The Value of Dots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or are we no better than Harry Lime?

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Wind and Waves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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

God’s Economics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that Socialism? 

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

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

God did. 

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

Sounds like God’s a bit of a Socialist. 

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

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

Of course not. 

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

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

It is my Christian duty to support them. 

That’s God’s economics.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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

We Are Not as Strong as We Think We Are

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until catastrophe hits. 

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

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

And that’s a good thing. 

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

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

But there is One with the strength we need. 

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

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Pastor Brent

Sympathy for Qaddafi

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously, what was wrong with me?

But then I remembered Good Times. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe, blame it on God. 

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

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

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

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

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

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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

Loving Enemies, Loving Jesus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God help them.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Courage

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

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

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

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

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

I was wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One man with courage is greater than a majority.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Photo by Oliver Cole, courtesy of Unsplash.

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

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

Providence (Video)

Hey folks – trying something different with this one. You can still check out the blog as usual below, but you can also watch it here on video! Let me know what you think!