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!

Providence

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord.  ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope’ – Jeremiah 29:11 (NLT)

Back in 2016, at about the time Donald Trump was about to wrap up the Republican Nomination for President, I remember thinking, ‘If this man becomes President, how will I explain it to my children?’  I thought so much about this that I ran a web search looking for answers.  I found an article that I thought was pure gold (I’d provide you with a link, but unfortunately it is no longer available).  The author suggested that Trump’s rise presented the perfect opportunity to teach our children that the words of scripture are true.  Specifically, she quoted Proverbs 16:18: ‘pride goes before the fall,’ and posited that it would only be a matter of time before a blustering narcissist like Trump would crash and burn.  This struck a chord in me.  Having written a book on the pride of Old Testament kings, I had thought long and hard about the truth of Proverbs 16:18, both in Bible times and ever since. I was convinced.  And so I talked to my children about the proverb.  I told them that somehow, in the story that was unfolding, the truth of scripture would once again be affirmed. 

It’s been over three years since I read that article.    My children and I are still waiting for the author’s prediction to come to pass.  Every time I think that it might, it doesn’t.  I have to admit that at times, I am deeply frustrated.  I find myself echoing the classic lament, ‘How long O Lord?’  Waiting, you see, has always been as hard for me as it was for the Psalmist. 

But just the other day, while wallowing in the worry of the wait, I remembered a word I have too often forgotten. 

Providence. 

When theologians speak of Providence, they refer to the guiding hand of God in all things; the fact that whatever happens, God remains in control.  Romans 8:28 makes the point in classic fashion: ‘in all things, God is working for the good of those who love him, for those called according to his purposes.’  That is, in the midst of all things, both the beautiful and the tragic (and everything in between), God is working to bring about His divine purposes. (Please note: this does not mean that God causes tragic circumstances, just that he works in the midst of them).

It’s a beautiful concept, the notion that no matter what, God has the whole world in his hands.  I think of the story of Joseph in the Old Testament (my personal favorite), the history of a man destined for great things, thrown into a pit and sold into slavery by his brothers, winding up in a fetid prison, seemingly experiencing the death of his dreams.  But in every circumstance, at every turn, God was with Joseph, shaping and molding him into the man he was meant to be.  When he became that man, God raised him from the prison to prominence in Egypt, from which position he was able to feed the world.  Or I think of Ruth and her tragic history, of how the death of her husband was the death of her dreams, yet God, in His amazing providential care, created beauty from her ashes, fueled her with new life, and through her, brought hope and redemption to both Israel and the world.  In each of these stories, and in so many others, we see the guiding hand of providence, working in the soil of bitterness to bring forth an abundant harvest of joy. 

Such stories bring me great hope.  They remind me that God is at work in history.  He always has been, and always will be (even in circumstances far worse than the ones we are passing through now).   I confess that for the most part I can’t make heads or tails out of what God is up to in these Trumpian days.  I can’t understand what good can come from separating families.  Or how things will get better amidst the rise of racist rhetoric and action.  I can’t fathom how the current effort to ‘Make America White Again’ will improve things in the long run.  I can’t comprehend how Christianity will prosper given its identification with this rancid political movement.  Quite frankly, most of the time I’m at a total loss as to how God has been working all things together for good over the past few years. 

But I know He has been.  I know that His providential care is working in the midst of it all.  And so, sometimes of late, when the news cycle is bouncing around in my head at night and I am having trouble falling asleep, I simply affirm, along with Alistair Begg, that ‘providence is a soft pillow and we may lie down in safety knowing that God is in control.’

Whew.

Yes, God is in control, even in the midst of this reality show we call the Trump Presidency.  God is working.  And perhaps, if we look hard enough, we can see some of what He is up to.  Perhaps God is, among other things, preparing and purifying His Church for a new day of service and witness.  He may well be using this time to reveal the hypocrisy that has long existed in His church – the fact that so many who claim to follow the crucified Christ have in fact been following a god who bears little resemblance to him.  Already we can see God calling forth resisters who, in the spirit of the prophets, are speaking truth to power.  He is revealing the vicious racism that is America’s original and undealt with sin, a sin that has always been present, hiding in plain sight, but can hide no more.  He is calling forth a new generation of Jesus followers to raise their voices for a more just world.  He is, we can hope, doing all of this and more, as he leads his Church to a new day when the children of God will live and walk in the way of the Messiah who brought Good News to the poor, announced liberation to the captives, set the oppressed free, and declared the acceptable year of the Lord (Luke 4:18-19).

Just how God will play all of this out, I don’t know.  Just how God will heal the wounds of this era, I don’t know.  But I trust that He will – that He will weave his tapestry of grace even in the midst of all the nonsense, hurt, and pain.  I trust that in the end, His tapestry will be beautiful. 

Until we see that tapestry in all is beauty, it falls to us to trust.  To stand for truth and justice.  To point to what is right.  To love at all costs.  To speak.  To act.  To share solidarity with the suffering and to wait for the day of redemption that is to come.  To do all of this, knowing, in the words of the Apostle Paul, that nothing we ever do in the name of Jesus will ever be in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58).

Because in the end, God will have His way. 

In the end, the prideful will fall, and the glory of God will shine from sea to shining sea. 

Providence is indeed a great comfort in times like these.  It reminds us that, though the sorrow may last for the night, and the night may last longer than we would prefer, the joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

Take heart my friends.  Morning is on its way. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

War, Peace, and Mr. Rogers

‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God’ – Matthew 5:9

‘Isn’t peace wonderful?’ – Fred Rogers

This past week, the United States and Iran journeyed to the brink of war.  Thankfully, it seems that cooler heads have, at least for the time being, prevailed.  While I decry the appalling lack of foresight and impulsivity that led to the crisis, I am thankful to leaders on both sides for their willingness to find an off ramp to what might otherwise have been the start of WWIII. 

The crisis of the past week has made me think of how nations and individuals need to look for such off ramps in the face of impending violence.  Which of course leads me to think of Mr. Rogers. 

You would have to be living under a rock right now not to know who Mr. Rogers is.  Even if you didn’t grow up watching his show, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, he is all over the cultural landscape.  Tom Hanks’s biopic, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is a big hit, as was the 2018 documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Fred Rogers exemplified decency and kindness and generosity, things in short supply these days, and so it isn’t surprising that America is taking a nostalgic look back to the life of a man who taught a whole generation how to be decent, kind and generous. 

What many don’t know about Mr. Rogers, (although the movies are making people aware) is that Mr. Rogers was subversive.  Quietly so, but subversive all the same.  His show’s first week on the air coincided with the Tet offensive in Viet Nam.  While America debated the wisdom of the conflict, Mr. Rogers made no bones about where he stood, opening his children’s series with a weeklong ode to peace.

The plotline for that first week of programming focused on a kingdom in crisis.  The Land of Make Believe had become a warzone.  King Friday, fearful of changes in his kingdom wrought by Lady Elaine Fairchild, has become convinced that foreign devils are at work.  His response bears an eerie similarity to today’s headlines.  To prevent further change, he increases security at the border, commences military exercises, and otherwise prepares for war.  What was once a peaceful kingdom turns into a dominion of fear.

As terror descends upon the land, many of the King’s subjects, chiefly Lady Aberlin and Daniel Striped Tiger, become increasingly concerned.  Lamenting the situation, Daniel has a wild idea (what other kind would you expect from a tiger?).  Turning to Lady Aberlin, he suggests they float ‘peace balloons’ over King Friday’s castle to let him know that his subjects want peace.  It seems silly, but the dissenters get to work, filling balloons with helium and writing messages on them: ‘love,’ ‘peaceful coexistence,’ ‘tenderness,’ and most obviously, ‘peace.’  They then send the balloons Friday’s way. 

The balloons land inside the castle grounds.  At first, the paranoid Friday thinks they are enemy paratroopers.  But as he reads the messages, he comes to his senses. ‘Stop all the fighting!’ he shouts.  Repenting of his foolishness, he calls off all preparations for war, and restores peace to The Land of Make Believe.

Now, this is where the cynic rolls his or her eyes and says, ‘That’s a nice story.  But for crying out loud, it’s a children’s TV show, and it takes place in The Land of Make Believe!  It doesn’t work that way in the real world, bub.  In the real world, those who turn their swords into plowshares wind up plowing the fields of those who didn’t.  Better to be ready.  To do it to them before they do it to us.’ 

But the cynic is wrong. 

G.K. Chesterton famously quipped, ‘Christianity has not been tried and found wanting.  It has been found difficult and left untried.’  For the most part, we can apply this to the quest for peace.  War seduces us by promising results.  It’s an effective way, so the argument goes, to deal with your enemies.  Never mind the carnage it leaves behind.  It’s the price you pay to protect yourself.  But there is another option, the option of nonviolence.  And oddly enough, when it is tried, nonviolence works. 

Consider Gandhi’s nonviolent revolution in India (built upon the teachings of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount), a revolution that took on an empire and won without firing of a shot.  Or look to the Civil Rights Movement in America in the 1960’s, when the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King and many others armed themselves with nothing but love and determination and brought about positive change.  Go further back in time to Saint Patrick’s missionary work in Ireland, when he helped change a savage land into the pacific outpost that saved civilization (see Thomas Cahill’s masterful book, How The Irish Saved Civilization).  Read the stories of how the Iron Curtain and Communism fell in Eastern Europe before candles and prayers.  Or the story of the five martyred missionaries in Ecuador whose nonviolence became the catalyst for the transformation of a culture that was perhaps the most violent on earth into a community of peace (you can watch the movies, The End of the Spear or Beyond the Gates of Splendor to learn about that amazing story).

The truth is that when people creatively seek peaceful resolutions to conflict, incredible things happen.  Yes, it is often at a cost.  But a far lower one than the cost of war.  Nonviolence and peace may seem silly and difficult, as ridiculous even as floating balloons over a castle to prevent a war.  But history shows that when people seek creative and ridiculous solutions, they often wind up changing the world.

Anyway, that’s what Mr. Rogers thought. 

And guess what?  It’s what God thinks too.  For when God established his plan to save the world, he did something as nonviolent and ridiculous – perhaps more so – as floating balloons over a castle.  He sent a baby into the heart of the Roman Empire, a baby who grew to face the world with no weapons but prayer,  unlimited love, and the guidance of his heavenly Abba, a baby who grew to be a man who would courageously embrace death upon a cross as the way to crush evil. 

Yeah, God is pretty crazy.  As crazy, if not more so, than Daniel Tiger.  But he is also pretty darn creative in his response to a sinful and violent world.    

Which is why, when danger lurks in our world, when change threatens to undermine our ‘kingdoms,’ we can’t respond as king Friday originally did.  We need to be more like Daniel Tiger.  We need to be ridiculously creative and try crazy things in order to achieve peace.  Because believe it or not, doing crazy things is God’s way of doing things.  And believe it or not, it works. 

Maybe it’s time we all started floating some balloons of our own. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: Story from Mr. Rogers’ first week of programming is adapted from Michael Long’s Peaceful Neighbor: Discovering the Countercultural Mister Rogers.

A Strange Way to Save the World

‘The people who walk in darkness will see a great light…for a child is born to us, a son is given to us’ – (Isaiah 9:2;6)

One small child.  Born into poverty.  Laid in a manger.  God’s plan to save the world.

Ridiculous. 

I mean, just look at the scope of the problem: a world fallen from its original purpose, trapped under the power of sin and death.  A power capable of separating people from one another and from God.  God had a plan to defeat it though, the prophets said.  A plan that would save the people from sin and death, turn swords into plowshares, guide humanity in the way of peace, replace hearts of stone with hearts of flesh, make all things new, and carry humanity back to God. 

Surely it would be a grand plan.  God would give us something mighty and powerful.  Something to set the hair of the world on end. 

Instead, he gave a baby. 

Worse still, he sent the baby into enemy occupied territory.  Israel was a mere a province in the vast Roman Empire, an empire that never hesitated to make an example of anyone deemed to pose a threat.  The ruler of Judea, King Herod, governed with the consent of this empire, and was just as bad.  Indeed, Matthew tells us that in the wake of Jesus’ birth, Herod did everything he could to kill him.  A bit later, Luke tells us, an old man named Simeon pronounced that the child will be opposed. 

And he would be.  The road that lay ahead of that small child born and laid in a manger was fraught with opposition.  He would wield no political or military power, yet somehow be called upon to navigate through a maze of religious, political, and demonic power to fulfill his mission.  Which was – and this is truly ridiculous – to reveal God’s love to the world by dying on a cross. 

This was God’s plan to save the world from the dungeon of darkness. 

Like I keep saying, it was ridiculous.  If we had stood by Jesus’ manger that first Christmas night, I wonder what odds we would have given that he would succeed?  A baby against an empire?  A baby against the power of religion?  A baby against the forces of hell?  What were the odds of success?

Zip.  Zero.  Nada.  Goose eggs. 

Someone out there may recognize the way I just said that.  That sequence of words comes from one of my favorite children’s books: Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux.  It tells the story of a mouse, Despereaux Tilling, who was born into his own version of a dangerous world.  He was so small that no one expected him to live.  But somehow, he did.  He was different from other mice in that he had very large ears and was born with his eyes open.  Thus, from the very beginning, Despereaux Tilling was able to see and hear more than others.  He was also unlike other mice in that while other mice were afraid of their own shadows, Despereaux dreamed of valor, honor, and most of all, courage.   

Despereaux and his fellow mice lived in the King’s Castle in the Kingdom of Dor, and while the other mice avoided contact with the people of the castle, Despereaux actively sought them out.  One day, while wandering around the castle, he met the Princess Pea.  And that’s when something grand happened: she smiled at him, and he smiled back.  And then, if you can believe it, he fell in love.  DiCamillo notes in her book right away that it is of course ridiculous for a mouse to fall in love with a princess.  But then again, as she puts it, ‘love is ridiculous.  But, love is also wonderful.  And powerful.  And Despereaux’s love for Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful and ridiculous.’

At about the time that Despereaux was ridiculously falling in love with a human princess, a series of events were unfolding that brought disaster to the Kingdom of Dor.  I don’t want to ruin the story for you – I would encourage you all to read it for yourselves – but the long and the short of it is that Pea is kidnapped and taken to the deepest part of the dungeon beneath the castle.  Guess to whom it falls to rescue her? 

That’s right, Despereaux Tilling.  Armed with nothing more than a spool of red thread and a needle, he descends into the dungeon to find the princess. 

Which takes me to the point of this post.  DiCamillo writes:

‘That night, Despereaux rolled the thread from the threadmaster’s lair, along innumerable hallways and down three flights of stairs.  Reader, allow me to put this in perspective for you: your average mouse (or castle mouse, if you will) weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of four ounces.  Despereaux, as you well know, was in no way average.  In fact, he was so incredibly small that he weighed about half of what the average mouse weighs: two ounces.  That is all.  Think about it: He was nothing but two ounces of mouse pushing a spool of thread that weighed almost as much as he did.  Honestly, what do you think the chances are of such a small mouse succeeding in his quest?  Zip.  Zero.  Nada.  Goose eggs.’ 

In other words, the same as the odds of one small child succeeding in his quest to save the world. 

But then, DiCamillo adds these beautiful words:

‘But you must, when you are calculating the odds of the mouse’s success, factor in his love for the princess.  Love, as we have already discussed, is a powerful, wonderful, ridiculous thing, capable of moving mountains.  And spools of thread.’ 

Love people.   Do you get it?  God’s strange way to save the world, through the birth of one small child, is surely as ridiculous as the notion of a mouse going off to save a princess.  And the odds of success in each case would seem to be about the same.  Zip.  Zero.  Nada.  Goose eggs.  But, just as it was in The Tale of Despereaux, you must, when calculating the odds of a small child’s success, factor in love.  For love, as we have said, is ridiculous, but it is also a powerful and wonderful thing, capable of moving mountains. And saving the world. 

This Christmas, know that it was God’s love that came down at Christmas time.  God’s love that led to the birth of that one small child.  God’s love that led that child to fulfill his mission and rescue us from our dungeons of sin and death.  This Christmas, I hope you will be a little ridiculous yourself – and love him back with all of your heart and soul – that you might experience just how ridiculous, powerful and wonderful God’s love truly is.  

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent