired renewal movements to draw the Church back to her original vision, to the time when the Church was young.  These met with some success, but sadly, as the train of history shows, far too often, the dominant branches of the Church continued to behave like pirates. 

Like Romans. 

And so, the comment to my friend.  Look around you, American Christian.  What do you see?  A Pirate Church.  Tens of millions of professing Jesus followers embracing the Roman way.  Christians attempting to seize power that they might rule from above, forging unholy alliances with unscrupulous characters in an attempt to have their way.  A willingness to employ (or at least excuse) any means necessary, even violence, to achieve desired ends.  A willingness to sell their souls to stand on top and ‘own’ those below them.  A willingness to distort the very teachings of Jesus to the point that they would be unrecognizable to him or the early disciples if they were to show up today. 

Yes, if the early disciples could see us now, I have no doubt they would mistake many in what passes for the Church in America for Romans.  They would wonder what went wrong.  They would say, with tears in their eyes, ‘So, Church, you’ve become the empire.’ 

That such a reaction is plausible is cause for lamentation.  Sackcloth and ashes.  And yet, the situation is not without hope. 

Well, we are children no more

We have sinned and grown old

But our Father still waits

And He watches down the road

To see the crying boys

Come running back to His arms.[1]

Repentance, homecoming, is still an option.  It is possible, if not for the whole Church, at least for a significant portion of it, to grow young again.  To recapture what it means to be young in Christ.  To become children who trust and obey as we follow the way of the Lamb. 

Could such a rebirth be possible?  Oh yes.  Just watch Hook.  There, the adult Peter Pan rediscovers what it means to possess childlike faith.  He learns how to believe again.  He learns how to fly.

Christians, if we would be worthy of that name, it’s time to become children.   It’s time to believe again.  It’s time to fly.    

It’s time to grow young. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Rich Mullins, from his song, Growing Young, which along with Hook inspired this post. 

Carry the Fire

‘Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold’ – Jesus, Matthew 24:12 (NLT)

Cormac McCarty’s The Road is as darkly dystopian a novel as you will find.  It tells the story of a man and his son struggling to survive in a post-apocalyptic world that is literally cold and growing colder.  It is a world with few survivors attempting to escape cannibalistic bands of men.  If this sounds awful, it is, but the story is nonetheless touching and beautiful.  Hope abounds, as father and son hold on to one another, loving each other deeply from the heart, learning together what it means to live with faith.  Throughout the novel, the father encourages his son with a simple phrase: carry the fire.  The world around them is dark and hopeless, but they carry within them a spark of life they dare not, will not, allow the world to quench.  This is how to survive in a cold world that is growing colder: you ‘carry the fire.’ 

I’ve been meditating the past several weeks on a familiar passage from Paul’s second letter to his son in the faith Timothy.  It goes like this:

‘For a time is coming when people will no longer listen to sound and wholesome teaching. They will follow their own desires and will look for teachers who will tell them whatever their itching ears want to hear. They will reject the truth and chase after myths.  But you should keep a clear mind in every situation. Don’t be afraid of suffering for the Lord. Work at telling others the Good News, and fully carry out the ministry God has given you’ – 2 Timothy 4:3-5. 

I’ve known those words for as long as I can remember.  But they have never felt more apt than they do now.  We live in a time when facts do not matter.  People are following the darkest inclinations of their hearts and accepting as true any cockamamie theory that justifies their expression.  They are indeed rejecting truth and embracing strange myths (e.g., Q Anon, Pizza gate, The Steal).  Elected leaders – and religious leaders – who consciously know better go along with such insanity, believing that they can use said dark expressions to forge political coalitions to remain in, and expand upon, their positions of power.  Sin has been part of the world since the Fall, but ours is a time of descending shadow.  We face the sort of days Jesus warned about.  Sin is rampant everywhere, and the love of many is growing colder by the minute. 

How does one live in such a world? 

Carry the fire. 

That is Paul’s advice to Timothy, his son in the faith.  Not in so many words, but it’s what he means. 

He breaks his advice down into four main points.    

First, we must keep a clear head in every situation.  Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem, A Father’s Advice to his Son, begins, ‘if you can keep your head about you, when others are losing theirs and blaming it on you…’  That seems to sum things up well.   People around us have lost their heads.  But disciples of Jesus must not lose theirs.  We must, as the author of Hebrews puts it, keep our eyes fixed upon Jesus.  While others wander into myths, we must remain deeply rooted in the way, truth, and life of our Lord.  We must, as Rich Mullins sang years ago, continue as the children who love while the nations rage.

Second, we must not be afraid of suffering.  Too many believers have been silent in these times, fearful of the repercussions of speaking truth into the darkness.  Church leaders have feared losing their flocks, ministries, or positions.  Ordinary believers (as if there were such a thing!) fear losing friends and community standing.  Folks, if we’re fearful of such things now, what will we do when things get worse?  Paul wrote to Timothy from prison, awaiting his own death.  The very next verses in his letter tell of how he was being poured out as a drink offering for his faith.  Yet Paul was not afraid of suffering.  He knew it was part of what can happen when you live faithfully for Jesus.  Flannery O’Connor put her finger on the problem of people who don’t understand this basic truth when she wrote, ‘they think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is a cross.’  As believers living in a world that is cold and growing colder, we had better be prepared to pick up ours and follow Jesus.  We cannot be afraid. If the world is to find hope beyond the darkness of our times, we must do what we have been called to do. 

Third, we are to work at telling others the Good News.  Some translations put this, ‘do the work of an evangelist.’  An evangelist is one who proclaims Good News.  We who follow Jesus have the best news of all and have been empowered to share it far and wide.  The Kingdom has come.  There is another way to live.  We need not be captive to either strange myths or our darkest impulses.  People must know this. We must stand at the crossroads and live out the values of the Kingdom, pointing the world to Jesus and his way.  To paraphrase N.T. Wright, it is our call to preach hope wherever there is hopelessness, justice wherever there is injustice, peace wherever there is violence, and love wherever there is hatred.  We are to preach Jesus, incarnate, crucified, and resurrected to a world that is cold and growing colder, that it might find the warmth it needs to thrive again. 

And finally, we are to fully complete the ministry that God has given us.  This will be different for each of us.  But every Christian has a ministry.  Whatever it is, whether it is running a global ministry, pastoring a small church, caring for a handicapped child, preserving the beauty of God’s creation, loving the neighbor across the street, or any number of other wonderful things, we are to continue to bloom wherever God has planted us until we are directed to another mission field or else our race has run.  God will show us, each day, what he desires us to do.  Ours is to draw close to him, discern his will, and perform whatever task he gives.  In a world that is cold and growing colder, this may seem to not make much difference at times.  No matter.  We must be faithful to the end.  We must do what is right.  We must follow the lead of our Lord and Savior. And trust the rest to him. 

This is how we live in times such as ours.  We do not give up.  We fight the good fight.  We finish the course.  We keep the faith.  We pass on the torch of faith to those who come behind us.  Just as those who carried it faithfully in the past passed it along to us. 

The world is dark and cold my friends, and things may get darker and colder still in days to come.

Carry the fire.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

A House Divided

‘Come now, and let us reason together’ – Isaiah 1:18

The recent election proves what we already knew: we live in a deeply divided country.  This should trouble all of us, no matter what side of the political divide on which we find ourselves.  A divided people cannot find ways to tackle their problems.  When Lincoln quoted Jesus in the years before the Civil War, he was not misappropriating anything: a house divided against itself cannot stand (Mark 3:25). 

Even more troubling to me, as a follower of Jesus, is the division within the Church.  Jesus prayed that his followers be one, and not just for unity’s sake.  He gave this reason: ‘may they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you [the Father] sent me and that you love them as much as you love me’ (John 17:23).  Our unity, Jesus said, points people to God and His love.  By this measure, Christians in America aren’t doing very well right now, and so, in this post, I want to name and confront the proverbial elephant (or donkey?) in the room.

I suppose I should begin by identifying my own stance (regular readers can skip this paragraph). I’m neither a Democrat nor a Republican. As I wrote in my previous post, I follow the example of Treebeard from The Lord of the Rings when it comes to the empire’s politics. We should be altogether on the side of Jesus, not the empire. Thus, I am not altogether on the side of any political party, though at times I find that my way and the way of a particular political party may follow similar paths, thereby enabling us to work together on at least some things. Conversely, I find at times that the path of a particular political party is so contrary to my own that I cannot walk with them at all. So full disclosure: I currently find myself walking more closely with those who label themselves ‘blue’ than with those who label themselves ‘red.’ Indeed, as Treebeard might say, while I am not altogether on the side of the blues, I am altogether not on the side of the reds at the moment. I don’t say this to attack those of you who are on that side. I say it in the interests of full disclosure.

Overcoming the division in the Church (to say nothing of the country) is going to be tough.  In recent years, as the divide has deepened, I’ve found myself struggling with two competing truths: first, that I am, as a follower of Jesus, called to seek unity; and second, that I am equally called to pursue truth and justice.  Balancing these two imperatives has been tricky.  Unity is important, but unity without truth and justice isn’t unity; it’s complicity.  Martin Luther King, in his Letter from Birmingham jail, condemned the preference of the ‘white moderate’ for civility over justice.  Choosing a phony unity at the expense of justice only exacerbates the suffering of the marginalized and vulnerable.  That isn’t the sort of ‘perfect unity’ Jesus was talking about in his high priestly prayer.  There is nothing admirable or God-honoring in that, nothing that makes the world look to the church and say, ‘boy, I sure see God’s love there!’  On the contrary, the world sees such nonsense for what it is: a cold ambivalence toward the suffering of others.

And so, I have spoken out, and as I have, in blog posts and books, I have found myself at odds with those who see things differently.  I’m not entirely sure how to resolve this situation.  I still have an obligation to speak truth and do justice, even if it upsets people.  But at the same time, knowing how disunity in the Body of Christ breaks Jesus’ heart, I would like to find a way forward. 

To do so, we will need to go on a journey.  By ‘we’ I mean Christians like myself who have opposed the presidency of Donald Trump, and Christians not like myself who have, for reasons I still don’t understand, chosen to support him. It will be a painful and difficult journey, sort of like Frodo’s to Mordor, fraught with perils and potentialities for disaster.  But if we are to discover together what it means to be followers of Jesus in this divided world, if we are to find together the positions and values that Jesus desires us to take into the political sphere (discoveries that will require us to do far more than just ‘agree to disagree’) we will need to take it. 

The first step along this journey, I believe, is this: we need to listen to one another.  You need to listen to me, and I need to listen to you. 

Since I’m the one writing I guess I’ll start.  I will share three reasons why I have opposed and continue to oppose Trumpism.  I hope you read them with an open mind.  I do not offer them to start a fight. I offer them in the hope of inspiring constructive conversations that may take us beyond our current state of division.

First, I oppose Trumpism because I oppose autocracy. 

I know that some of you are fearful of the radical left, and believe that if a Democrat had won the election, even a relatively moderate one like Joe Biden, this would have been a step in the direction of a leftist autocracy.  I respectfully disagree with your assessment there (I don’t think Biden poses such a danger), but I do share your desire to avoid autocratic rule, be it from the left or right.  And that is my problem with Trumpism: I fear that it represents a clear and present danger of autocracy from the right.  Donald Trump has shown a tendency toward autocratic rule from the beginnings of his candidacy.  He promised the country he would show us the power inherent in the Presidency, and he did.  During his administration, we have seen and continue to see a disrespect for democratic norms, the prodigious use of ‘alternative facts’ (aka lies and propaganda), attempts to suppress voting, spurious attacks against the legitimacy of the electoral process, the intimidation of a free press, the purging of government agencies, the overriding of Congress, the bullying of perceived enemies, the use of force against peaceful protestors, the weaponization of religion, threats to deploy the military against American citizens, the refusal to denounce a kidnapping plot against a sitting governor (which, it could be argued, he encouraged), and the coddling of authoritarian rulers.  Over the past 100 years of American history, we have seen the rise of an ‘Imperial Presidency,’ as the Executive branch of government has grown in power at the expense of the Legislative and Judicial branches.   This has been accelerating for the past twenty years under both Republican and Democratic administrations, but Trump put the pedal to the metal.  I believe that if Trump had won this past election, he would have eroded our system of checks and balances even further and done profound damage to the American republic.  At best, I believe America would have become an elective dictatorship wherein the President would call all the shots going forward.  This, I believe, would have been tragic, as it would have created the possibility of autocratic rule from both the left and right for decades to come.  Jesus said that while the leaders of the nations seek to lord authority over people, it should not be so for those who follow him (Mark 10:42-44). Simply put, as a Christian charged with ‘seeking the welfare of the city’ in which I live, I could not countenance the possibility of authoritarianism, especially one that enlists the support of Christ followers.  And so, for this reason, I opposed and continue to oppose Trumpism. 

Second, I oppose Trumpism because I reject the politics of fear, anger, and division.

From where I sit, Trump came to prominence by playing on people’s darkest fears, stoking the fires of hate and resentment, and portraying ‘the other side’ not as mere political opponents with whom to spar, but as dangerous enemies who need to be eradicated.  It is not for nothing that Trump earned the moniker, ‘Divider in Chief.’ 

My reading of the Bible teaches me that fear, anger, and division are not merely poor motivators, they are evil ones.  Fear causes us to cling to what we have and fight off any perceived threat, no matter how innocuous.  It causes us to assume the worst about others, even to demonize them, which in turn leads to division, marginalization, and oppression.  It has no place in the repertoire of Christ followers, who are to be motivated by the perfect love that casts out fear (see, 1 John 4:18). Anger, too, is a poor emotion upon which to build a political philosophy.  Anger is addictive; it provides our brains with a bio-chemical boost that fuels more anger. Nursing grudges and harboring resentment can make us feel good in the short run, but longer term, it eats away our souls, causes us to view others as contemptible, even sub-human, and builds walls instead of bridges.  Division is the result of both fear and anger, and as Jesus (and Lincoln) noted, a divided people will not last very long.  There is a reason why tyrants employ the tactic, ‘divide and conquer;’ once we are divided, we can be picked off quite easily. 

When I consider the fruits of the politics of fear, anger, and division, I feel confirmed in my opposition to it. After four years of Trumpism, both America and the Church are less kind, less unified, and less willing to work together to solve problems than ever before. We are literally afraid of each other.  We are angry to the point of breaking off relationships.  We are even, in some quarters, threatening violence against one another.  For the first time in American history, we have a President unwilling to commit to a peaceful transfer of power, doing all he can to sabotage his successor, and fomenting dangerous and false conspiracy theories about a stolen election.  I believe that if he could pull it off, he would happily destroy democracy to stay in office, and millions would cheer that as a victory. This is the fruit of Trumpism.  He has narcissistically sown the wind, and the nation has reaped the whirlwind.  It will take a long time to recover.  Friends, this is what I feared when he first emerged on the political stage years ago, and this is another reason why I have twice opposed the election of Donald Trump.

Third, I oppose Trumpism because I oppose racism. 

Trump is a racist.  The evidence for this is overwhelming. He has said awful things.  He has encouraged violence against people of color.  He has called them thugs and worse.  He has channeled the spirit of ardent segregationists of the 1950s and 60s.  He has called white nationalists ‘good people’ and refused, repeatedly, to denounce white supremacy and Neo-Nazi groups (indeed, he has encouraged them). He has condemned in fiery terms those who lament the shootings of unarmed black men by police. He denies the existence of systemic racism and routinely stokes the fires of racial prejudice against black and brown people. 

This, if nothing else were wrong with Trumpism, would be a deal breaker for me.  And since I am trying to honest here, the fact that it is not for so many who support Trump, hurts me deeply (as does the name calling that often ensues when I admit that; racism is real, and being hurt by racism hardly makes a person a ‘snowflake’).  After four years worth of evidence of Trump’s racism (and willingness to act on it), I find it hard to fathom that 73 million people either agree with him, or, at the very least say, ‘Yeah, I know he’s a racist.  But so what? It’s not a deal breaker for me.  Go Trump!’  Maybe that’s not what every Trump supporter is saying, but it sure seems that way.  I have rarely, if ever, heard a Trump supporter, Christian or not, condemn Trump’s racist rhetoric and policies.  Indeed, I have more often heard them defend him.  Either way, by silence or affirmation, my fellow Christians who support Trump have told me they don’t care.  They have, it appears, dismissed the experience of black and brown people, many of whom are their brothers and sisters in Christ who endure the bitter sting of racism every day.  How can this be? This is not just a theoretical issue for me either. I have an African American son who will have to grow up in the America Trump and his followers are creating.  Trumpism is a threat to every American who doesn’t have the ‘privilege’ of being white.  It is a threat to my son’s very life, and to the lives of many other sons and daughters.  This too, is a reason why I have strongly opposed, and will continue to strongly oppose Trumpism.

So there they are, three reasons why I have not supported and will not support Trumpism.  Three reasons why I cannot understand why anyone does. There are other reasons too, but this is a start.   

Now comes the really hard part: the invitation.

Christians like myself need to know where those on the other side of the divide are coming from.  We need to have you talk to us about our concerns, and why they aren’t enough for you to sever your allegiance to Donald Trump.  Equally important, we need to listen to your concerns, and why they lead you to continue to support him.  And we need to have such conversations in a calm, rational, and deliberative way.

I don’t know if doing so will achieve anything.  Perhaps not. Perhaps the Church in America has become so lost that there is no way for us to find our way back to Jesus together. Perhaps we have to accept that we have been torn asunder and go our separate ways, with some doubling down on Trumpism (or whatever name it will go by in the years ahead) and others standing against it. Perhaps the ‘perfect unity’ of which Christ spoke, a unity that encompasses both justice and truth, is, for Christians in America, merely a fool’s hope.  

But perhaps, if we listen and talk together, we may find a way forward.  We may find a way beyond the divisiveness of Trumpism, beyond collaboration with either Red or Blue versions of empire, and into the good and perfect way of Jesus.

Maybe, somehow, the Church can still find a way to be one, so that when others see us together, they will see the love of God. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Holy Fear

‘A great wind, a great calm, a great fear. An unspeakable power is here.  Far beyond the darkness and the waves, there is a very real reason to be afraid’ – Michael Card, from his song, A Great Wind, A Great Calm, a Great Fear

This past week I was thinking about the tragedy that some people are literally afraid to come to church.  It was brought home to me when I heard that someone in our community in need of assistance had been afraid to contact the church I serve because, well, we are a church.  That anyone would think that way breaks my heart, and so I spent some time considering how the local church I serve, which is already pretty darn loving and welcoming, could overcome such thinking.  Unfortunately, the Church at large has made that a difficult task.  Many professing Christians have practically erected signs to make certain people or groups of people feel as though they are not wanted in churches.  There is much work to do in order to undo this damage.  That it needs to be done at all is a tragedy.  Jesus knew how to make people feel invited, welcome, safe, and loved.  Too many Christians have made people feel otherwise.  

In the course of thinking about this, I realized something though – the fact that some people are afraid of churches is indicative of not one, but two problems: first, that Christians have made certain people fear going to church; and second that Christians have made certain other people feel as if they have no reason to fear at all.  It is the latter of those two problems that I would like to concentrate on in this post (although I’ll deal with the first a bit too).  

As I’ve written in a previous post, church isn’t a building.  It’s a community of people who follow Jesus, a people gathered in the presence of one another and God.  In other words, wherever God’s people gather, wherever two or three gather in Jesus’ name, God is there (Matthew 18:20).  That God is present makes church, wherever it gathers, be it in a stone building or a local coffee shop, sacred space.  Holy ground.  When someone ‘goes to church’ they go to a place where they can expect to encounter the presence of the Holy. 

And encounters with the presence of the Holy always involve an element of fear.  

Take for example the giving of the Ten Commandments.  God descended upon Mount Sinai in smoke and fire.  When the people heard the thunder and the blast of the shofar, and saw the lightning and the smoke, they cowered at a distance and cried out to Moses, ‘Don’t let God speak to us directly.  If he does we will die!’  Moses told them not to be afraid, but still, the people were terrified by the presence of God (See, Exodus 20:18-21). 

When Isaiah stood in the Temple and beheld the glorious sight of the Lord, with seraphim singing ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Heaven’s Angel Armies – the whole earth is filled with his glory!’ the prophet to be cried out, ‘It’s all over!  I’m doomed!  I am a man of unclean lips who lives among people with unclean lips – and I have seen the King, the Lord of Angel Armies!’  It was only when one of the seraphim pressed a hot coal to Isaiah’s ‘unclean lips’ that he was able to stand more surely, and respond to the call of God with his famous, ‘Here I am Lord, send me!’  (See, Isaiah 6:1-8). 

Or how about the time Jesus came walking to his disciples on the sea? When the disciples saw him coming, Matthew describes their fear by telling us, in the Greek, that they were, ‘lian ek perissou en heautois existanto.’ James Martin literally translates this as being, ‘very much exceedingly in themselves standing outside,’ or as we might say, beside themselves with fear (See, Matthew 14:22-26). 

I could go on.  Think of all the times God or his angels have to tell people not to be afraid.  It happens several times in the Christmas story alone.  Heck, the initial reaction to the Resurrection of Jesus, the most glorious news ever received, was one of fear.  Mark writes, ‘the women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were terrified’ (Mark 16:8).  

The point is that encounters with the Holy are always, at least initially, terrifying.  They always have been and they always will be, because as the Rich Mullins song goes, ‘God is an awesome God.’  He is Holy.  When we encounter Him, we, like Isaiah, come face to face with the fact that God is God and we are not.  That He is Holy and we are not.  We are confronted by our sinfulness, our un-holiness, our ‘fallen-shortness,’ as Paul put it in Romans 3:23.  People who encounter the Divine are always overcome by the Holy.  

Michael Card is right.  When we encounter God, there is very good reason to be afraid.  

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that God is mean.  He is no terrifying monster.  That’s not the issue.  The issue is that God is love (1 John 4:16).  Not the wishy-washy nonsense people often call love.  REAL LOVE.  Pure, undefiled, undiluted, purifying, redeeming, furious love. And encountering love like that is a terrifying thing.  It is to encounter a love that desires what is best for us, a love that will settle for nothing less, and what is actually best for us is seldom in simpatico with what we think is best for us.  God loves us so furiously that he is not content to leave us as we are.  He desires that we be transformed by his holiness, and he has the power to bring about the transformation.

Churches haven’t always spoken truthfully about this.  Heck, I haven’t.  In our desire to make people feel comfortable and unafraid, we have spoken of the love and holiness of God as if we were talking about Santa Claus.  He’s such a nice guy that even though in theory he keeps a naughty and nice list, in practice everyone gets everything they want.  Because that, we think, is what love does.  It affirms us as we are and tells us that everything is fine the way it is.  

But that isn’t true.  If it were we wouldn’t live in a world with so many problems.  

The Church cannot be so obsessed with making people feel welcome that it pretends that an encounter with God is anything other than what it is – an encounter with confrontational love, an encounter that reminds us of who God is and who we are and who He desires us to be.  For it is only when we encounter God in this way that we can be transformed by his redeeming love.  Like Isaiah, we all need to feel the fire on our lips before we can be made new.  

So getting back to the problem of some people being afraid to come to church: the real problem is that some churches have been selective in deciding to whom they will honestly communicate the holiness and awesomeness of God.  Some professing Christians, for example, have little trouble pointing fingers and shouting at people who struggle with sexual issues.  They’ve had no problem making those people feel uncomfortable and afraid (when what they really need is mercy and space, not another psychological thrashing).  But they have also had no problem making other kinds of sinners feel comfortable and unafraid.  Tell me, why should a racist feel any more comfortable in church than a person who struggles sexually? Why should someone who supports the separation of children from their parents, as so many ‘Christians’ do these days, feel safe and unafraid at church?  Why should people who support violence committed under the banner of an American flag feel at ease when gathering to worship the Prince of Peace?  Why should crass materialists and consumerists feel warm and fuzzy under the luxurious glow of candles and stained glass while their neighbors struggle to put food on their tables?  Should abortionists feel unafraid at church?  White Nationalists?  People who cheer the hateful words of hateful politicians?

Honestly, should anyone ever be totally at ease in the presence of God? 

It is absolutely true that EVERYONE is loved by God (See, John 3:16).  And it is absolutely true that the invitation of Jesus is ALWAYS to come closer and not be afraid (see, e.g., Revelation 1:17). But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t have standards.  Truth be told, if we spoke about God truthfully, no one would ever blithely walk into a church gathering and think they were about to spend the most comfortable hour of their lives. Everyone would understand that they had come to experience an encounter with the Holy God who is a consuming fire – an awesome God of Love who will not be content until he has remade us in the image of his Son.  

Yes, He will do that lovingly (and often gently).  But make no mistake: one way or another He will do it.  

Church is not supposed to be a loosey-goosey ‘feel-good-about-yourself-athon.’  While we need to be compassionate and loving toward everyone, showing special mercy to those who have been knocked around by life (and the Church), we cannot forget who we are dealing with when we invoke the name of God.  There comes a point at which we all need to feel a touch of holy fear.  Because, as the wise man once said, ‘the fear of the Lord is the beginning of understanding’ (Proverbs 9:10). 

Here’s the bottom line.  In the Church of Jesus, everyone is welcome and should be made to feel invited, welcome, safe, and loved.  The message we must convey to everyone is that whoever you are, wherever you have been, and whatever you have done, God loves you, and you never have any reason to fear that he will harm you or do anything against your best interests.  But if you come to church expecting Him to affirm everything about you, you’re mistaken.  If you come intending to hold on to your own desires and way of living, I give you fair warning: if the church gathering you walk into, be it behind stained glass or in Starbucks, is at all truthful about who God is and what He desires, you will find love and mercy.  But because it is the love and mercy of a Holy God – well, you may find a very real reason to be afraid.  

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Pastor Brent

Fools No More

‘We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are so strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty, we are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it; when we are slandered, we answer kindly. We have become the scum of the earth, the garbage of the world – right up to this moment’ – Paul, the Apostle, in 1 Corinthians 4:10-13


Paul just didn’t get it. The church he had helped plant in Corinth had, in his absence, gone off the rails. He had taught them about the folly of the Cross that was in fact the wisdom of God, and still they decided to go in big for something else. The life they were pursuing looked nothing like the life of true discipleship. Paul, as an apostle, a disciple who had been sent to tell others the truth, could not help but draw out the contrast. The Corinthians desired to be seen as wise, strong, and honorable. They yearned for ease, wealth, and power. While the true Jesus followers were mistreated, poorly attired, homeless, and weary from heavy labor. The scum of the earth. The garbage of the world. And yet, when the world treated them as such, they endured. They even blessed their enemies and treated them with kindness. It was as if they expected to be treated poorly. Paul’s point was pretty clear: life as a follower of Jesus wasn’t supposed to be life at the top.

This is what the Corinthians had forgotten.

This may seem an odd segue way, but I was thinking of Paul’s description of true discipleship the other day after finishing the Steven James’ novel Synapse, a story set in a not so distant future in which Artificial Super Intelligence has become a reality. The novel raises ethical questions about AI, questions James wisely leaves lingering for his readers to contemplate on their own. But along the way we are confronted by the thought of what would happen if technology became available to enhance human intelligence. A simple implant in the brain, and suddenly we could be super intelligent, connected to all sorts of digital information, super-human. Who wouldn’t do it? Well, some would not. They would prefer the experience of being natural people. What would become of them? We are left to ponder the possibility that they would become the outcasts of humanity. The scum of the earth. The garbage of the world.

James’ ethical conundrum in turn reminded me of a movie from the 90’s, Gattaca, about a future society where parents can genetically engineer their children to be perfect specimens of humanity, without flaw or defect, handsome, beautiful, able to do great things. Most people go all in. But some opt out. These purists have ‘natural’ children who are less than perfect, even defective. What happens to them? They become the servants, the street-sweepers, the toilet-cleaners, people who do the dirty jobs that the genetically perfect don’t want to do. They live as an under-society in the midst of a ‘great’ society, mostly ignored by the greats. The scum of the earth. The garbage of the world.

I wonder how many Christians today would like it if that’s the way things really were. If we who followed Jesus actually understood that following him meant rejecting the enticing power available from the world. That we didn’t need to play into the power games of the elites. That we were, in fact, supposed to reject the way of power and riches and security in favor of the way of the cross. If we dropped out of our alliances with the empire, alliances that give to us the ability to be rich and secure and safe. If we suddenly became the people everyone else looked down on. Mere servants. If we were mocked and persecuted by those who considered themselves our betters. If we too were seen as the scum of the earth. The garbage of the world.

This may sound as insane to you as Paul’s words may have sounded to the Corinthians. But do you realize that there was a time when such was the lot of the Christian church? I mean, what else can you make of Paul’s description? For the first three centuries of its existence (the most missionally effective in Church history) Christians were despised, and expected to be so. They were the scum of the earth and the garbage of the world, at least in the eyes of the powerful. They were, in those eyes, powerless. And yet…they didn’t feel that way. They knew that despite what the world thought they were in fact powerful. They knew that, as Paul had written earlier in his letter, their foolishness was wiser than human wisdom, and their weakness was stronger than human strength. That their way, Jesus’ way, was the way. The way that led to glory. The way that enabled them to experience God in the midst of the battle of life and the way that would enable them to reign with him in the life of the age to come. This was enough for them. It didn’t matter what the world thought. It didn’t matter if they lacked the world’s power. It didn’t matter if they were made to serve a world that looked down upon them. In fact, that was what they were called to do. And so, they served it. When the world threatened them with hate, they responded with love. When the world cursed them, they offered blessings in return. When the world spoke harshly to them, they responded with kindness. They were even foolish enough to believe that by doing so, they might win some of the world to their side.

Which, of course, they did.

And therein lies the challenge and impotence of the Church today. Certainly in America in the days that are upon us.

For the problem today is that so many in the Church prefer the way of the Corinthians. They crave the ‘synapse,’ the worldly enhancements, that can make them more than mere servants. Don’t believe me? Just turn on the news and you will see it happening. Christians aligning themselves with politicians who promise power, even when doing so means having to ignore just about everything that is true to Jesus. Willing to defend racism, hate, lies, bullying, and misogyny. Willing to overlook, even to deny, gross abuses of power that threaten all that is best about the society they live in. Willing to overlook evidence of such abuse, even when it is as plain as the noses on their faces. Willing to throw away the foolishness of God which is wiser than human wisdom, and the strength of God which is stronger than human strength, to gain the favor of a cruel and brutish king. Willing, for God’s sake, to forsake the call to love and to bless, and instead use the world’s power to crush anyone and everyone who offers so much as a hint of a rumor of a whisper of a threat against them. Willing to classify others as the scum of the earth and the garbage of the world, and to promote policies that put such scum and garbage in their place.

I think this is what bothers me so much about the Trumpian times we live in. I’m not at all thrilled that someone such as he is President. But that shouldn’t really surprise me. A fallen world, you see, will act like a fallen world. Power hungry men and women will from time to time seize the reigns and do terrible, cruel, and heartless things. The Church should of course speak out against such things, should live out an alternative existence that points to another way, but that we should have to should not surprise us at all. Such has always been the way of the fallen world and the calling of the Church within it.

But what does surprise me – although perhaps even this shouldn’t – is when people who are supposed to be following Jesus, who are supposed to be like Paul, who are supposed to live an alternative existence in a mad, mad world, become the supporters and defenders of the madmen who run it.

Something like that was what cut Paul so deeply, what led him to respond to the Corinthians as he did. He saw them beginning a journey that would not end well, and so reminded them of their calling: they were not to live as the ‘wise’ of the world, but as fools. Fools who knew the value of following Jesus, who knew the strength of what the world perceives to be weakness. Fools who understood that to do so was the only way.

But alas, it seems that in today’s Christian world, many have chosen to be fools no more.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Jesus Plus People

‘I want to be where the people are’ – Ariel the Little Mermaid

‘I may not know much about God. But I have to say we built a pretty nice cage for him’ – Homer Simpson

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the idolatry of buildings. My wife and I have been binge watching shows on Netflix like Tiny House Nation and Cabins in the Wild. One of the things about Netflix is that when you watch something, you automatically get a slew of recommendations about what to watch next. It comes out under a ‘because you watched,’ heading. Because you watched Tiny House Nation, you might be interested in these shows. ‘These shows’ however, rarely have anything to do with downsizing, or spending time in the great outdoors. I’ve noticed that most of them are about grand designs. Building huge and amazing dwellings in which to live and pamper yourself. Just perusing the titles of these recommended shows gives one the impression that the greatest thing you could ever do is build a grand monument, a place to pour all your money into, a place to make the very essence of your life.

In other words, a god.

This is of course bad enough. But then I get to thinking about church. As a pastor, I live and work in the shadow of a large church building, as many pastors do. There’s nothing really wrong with having a church building, I suppose, but every once in a while I think about how much money it costs to run one. I also think about the reactions I and other pastors get whenever we talk about changing one, or maybe leaving one behind. I mean, I get the whole idea of sentimental attachment to a place, but sometimes it seems as if the most important thing about church is the building. There is some evidence to support that. Studies have shown, over and again, that most faith communities spend far more money on their facilities than they do on mission.

And that doesn’t seem right, does it?

Oh, I know what some of you are thinking. ‘But we have to have a building! How else can we have a church?’ That’s the rationalization we offer to justify ourselves. Trouble is, such thinking runs counter to the whole idea of what church is, or at least what Jesus envisioned church to be.

Jesus experienced church differently. I am currently reading James Martin’s wonderful book Jesus, in which he recounts his visit to the Holy Land. There is much to wonder at in his story. But one thing really hit me. In recounting his visit to Nazareth, the town where Jesus spent the vast majority of his first 30 years (other than the time he spent as a refugee in Egypt), Martin notes that the synagogue building in Nazareth dates to the 4th century. No one has ever found one that dates back to the time of Jesus. In fact, it is unlikely that there was one in the time of Jesus, because towns as small as Nazareth did not generally have synagogue buildings.

And yet we know that Jesus taught in the synagogue in Nazareth. It’s right there in Luke 4 (go ahead, look it up). So it must be the case that archeologists just haven’t discovered it yet. Someday it will turn up.

Such is the power of a preconceived notion. We have been conditioned to picture a building when we think of a church or synagogue. And so, when Jesus preached at the synagogue, we conclude that he must have been standing in one.

But for Jesus, and other first century Jews, synagogue was not a building. It was an assembly of people who gathered to worship God. You didn’t need a building to have a synagogue, all you needed was God plus people.

The synagogue in Nazareth was in all likelihood just that, a gathering of God plus people. A gathering that met, perhaps, in the town square – or better still on a hillside. Nazareth was (and is) a city on a hill, so it is easy to imagine Jesus and his fellow worshipers sitting on the hillside on the Sabbath, listening to the scriptures, praying with one another, listening to the Rabbi’s teaching, even discussing the message and asking questions (interactive learning was big in first century synagogue life). The people would have felt the breezes on their faces and the sun on their backs as they united in their worship of Yahweh.

That’s most likely how we should envision Jesus experiencing church, at least for the first 30 years of his life. Other than the occasional pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem, Jesus worshipped and gathered with God’s people, not in a building, but in the great outdoors. He didn’t need a building. He just needed God and his community.

Jesus didn’t stay in Nazareth however, and once his itinerant ministry began in earnest, he visited many towns and preached in many synagogues. Many of these did have buildings no doubt (although perhaps some did not). That he preached in buildings indicates that there is nothing inherently wrong about having one. But the fact that Jesus did not preach exclusively in buildings should tell us something. In fact, most of Jesus’ teaching took place outside of buildings: on hillsides, on a boat, at the seashore, along the road, in gardens, around dinner tables, and in people’s homes. Even when Jesus taught at the Temple in Jerusalem, he did so in the porticoes and on the Temple steps, the places where people gathered for informal discussions and learning. Jesus didn’t care too much about the place of worship. He just wanted to be where the people were. One place was as good as another for church. All anyone needed to have church was Jesus plus people.

This is not just how Jesus experienced church. It was his vision for the Church. When the Gospel writers wrote of Jesus ‘building his church’ the word they used for church was Ekklesia. Ekklesia does not refer to a building or network of buildings. It means assembly, or gathering. It is the same concept as the synagogue –a gathering of people who worship God through the study of scripture, prayer, learning and discussion. You don’t need a building to have Ekklesia, any more than you needed one for a synagogue. In the early days of the church, followers of Jesus understood this. If you flip through the pages of Acts, you will find Jesus’ followers worshipping in homes, lecture halls, porticoes, steps, ships and riversides. The early followers of Jesus were flexible, and understood that as a result of Jesus’ saving work, you didn’t need a Temple. Everywhere was a holy place. All you needed was Jesus plus people.

I wonder how the followers of Jesus ever lost their way on that one. I suppose that’s a long tale that weaves its way through history. But the bottom line is that today, so many have lost their way. The word church is synonymous with a building. Church has therefore become an inflexible, stationary sort of enterprise. We pour our money, not into reaching people for Jesus, but in upgrading our facilities. We no longer go where the people are. We wait for them to come to us.

It truly is amazing. Jesus began his church experiences out in the open, with people all around him, visible for all to see, under the canopy of God’s blue sky. But we no longer do things like that. We don’t enjoy God’s creation when we worship. We no longer go where the people are to pray and read and discuss. We hide ourselves behind walls. Walls! And then we wonder why people don’t come inside of them.

Maybe it’s time we got back to Jesus, to his experience and vision. Maybe it’s time to move out of our buildings. Into the community. Onto the hillsides. Maybe it’s time to worship God outdoors, with the sun and wind in our faces. Or under the stars on clear nights, where we can take in the wonder of creation. Or in the coffee shops, libraries, diners, town squares, front porches, riversides, and other out in the open places. Maybe it’s time to act on the Biblical truth that church isn’t a building you maintain. It’s a gathering. It’s a lifestyle. And it is most effective when it is practiced outside the cages we have built for God. It is most effective when it is practiced where the people are.

All you need for church is Jesus plus people. Most of the time, the building just gets in the way.

Maybe it’s time we remembered that.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent