Category: Jesus

Deleting Jesus Giveaway

Then the devil took him up and revealed to him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time. ‘I will give you the glory of these kingdoms and authority over them,’ the devil said, ‘because they are mine to give to anyone I please. I will give it all to you if you will worship me.’ – Luke 4:5-6

This is just a quick post to announce that my book, Deleting Jesus, will be FREE in the Kindle store from this Thursday, October 8th, through Monday, October 12th.

Deleting Jesus laments the mistake Christians make when they accept the devil’s bargain of Luke 4:5-6, trading fidelity to Jesus for the promise of political power. It was written in the wake of the 2016 election but remains relevant as once again, Christians approach another presidential election and wrestle with the intersection of faith and politics.

I am offering this free at this time as my way of helping folks navigate a world where large segments of the Church have traded the way of the Cross for the way of the dragon and its beasts. My hope is that it will be a blessing to you. My only request is that if you like it, take a moment to write a review on Amazon. Positive reviews help the messages of my books reach a wider audience.

Feel free to share this with others! May God bless you as you follow the Lamb in this crazy and stressful time.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Why I Don’t Say the Pledge of Allegiance

The Christian icon is not the Stars and Stripes but a cross-flag, and its emblem is not a donkey, an elephant, or an eagle, but a slaughtered lamb – Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw, in Jesus for President

No one can serve two masters – Jesus, Matthew 6:24

I said it for years.  It was second nature.  In school, in Boy Scouts, in public assemblies.  When we were told to rise and place our hands over our hearts and recite the pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, it was second nature.  It was what you were supposed to do.  It was the patriotic and respectful thing to do.  And so for years I did it, never questioning the practice. 

But as the years passed by and, more importantly, as I grew more in my relationship with Jesus, saying the pledge made me uncomfortable.

Two reasons. 

The first is that I came to understand myself to be a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20).  Specifically of the restored world that will come when Jesus returns and brings heaven into the real world.   That will be a world without borders.   In the meantime, I am a stranger and alien without a country on earth (see, Hebrews 11:13; John 17:16; 1 Peter 2:11).  The only sense in which I have citizenship in this present age of the world is my citizenship in the Kingdom of God.  And that, already, is a transnational kingdom without borders, made of people from every nation, language, and tribe. 

Secondly, there is the most basic confession of Christianity: Jesus is Lord.  Jesus is the one to whom I owe my life. He is the only one who is worthy (Revelation 5).  The only one before whom all kings and nations will one day bow (Philippians 2:11).  (You do know that when that happens, America will cease to exist, don’t you?).  I owe my allegiance to him and him alone.  Jesus said you cannot serve two masters.   The early Christians took that at face value.  The historical record of the first few centuries of Christianity shows that many preferred to die (and did) rather than pledge allegiance to Caesar and Rome.  Moreover I’ve seen what can happen when Christians try to serve both God and country, when they try to claim Jesus as Lord while pledging allegiance to a nation.   Such duality of allegiance leads to a loss of focus, a syncretistic faith at best and idolatry at worst.  In America, it has created a nationalistic form of Christianity Jesus never intended.   One in which the Lamb has been wedded to elephants and/or donkeys, and is usually treated as the submissive partner. This has led to the propagation of a false Gospel that has distorted the Church’s witness to the world. 

At the same time I know that there are certain responsibilities everyone has by virtue of being a member of the society in which they live.  The Bible indeed confirms this.  For example, I must seek the welfare of my society (Jeremiah 29:7).  I am to pray for its well-being and for its leaders (1 Timothy 2:1-4). I am to show those leaders a measure of respect even in the face of deep and justifiable disagreement (1 Peter 2:17 – this doesn’t mean being a yes man who remains silent in the face of injustice or evil leaders. God’s people have always been commissioned to speak truth to power and confront evil wherever and whenever it abounds. But they must do so respectfully and peaceably, never violently or destructively).  I am also to be respectful of civil authority and obey the laws of my country so long as they do not contradict God’s commands (Romans 13:1; Acts 5:29).  In the event of conflict, God’s commands must be followed, and I may therefore need to engage in civil disobedience as a witness to truth in the hope that my leaders and nation might turn to the truth.  Nonetheless I must remain respectful and peaceful as I do so. (There’s a catch here of course, the powers that be, as well as those in cahoots with them, will never consider any criticism respectful, and will therefore accuse me of violating the very principles I just cited.  But I cannot worry about that.  I figure acting and speaking like Jeremiah and other prophets puts you on good ground in terms of being respectful in Gods eyes as you speak truth to power, so I’ll go with that approach).   These are my duties as a Christ follower living in the world in its present state.  I must always act in love and seek the best for the ‘city’ in which I live.

But such duty does not negate the fact that I am a citizen of heaven with a higher loyalty to a Higher King.  Indeed the very verses I have cited emphasize the truth that as I seek the best for the place in which I live I must maintain my full allegiance to my True King.  And this is the reason why I find it impossible to pledge allegiance to any flag or republic for which it stands.  No flag is synonymous with the cross, and no republic is synonymous with the Kingdom of God.   A Pledge is a solemn oath of loyalty, and allegiance connotes an absolute loyalty.   To take a pledge is even in a sense a religious act.  It is a promise of unwavering, unyielding fealty to a concept or ideal that is higher than oneself. 

I cannot make such a promise to anyone or anything other than Jesus and his Kingdom.  For me, as it was for the early Church, it feels idolatrous.  It feels like a betrayal of my True King and Kingdom.  It feels like an attempt to serve two masters.  If I were to say the pledge, I’d have to do it with my proverbial fingers crossed.   I wouldn’t really mean it.  And I’d feel pretty darn lousy about that.  It would honor neither my King nor the republic in which I live. 

And so I no longer say the pledge of allegiance.  Haven’t for years. 

Most of the time, this is not a problem.  I don’t go to school anymore, and I am no longer in Boy Scouts, so the pledge doesn’t come up a lot.  But still, from time to time, I find myself in situations where the pledge is recited.  What do I do then?  How do I balance my need to maintain absolute fidelity to my Lord with the obligation to be respectful to the civil authorities under which I live while seeking what is best for my society?  Well, this is what I have come up with.  While everyone else says the pledge, I silently pray.  I pray to acknowledge that Jesus is my Lord.  I ask him to help me live as a faithful citizen of his Kingdom.  I pray for wisdom for our leaders; that they come to, and act in accordance with, the saving knowledge of God.  And I pray for the welfare of the world, country, state, and town in which I live.  That righteousness and justice will reign. That I can be an instrument of welfare and peace.  And that the people of my ‘city’ who do not already do so will one day pledge allegiance to the world’s True King.   

I’m sure that doesn’t satisfy everyone.  I’m sure it ticks some people off.  But I’m not trying to satisfy people. 

I’m trying to satisfy my King. 

The King to whom I have already pledged my allegiance.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

May the Force…uh…Not be with You?

From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force – Matthew 11:12 NRSV

I love Star Wars.  It’s been a part of my life since I was nine.  As a kid, I loved it for the light sabers, lasers, and quirky space characters.  As the years have rolled by, I’ve loved it for its decades’ long exposition of the battle between light and darkness, the downright biblical struggle of ordinary people fighting the forces of empire.  Star Wars has made more than a few appearances in my sermons over the years, and I have often compared the Way of Jesus to the Rebel Alliance. 

But I’m starting to realize I need to be careful there.  The comparison is a good one insofar as it reminds us that in a world full of imperialists, we need rebels to stand up for what’s right and present the option of another way.  But it’s not so good in terms of the way the rebels of Star Wars do that.  The rebels in Star Wars, you see, are violent.  You might say they are ‘forceful.’  The ‘god’ of the Star Wars universe is called, appropriately enough, ‘the Force.’  The rebels use ‘the Force,’ violently, just as they instinctively use other less mystical forms of violence to achieve their ends.  In doing so, they wind up fighting, at least to some degree, on the empire’s terms. 

That seems to work in the Star Wars universe.  But I’m beginning to see that it doesn’t work so well in the real world. 

Let me explain.

The forceful tend to have their way in our world.  Selfish men and women have used their power to construct a society that preserves their interests at the expense of the interests of others.  This typically means that the wealthy, the powerful, and the privileged are the ones who benefit from the way a society is organized.  This is true in all societies, even in supposedly democratic ones.  As a friend commented the other day, when we rail against the violence, corruption, and injustice inherent in our systems, we need to bear in mind that the problem with those systems isn’t that they are broken.  The problem is that they are working fine.  They are achieving exactly what they were designed to do. 

Take the present political scene as an example.  For years, many, myself included, have railed against an administration straight out of the Star Wars universe.  Our Palpatine may have orange hair, and his apprentice may not wear a black helmet, but the similarities are nonetheless present.  Day after day, we ‘rebels’ have imagined ourselves following in the footsteps of our Star Wars heroes, battling an administration that is undermining democratic principles and thrusting the nation in the direction of dictatorship.  Our tactics don’t involve lasers and light sabers, but we are fighting the battle on the enemy’s terms, that is, by means of power politics. 

And it isn’t working. 

Our enemies are simply too good at what they do.  They know how to use the systems they created.  And so, as we fight against them on their own turf, using their own means, we find ourselves losing.  I would go so far as to say that in the present crisis, we may have already lost.  Many of us have pinned our hopes on the 2020 election in the effort to rid the ‘galaxy’ of its current emperor. But I have become convinced that for all the rightness of our cause, we may in the end still come out on the losing side. The emperor, despite our best efforts and current polling, stands a good chance of being re-elected.  Indeed I believe that’s likely. Why?  Because the system has been rigged by the violent, and violent men and women know how win by force. Sure, I hope I’m wrong. But you have to admit, it’s at least a distinct possibility.

Which leads me to believe there must be a better way.

And that takes me to Jesus. 

Jesus had a different approach.  Instead of battling the kingdoms of the forceful by using their means, he wrote a new script for insurrection.  He eschewed, not just violence, but all tactics of the imperialists.  He created an alternative community and called it to live at the heart of the empire.  His followers, he envisioned, would follow in his steps.  They would not seek political power.  Their movement would be ‘political‘ in the sense that it would challenge the current order, but it would not be political in the sense the imperialists used that word. They would not fight on the enemy’s terms.  They would love, sacrifice, and serve.  They would do these things even as the empire attacked them, even as it killed them.  Living this way, God’s way, they would offer the world another path.  This would be the way to bring in God’s Kingdom.  This, in fact, would be God’s Kingdom.

A movie series about such a rebellion taking place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away probably wouldn’t sell as many tickets as the Skywalker saga.  But here’s the thing: in the real world, this form of rebellion actually works.  We know this because God’s word tells us so.  One day, when history draws to a close, it will be those who participated in this rebellion who will be hailed, alongside of Jesus, as the world’s true heroes (see, e.g., Revelation 7:9-17). 

I’ve been thinking about this kind of thing a lot lately.  In a time when evil politicians plot and scheme, my forty plus years of immersion in the Star Wars universe makes me want to fight.  I read the news.  I see the cruel, foolish, life-endangering acts of the imperialists, and my heart and soul cries to unite with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa, and Rey Skywalker (nee Palpatine).  And while I do not turn to physical violence, the alignment of my heart to fight on the empire’s terms does spiritual violence to my soul.  I become angry, to the point of coming close to forsaking the call to love my enemies and follow Jesus’ path of downward mobility.  I am tempted to align myself with those who can take power and change the world from the top down, instead of from the bottom up.  And while I convince myself that I am fighting the good fight, I neglect the subtle danger that comes with aligning oneself with another, more benign version of empire, another attempt to establish a kingdom by force. 

And that is not Jesus’ way.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that those who follow Jesus’ way need to be silent doormats who say nothing while the imperialists cause them harm, or worse, say nothing while they hurt and harm others.  And it isn’t that we should refrain from taking sides in the struggle for justice (a tactic only the privileged can afford to take). That isn’t Jesus’ way either.  It is incumbent upon us to speak truth to power, challenge the empire, and present alternative ways of living.  It is incumbent upon us to demonstrate, in word and deed, the truth of Jesus’ Kingdom. 

But I, we, need to be careful of what we allow into our hearts.  We need to be careful lest we begin a journey that employs force instead of love, plays into the enemy’s hands, and forsakes the winning way of Jesus. 

And so, today, I’m committing myself anew to the rebellion of Jesus.  The rebellion of love.  And I’m praying and thinking hard about how to best do that.  If you are interested in making the same commitment, I’d love to hear from you.  Perhaps together we can find our way, which is and always must be the way of Jesus.    

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

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. 

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

God, Guns, and Country

‘Drop your sword’ – Matthew 26:52

I remember the first time I saw it.  Driving down the street of my hometown, I noticed the sign on a former neighbor’s front lawn.  Emblazoned in red and white were the words, ‘Trump 2020.’  Eye roll.  Above this were the words that caused me to do more than an eye roll:

‘God, Guns, and Country.’

I nearly puked. 

For starters, I find it almost impossible to believe that people dare to juxtapose the names ‘Trump’ and ‘God’ in a manner that suggests they are on the same team.  Paula White, the prosperity Gospel heretic who serves as the President’s spiritual advisor, has gone so far as to suggest that ‘saying no to Trump is like saying no to God.’  And she’s not alone.  So many Church leaders and politicians have said pretty much the same thing: Trump is ‘God’s anointed;’ ‘the Lord ordained this Presidency; those who oppose him are ‘demonic.’  Yes, somehow, even professing Christians have concluded that a racist, misogynist, white nationalist, fear-mongering bully is God’s man.  Not, mind you, in the Nebuchadnezzarian sense of God sending a wicked king to teach us a lesson and turn us from sin.  Trump is God’s man because he is carrying out God’s moral agenda for America. 

As a follower of Jesus, this flummoxes me.  I wonder what sort of god such people follow.  Trump’s values fly in the face, not just of the Christian faith (which is undoubtedly the professed faith of most who will buy one of those signs), but of all major religions of the world.  No right-thinking Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, or Hindu could possible look at the policies and manners of Donald Trump and say, ‘Yup.  That’s what God is like!’ 

In the words of Bart Simpson, ‘Aye caramba!’

But beyond that, there is the juxtaposition ‘God and Guns.’  That’s another one that flummoxes me.  Shane Claibourne, citing the fact that 41% of American Evangelicals own guns, echoes my surprise with the exclamation: ‘the followers of Jesus are packing heat!’  In my own experience, it seems that Christians are most often the most likely to at least figuratively stand alongside Charlton Heston and dare the government to pry their guns from their ‘cold dead hands.’  Christians are often the most likely to defend their ‘God given right’ to bear firearms. 

Which is strange given what Jesus said on the subject. 

The scene was the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus wrestled with the cup he was about to drink under the light of the Paschal moon.  His enemies came for him.  Judas.  Temple Guards.  200 Roman soldiers.  All carrying torches to arrest the Light of the World.  Armed to the teeth to arrest the Prince of Peace. 

Jesus was ready for them all, and ready to teach his disciples a crucial, if often neglected, lesson. 

Peter decided not to let Jesus go down without a fight.  After all, if there was ever a moment when the use of force would be justifiable, this was it.  He pulled his sword from his sheath and swung wildly.  His poorly aimed blow glanced off the head of, not a soldier, but Malchus, the High Priest’s servant (you know, collateral damage).  It did nothing more than chop away the small lobe of the servant’s ear.  But soon the disciples were scuffling with the guards and soldiers, as together they teetered on the brink of calamitous violence. 

That’s when Jesus spoke up. 

‘Enough of this!  Drop your sword!  Those who use the sword will die by the sword.’

Seems clear to me.  But just in case you think Jesus didn’t mean it, you should go back and read the rest of the Gospel story, in which Jesus allowed his enemies to have their way with him, never striking back, never taking up the sword, but instead following the way of Calvary Love. 

At the end of the story, the wisdom of Jesus’ way would be vindicated.  Those who use the sword will die by the sword.  Violence begets violence.  But those who follow the way of Calvary Love will find life.  For Calvary Love begets Resurrection. 

There’s a lot to think about in that.  But getting back to what this post is about, I’m pretty sure that when Jesus said to drop our swords, he didn’t mean to pick up guns instead. 

Mind you, followers of Jesus do possess weapons.  It’s not like Jesus sends us into the world defenseless.  He gives us the most powerful weapons of all: prayer and unlimited love. 

Not guns. 

Sorry Trump followers.  The juxtaposition ‘God and Guns’ is antithetical to Christianity.  Maybe not to the violent, nationalistic Christianity you have been taught to believe.  But certainly, to the Biblical Christianity found in the pages of the New Testament.  Followers of Jesus do not carry swords.  And they do not carry guns. 

And if you don’t understand that, well, you just don’t understand the Biblical Jesus. 

Oh, and by the way, the ‘God and country’ thing isn’t right either.  But that’s for another time. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Dawn From On High

‘When Herod was the king of Judea, there was a Jewish priest named Zechariah…’ – Luke 1:1

The following is an excerpt from chapter one of my book, The Dawn from High: Advent Through the Eyes of Those Who Were There.

It is a terrible thing to lose one’s faith. I know because there was a time in my life when I had. Not entirely of course. In fact, my wife and I did our best to live as God taught in the Law of Moses. Had I lived in your day, I would have been the guy who went to church every Sunday, believed every line in the Apostle’s Creed, and drove around with the outline of a fish on my car. But for all that, I had lost my faith. I knew God could do amazing things. I just didn’t think he would. I guess you could say I was a functional atheist. I believed, but at the same time, I didn’t BELIEVE.

My problem was caused by two things. First, the silence of God in the face of my people’s oppression. The Romans ruled over us with an iron fist, taxing us, enslaving us, and defiling the land with their pagan ways. Through the prophets of old the Lord had promised a deliverer, the Messiah, but he sure was taking his time about it. It had been centuries since that promise had been made, and so, while I never ceased to believe God would keep it, I didn’t expect that to happen in my lifetime. I simply did not believe I would live to see the day of his appearing. Perhaps sometime in the future, in the lifetime of my son…

That was the second reason I had lost faith. My wife and I had kept the Law. We loved the Lord with all our hearts, souls, minds and strength. But the deepest prayer of our lives, the prayer for a child, had gone unanswered. Well, that’s not entirely correct. It seemed as if it had been answered, and the answer was a big fat ‘No.’ It was the heartache of our lives, though we did our best to conceal it. Everyone saw us as so righteous and devout. It would never have done (or so we wrongly thought) to let people know we had feelings too. And so, while I believed in God’s promises, at the same time I didn’t. Sure, they were true. But not for Elizabeth and I.

But then one day God did something that restored my fragile faith. This is my story – the story of how God made me a believer again.

It was the proudest day of my career. I had been selected by lot to burn incense in the Holy Place of the Temple. This was an honor many priests never experienced, and yet another blessing I believed had passed me by, but there I was, chosen to perform this sacred act. I would come as close to the Most Holy Place, the place that once held the Ark of the Covenant, where God himself dwelled in the days of our ancestors, as a priest such as myself was permitted to go. Only the High Priest could go further, into the Holy of Holies, and that was only once a year on the Day of Atonement. I was to stand right outside that most sacred space and burn incense to the Lord. It was to be the greatest moment of my priestly career.

I made preparation and entered the sanctuary of the Lord. Before me stood the altar, behind it, the curtain that separated me from the Most Holy Place. I had chills. I could hardly believe I was there. With shaking hands I presented the offering. I was so nervous I honestly don’t know how I got through it, but somehow I did. I then prostrated myself before the altar, offered a prayer for the salvation of Israel and, still quivering, rose to leave.

Only I didn’t leave. Because that’s when I saw something I never expected to see.

It was an angel. I wish I could describe what he looked like, but honestly I can’t. All I can tell you is that he was both beautiful and terrifying. Thinking back on the experience, I can only chuckle at the fact that I had been standing as close to the presence of God as I had ever hoped to come, and yet was surprised to encounter the supernatural. Like I said, I was a functional atheist. But I wasn’t chuckling then. I was terrified. So there I was, shaking like a baby’s rattle, when just as suddenly as the angel appeared, he spoke.

‘Do not fear Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard!’ My heart nearly seized up when he said that, for I had just prayed for Israel’s salvation, for her deliverance from Rome. That alone was the greatest news I had ever heard. But deep within me, another thought competed for prominence: the thought that perhaps he was referring to my other prayer, the one my wife and I had offered so many times. I was no longer sure which of the two prayers he meant, but either one being answered would have been enough for me.

That’s when the angel really bowled me over.

‘Your wife Elizabeth will have a son, and you will name him John! You will be filled with great joy, as will others at the news of his birth. He will be great in God’s sight, and will be filled with the Holy Spirit. Indeed, he will bear the spirit and power of Elijah, and he will turn the hearts of Israel back to God. And he will clear the way for the coming of God’s Messiah!’

O Sovereign Lord! How easy it is for me now to thank you for what the angel said then! Not only did you give me a son, but you made him the one to prepare the way for your Messiah! Every reason I ever had not to believe had been dispelled in that moment. Not only could you do great things, but you were doing them! And you were doing them through the likes of me!

But alas, at the time, after so many years of not truly believing, I didn’t say anything like that. I said something else. Now please, before you judge me, put yourself in my shoes. My wife and I were hardly spring chickens. Sure, I knew about the story of Abraham and Sarah, and the miraculous birth of Isaac, but that had been a long time ago. And so, as I tried to get my mind around the angel’s words, I blurted out the dumbest thing I ever said in my life.

‘How can I know this will happen? I’m too old to have children, and my wife’s right up there with me. How can I be sure you are telling me the truth?’ Such a reasonable thing to say, don’t you think? So rational. So well grounded in fact. It was an entirely logical question to ask.

It was also utterly dismissive of the power of God.

The angel certainly thought so. He seemed to grow in size, beauty, and terror as he spoke: ‘I am Gabriel! The messenger of God! I have brought you good news, the greatest of all, and all you can say is that you’re too old! Well let me tell you ‘Mr. Too Old,’ I stand in the very throne room of God. And if you did that for even one minute, you would not dare question what God can do. But since you have asked for a sign, I will give you one. My words will be fulfilled in their time, but until they are, you will not be able to speak!’

I was struck dumb in an instant. I tried to respond but could not. But the punishment was fitting. I had been a priest for so long, but I had been all talk. When the chips came down, I did not believe. The angel’s punishment was fair, and which is more, redemptive, for over the next nine months, I would have ample opportunity to quietly watch, learn, ponder, and pray as I rediscovered what it meant to believe…

For the rest of Zechariah’s story, and to hear other perspectives on Advent through the eyes of Mary, Joseph, a Shepherd, Simeon, Anna, Herod and Gabriel, click here to check out my book The Dawn from On High.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Photo courtesy of Levi Bare on Unsplash.

Give Me Jesus

‘Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him’

– Paul the Apostle, Philippians 3:8-9(a)


Some days I feel like Zacchaeus.

For you who are church people, you know who that is. ‘Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he,’ as the old Sunday School song goes. For others, Zacchaeus was, well, a wee little man. He was the vertically challenged tax collector whose story is told in the 19th chapter of Luke’s Gospel. There we learn that he was the chief tax collector in the city of Jericho, a plum job if there ever was one. Jericho was one of the wealthiest cities in Judea, a place where a chief tax collector could make a killing by running what was essentially a pyramid scheme. Zacchaeus would hire junior tax collectors to collect sales, customs, and other taxes, knowing in advance how much he was required to hand over to the Romans. This left him free to collect enough to line the pockets of both his subordinates and himself (especially himself). Zacchaeus worked this system very well, and as a result had become very rich. Yes, it was good to be chief tax collector in Jericho.

But to become rich, Zacchaeus had sold out. He was a Jewish man whose name meant ‘righteous one.’ Obviously, his parents had high hopes for him. But he had exchanged those hopes for a lucrative career in collaboration with the Romans. I imagine he knew this: that he had been meant for something better, a life of meaning and holiness and the pursuit of God. But hey, this was the real world, right? If you wanted to make it there, you had to make compromises. Give up your idealistic dreams. Focus on what was in front of you. Make the best use of what the world gives you. And the world, it turned out, gave him a lot: a nice house, servants, and wealth enough to keep him in the lap of luxury for the rest of his life.

Some days, he could almost make himself forget that he was a sellout.

But then came the day when he could do so no longer. The day when Jesus came to town. Zacchaeus had obviously heard about Jesus. The Rabbi from Nazareth who had been traversing the Judean countryside, challenging Israel to live as God intended, delivering people from whatever bondage they had fallen into, healing people’s bodies, minds, and hearts. Jesus had been offering everyone the opportunity to fulfill their God-given potential and to experience life with God the way it was meant to be. The stories of Jesus were the kinds of things that made a man think of both who he was and what he could become. Such thinking provoked a crisis in Zacchaeus’ life. It made it harder to forget what he had become. It made him think that there was more available than life as a sellout.

And so, Zacchaeus thought, maybe there was. Maybe Jesus could give him what he had reportedly given to others. New life. New hope. A fresh start. Life with God as it was meant to be experienced. He had to find out. He had to see Jesus. There was only one problem: Zacchaeus was short (micros in Greek) and as Jesus made his way into the city, he was surrounded by groupies. Poor Zacchaeus couldn’t see over them. Zacchaeus knew that to see Jesus, he would need to think creatively. Up ahead, he saw a sycamore tree, and off he went. He cut Jesus and the crowd off at the pass and scurried up the tree. It may have been a creative solution to his problem, but it was also a ridiculous and undignified thing to do, a man of his stature and standing, running and climbing a tree. But Zacchaeus had summoned up the courage to do it, and it paid off. You can read the rest of the story in Luke 19:1-10, but the gist of it is this: Jesus found him and offered him a fresh start, which Zacchaeus eagerly accepted, embracing life the way God meant it to be experienced.

You may wonder why I feel like Zacchaeus some days. After all, I’m not a tax collector. I don’t run a pyramid scheme. I’ve never defrauded anyone. I’m not short. And those of you who know me probably don’t think of me as a sellout (at least I don’t think you do). But some days, I feel like one. As the years have ticked by, I have increasingly felt that my life as a pastor in the American church is one of compromise. Truth be told, I’m kind of sick of the compromise (for those in the church I serve, this is not a resignation letter – it’s a call to something deeper, so read on). Actually, and I know this sounds terrible, I’m sick of Christianity. I’m sick of religion. Institutional church. Denominationalism. Stone buildings and stained glass idolatries. I’m sick of the syncretism we pass off as the Christian faith, the façade that is actually a mixture of nationalism, patriotism, militarism, consumerism, selfishness, and apathy all tossed in a bowl and then glazed over with a thin veneer of Jesus. I’m sick of playing the game that pretends all of that is okay just so that I can collect a paycheck. It’s not okay. It’s all a farce. There is so much more available. So much more that Jesus offers. So much more to living the way that God intended.

I won’t to be a sellout any longer. I want to see Jesus.

That’s why, some days, I feel like Zacchaeus. I feel a real kinship with him. Just this morning, as I was walking my dog Corky, looking at the trees that line the streets of Collingswood, I imagined myself sitting with Zacchaeus in that sycamore tree. There we were, together, sick of everything we had become a part of, longing for something more, singing the words of the old hymn:

In the morning when I rise
In the morning when I rise
In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all of this world
Give me Jesus

Oh how I want Jesus. I don’t want anything else. Keep your stained glass, your stone, your denomination, your religion. Keep your well-constructed worship services that aim to please a consumer church. You can have it all. The only thing I want from here on out is Christ. May God grant me – and all of us – the creativity and courage to be like Zacchaeus, to be every bit as undignified and ridiculous as he was in the quest to get to Jesus.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Pastor Brent