This week ushers in the New Year - 2019. This week's liturgical calendar includes Epiphany. The two speak to the same human desire, but in significantly different ways.
The New Year represents new beginnings. Life itself holds forth the promise of new beginnings in multiple ways, but the beginning of a new calendar year is the primary bearer of this deep seated desire.
The desire (and need) for new beginnings is rooted in the frailty of our humanness and in the brokenness of our world. Mistakes and failure are inherent to our human condition just as challenge and struggle are inherent to the nature of life. One way we cope with our in-process, less-than-perfect nature is through new beginnings - do overs, mulligans, a second serve, three strikes before you're out, four downs to make ten yards and achieve a fresh set of downs. (Did you ever notice how sports reflect our struggle with our humanness and our desire to "get it right"? But that's a thought for another blog.)
The New Year touches our desire to do it differently, to be better. So we make promises to ourselves to be better than we are. We call them New Year resolutions. And the New Year expresses our desire for life to be different. "This last year was a hard one. Maybe this New Year will be better." Our New Year's greeting expresses this latent hope - "have a happy New Year," "a prosperous New Year."
The New Year embodies our wishful thinking. The problem is our thinking doesn't deal realistically with the nature of life. Just because we flip the page on our calendar to the beginning of a new year does not mean the frailty of our humanness and the brokenness of our world has changed. What makes us think this year should be any different other than our desire for it to be? And what, other than our desire for it to be so, makes us think trying harder will help us overcome our human frailty?
Although my words sound pessimistic, I am simply trying to be realistic. Our hope of being a better person does not lie in the power of our resolve or in the amount of our self-effort. Our hope that life will be different does not lie in a new calendar year.
Which is where Epiphany comes in. The English word epiphany is borrowed from the Greek word that means "to reveal." It refers to a new understanding or a new way of seeing. Its image is of a light coming on that helps us see from a different perspective or "in a different light." We say "it dawned upon me." Such is Epiphany.
In the Church's liturgical calendar, Epiphany celebrates (1) the coming of the magi and/or (2) the beginning of Jesus' ministry at his baptism. The coming of the magi (Matthew 2) is Christ being revealed to the Gentiles - a light to the Gentiles (Isaiah 49:6). Jesus' baptism marks the beginning of his public ministry. Matthew's gospel used the imagery of light to speak of the beginning of Jesus' ministry in Galilee, quoting Isaiah 9:2: the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light; and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned (Matthew 3:16). Epiphany. The prologue to John's gospel used the same imagery: in him was life and the life was the light of all people, (John 1:4); the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world (John 1:9). John's gospel also records that Jesus, in the midst of Festival of Booths, proclaimed I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life, (John 8:12). Epiphany. In Jesus, the nature and ways of God were fully revealed. And, so, we can see.
Epiphany celebrates the light from God that helps us see differently. It helps us view the frailty of our humanness and the brokenness of our world in a different light. It helps us see them and, thereby, deal with them the way God deals with them - with grace and forgiveness.
The light that is in Jesus invites us to see our in-process, not-yet-mature (perfect) nature as the normal pattern of creation (first the seed, then the blade, then the stalk, then the fruit) rather than as the failure to measure up or as sin. It invites us to deal with our human frailty with forgiveness rather with condemnation and judgment. Forgiveness allows us learn from and grow beyond our failures (including our sins) without the baggage of guilt and shame. (Who ever learned to ride a bike without falling?)
The light that is in Jesus also invites us to view the brokenness of our world differently. Rather than seeing the challenges that life brings to us as something to be feared and avoided, we learn to see them as opportunities to learn and grow. They help us recognize and face our powerlessness, teaching us to rely upon God for a strength beyond our own. They become the context in which God works to transform and redeem life's brokenness.
Epiphany offers us more than a new beginning. It reveals to us a way of dealing with our humanness and life's brokenness that allows us to be different ... through the transforming work of God, through the process called spiritual growth.
So, on this New Year's Eve, I say, "Happy New Year!" Beyond this calendar based greeting, I pray for you a blessed Epiphany and the life-transforming promises it holds.
Monday, December 31, 2018
Monday, December 24, 2018
Christmas Mystery
Every Christmas I find myself turning to the Prologue of John's gospel, 1:1-18, for reflection. The gospel of Luke records the familiar birth narrative (Luke 2:1-20) - the journey to Bethlehem, no place to stay but a stable, the babe wrapped in strips of cloth lying in a manger, the angels and the shepherds. But the prologue of John probes the mystery of the birth.
The Word who was in the beginning of time entered time-space history.
The Word who was face to face as an equal with God became fully human - one of us - a human being with all its limitations and frailties, pain and struggle.
The Word who possessed everything that made God to be God embraced the dependency on God that is inherent to being human.
The Word through whom the world was created became a part of the world he created, taking the form of a helpless, vulnerable infant.
The Word in whom was life - God's life - took on the physical, mortal life of a human being.
The gospel writer used poetic imagery to describe the mystery of the incarnation - God robing the Divine Self in human flesh and living in our midst. (The original language carried the image of pitching one's tent, a reference to when the glory of God filled the Tabernacle at Mt. Sinai, Exodus 40:34.)
Mystery - mystery is that which is beyond our understanding. It is that which we cannot explain. Because it is beyond our ability to understand or explain, mystery is also beyond our ability to control or manipulate.
We humans like to know and understand. We like to be able to explain things scientifically. We like to be able to control and/or be in control. In short, we don't like mystery. Maybe that's why many, today, view the Christmas story as fake news.
But mystery is an important part of life, particularly the spiritual life. It reminds us that we are not God. Without mystery, we live as though we were God. Without mystery, we spend our energies manipulating and controlling in order to get our own way. Mystery calls us to something greater than our own desires and needs and agendas. Mystery calls us to surrender ourselves to that which is greater, to that which is worth giving our lives to.
The gospel writer did not seek to explain the mystery of the incarnation. He merely described it. And the Word became flesh.
What the writer did explain was the outcome of the Word becoming flesh. The Prologue speaks of two outcomes.
First, we catch a glimpse of Who God is and what God is like. And we beheld his glory, full of grace and truth. In Jesus, we see the beauty (glory) of God's character. We see the grace of God in action. We see what God is really like (truth). (We humans like to create God in our own image.) No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son ... who has made him know, vs. 18. Through the mystery of the incarnation, we can know what God is like. We can know God's ways.
That knowing leads to the second outcome of the Word becoming flesh. We become the recipients of God's grace. From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace, vs. 16. We live in relationship with God as the beloved children of God.
I cannot explain the mystery of the Word becoming flesh. But I can describe the character of God that Jesus revealed. I can describe my experience of God's grace. I can describe how my life is different because of God's transforming grace. There is no mystery there.
And so, this Christmas, I turn again to the Prologue of John's gospel to sit with the mystery of Christmas and how my life has been transformed because the Word became flesh.
The Word who was in the beginning of time entered time-space history.
The Word who was face to face as an equal with God became fully human - one of us - a human being with all its limitations and frailties, pain and struggle.
The Word who possessed everything that made God to be God embraced the dependency on God that is inherent to being human.
The Word through whom the world was created became a part of the world he created, taking the form of a helpless, vulnerable infant.
The Word in whom was life - God's life - took on the physical, mortal life of a human being.
The gospel writer used poetic imagery to describe the mystery of the incarnation - God robing the Divine Self in human flesh and living in our midst. (The original language carried the image of pitching one's tent, a reference to when the glory of God filled the Tabernacle at Mt. Sinai, Exodus 40:34.)
Mystery - mystery is that which is beyond our understanding. It is that which we cannot explain. Because it is beyond our ability to understand or explain, mystery is also beyond our ability to control or manipulate.
We humans like to know and understand. We like to be able to explain things scientifically. We like to be able to control and/or be in control. In short, we don't like mystery. Maybe that's why many, today, view the Christmas story as fake news.
But mystery is an important part of life, particularly the spiritual life. It reminds us that we are not God. Without mystery, we live as though we were God. Without mystery, we spend our energies manipulating and controlling in order to get our own way. Mystery calls us to something greater than our own desires and needs and agendas. Mystery calls us to surrender ourselves to that which is greater, to that which is worth giving our lives to.
The gospel writer did not seek to explain the mystery of the incarnation. He merely described it. And the Word became flesh.
What the writer did explain was the outcome of the Word becoming flesh. The Prologue speaks of two outcomes.
First, we catch a glimpse of Who God is and what God is like. And we beheld his glory, full of grace and truth. In Jesus, we see the beauty (glory) of God's character. We see the grace of God in action. We see what God is really like (truth). (We humans like to create God in our own image.) No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son ... who has made him know, vs. 18. Through the mystery of the incarnation, we can know what God is like. We can know God's ways.
That knowing leads to the second outcome of the Word becoming flesh. We become the recipients of God's grace. From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace, vs. 16. We live in relationship with God as the beloved children of God.
I cannot explain the mystery of the Word becoming flesh. But I can describe the character of God that Jesus revealed. I can describe my experience of God's grace. I can describe how my life is different because of God's transforming grace. There is no mystery there.
And so, this Christmas, I turn again to the Prologue of John's gospel to sit with the mystery of Christmas and how my life has been transformed because the Word became flesh.
Monday, December 17, 2018
Religious Reindeer Games
Rudolph was excluded from the reindeer games, so the story goes. He was strange ... different ... not like the other reindeer. A red, shiny nose just wasn't normal. It made the others uncomfortable.
Seems as though reindeer are a lot like us humans, at least in this children's story.
The human ego is amazingly adept at playing games, especially games based on comparisons. Often these games are dressed in religious garb. One such reindeer game is one I call the chicken pox game.
Chicken pox, as you know, is a highly contagious virus that causes an itchy rash, fluid filled blisters that crust over with time, fever, and an achy body. Before the development of a chicken pox vaccine, most people contracted chicken pox during childhood. I remember having chicken pox as a child and being confined to a separate bedroom, isolated from my siblings.
The religious game of chicken pox is a game of comparing the severity of people's cases. (Most of our religious games involve comparisons. The ego enjoys the sense of being "better than" someone else.) Cases of chicken pox are ranked by severity. Those cases involving the most and largest blisters are considered worse than the milder cases. Those people with the most severe cases are looked down on and excluded by those with milder cases.
This game, common among church people, is based on an overlooked (or ignored) reality. Any case of chicken pox - whether severe or mild - is caused by the same virus. Those with a mild case have the same virus as those with a severe case. The rash and blisters are symptoms of the virus in the system.
Stating the obvious: I am using chicken pox as a metaphor for sins. Those behaviors we refer to as "sins" are a violation of some standard of moral behavior. We fail to measure up.
Religious people have historically ranked sins, judging some as worse than others. (Consider our phrase "a little white lie", i.e., one that is not quite as bad as a blatant lie.) The worse sins receive the greatest judgment, meted out in condemnation, guilt, shame, and rejection. Sexually related sins are generally ranked among the greatest sins. Before divorce became so common place, it was treated as a kind of unforgivable sin in church circles. Even today, divorce is viewed in some churches as a disqualification for leadership. Alcoholism and other addictions commonly receive condemnation along with any kind of imprisonment for violating the law. Then there are those behaviors identified in the Ten Commandments: killing, stealing, adultery, false witness (not speaking the truth), coveting.
The problem with this ranking system is that it ignores a theological reality. All of these behaviors are symptoms (sins) of a deeper problem or virus (Sin). And we all have the virus! We all live out of our default, what's-in-it-for-me, self-serving nature that looks out for 'ole #1. We fail to live God's ways of self-giving love for which we were created.
Jesus refused to play the religious game of ranking sins. He regularly ate with and spent time with those who were viewed as "sinners" by religious people. He repeatedly challenged the judgmental spirit of the religious people (see Luke 5:29-32; 6:6-11; 7:36-49; 15:1-3; 19:1-10). He taught his followers to avoid the ego-feeding game of chicken pox when he exhorted them to not judge. Jesus called for self-awareness that recognizes the beam in one's own eye (Matthew 7:1-5; Luke 6:37, 41-42). (A judgmental spirit is always tied to a lack of self-awareness and self-honesty.) Jesus understood the difference between Sin and sins, disease or virus and symptoms. He taught his disciples that every expression of moral failure arose out of what was in the heart (Mark 7:21-23).
Refusing to play the game of chicken pox, Jesus lived out of grace. He forgave freely and accepted unconditionally. He treated each person with dignity and worth as a beloved child of God. It seems to me that the experience of such grace and forgiveness is what moves us beyond this silly religious reindeer game. After all, recognizing the beam in one's own eye does not leave much room for the ego.
Today, the practice of homosexuality has risen to the top of many people's/churches' list of sins. It lies at the heart of the controversy in The UMC today. It seems to me to be the latest, but certainly not the last, version of the game of chicken pox.
Do you think we will ever get tired of playing this religious reindeer game?
Seems as though reindeer are a lot like us humans, at least in this children's story.
The human ego is amazingly adept at playing games, especially games based on comparisons. Often these games are dressed in religious garb. One such reindeer game is one I call the chicken pox game.
Chicken pox, as you know, is a highly contagious virus that causes an itchy rash, fluid filled blisters that crust over with time, fever, and an achy body. Before the development of a chicken pox vaccine, most people contracted chicken pox during childhood. I remember having chicken pox as a child and being confined to a separate bedroom, isolated from my siblings.
The religious game of chicken pox is a game of comparing the severity of people's cases. (Most of our religious games involve comparisons. The ego enjoys the sense of being "better than" someone else.) Cases of chicken pox are ranked by severity. Those cases involving the most and largest blisters are considered worse than the milder cases. Those people with the most severe cases are looked down on and excluded by those with milder cases.
This game, common among church people, is based on an overlooked (or ignored) reality. Any case of chicken pox - whether severe or mild - is caused by the same virus. Those with a mild case have the same virus as those with a severe case. The rash and blisters are symptoms of the virus in the system.
Stating the obvious: I am using chicken pox as a metaphor for sins. Those behaviors we refer to as "sins" are a violation of some standard of moral behavior. We fail to measure up.
Religious people have historically ranked sins, judging some as worse than others. (Consider our phrase "a little white lie", i.e., one that is not quite as bad as a blatant lie.) The worse sins receive the greatest judgment, meted out in condemnation, guilt, shame, and rejection. Sexually related sins are generally ranked among the greatest sins. Before divorce became so common place, it was treated as a kind of unforgivable sin in church circles. Even today, divorce is viewed in some churches as a disqualification for leadership. Alcoholism and other addictions commonly receive condemnation along with any kind of imprisonment for violating the law. Then there are those behaviors identified in the Ten Commandments: killing, stealing, adultery, false witness (not speaking the truth), coveting.
The problem with this ranking system is that it ignores a theological reality. All of these behaviors are symptoms (sins) of a deeper problem or virus (Sin). And we all have the virus! We all live out of our default, what's-in-it-for-me, self-serving nature that looks out for 'ole #1. We fail to live God's ways of self-giving love for which we were created.
Jesus refused to play the religious game of ranking sins. He regularly ate with and spent time with those who were viewed as "sinners" by religious people. He repeatedly challenged the judgmental spirit of the religious people (see Luke 5:29-32; 6:6-11; 7:36-49; 15:1-3; 19:1-10). He taught his followers to avoid the ego-feeding game of chicken pox when he exhorted them to not judge. Jesus called for self-awareness that recognizes the beam in one's own eye (Matthew 7:1-5; Luke 6:37, 41-42). (A judgmental spirit is always tied to a lack of self-awareness and self-honesty.) Jesus understood the difference between Sin and sins, disease or virus and symptoms. He taught his disciples that every expression of moral failure arose out of what was in the heart (Mark 7:21-23).
Refusing to play the game of chicken pox, Jesus lived out of grace. He forgave freely and accepted unconditionally. He treated each person with dignity and worth as a beloved child of God. It seems to me that the experience of such grace and forgiveness is what moves us beyond this silly religious reindeer game. After all, recognizing the beam in one's own eye does not leave much room for the ego.
Today, the practice of homosexuality has risen to the top of many people's/churches' list of sins. It lies at the heart of the controversy in The UMC today. It seems to me to be the latest, but certainly not the last, version of the game of chicken pox.
Do you think we will ever get tired of playing this religious reindeer game?
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Preaching and Politics
"Politics has no place in the pulpit!" "Your preaching is too political!"
The sentiment voiced in such complaints (and such statements are always a form of complaint) is something I have often heard in my later years of ministry. I have reflected on such statements (complaints) with interest. It seems to me there is more to the statement than a desire to keep politics out of the pulpit.
It seems to me such statements reflect a desire to avoid that which is controversial or divisive. They speak of a reluctance to respectfully consider opposing views. Such statements indicate a resistance to engaging in the hard work of thinking and discussing that leads to deeper insight and understanding. They are a call for feel-good sermons that leave our belief systems unexamined, unchallenged, and intact so that our comfortable life styles are undisturbed.
It seems to me such statements are often really a complaint about a particular political position rather than about politics per se. They are a complaint that what is being proclaimed is not "my" position on an issue or does not reflect "my" political position. I often wonder if such statements would be made if the hearer agreed with what was being proclaimed. (Interestingly, I often hear complaints when worship does not honor such national holidays as Memorial Day or the 4th of July or Veterans Day. Is not the call to build worship around such national holidays not a political statement? But that's a topic for another blog.)
It seems to me such statements about politics reflect a lack of understanding of scripture. The majority of the preaching of the Hebrew prophets was political, addressing issues of social injustice. The prophets consistently called for justice and righteousness. They spoke of a time when their king would rule with justice and righteousness. The prophet's understanding of justice was not a legal understanding based on laws. Justice was a covenant term about how power was used in relation to the powerless, particularly the widow, orphan, and immigrant alien. To practice justice was to use power on behalf of the powerless - to defend, advocate for, and empower them. (See Isaiah 1:17.) To live righteously or rightly in relation to others in the community was to practice justice.
The birth narratives that are the focus of this Advent and Christmas season were originally political statements that challenged the rule of Rome. In the first century, the image of a pregnant woman riding a donkey came out of the birth narrative of Julius Caesar, the so-called Divine Son of God (Jupiter) who was viewed as the Savior who brought peace to the world. The song of the angels about peace on earth challenged Rome's kind of peace, a peace based on power used against the powerless for the advantage and benefit of the powerful (the opposite of the Hebrew understanding of justice). Our Western brand of Christianity has sanitized these stories, stripping them of their counter-cultural message. We have sentimentalized them into feel-good stories we use in our Christmas pageants and Christmas Eve services. In doing so, we miss the radical, anti-empire political message the stories communicated to the original audience.
The birth narratives of Luke were a prelude to the political nature of Jesus' preaching, teachings, and practices. Jesus challenged the cultural, social, economic, religious, and political practices of his day. He led a counter-cultural movement under the slogan of "the Kingdom of God." But, again, our Western brand of Christianity with its what's-in-it-for-me focus on going to heaven has domesticated the gospel so that it no longer disturbs the status quo of our lives or challenges the power centers of our world.
So it seems to me, preaching - if it is faithful to the original meaning of scripture - will be political. Preaching - if it follows the teachings of Jesus - will be disruptive, challenging the beliefs that protect the status quo of our lives. Preaching - if it proclaims the Kingdom of God - will call us beyond the world as it is. It will call us to be God's partner in creating a God-shaped world patterned after the ways of God that Jesus proclaimed, i.e., the Kingdom of God.
And so, politics is an unavoidable dimension of preaching - well, of my preaching. I unapologetically proclaim the politics of Jesus known as the Kingdom of God.
The sentiment voiced in such complaints (and such statements are always a form of complaint) is something I have often heard in my later years of ministry. I have reflected on such statements (complaints) with interest. It seems to me there is more to the statement than a desire to keep politics out of the pulpit.
It seems to me such statements reflect a desire to avoid that which is controversial or divisive. They speak of a reluctance to respectfully consider opposing views. Such statements indicate a resistance to engaging in the hard work of thinking and discussing that leads to deeper insight and understanding. They are a call for feel-good sermons that leave our belief systems unexamined, unchallenged, and intact so that our comfortable life styles are undisturbed.
It seems to me such statements are often really a complaint about a particular political position rather than about politics per se. They are a complaint that what is being proclaimed is not "my" position on an issue or does not reflect "my" political position. I often wonder if such statements would be made if the hearer agreed with what was being proclaimed. (Interestingly, I often hear complaints when worship does not honor such national holidays as Memorial Day or the 4th of July or Veterans Day. Is not the call to build worship around such national holidays not a political statement? But that's a topic for another blog.)
It seems to me such statements about politics reflect a lack of understanding of scripture. The majority of the preaching of the Hebrew prophets was political, addressing issues of social injustice. The prophets consistently called for justice and righteousness. They spoke of a time when their king would rule with justice and righteousness. The prophet's understanding of justice was not a legal understanding based on laws. Justice was a covenant term about how power was used in relation to the powerless, particularly the widow, orphan, and immigrant alien. To practice justice was to use power on behalf of the powerless - to defend, advocate for, and empower them. (See Isaiah 1:17.) To live righteously or rightly in relation to others in the community was to practice justice.
The birth narratives that are the focus of this Advent and Christmas season were originally political statements that challenged the rule of Rome. In the first century, the image of a pregnant woman riding a donkey came out of the birth narrative of Julius Caesar, the so-called Divine Son of God (Jupiter) who was viewed as the Savior who brought peace to the world. The song of the angels about peace on earth challenged Rome's kind of peace, a peace based on power used against the powerless for the advantage and benefit of the powerful (the opposite of the Hebrew understanding of justice). Our Western brand of Christianity has sanitized these stories, stripping them of their counter-cultural message. We have sentimentalized them into feel-good stories we use in our Christmas pageants and Christmas Eve services. In doing so, we miss the radical, anti-empire political message the stories communicated to the original audience.
The birth narratives of Luke were a prelude to the political nature of Jesus' preaching, teachings, and practices. Jesus challenged the cultural, social, economic, religious, and political practices of his day. He led a counter-cultural movement under the slogan of "the Kingdom of God." But, again, our Western brand of Christianity with its what's-in-it-for-me focus on going to heaven has domesticated the gospel so that it no longer disturbs the status quo of our lives or challenges the power centers of our world.
So it seems to me, preaching - if it is faithful to the original meaning of scripture - will be political. Preaching - if it follows the teachings of Jesus - will be disruptive, challenging the beliefs that protect the status quo of our lives. Preaching - if it proclaims the Kingdom of God - will call us beyond the world as it is. It will call us to be God's partner in creating a God-shaped world patterned after the ways of God that Jesus proclaimed, i.e., the Kingdom of God.
And so, politics is an unavoidable dimension of preaching - well, of my preaching. I unapologetically proclaim the politics of Jesus known as the Kingdom of God.
Monday, December 3, 2018
Pot Luck Dinners and the Teachings of Jesus
Pot luck dinners are a common tradition among church people. Such dinners provide a wide variety of foods from which to choose. A typical pot luck will include several meat dishes, different kinds of salad and veges, and a wide variety of desserts. Some people attempt to take a little bit of everything, but most pick and choose from among the many choices, choosing what they like.
Pot luck dinners, it seems to me, are a good metaphor for how many of us who call ourselves Christian treat the teachings of Jesus. We view Jesus' teachings as a pot luck, picking and choosing those teachings we like (i.e., support what we already think/believe) and skipping those teachings that challenge our beliefs and/or lifestyle.
We need not look far to find examples of this pot luck approach to Jesus' teachings. Evidence of this approach can be seen in our nation as well as in our churches and individual lives. Jesus taught us to love our neighbor as ourselves (Mark 12:28-34) but we, like the religious leaders of Jesus' day, choose to skip this teaching by excluding and ignoring those not like us (see Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, Luke 10:25-37). Jesus taught us to beware of the seductive power of material wealth (Luke 12:13-22), to not be overly anxious about material things (Luke 12:22-31), and to be generous in sharing our material wealth and resources (Luke 12:32-34; 16:19-31). Such teachings are hard to hear, much less embrace, in an affluent, capitalistic culture. It is easier to just skip over them. Another teaching we commonly skip is about the marginalized, those Jesus called "the least of these" - the poor, the alien, the sick, the imprisoned (Matthew 25:31-46). And how about his teaching to love your enemies (Luke 6:27, 32-36), to not judge (Luke 6:37-38; Matthew 7:1-5), to forgive without keeping score (Matthew 18:21-35)?
Just like going down the table at a pot luck, we are aware that we are skipping certain things that Jesus taught. But rather than acknowledging that we don't like those particular teachings or they are too disruptive to our lifestyle, we find fault with his teachings. We say they are unrealistic, impossible, too hard, impractical, too idealistic, too costly.
The reason we find Jesus' teachings so challenging is because they reflect a different way of life. Jesus taught a way of life called the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom, rooted in the nature of God, is the expression of the ways of God on earth. The ways of the Kingdom are diametrically opposed to the ways inherent to our fear-driven, self-focused human nature. In the Kingdom, each individual is of infinite worth and value. People are more important than material things. Power is used to serve others. Material wealth, as a form of power, is shared freely and willingly. The spirit of the Kingdom is one of generosity rooted in abundance - generosity in welcoming all (hospitality), with forgiveness, in sharing of material things.
To be a follower of Jesus - a disciple - is to embrace this different way of living. It is to embrace the ways of God that Jesus taught, the ways of the Kingdom.
Our struggle to live the ways of the Kingdom are an inherent part of being a disciple. (The gospels and the book of Acts reflect the struggles of the early disciples.) We cannot live the ways of the Kingdom in our own strength. Transformation - a Spirit-directed change in how we think and in how we relate to others - is needed. Thus, our struggle with a particular teaching of Jesus points to an area in which the Spirit is calling us to grow spiritually. The struggle is evidence of the Spirit's work in our lives.
The struggle calls for a choice - an act of the will. The struggle calls us to once again choose to live as a follower of Jesus, embracing the ways of the Kingdom as our own. To skip over the teaching as though we were choosing from a pot luck spread is to deny our discipleship and to cling to our old ways of living.
Choosing once again to follow the teachings of Jesus involves a pattern that spiritual pilgrims have used throughout history.
The first step of the pattern is turning to God with the struggle (what has traditionally been called repentance.) Repentance has been described as an about face or turning around. (The Hebrew word translated repent means to turn.) It is more than turning from something or expressing regret for something. It is turning to God. It is opening oneself again to God and God's work. This turning opens our struggle with Jesus' teaching to God's transforming work. Choosing to disregard or skip the teaching excludes God, blocking God's work in this area and leaving us unchanged.
Turning to God leads to acknowledging the struggle (confession). We acknowledge our inability to do what Jesus taught. This acknowledgement does three things. (1) It expresses our desire to live God's ways. Confession says, "I want to do what Jesus taught." Or, perhaps more accurately, "I want to want to do what Jesus taught." (2) It gives God permission to work (or continue to work) in this area of our lives. (3) It puts us in a position to learn from our struggle. Confession does not automatically resolve the struggle. It does, however, allow the Spirit to give us insight into what lies beneath the struggle. Recognizing the deeper issue allows us to learn and grow from the struggle. It often moves us beyond the struggle.
The Spirit's work leads us to a posture of glad dependency. Acknowledging that we cannot, in our own strength, do what Jesus taught, we turn to the Spirit for the power to do what we cannot do on our own. Trusting the Spirit to provide (faith), we choose to be faithful to Jesus and what he taught. We choose to do what we said we cannot do (act). Our initial efforts may we weak or inadequate or partial. They may even result in failure. The continuing struggle becomes the opportunity to choose again to be faithful, to continue to learn and grow, to continue to rely upon the Spirit for the power to do what we cannot do in our own strength.
Jesus' teachings are not a pot lunch dinner from which we pick and choose. They are the ways of God that lead to life. To disregard (skip) any one is to deprive ourselves of the spiritual transformation that leads us to life.
Pot luck dinners, it seems to me, are a good metaphor for how many of us who call ourselves Christian treat the teachings of Jesus. We view Jesus' teachings as a pot luck, picking and choosing those teachings we like (i.e., support what we already think/believe) and skipping those teachings that challenge our beliefs and/or lifestyle.
We need not look far to find examples of this pot luck approach to Jesus' teachings. Evidence of this approach can be seen in our nation as well as in our churches and individual lives. Jesus taught us to love our neighbor as ourselves (Mark 12:28-34) but we, like the religious leaders of Jesus' day, choose to skip this teaching by excluding and ignoring those not like us (see Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, Luke 10:25-37). Jesus taught us to beware of the seductive power of material wealth (Luke 12:13-22), to not be overly anxious about material things (Luke 12:22-31), and to be generous in sharing our material wealth and resources (Luke 12:32-34; 16:19-31). Such teachings are hard to hear, much less embrace, in an affluent, capitalistic culture. It is easier to just skip over them. Another teaching we commonly skip is about the marginalized, those Jesus called "the least of these" - the poor, the alien, the sick, the imprisoned (Matthew 25:31-46). And how about his teaching to love your enemies (Luke 6:27, 32-36), to not judge (Luke 6:37-38; Matthew 7:1-5), to forgive without keeping score (Matthew 18:21-35)?
Just like going down the table at a pot luck, we are aware that we are skipping certain things that Jesus taught. But rather than acknowledging that we don't like those particular teachings or they are too disruptive to our lifestyle, we find fault with his teachings. We say they are unrealistic, impossible, too hard, impractical, too idealistic, too costly.
The reason we find Jesus' teachings so challenging is because they reflect a different way of life. Jesus taught a way of life called the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom, rooted in the nature of God, is the expression of the ways of God on earth. The ways of the Kingdom are diametrically opposed to the ways inherent to our fear-driven, self-focused human nature. In the Kingdom, each individual is of infinite worth and value. People are more important than material things. Power is used to serve others. Material wealth, as a form of power, is shared freely and willingly. The spirit of the Kingdom is one of generosity rooted in abundance - generosity in welcoming all (hospitality), with forgiveness, in sharing of material things.
To be a follower of Jesus - a disciple - is to embrace this different way of living. It is to embrace the ways of God that Jesus taught, the ways of the Kingdom.
Our struggle to live the ways of the Kingdom are an inherent part of being a disciple. (The gospels and the book of Acts reflect the struggles of the early disciples.) We cannot live the ways of the Kingdom in our own strength. Transformation - a Spirit-directed change in how we think and in how we relate to others - is needed. Thus, our struggle with a particular teaching of Jesus points to an area in which the Spirit is calling us to grow spiritually. The struggle is evidence of the Spirit's work in our lives.
The struggle calls for a choice - an act of the will. The struggle calls us to once again choose to live as a follower of Jesus, embracing the ways of the Kingdom as our own. To skip over the teaching as though we were choosing from a pot luck spread is to deny our discipleship and to cling to our old ways of living.
Choosing once again to follow the teachings of Jesus involves a pattern that spiritual pilgrims have used throughout history.
The first step of the pattern is turning to God with the struggle (what has traditionally been called repentance.) Repentance has been described as an about face or turning around. (The Hebrew word translated repent means to turn.) It is more than turning from something or expressing regret for something. It is turning to God. It is opening oneself again to God and God's work. This turning opens our struggle with Jesus' teaching to God's transforming work. Choosing to disregard or skip the teaching excludes God, blocking God's work in this area and leaving us unchanged.
Turning to God leads to acknowledging the struggle (confession). We acknowledge our inability to do what Jesus taught. This acknowledgement does three things. (1) It expresses our desire to live God's ways. Confession says, "I want to do what Jesus taught." Or, perhaps more accurately, "I want to want to do what Jesus taught." (2) It gives God permission to work (or continue to work) in this area of our lives. (3) It puts us in a position to learn from our struggle. Confession does not automatically resolve the struggle. It does, however, allow the Spirit to give us insight into what lies beneath the struggle. Recognizing the deeper issue allows us to learn and grow from the struggle. It often moves us beyond the struggle.
The Spirit's work leads us to a posture of glad dependency. Acknowledging that we cannot, in our own strength, do what Jesus taught, we turn to the Spirit for the power to do what we cannot do on our own. Trusting the Spirit to provide (faith), we choose to be faithful to Jesus and what he taught. We choose to do what we said we cannot do (act). Our initial efforts may we weak or inadequate or partial. They may even result in failure. The continuing struggle becomes the opportunity to choose again to be faithful, to continue to learn and grow, to continue to rely upon the Spirit for the power to do what we cannot do in our own strength.
Jesus' teachings are not a pot lunch dinner from which we pick and choose. They are the ways of God that lead to life. To disregard (skip) any one is to deprive ourselves of the spiritual transformation that leads us to life.
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