Today's Scripture focus: Luke 13:1-9 It's amazing to me how many followers of Jesus are so quick to interpret the mind and heart of God for the rest of us when disaster strikes. I'm not interested in calling naming names, but there were those those that spoke up following Hurricane Katrina, saying that it was God's judgment on the city of the New Orleans. Others spoke up a couple of years ago when a tornado hit Minnesota, saying that it was the judgment of God on a certain denomination who was meeting at the time. According to this writer, God was sending a message of warning to this denomination because they were considering the adoption of a statement on the issue of homosexuality. Now, most of us would not go so far in attributing such disasters as God's judgment, but we casually adopt similar thought processes. If someone seems to have had good fortune of late, we may say things like, "Well, you must just be livin' right." If a person seems to have fallen on misfortune, we might say the opposite, "You ain't been livin' right." Typically, these are said in jest, but I think that deep down there are many that believes that there is a direct cause and effect relationship between the two - God rewards good behavior and God punishes bad behavior. I have to say that this kind of talk makes me really nervous - and really angry as well. It seems that Jesus felt the same way when a group of Galileans come to him and start making similar comments. "Be careful," Jesus seems to be saying. "Do you really think that one group of people were worse sinners than another group because they were victims of terrorism? Do you really think that this group of builders was worse off than the rest because of an accident at birth? Do you really think that this man was born blind because of some moral failure of his parents?" (see John 9) It's as though Jesus has taken a lesson or two from my Mamaw: "Every time you point one finger at someone else, you have three more pointing right back at you." Or in Jesus' words, "Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" (see Matthew 7:3) Twice, Jesus says in this passage, "unless you repent, you will all perish as they did." This is the real thrust of what is going on. The Apostle Paul really did get it when he emphasized, "All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." No one is exempt. I don't think that we really want a God like this - a God who rewards and punishes based on what our actions deserve. If God did act in this way, I'm afraid that none of us would be here. None of us is worthy. That is why it is called grace. In this text, Jesus refuses to allow simple answers to complex questions (if A, then B). Jesus will not allow quick fixes to solve some of the world's deepest problems. He also doesn't get into a debate about theodicy (how an all-good, all-powerful God could allow bad things to happen in our world) or try intellectually explain away God's actions. No, Jesus turns things right around on his listeners. Jesus is on a mission to bring his kingdom on the earth. He takes advantage of this teachable moment to refocus their attention and their questions. "Let this be a warning to you all. You don't know what tomorrow will bring. Repent now. Get on track now. Start living now." Eternal life doesn't start after the casket is sealed and the dirt settles. Eternal life starts right now as you repent and seek to be a follower of Jesus. So, instead of jumping to cast blame when disaster strikes, let it ring out in our heart a call to repentance. Every atrocity in the world (natural of man-made) is a reminder that we all sin and fall short of God's glory. Every sinister act serves as a mirror to the brokenness of our own soul. This is a time of repentance. Let it begin with me. Prayer: God, I confess that as I look around the world, my heart breaks for the pain I see. And yet, I must confess that there is no sin I am incapable of committing given the right circumstances. I admit that I want to rank my sin and compare myself to others, falsely comforting myself with the thought that I am not as bad as they are. However, you are the standard and I fall so short. I repent. Forgive me. Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. Amen.
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Today's Scripture focus: John 4:5-42 I really don't want to admit it, but I am a self-described "conflict coward." I really don't enjoy conflicts at all. There are some people in the world that just seem to go around looking for an argument. They will intentionally poke and prod people to get them to disagree and start some kind of conflict over an issue. There are others that will get into a fist fight if you just look at them the wrong way. Others enjoy posting nasty comments on social networking websites and blogs just to stir up trouble. I am not one of those people. Most of the time, I would just rather avoid conflict altogether. When I get into one of these uncomfortable situations, I usually have one of two reactions - (1) I will shut down or (2) use humor to try to defuse the situation. I'm sure you know the feeling of watching a conversation when you see the "train wreck" coming. You can follow the path that this conversation is heading and it isn't going to be pretty. Sometimes, you see it in the conversation of others - you know that tempers are starting to flare and one person is about to set off something that can only get ugly. It's usually about this time that I start inspecting the density of carpet fibers in the room or become intrigued by the design of ceiling tiles. I just can't bring myself to watch the wreck. I avoid eye contact, realize that "nature is calling," or find something to distract the parties from the inevitable collision ahead. Either that, or I make some goofy, off-handed remark about something that has nothing to do with the impending disaster about to take place. I will try to get attention focus elsewhere or on me rather than on the mounting tension. I think that the woman in today's passage had a similar tactic. Jesus has come into town and found a seat by the well in the middle of the square. It is noon, one of the hottest parts of the day, and most of the people are inside, seeking shelter from the blazing sun. As Jesus rests his weary feet, a woman comes out to draw water from the well. Why did she wait till now? Why not come early in the morning, when all the rest of the women in town come to draw water, so that it's not so hot? Aahh . . . there it is. She comes when no one else is around. Maybe she's avoiding the inevitable conflict that would take place if she showed up when all the "respectable" women were there. Maybe she was avoiding the dirty looks, snide comments, the finger-wagging, and the condemnation. You see, this woman has a past. But that doesn't seem to bother Jesus all that much. Jesus asks her for water and, after she gets over the initial shock, she protests that he shouldn't be talking to a woman like her. Jesus then does something really amazing, he offers her an invaluable gift - himself. He offers her the living water that will quench every thirst and never go dry. When Jesus encourages the woman to go call her husband, she quickly realizes that the jig is up. She's about to be outed. The thing she had wanted to avoid was becoming the central topic of conversation. "I . . . I . . . I don't . . . have a husband," she stammers. "You're right," Jesus replies. "You've had five husbands and the man you're living with now isn't even your husband." What do you now? Your secret is out. You're standing there emotionally naked before this man that you don't even know, but he sure seems to know you. She does what comes naturally to conflict cowards - change the subject. "I see that you are a prophet. I want to talk to you about worship." This is one of the great temptations of the Lenten season. As we spend forty days meditating on the cross - on what Jesus did, on what it means, on what it is calling us to do and be - we have to take a long, hard look in the mirror. We have the chance during Lent to dig deep into our own soul and face our own demons. We have the chance to slow down and confront the struggles that we usually rush by in the daily busyness we call life. The temptation is to want to change the subject and change it fast. Sure, God will let us do that. God's not going to force us to do anything we don't want to do. We can white-knuckle our way through Lent. We can go through the motions and still completely miss the point. This is a time to go deep with Jesus - to open up all the doors to all the rooms in our heart and let Jesus bring in his magnifying glass, pointing out things that we've become so accustomed to that we've overlooked it. It's time to let Jesus pull the mask off our hidden lives and allow his healing water to flow over them, to wash them, to expose them to the painful (yet healing) light of his truth. Yes, this is a holy season. An uncomfortable season. A needed season of our life. Don't change the subject. Prayer: God, being exposed can be painful. When I truly let you in, the shame, guilt, and ugliness of my heart gets brought to light. I realize that there are places in me that are dead with sin. Help me to be courageous and to place those in your hands. Bring me healing. Bring me life. Help me to keep from running away or changing the subject. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Psalm 27 If I were to try to count the number of worship services I have attended in my lifetime, I don’t think it would be remotely possible. Now, if I were to count the number of services that I distinctly remember and that had a profound impact on my life, it wouldn’t be more than a handful. January 2, 2005 was just such a date. My wife and I were in Turkey, serving on a mission team ministering to missionary families serving in North Africa and the Middle East. Sunday morning, we left the resort and conference center and traveled to the amphitheater in the ancient city of Aspendos. Built approximately 180 A.D., this was an amazing place to gather for a worship service, especially considering that a place like this was likely used for the persecution of Christians. While the acoustics in that place were amazing for singing and Dr. Gary Chapman preached a powerful message on a passage from the book of Acts, the thing that stands out most is one a cappella hymn. One of the men from the praise team sang a solo version of Martin Luther’s famous hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; our helper he amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe; his craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate, on earth is not his equal. This powerful hymn of faith finds echo in today’s passage from the psalms. The Lord is light and salvation, it begins. There is nothing in the world of which I should be afraid. God is the stronghold of my life. God is my refuge. A mighty fortress is our God. Unfortunately, the spiritual high doesn’t seem to last. At some point, you have to come down off the mountain. Talk of power and deliverance is soon swallowed up in hints of fear regarding enemies that seek to devour flesh and adversaries who lie in wait. Even though these first hints of trouble are couched in language of assured victory, by verse nine the psalmist’s tune has changed. You can sense the panic in his voice, “Don’t hide from me God! Don’t be angry with me! Don’t forsake Lord like my mother and father have! Don’t turn me over to my enemies! Don’t let them tell lies about me! Don’t let them inflict violence upon me! Please God, help!” How many times have I started Lent with good intentions? How many times have I said, “I’m giving up sweets . . . caffeine . . . guitar . . . buying anything extra . . .” only to fail at the first sign of cherry cheesecake, or gourmet coffee, or a great new release at the bookstore? Our grand intentions run into cold hard reality so quickly. What happens when our intentions are put under pressure? While it seems that there may be a moment of wavering in this psalm, it ends on a note of hope and truth: “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” Fears and doubts, struggles and failures, up and downs can only be endured because of the presence of God in the midst of them. Therefore, if we don’t feel God’s hand guiding; if we don’t feel God beneath us, lifting us up; if we don’t feel safe under the shadow of God’s wing, just wait. Wait for the Lord. Wait for God’s deliverance. Wait for God’s strength. And as we wait, may we find Luther’s words ringing in our ears: Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing, were not the right man on our side, the man of God's own choosing. Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is he; Lord Sabaoth, his name, from age to age the same, and he must win the battle. Prayer: God, I admit that I go back and forth between fear and trust. I don't always live up to my goals and fail to keep my commitments and resolutions. Help me to rest in you, my fortress, my strength, my refuge. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Philippians 3:17-4:1 We sat there in the office signing papers, taking pictures, and paying our money. I had made a special appointment, picked the boys up early from school, and showed up at the Post Office at the appointed time. We were taken back behind the place with which I was familiar - P.O. Boxes, mail slots, and the front counter personnel. "Why do we have to get a passport?" the boys wanted to know. "Well, you are going to need it when go on our mission trip this summer" I responded. I tried to explain that this little blue book with an eagle on the front, a picture inside, and a computer embedded in its cover were the proof of our citizenship. It told the government that we belong to this country and gave us permission to come back into our country once we returned from our trip. I tried to keep it simple, but they still didn't understand. They half-smiled for their picture, we paid our money, and then we waited. A few weeks later, the package arrived in the mail and it was official, our boys can travel out of the country with their shiny new passport and they can return home, assured that they have a place here because of their citizenship. As I read today's passage, I thought about this. Paul, in his letter to the church at Philippi, clearly states a truth that I think we pay lip-service to but don't think through its implications. "But our citizenship is in heaven," Paul writes. Yes, we live currently in this world, but our true place of belonging, our true home is not here, but with God. This is not the only time the New Testament writers expound on this theme. "We are ambassadors for Christ," Paul writes to the church at Corinth. In 1 Peter we read, "You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation," (emphasis added) and later, "I urge you as aliens and strangers in the land . . ." (1 Peter 2:9, 11). The message seems pretty clear: this world is not our home. One of the key messages of Jesus during his ministry was the announcement of a new kingdom that was coming to pass. In fact, his first sermon (as recorded in Matthew) echoed the message of John the Baptist, who said, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." The Sermon on the Mount could be seen as a description of what this kingdom would look like and the kind of community Jesus was calling its citizens to be. For with a new kingdom comes a new king. Membership in the kingdom means allegiance to Jesus as the only rightful king. Is it any wonder, then that the power structures of Jesus' day felt threatened by him? Is it any wonder that they drummed up false charges and hung him on a cross? We feel confident that there was more to the cross than this, but it was definitely not less than this. Which brings me to my point today - if we are called to be citizens of a new kingdom in which Jesus is the only rightful king, what is our passport? What is the sign that shows that we belong? What papers identify us with this crucified king? We must take on the cross of Jesus. As Paul puts it, there are many who are enemies of the cross - they live life on their terms, their bellies are their gods, they have their mind set on the things of the earth (power, possessions, success, etc.). Citizens of this other kingdom don't live that way. They have their mind set on the things of the Spirit, they lay down their life, they die to this old way of life, they are born again, and they are obedient to Christ. Christ is their only king and their allegiance goes to him and him alone. Though they are present in this world, their true citizenship is elsewhere. So let us glory in the cross - the cross of our King, the cross of our salvation, the cross of our citizenship - and let us carry our passport boldly, with humility and grace. Prayer: God, thank for the cross. Though it be the source pain and death, let me find in it your glory and my citizenship as a member of your kingdom. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18 In my final semester in seminary, I had to take a class called the Capstone Seminar. In this class, we were supposed to integrate all that we had been learning in classes with the reality of ministry in churches, hospitals, and other organizations. Our class was given the responsibility of leading one of the school's weekly chapel services, doing everything from music to scripture to preaching (in front of our professors, no less). After quite a bit of discussion of the things that stuck out to us, we finally honed in on our topic - dealing with the tension of doubt and faith. In my sermon, I remember making this statement: "The quality I value most from my time in divinity school is something I call 'doubt aptitude.' It’s the capacity of one’s faith to embrace the tension of doubt without becoming completely incapacitated by it." You see, through my study, I had been exposed to new voices that spoke so powerfully about faith, but also about the reality of doubt. Voices like St. John of the Cross, Mother Theresa, Barbara Brown Taylor, Frederich Beuchner, and Henri Nouwen to name a few. All of these writers faced what John of the Cross called the "Dark Night of the Soul" but it did not cause them to lose faith. In fact, for some, it caused them to enter more deeply into the life of faith. I remember closing my sermon with this: "Doubt is not the opposite of faith, apathy is. Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!" I have to wonder if this is what is going on with Abram in today's passage. In the previous chapter, Abram had chased the army that took his kinsmen captive and defeated them decisively. As he returns, he offers a tithe of their plunders (10%) to Melchizedek, the King of Salem, who throws a party for Abram and his men. He offers to let Abram keep the goods that he has brought, but Abram refuses, saying that he wants to be sure everyone knows that victory was from God alone. He is on a spiritual high. Today's passage, just verses later, opens this way: "After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision: “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” (Genesis 15:1 ESV) Of course it will. Abram said so himself, he wouldn't take the king's treasure because he was waiting for true treasure from the King. But instead of responding with thanksgiving, he responds with doubts. God promises to bless him and Abram says, "But God, I don't have any children." "Trust me Abram, you will." "But God, as it stands right now, my servant will inherit everything." "I've got it under control, Abram." "But God, how can I know that you are going to help us take the land?" This is just like us, isn't it? God has been faithful time and time again. God has been true to God's promises. God has been steadfast. And yet we respond, "But God . . ." Therefore, God does something really special for Abram. God says, "Let's make a covenant." Tradition dictated that a covenant would be made between two parties. They would each sacrifice animals, cut them in half, and dig a trench between the halves, where the blood of the animals would run. Then the two parties would walk through the trench of blood, their robe dipping into the blood. In this way, they were making a statement to all the world - the blood on my robe stands as a testimony to the commitment we have made to one another. It is binding. Abram is preparing for this type of covenant ceremony, when the sun begins to set and Abram falls into a deep sleep. While sleeping, He seems to have this vision of something (or someone) passing through the sacrificed animals. He sees a smoking pot and a flaming torch. Both of these are images/representatives of the person of God. Maybe the connection is the pilar of smoke and fire will lead the people out of Egypt. Maybe it's the connection to the brazen altar in the temple where sacrifices are burned. The specifics are not so important. The point, however, is that Abraham is not one of the parties walking through the sacrificed animals. God is making this covenant with the only person who is sure to uphold it for all eternity: God. This is a place we can rest our cap - a place we can rest our hope. Even in the midst of our faithlessness, God is faithful. In the midst of our doubt, God is certain. When we can't hold up our end of the covenant, God holds it up for us. In these days of Lent, as we continue to meditate on the countless ways we've failed to keep covenant, surely this is a word of hope that we need. Prayer: God, in my life I've demonstrated that I am either unable or unwilling to keep the covenant you established with your people. Thank you that it doesn't depend on me. Thank you for taking that role upon yourself. Thank you for holding me long after I've let go of you. Thank you for the kind of doubt that leads to a deeper kind of faith. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: John 3:1-17 It was one of the eeriest nights of my life. Michelle and I were on a camping trip throughout the state of Tennessee. We started out at Frozen Head State Park in middle Tennessee. We spent two nights in the “rustic tent” area with our little campsite right next to a running stream. It was peaceful, relaxing, cozy even. Why we left - I don’t know. The next stop was Big South Fork National River and Recreation area. We arrived close to dusk, so we knew we had to hurry to find a site and get our tent set up before nightfall. We picked a little spot with a nice view down to the nearby lake and Michelle set up the tent while I went looking for firewood. When the sun went down, it got dark - real dark - and as we lay down for the night, an eerie reality set in. We couldn’t hear anything. Nothing. Nada. Complete silence. No bugs. No tree frogs. No stream flowing. No wind rustling the leaves. Nothing. So, add these two together - no light and no sound - and we were pretty freaked out. When some animal crunched a few leaves near the tent and we both about jumped clear out of our skin, we decided that we would be moving on at first light. Throughout the Gospel of John, there is this interplay between light and dark. John’s gospel starts with this description of Jesus: “In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5) And yet, Nicodemus comes to Jesus under the cover of night. He comes to him in secret. He comes when everyone else is zipped up tight within their tents, waiting for the light to return. As one commentator put it, “He is not the first in the church nor the last to follow Jesus from afar” (George W. Stroup, Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 2). This is definitely a temptation isn’t it? I can remember a skit that I read some years back that had something to do with this. You know, that kind of skit that you think is pretty funny when you are in youth ministry, but you cringe years later when you think about how trivial it made the gospel sound? While I don’t remember all the details of the skit, I remember that it was something about being undercover Christians - about sneaking into places and just trying to blend in so that you could have a subtle influence over time. The point of the skit was to not do this - to be bold in living out our faith. Now, I don’t always like to admit it, but I do this. When first meeting someone, I usually hold off on telling people my occupation until we’ve had a chance to get to know each other a little. Dropping the whole, “I’m a pastor” bomb usually spells the end of normal conversation when you’ve just met. People start being guarded and apologizing for things that they would never apologize for. It’s like an instant case of the “guilties” sets in. For this reason, I like to follow Jesus from afar at times. We all do this, though. We don’t want others to see us stopping and praying at meals. Maybe we don’t want to risk losing our jobs by being outspoken about following Jesus. Maybe we don’t want to hear our friends give us a hard time about it. Maybe we’re forbidden to bring religion into our workplace. Maybe we just don’t want to the conversation to get weird. The reality is that we all have the temptation to follow Jesus from afar, just as Nicodemus does. This passage in John’s gospel ends with one of the most famous verses in all of Scripture: “For God so loved the world . . .” (you know it). Believing in Jesus is about much more than intellectual assent, though. To believe is to orient our lives around his teaching and to live it out daily. As the passage says in verse 21, “whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.” For John, there is no way to separate believing and doing. The same should be said for us as well. If we say we follow Jesus, we must turn from our sin. We must leave the darkness and step into the light of his love. This is what Lent is about for me - stepping out of the shadows of my own sin and into the light of Christ’s love and forgiveness. What about you? Are you up close and personal or following at a distance? Prayer: God, I admit that it is a lot easier to follow you at a distance. Give me the strength to see the truth of my sin and darkness. Help me to have the courage to step into Your light. Let me never be ashamed to be called Your child. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Luke 13:22-35 I can still hear the words even today: "God is doing something powerful in the cities of our world. You don't have to travel halfway around the globe to reach it, for God has brought the world to our doorstep. Where is God leading you?" I was a student at the University of Southern Mississippi and we were attending a mission conference in Dallas Texas, whose emphasis was on urban missions around the world. The speaker that night was the pastor of a multi-ethnic church in the metro Los Angeles area. My girlfriend sat next to me that night (it wouldn't be long before she would become my wife). It was the first time that we felt the call together. We didn't know where God was calling, what kind of ministry it would be, or any of the details, but we knew we were being called. Jesus, too, was called to a profound ministry. Likewise, he was called to a specific city as well. I mean, sure we all know that Jesus came to save the world, but read Luke's gospel and you get this real sense that there is something about Jerusalem that is calling out to Jesus. There is something there that is beckoning him and drawing him like a tractor beam. As one scholar noted, there are 90 references to Jerusalem in the Gospel of Luke while there are only 49 references in the other three gospels combined. It's the place where Luke's Gospel begins (the angel appearing to Zechariah while he served in the temple) and the place where his gospel ends (Jesus appearing to the disciples following the resurrection). In our passage today, we hear this passion for Jerusalem, as Jesus says, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem . . . How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" As I hear this passion and look out over the city to which I have been called, I can imagine Jesus saying, "O Asheville, Asheville (or enter your city name here)! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Later in Luke's Gospel, we read, "And when he drew near and saw [Jerusalem], he wept over it. . ." (Luke 19:41). When was the last time I wept over my city like that? When was the last time that I became so broken hearted over the rejection of God that it brought me to tears - that is crushed me? When was the last time I wept over my own sin and shortcoming like that? Jesus does an interesting thing in this passage. He likens himself to a mother hen. Now, I will freely admit that this would not have been my first choice of animals. While we don't have chickens or hens at my house, I remember mission trips in some impoverished rural areas and the crazy hens that tried to attack us on a daily basis. I remember summer vacations and my family's farms in Mississippi. Really, Jesus? A mother hen? You were called the lion of Judah. But a mother hen? In Hosea you were called a stealthy leopard or a bear who has been robbed of her cubs. But a mother hen? In Exodus, you referred to yourself as an eagle, carrying the people out of Egypt. But a mother hen? Really? Ad Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, though, this is Jesus' way. This is the way of the one who says, "The first will be last and the last will be first." This is the one who says, "you will save your life by losing it." There are two options in this story: you can be the fox or the mother hen. Taylor puts it this way: You can live by licking your chops or you can die protecting the chicks. Jesus won’t be king of the jungle in this or any other story. What he will be is a mother hen, who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm. She has no fangs, no claws, no rippling muscles. All she has is her willingness to shield her babies with her own body. If the fox wants them, he will have to kill her first. Which he does, as it turns out. He slides up on her one night in the yard while all the babies are asleep. When her cry wakens them, they scatter. She dies the next day where both foxes and chickens can see her -- wings spread, breast exposed -- without a single chick beneath her feathers. It breaks her heart, but it does not change a thing. If you mean what you say, then this is how you stand. This is where we find our shelter - under the wing of the crucified one. And this is where we make our stand - with our own wings spread wide, exposed, vulnerable, willing to lay down our life for those under our care. For our community. For our city. O Asheville, Asheville! How often would He have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. Prayer: God, break my heart for my city. Break my heart for the sin and suffering of those inside its borders. Break my heart for my own sin. Show me how to lay down my life that others may have life. . . that others may know you. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Mark 8:31-38 I really enjoy architecture. I love it when really great buildings combine form and function in such a way that they are almost inseparable. I love when a building makes use of ample windows and ambient lighting. I like architecture with curves. I also really love church architecture (maybe it is an occupational hazard). So many of today’s churches are so boring and devoid of meaning. I mean, you walk into a lot of churches and you can’t really tell if you are in a church, a conference room at the public library, or a school auditorium (actually, with as many church plants as I know of in our area, you might actually be in a school auditorium or cafeteria). I love when architecture says something. I love when churches make use of symbols to tell the story of our faith in visual ways. Recently, we have been doing some renovations at our church. We have been painting walls, and redecorating. As we’ve done this, we’ve had to take things off the walls, spackle over numerous holes and nicks in the sheetrock, and make some hard decisions about color palates and paint schemes. Those that have been involved with that process have probably heard me say on more than one occasion: “We are not going to just randomly slap stuff back up on the wall. We need to be intentional about what we hang up and where.” This stems from a conviction that I have that most people will forget the majority of my Sunday sermon by the time the bill is paid at lunch. The way in which we order and decorate our worship space, however, will preach over and over again, Sunday after Sunday. We need to be clear about what we are trying to say. With that said, let me confess that in all my travels to various churches, I have been struck by some of the depictions of the cross of Jesus. There are big crosses, little crosses, shiny crosses, wooden crosses, flowery crosses, crosses with other symbols (like a flame or a dove), crosses with writing on them, and on and on. In catholic churches, you find a multitude of crucifixes with Jesus hanging on them - there’s the realistic Jesus, the stylized Jesus, the agonized Jesus, the pretty Jesus (who looks as if this whole cross thing is just an inconvenience). I think of all this as I come to today’s passage. In the story leading up to it, we get this famous dialogue between Jesus and Peter: Jesus: Who do people say that I am? Disciples: John the Baptist; and others say Elijah; one of the prophets Jesus: But who do you say that I am? Peter: You are the Christ. All of Mark’s Gospel has been leading up to this point. The first eight chapters of Mark are some of the most intense portrayals of Jesus in scripture. This is a no nonsense Jesus. There are no birth narratives here - no shepherds in the fields, angelic messengers, babies wrapped in swaddling clothes. There’s not even a genealogy. In Mark, Jesus hits the ground the running. In the first chapter alone, Jesus has been baptized, fought with Satan in the wilderness, called some disciples, healed a man with an unclean spirit, healed Simon’s mother-in-law, healed many in Capernaum, went all throughout Galilee casting out demons, and cleansed a leper. And this is just the first chapter! You’re darn right, Peter - he is the Christ! He’s the one we’ve been waiting for! He’s the one God has promised! So, when Jesus “turns a corner” in verse 31 of chapter eight, we aren’t really prepared. “And he began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, and after three days rise again.” Do what? Huh? Come again! Talk to my church planter friends - if you are going to draw a crowd, then dramatic healings, great storytelling, incredible miracles, and radical inclusion are a great way to start. This kind of Jesus becomes Jesus, the caring helper; Jesus, the wise teacher; Jesus, the opener of new possibilities; Jesus, the welcomer of all. We all want to be like this Jesus. This plays well in the media. You can put that on a poster. But Jesus, the crucified? Jesus, the shamed? Jesus, the criminal? Jesus, the mocked? Jesus, the persecuted? Jesus, the fool? This isn’t really the best way to “make friends and influence people.” And it doesn’t stop there - Jesus wants us, his followers, to take up a cross and join him . . . voluntarily? It’s scandalous! It’s crazy! It’s just flat out shameful! And yet, it’s the Gospel. See, I have this issue with the sanitized versions of the cross I find in many churches. My favorite crucifix was in a little junk shop in Asheville, NC (I still kick myself for not buying it). It was made from a couple of old worn railroad ties. The figure of Jesus was shaped from two pieces of old rusted steel, curved out at the head, hands, and feet and held together by a rusty old bolt. It was ragged. It was not pretty, and yet, O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world, Has a wondrous attraction for me . . . So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross, Till my trophies at last I lay down; I will cling to the old rugged cross, And exchange it some day for a crown. Prayer: God, help me this Lent to let go of my pretty, sanitized crosses - of my easy faith that costs me little. Help me to take up my shame, my guilt, my foolishness, my embarrassment, my cross and follow after you. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Psalm 32 A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in a small room on the third floor of the west tower in the Buncombe County Detention Facility. It was a Thursday morning around 10:45 and we were there as part of our church's prison and jail ministry. At the end of our Bible study, we always try to leave room for the members of the group to ask questions or bring up topics that they may have been thinking about during the week. Aaron, one of the regular members of our study, had been very courageous that day, confessing that he often felt lost in the Bible studies. He didn't have a lot of background in the church or in the Bible and often didn't know what people were talking about, couldn't really follow the conversation, and didn't really know how to grow in his faith. As we talked about the importance of prayer, I mentioned that there are times that I find prayer very difficult. During those times, I often turn to the Psalms because they served as the Book of Worship for the Hebrew people (containing songs and prayers for use in worship). I told the group that I sometimes use the psalms as a starting place for my prayers, praying them aloud until my own words come. Aaron was shocked. "That's what I'm talking about," he said. "I had no idea that the psalms were songs and prayers and that the Hebrew people used them in their worship. That is really helpful to know." This story came to me as I was reading today's scripture. I have a tendency at times to read the songs and prayers of the psalms in a very 21st Century American manner (i.e. very individualistic) - as though these were strictly the psalmist's personal prayers to God (or, when I'm feeling really narcissistic, my own personal prayers). I read today's psalm and I immediately think of times of personal confession - admitting my sins to God. I think of the countless times I've gone to God and admitted the same thing as the psalmist, "I will confess my transgressions to the LORD.” It truly does make sense to me to understand this Lenten journey as a wandering in the wilderness of my own sin and rebellion . . . a time to confront myself and agree with God that I "have fallen short of God's glory." And yet . . . And yet, I have to remember that these psalms were not only the private worship book of the people, but the public worship book as well. In reading this psalm together, it was not just an acknowledgment that I, as an individual, have sinned, but that the community has sinned (I'm not going to go into detail on that because I included it in the accompanying booklet that goes with this blog. For more on this, see the section in the Lent book titled "Confession" on page five - you can access the digital version of the book here). At its root, confession is a deeply relational practice. While the "justice" system in the United States is structured so that people are convicted for breaking a law of the land or of the state, the biblical picture is that sin is a break in relationships - our relationship with God and our relationship with one another. Confession, likewise, must be understood in such a relational manner. When we confess, we are acknowledging that have wronged one another, we have broken the sacred trust of our relationship, and we have damaged our relationship with God. Confession is an act of seeking healing, forgiveness, and reconciliation as a community (with one another and with God). As a result of this corporate confession, we find that divine forgiveness is no private affair either. As we confess our sins to one another and to God, we also become the mediators of God's forgiveness. What did Jesus say in the gospels? He said, "Truly, I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." (Matthew 18:18 ESV) Isn't this the essence of community, confession, and repentance? As we loose one another from the obligations and guilt with which sin has imprisoned us, God will likewise loose them in heaven. As we bind ourselves to one another in love and reconciliation, God will likewise bind us together into the beloved community, the body of Christ on Earth. Yes, we will have to say confession is a courageous act. It is not for sissies. It is for those who are daring enough to live into a radical community of reconciliation and healing - one where we dare to lay our sins bare before our brothers and sisters, only to hear these words echo in our ears, "I forgive you. I love you." Prayer: God, give me eyes so that I may see the truth of my sin. Give me a broken heart over the relationships I've damaged. Give me strength to confess those sins to you and to those in my community. And give us healing and forgiveness in Jesus' name. Amen. Today's Scripture focus: Romans 5:12-19 I am glad for second chances. We live in a culture that teaches us the following pieces of "wisdom":
As I read today's passage, I get the distinct impression that Paul is saying to us, there is good news - Adam gets a second chance in Jesus. Where disobedience came through Adam, obedience comes through Jesus. Where death came in through Adam, life will come in through Jesus. Where sin came through Adam, righteousness will come through Jesus. Where judgment came through Adam, grace and forgiveness will come through Jesus. Jesus, the "second Adam," comes to redeem the fallen Adam and all those that have been stained by his failure. It got me to thinking, though - what about Eve? Eve was Adam's wife. As the scripture says, a man will leave his mother and father and cleave (be united) to his wife. Following that train of thought, we might ask "Who would be this equivalent in Jesus' life?" A quick look at scripture reveals a striking answer. In the letter to the Ephesians, we find these words: Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. (Ephesians 5:25-27 ESV, emphasis added) Did you catch that? If Jesus is the "second Adam" then the church is the "second Eve." It is as though Genesis were repeating itself. Adam is placed into a deep sleep (a death, maybe) and from his broken body Eve is drawn out. God breathes the breath of life into this new being (the word for Holy Spirit means "breath" or "wind" - see John 20:19-23 or Acts 2:1-13). Eve is united with Adam. You see, I believe that the church is intended to be the perfect fulfillment of God's divine plan for Adam and Eve, even for all creation - "And they were naked and not ashamed." "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth." "She is [Eve,] the mother of all living." Now, I have been accused of being an idealist more than once. I know that you don't have to look very far to see that Church has fallen far short of this great opportunity. Divisions, squabbles, wars, violence, hatred, pain, prejudice, fear - all these can be traced back to the Church. But it doesn't change the fact: the Church is the bride of Christ, who "gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word." Did you catch that last part? You see, that is what I'm finding in my life this Lent - cleansing from the word of God. I need to hear God speak these truths over me: "I love you. I created you. I accept you. I want you. I desire to be close and intimate with you. I long for you." I think that if we could fully grasp this identity as Christ's bride - sanctified, cleansed, the fulfillment of Eve's fallenness - we just might be on the road to making it a reality. We might be fruitful in the ways of justice and peace in the world. We might multiply forgiveness, reconciliation, love, honor, respect, and healing. We might begin to embody God's shalom. We might be naked - not in our clothing choices, but in being transparent with one another, taking off all the masks and pretentions - and have no shame. We might just find that we are becoming the bride of Christ. We might just find that we are becoming the Second Eve. Prayer: God, it is a high calling to be a part of your bride. We confess that we have fallen dreadfully short of living up to that call. We confess that we have succumbed to the temptation to live by the culture of this world - hiding behind power, manipulation, fear, and hatred. Help us to come to you. Wash us with the water of your word. Let us stand before you, naked and unashamed, for we have been made holy by our Groom. Amen. |
Ecclesia Writer's ConsortiumWe are blessed at Ecclesia to have a number of gifted writers and teachers. Here, you'll find devotions, meditations, and musings from a sample of those writers. Archives
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