Prostitutes and Tax Collectors

 In the gospels Jesus takes a lot of grief for who he hangs out with.  And not just from arrogant snobs.  His own disciples sometimes wonder about the company their teacher keeps.  But the accusation most frequently tossed at Jesus is that he eats with “tax collectors and prostitutes.”  That is why, when many Christian’s talk about what it means to truly follow Jesus, our willingness to associate with someone like a prostitute becomes the place where the rubber meets the road.

And yet, if you go back and read many of the barbs thrown at Jesus, they don’t mention prostitutes, but rather “sinners”.  But they almost always mention tax collectors.

When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (Matthew 9:11)

The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.” (Matthew 11:19)

But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law who belonged to their sect complained to his disciples, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” (Luke 5:30)

Even more amazing is that Jesus himself uses tax collectors as examples of a pretty low form of humanity.

If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? (Matthew 5:46)

So, I guess if you really want to be a disciple, it is vital to spend some quality time with an IRS agent.  But I think we instinctively know that is not the case.  You cannot make a one to one connection between “prostitutes and tax collectors” with whom Jesus chose to associate and “prostitutes and tax collectors” today.  Rather, it is vital for Christians to discover who are our, modern-day “sinners and tax collectors.”

To do so, we must first remember what made these people so repugnant to their fellow Jews.  Prostitutes or sinners is fairly obvious. They sinned against God’s law.  But it goes deeper than that.  It is one thing to commit adultery.  It is something else to continually and willfully commit adultery.  For a descendant of Israel to witness a fellow Israelite disregard God’s law over and over again was too much.

Tax collectors were even worse.  Judea was under control of the hated Roman Empire.  The promised land was occupied by a pagan invader.  Tax collectors chose to work with and collect taxes for Rome.  They were traitors who profited from their treachery!

So you see the situation.  A good, upstanding, law-abiding Jew could have thought the following:  “We are occupied by idolators because we have sinned.  Look, those prostitutes are blatantly disobeying our most precious commandments.  It is because of sin like that we are suffering.  And to top it off those tax collectors work with our oppressors.  And they make money from it. How disgusting!”

That is why it is such a big deal that Jesus eats with these types of people.

So who today would we, as followers of Jesus, find this repugnant?  Who do we view as profiting from sin?  Who do we believe are traitors to our most sacred values?

These questions are difficult.  Our society is much more fractured than 1st century Judaism.  In America, what one person finds repugnant the next person celebrates.  This is also true for Christians.  We disagree sometimes on even what is sin.  So there may not be a particular category or type of person that fits “prostitutes and tax collectors” for us.

Instead, let’s make it personal.  Who do you find offensive and disgusting?  For some, homosexuals would qualify.  We find their lifestyle repugnant and believe they are warping society.  For others, it might be those who find homosexuality so repulsive.  For a conservative it might be liberals.  For democrats, republicans.  Look into your heart. Who do you blame for the ills of society?  Who do you think is destroying the church?  Those are your sinners and tax collectors.  And the call of Jesus is to be so kind, so good, so full of grace, that those people want to eat with you.

Now understand, Jesus never says that being a prostitute or tax collector is fine with him.  In fact, Jesus is extremely hard on sexual sin.  He is the one that not only says adultery is wrong, but lust as well.  He asks the woman caught in adultery to “go and sin no more.”  When he eats dinner at the home of Zacchaeus, a tax collector, Zacchaeus is so moved by the experience that he vows to pay back four times to anyone he has ripped off (my assumption is he makes this promise knowing he would have to do some payback).  Jesus does not eat dinner with tax collectors and prostitutes because he thinks those are worthy professions.  He eats dinner with tax collectors and sinners because He thinks they are worth it.

And that is the challenge for us.  Can we be so moved by the kingdom that we find worth in those we typically see as repulsive?  Can we love those we usually skewer? Can we be so full of grace that even our enemy must admit that we make a not so bad dinner companion?

 

 

Church

(The bulk of this was written after our worship service Sunday evening)

As minister at a small church, my times of worship too often consist of running around.  I am solving problems, coordinating people, helping visitors, taking kids to the bathroom.  I often go an entire service without actually making it to my seat.  So when I get to slide in a row next to my wife and kids, it is a wonderful, if fleeting, moment.

Sunday I had such a moment.  Only I got way more than I expected.

As I found my wife in the crowd (in such moments it helps to be married to a tall redhead) and moved onto her row, here is what I noticed.

On the row in front of us were four people.  A young married couple, holding hands.  Looked like two people in love.  And they are.  But I also know that he has truly struggled with addiction.  And she recently got out of prison.

Next to them, a man I have known for years.  He is the definition of the working poor.  Sometimes dirty, always smelling of cigarettes.  He sits on the same row where he used to sit with his wife.  She died a year ago this week.  Seeing him reminds me that I need to announce that tomorrow night we are having a dinner and fundraiser to try to buy a headstone for her grave.

Beside him, an older gentlemen.  The oldest man in our church.  He can no longer see well enough to even read the bible.  But that’s okay.  He has accomplished the task of memorizing most, if not all of it.  He bounces and claps as we sing, he doesn’t have much rhythm.  But he moves anyway, as if his loss of eyesight has made him believe that no one can see him.  Oh, that’s not the truth.  He doesn’t care because He loves Jesus so much.

And underneath their chairs is my three-year old son.  He is playing with the little bitty cars he is earning for going in the potty.

This odd juxtaposition is not odd.  I see something close to it every week.  I am used to it.  But I don’t think I should be.  There are so many places on earth where this mix would not happen.  Sadly, one of those places can sometimes be church.  As I look, I should be in awe.  For what I am seeing is what church actually is.

You see, church is not the songs we sing and the prayers we pray.  Although it is that.  And church isn’t just the people who are there.  It is that too.  But it is more.  Church is the place where the mystery of God’s work in the world is glimpsed for a moment.  Where a song of praise and a recovering addict and communion and a half-blind man and a sermon and a little boy with his play cars all somehow seem perfectly harmonious.

We too often want so much from church.  Great music that moves us.  A sermon that is funny and heart-wrenching.  People that genuinely seem interested in us.  Classes for our kids that are exciting.  It may be a lot to ask, but that is what we are looking for.

But I think maybe, just maybe, we don’t want enough from church.  Music and sermons and children’s classes don’t seem to matter when we glimpse God at work. Because in the moment we notice God’s hand we see beyond what we want, into what we truly need.  The gospel.  Made real.  Made alive.  Among us.

I am not sure this can be replicated.  That a mission statement or staff meeting can make it happen.  It is only the work of God.  The love of Christ.  The guiding of the Spirit.  But Sunday, at least for a few minutes, I got to be along for the ride.  And I knew it.

So all I could do was look.  And sing.  I looked at an addict, an ex-con, a widower, a blind man, and a little boy.  And I sang.

I look at my son and at them.  And I sing.  Bless the Lord, O my soul, O my soul.  And I look at him and at them.  And I sing.  Worship his holy name.  And the couple in front of me raises their hands as one.  Sing like never before, O my soul.  And the old man is half-turned around, clapping off-beat and smiling at me.  I will worship your holy name.

 

White Guy Talking Race

I remember my first preaching class in college.  On the first day our professor stormed into the room and launched into a tirade about “how dare we assume we could speak for God.”  He spent the next forty-five minutes convincing me I had no right to say words on behalf of the Lord Almighty.  He blasted away, and when he finally stopped to give us a ten minute break, I gathered with some others from class and we actually began formulating plans for changing our majors.  We were shell-shocked.  I have no idea why I returned for the second half of class.  But the same professor then spent forty-five minutes declaring that “those who know the truth cannot remain silent.”  God needed us, called us, to take his message to the world.  How could we refuse?

I left confused and convicted.  My call to preach was much more daunting and weighty, yet much more important, than I had come close to imagining.

So when events happen like those in Ferguson, MO, or Staten Island, I struggle.  I struggle with whether I, as a white male, have the right to say anything? Or whether as a proclaimer of Jesus I have an obligation to speak?  Dare I tread these tumultuous waters too casually or self-righteously?  Dare I avoid this topic when I follow the suffering servant?

So these words are not put forth lightly.  And these words do not presume to be the entire truth.  But, these words are an attempt to once again heed the call.

A word to my white brothers and sisters.  Be careful.  Wounds are deep and raw.  Be careful.  Watch your words.  Be careful.  Guard your hearts.  This is an opportunity to love and understand, or a chance to drive wedges so deep they may not be overcome in our lifetime.  It is all there so be careful.

Understand that you don’t completely understand.  That you can’t.  That is okay.  You don’t have to completely understand to love.

Don’t be foolish.  If an answer is easy and obvious, it is probably not an answer and is best kept to yourself.

Remember, this is about more than any one incident, about more than some single statistic.

Before you defend your “side” or “government” or “ideals” or whatever, remember that if something is good and righteous and loving, it does not need to be defended.

Don’t pretend to know what it is like.  I am not a poor black kid.  Neither are you.

If you feel the need to point something out, think twice.  No, think three times.  I saw that someone I know felt the need to mention that “those people are stupid and self-defeating to riot.”  Notice the “those.”  I am seeing far too many “those, them, and they” in much of what I read.

And remember, what do you do if you truly believe the system is against you?  You cannot uphold George Washington and John Adams as heroes and then tell others they must demure to the system again and again when they perceive it to be stacked against them.

To my brothers and sisters of color.  Please forgive me.  I love you in my heart.  I love you in my head.  But I cannot always seem to find the right actions or words.  I want to help things be better, be right, be just.  But I don’t really know what to do most of the time.

I would never call you a bad name, but I have ignored your plight.  Forgive me.

I have often loved you as individuals, but not as a people.  Forgive me.

I find some things that some people of color do offensive. I struggle with whether that is some form of privilege or racism.  I honestly don’t always know.  Help me.

I want to help, but I am not sure where to start.  Teach me.

Finally, to all of us.  We are close to Christmas.  We celebrate that God came near.  That He came as Immanuel.  God With Us.  We get the God part.  We get the with part.  Let’s not forget the us part.

 

First Things First I’m A Realist…

This is a true story.  One Tuesday this past August, my wife was coming home when she ran over what she describes as a “big, metal Lego”.  By the time she got to the house, one of the front tires was flat.  So, I put on the spare and drove to Wal-Mart.  They wouldn’t put a new tire on because the “Lego” had bent the rim.  I then took the rim to a friend’s house where we beat on it until it was not bent.  By this time it was too late to get a tire, so I headed home, slightly frustrated that I had not accomplished my goal of replacing the tire.  The next morning, I headed out to the car and now the rear tire was flat.  As you probably know, cars only have one spare!  Forced to leave the car jacked up (and fearful that it might fall on one of my children), I quickly returned to Wal-Mart to now get two tires.  Even though I should be at work, I spend a chunk of my day waiting for tires and then head home to put them both on the car.  But is that the end? Of course not.

That night my girls tell me their potty won’t flush. I wish I could say this is uncommon, but we seem to have a need to use lots of toilet paper.  I grab my plunger, but before I can even start, my wife yells that our toilet won’t flush.  Uh-oh.  I immediately rush outside and an alarm is sounding on our septic tank.  I tell everyone to avoid all flushing, showering, washing, etc… and I will fix it in the morning.

Day three begins with a guy coming to pump our septic tank.  It is full, and he pumps it out, but that does not fix the problem.  Our septic tank is the type that actually sprays out treated water.  It is basically a water treatment plant buried in my back yard.  But for some reason, it will not spray.  Perhaps the pump is bad.  So I spend an extremely warm August afternoon down in a bunch of “poopy water” trying to figure out the problem and eventually remove the pump.  I try to find one in town, but you can’t just get one at the local hardware store.  So I am forced to overnight one from Arkansas.  Pumps are not cheap and the price for overnighting one is downright ridiculous.  But I have nine people in my house who desperately want to flush and shower.

My wife and children leave for a family birthday party.  I go to the gym, not to work out, but to use their shower since I smell like the inside of a 100 degree toilet (sorry Hendrick Health Club :).  I meet my family at the birthday party for a few minutes of revelry.  As I am headed home from the event, I feel the unmistakable wobble of a flat tire.  I pull over and yes, one of the tires I purchased the day before has a cut in it.  Did I purchase road hazard?  Of course not.  Why?  Because it is a stupid waste of money, unless of course you get a flat tire the VERY NEXT DAY!  I am exhausted and still smell faintly like poop, but there I am on the side of the interstate putting on the spare tire once again.

Day four involves another trip for a tire, and waiting for the overnight delivery of a septic pump.  I paid an arm and a leg for that overnighted package.  So of course, it didn’t come.  My kids are washing our dishes in a tub in the back yard.  My boys find it thrilling to be told to use the bathroom outside (my girls not so much).  And I am waiting for whatever happens next.

And yet, I am happy.

That’s right happy.

Why?  Why am I happy as I appear to be living out some west Texas summer version of the movie Groundhog Day?  Because I am trying to be a realist.

Merriam-Webster defines a realist as “a person who understands what is real and possible in a particular situation : a person who accepts and deals with things as they really are.”

Now it may seem that a realist would gripe away in a setting of multiple flat tires and septic tank woes. After all, the reality is that the situation stinks (sorry about that).  But to gripe and complain in that moment would only make me a “situational” realist.  Why?  Because if a realist sees how things truly are, then yes I can gripe when it all falls apart.  But that also means I have to shout hallelujah when things don’t fall apart.  I can yell and scream when the septic tank won’t spray, but I have to praise God every time the toilet flushes without incident.  And I don’t know about you, but I don’t do that.  But what if I did?

What if instead of waiting until things go poorly to remind myself to be thankful, I did it every day?

As I talked about with my children, for three years our septic tank worked and we never noticed.  So let’s not gripe now.

Here is my idea then: if you want to complain, go ahead.  Gripe away.  Bad day.  Horrible haircut.  Crying baby on your airplane.  Not enough money.  Not enough time.  Let it all out.  Wail and moan.  But, then you also have to jump for joy for all the things that go well.  Good days.  Nice people.  Enough to eat.  Enough to wear.  Toilets that flush.

A song we rarely sing anymore says “Count Your Many Blessings.”  But I think the key line is “Name Them One By One.”  So get started.  Alarm clock woke you up on time: give thanks.  There was food to eat for breakfast, give thanks.  You own a toothbrush, give thanks.  You have teeth, give thanks.  You have clothes to wear, give thanks.  You probably have so many clothes you’re not sure what to wear, give thanks.  It’s cold and windy but you are in a house, give thanks.  Make a quick pit stop before you head out the door, and that toilet works, give thanks.

That’s right, today when you flush the toilet and it works, then give a little praise, say a little thanks.  After all, you are just keeping it real.

 

 

 

 

Marriage, Death, and Ministers

A month ago I had a completely new experience as a minister.  I performed a wedding and a funeral on the same weekend.  For the same family.  The mix of emotions, the joy and grief, was overwhelming for the family, and exhausting for me.  But, that is my job, my role, my gift in this community.

Over the years I have had the privilege of performing lots of weddings.  That’s what happens when you live in a town with three universities.  Young people come to school, find their partner, and I get to be a small part of that journey.  It is one of my truly favorite things to do.

I have also done my fair share of funerals.  Most of these have been older people.  Grandmothers and grandfathers.  But far too many have been young.  Babies or young adults cut down well before their time.  While it is always difficult, every funeral I am asked to perform is a great honor.

When I was seventeen and made the decision to become a minister, these moments were not what I imagined I would be doing.  I would preach and teach.  I would study.  I would guide people and give wise counsel.  I would lead a congregation in doing great works for the kingdom.

But, a lot of my time is spent on other things.  Hospital visits.  Planning weddings.  Driving people to the doctor.  Visiting with those who have lost a loved one.  Taking people to job interviews.  Listening to people about their health issues.  Giving rides to and from church events.  Working through people’s financial struggles.

I am a talker, but I spend much more time listening than I thought I would.  I am a doer.  But I spend much more time just sitting with people than I thought I would.  I am a dreamer.  But most of my days are spent dealing with the harsh realities of life, rather than dreaming grand visions for the church.

In our age of professionalism, I know many ministers who spend their days studying and preparing.  That is what their church has asked them to do.  To spend their time almost completely on lesson preparation and congregational direction.  If I am honest, there are moments when I am jealous.

But, I can’t imagine spending my time working for the church, and yet most of that time not spent with the church.  And not simply because part of being a minister is sharing life with people.  I think lessons and sermons and counsel suffer when these activities are not consistently a part of what I do.

Sermons are born out of hospital rooms as much as they are out of study.  Wisdom comes from walking with people through financial difficulties as much as it comes from a book.  Leading a church is as much about how we serve and love as it is what we say and the programs we start.

Too often I can forget what an honor it is for people to share the most intimate and difficult parts of their lives with me.  I am often invited in as the only non-family member.  I see the tears, hear the cries of anguish, witness the leaps of faith.  I am there as a symbol of God’s presence, but it is usually my heart and faith that are uplifted.

Whenever I have the opportunity to speak to a young man or woman who is studying to be a minister, I make sure and describe the job completely.  They need to know that along with the preaching and teaching there are late nights in hospital rooms and phone calls where you have truly have no good advice to share.  I do this not to discourage them. Nor do I tell them because it is the truth.  I do it so they can know the full beauty and amazing grace of the life they are choosing.

Drawing the Line

At the end of a long day, as I lay my head on the pillow and think back through my actions and words, I have never once wondered: Did I murder someone today?  Murder is one of those things where you know if you did it.  It is pretty easy to get your mind around the sin of murder.

Or take adultery as an example.  A man has sex with someone who is not his wife.  Adultery.  While I am not saying that there is absolutely no nuance when it comes to sins like adultery, stealing and murder, they tend to be fairly easy to define.

However, take a sin like greed.  I see it and feel it, but it is slippery.  Glaring examples of spending millions of dollars on a second home may be obvious, but typically I can’t point it out and say “there, look at the greed”.  I can say “Ooh, you took that iPod from the store without paying for it.”  Stealing has a line that you either cross or you don’t.  Greed does not.

But perhaps it should.

Maybe greed would be easier to combat if there was a line drawn in the sand that said “anything over this line is greed.”  You would know for sure when greed was there.  What would our churches be like if we could actually point at greed like we can other sins?

So here is a crazy idea:  we pick an amount of money, if you spend more than that amount on yourself and your immediate family in a year, we call it greed.  What we would expect is that every penny you make over this amount would be given away.  To church, charitable organizations, poor people you know, whatever.

Now, there would be two ways we could pick a number.  We could set an amount per person.  So, for every household member a family could spend say $10,000 (just making up numbers here).  Or there could be a set amount per household, say the mean income in the U.S. (that’s around $69,000).  The actual number isn’t that important for this thought exercise.  What is important is that there is some type of defined limit.

Now imagine your life for a moment, with a greed odometer (a greedometer?) set on it.  You no longer have to wonder if you are being greedy with your money.  You either are, or you are not.  You either crossed the line, or you didn’t.  This would simplify the sin of greed making it possible to actually combat.

As you ponder this let me answer a few criticisms of this plan.

1. Yes, I understand that this is America and we have the right to spend our money however we choose.  But I am not talking about Americans in general, rather I am looking at Christians.  Christians give up the right to do just whatever with their money (the same way they give up the American right to pretty much do whatever they want with their sexuality.)

2. Yes, there are some families that would go over that amount in a year because of some circumstance.  Someone gets sick, or they care for a special needs child.  Of course there are exceptions, but that does not mean a rule is not needed.  I have known way more people who break their budget over something they want, than I have known people to go into debt purely from the necessities of life.

3.  Yes, I know I am not the Pope or the President or whomever.  I have no “right” to hold anyone to this standard.  But my question is “how disconcerting would this be to you?  If there was a point out there where you became “greedy” how concerned are you about that limit?”

4.  Yes, I know greed is about the heart.  You can be greedy in lots of ways that have nothing to do with how much money you spend on yourself.  But Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  Notice, your heart follows your treasure, not the other way around.

Look, all of this is really just a goofy exercise.  I seriously doubt we could ever pull this off.  The haggling over a number would last an eternity.  But there is a truth here we do need to look at.  Talking about greed and injustice sounds good.  It is kinda fun to be all prophetic and gripe about the greediness of our fellow Christians.  But, you start putting real numbers to it, and it gets personal, fast.  Most of us prefer greed to be something that we rail against in others, not something we are battling personally.  Maybe we like it that greed is hard to define.  It makes it easier to be a little greedy.

You Just Had To Be There

Iconic radio personality Casey Kasem is in the news this week.  His family is in court suing one another over his medical care.  His whereabouts appear to be a mystery to the judge.  It is apparently a gigantic mess.

This makes me sad because Casey Kasem actually played two parts in my growing up.  First, he was the voice of Shaggy on my favorite cartoon; Scooby-Doo.  But more importantly, he hosted American Top 40.  This show counted down the top 40 most popular songs in America each week.  In our town, the radio show aired on Sunday afternoons.  In fact, it was a Sunday afternoon in 1983 when I stumbled upon the show while sitting in the car listening to the radio as my mother did a little shopping.  It only took a couple of songs for my life to be altered.  This was my music!  Where had it been all my life?  American Top 40 immediately became a Sunday afternoon staple for me.

The show was sometimes my only chance to hear certain songs.  I would sit, listening with anticipation, my finger hovering above the record button on my Jambox.  When Casey announced the songs I wanted I would smash the button down and preserve the music on a Maxell tape.  Now I could hear the song over and over again, always with just a smidge of Casey’s voice before and after.  I treasured those tapes.

It is probably impossible to explain to kids today how much a radio show that simply counted down popular songs could mean.  In fact, it is one of many things I can’t possibly explain to my children.  The awe the first time I saw a video arcade game.  The excitement when we got a VCR.  My thought process after I watched the first episode of Miami Vice (only 6 days, 23 hours until that comes on again!)  Actually rooting for a network during Battle of the Network Stars.

The only way for my kids to understand these things would be to experience them.  And not just watching a clip on YouTube.  To somehow go back in time, live during that era, and really experience it.  I can tell them all I want, and they can nod their heads all day, but they still don’t get it.

I think that describes being a Christian.  We try over and over to explain to others why they should follow Jesus.  We talk about benefits, and love, and grace.  And we are amazed when people just flat turn us down on our offer.  Why would they not believe something that is so obviously wonderful?  Why would they choose not to believe the greatest thing ever?

Perhaps because Jesus isn’t something you believe in, He is a person you experience. My faith is not based on what others have told me or even what I have read, but on experiences I have had.

Most of us don’t get married because we are sold on the virtue of that commitment.  We don’t seek out just anyone willing so we can experience the ups and downs of marital life.  Rather, we get married because we fall in love.  It is our relationship with another person that leads us to the commitment of marriage.  Following Jesus is the same.  It is a relationship of experiences.  That can’t be summed up, tied in a neat ribbon, and handed out.

Following Jesus isn’t something I can adequately explain or describe (even though that is kinda my job).  I just can’t quite nail it down.  You have to experience it for yourself.

Too often we try to sell Jesus, Church, Christianity, etc… as if listing their merits will eventually convince someone.  The siren call of Jesus wasn’t “believe me” but rather “follow me.”  Perhaps rather than trying to convince someone to become a Christian, we should invite them to experience it.  Try some prayer.  Join me for some acts of service.  Attempt to love your wife the way Jesus would.  And see what happens.

So we shouldn’t be surprised when someone doesn’t “get it”.  Of course they don’t.  Just as they can’t possibly get what it is like to be married to my wife.  Or adequately understand the thrill of hearing “Mr. Roboto” come blaring out of my J during American Top 40.  You kinda have to be there.  You have to experience it for yourself.

 

P.S. This doesn’t just affect how we think about evangelism.  If our faith is truly a relationship we experience, that ought to radically change how we view other Christians and the Church.  Church isn’t a group of people who all believe the same thing, it is a group of people all married to the same person.  So we are all on a journey, all at different places in our experience of and relationship with Jesus.  This should make me more gracious towards my brothers and sisters in Christ since we are all at different spots on that journey.  And maybe I should stop trying so hard to get others to experience and see Jesus exactly as I do.

Seven

Two weeks ago my wife gave birth to our seventh child.  As always for me, the birth of a child is months of anticipation and excitement mixed with a little anxiety followed by the most amazing climactic moment.  Even after just two weeks, it seems impossible to imagine my life without this new child in it.

But as I look back over the past ten months of pregnancy, I realize that life continued as normal even though we were awaiting this momentous event.  School and chores still happened at home.  Work had to be done.  We experienced loss and heartache.  We witnessed new births and rebirths.  Holidays and birthdays were celebrated.

This spring, as the time for our new arrival grew closer, I found myself teaching a bible study on the book of Revelation. Much like waiting for a child, it is a book about anticipation, anxiety and promise.  It has long fascinated (and confused) many christians.  It is interesting, but also unnerving.  And while there is so much to explore in the book, as time drew close for our baby to show up I found myself fascinated by the numbers in the book.  Specifically, the number seven.

The numbers in the book of Revelation have long been a source of intrigue.  Whether it is the 144,000 of chapter seven, the 1000 years of chapter 20 or the cryptic time, times and half a time, the numbers are a rabbit hole that you can head down for a long time.  But the number seven stands out.  Whether it is seven seals on a sacred scroll, seven angels with seven trumpets, or seven bowls of wrath, the number seven dominates the book.

It is clear that for John the number seven is the number of perfection.  It is God’s number.  So much so that the number of the beast is 666, a trio of imperfection.  But rather than focus on the number, what fascinates me is the meaning of perfection.

For most of my life I have been reminded that Jesus was perfect.  Perfect.  What we usually mean by this is that He was sinless.  In other words, He never did a wrong thing.  Never cheated.  Never lied.  Never stole.  Perfection is not committing a sin.

But that view of perfection sells both Jesus and perfection short.  Jesus isn’t perfect just because he never murdered or committed adultery.  Rather, He is perfect because of how He loves, shows mercy and applies grace.  A person can go through a day not committing any particular sin, and still be a real jerk.

In Revelation, perfection has to do with completeness.  Wholeness.  When things find the fulfillment God has for them, they are perfected.  While many difficult and bad things happen along the way, when God’s will is finally accomplished it is complete and perfect.

Perfection isn’t the absence of badness, but the fulfillment of God’s purposes.

For too long, we have thought our purpose in life to be toeing some very narrow line.  What if instead we sought perfection.  Real perfection.  Lavishing grace on others.  Offering ourselves in acts of service and mercy.  Truly loving our neighbor.

Yes, we must avoid sin.  Not because avoiding it is our goal.  But because sin draws us away from the perfect life we have in God.  It keeps me from reaching for completeness and wholeness.  It makes me want to settle for okay or good enough.  But I have had enough of mediocre, I want perfect.

Two weeks ago my wife gave birth to our seventh child.  His name is Quinton.  He makes me want to do better, love harder, give more generously.  He is exactly what God intended.  He is perfect.  (at least for now)

Kid Economics

It is a right of passage.  The lunchtime trade.  Every day, kids across the United States sit down for lunch and begin wheeling and dealing.  Candy bars, Hershey Kisses, homemade cinnamon rolls, Fruit Roll-Ups.  Looking to trade something you don’t like for something you do, or even better to trade something you like for something you love.

And the world of kid economic transactions doesn’t stop at desserts.  Baseball cards, small toys, Cracker Jack prizes, rocks found in the front yard…if a kid can possess it, then a kid will trade it.

What I find interesting is that on several recent occasions recently, I have seen parents involve themselves in this world.  Acting as a parental SEC (Securities and Exchange Commission), they advise upon and even nullify trades.  The goal appears to be keeping things fair, and helping kids understand the value of things.  But I think it is a mistake.

Now, I understand not wanting a twelve year-old to take advantage of your five year-old (or more importantly not wanting your twelve year-old to rip off some small child).  But when a parent or authority figure steps in because one child “seems” to get the raw end of the deal, I think we miss the point of what is happening.  We don’t understand how kid economics work.

We think like adults.  This cost more than that so it is worth more.  This is bigger, newer, better made, a name brand, so it shouldn’t be traded for that trinket.  We think in terms of some kind of “objective” value.

But that is not how kids approach a transaction.  The Kelley Blue Book price of a toy or dessert means nothing to a child.  What matters to them is what they like or want.  It is simple: that may be the much more pricey toy, but if they like this one better, it is the one they want.  Children cry more over a broken $1 toy they love than over a $200 toy they don’t really like.

There is a valuable lesson here for those of us who are “adults.”  Too often we determine value by the rules of the world.  The market says this is more valuable, so it is.  We make decisions based on those values and costs.  And we accept those values and costs without ever thinking as a kid would: do I truly want it?

Example:  Several years ago a couple was leaving a church I worked for.  There was much hand-wringing over losing this valuable couple.  They volunteered, looked out for others, and were kind and generous with both their time and money.  The congregation was losing something of great value.  But any time a conversation came up about their impending move to a new town, the same logic was mentioned.  They had to move because you can’t turn down that kind of offer.  The job the man was taking was such a step up in both prestige and money, that they had to go.

But here is the thing, they didn’t have to go.  They could have stayed.  I am not saying they should have, but to act like they had no choice is to buy into the system of the world completely.  Rather than thinking through what is good and right and best and even what we really want, too often we run with the assumptions of the culture around us.  And when we do, it takes some of our noblest endeavors and changes them into petty economic transactions.

The goal of ministers becomes moving up to bigger and better (whatever that means) churches.

We equate someone who makes more money as being more gifted, talented or a better leader.

We appoint elders or leaders in the church based on their “success” in the world of business.

Parents view children as economic “burdens” rather than blessings.

We view how we spend our time in terms of what we accomplish, rather than what we are becoming.

We can spend huge chunks of our lives chasing things we never really wanted or desired.

Jesus calls us to be child-like.  Perhaps one of the ways to do that is to rediscover the economics of childhood.  A child-like approach recognizes that time spent with people I love or doing what I love is more valuable than the money I could have earned with that time.  Kid cost-benefit analysis views contentment and enjoyment as more important than abundance and success.  A child economist might summarize: Seek what you love, not what the world says you must have.

A child-like view of economics sets us free from the tyranny of a world that says our only value is what we produce.  But to find that freedom we must learn to trade like a kid; willing to let go of what our culture says is valuable in order to get what is actually priceless.

Hold Your Horses (Or At Least Slow Them Down)

Saturday, I stepped out of the shower and was immediately greeted by my four-year old daughter.  There is no more vulnerable feeling than having someone invade your personal space as you attempt to dry off.  But she was determined to show me something.  She held a parenting magazine that my wife reads in her little hands.  She looked up from it and matter-of-factly said, “I don’t like black people.”

I almost fell down.  Of the billions of possible things she could possibly say in this particular moment, I can’t imagine anything more difficult to hear or respond to.  It is the rare time I would have much preferred some question about my barely towel covered anatomy.  But, I had to respond.  She made the statement and stared blankly at me, awaiting my reply.

Now, my heart was really wanting to shut this down.  Tell her something like “oh silly, of course you like black people.”  Immediately stamp it out with “we don’t say things like that.”  But something within me held me back, so I simply asked, “Why?”

“I don’t like the skin or the hair,” she stated.  HOLY MOLY!  I am crumbling on the inside.  Where did this come from?  Just Wednesday night at church I watched her gather with the church around a man needing prayer.  She laid her hands on him.  He is black.  What is going on?  What have we done wrong in raising her?  I could mentally see the headlines in some media publication: “Christian Homeschool Family Raises Racist Monsters!”

Then she showed me an advertisement in the magazine.  “See” she said.  “I don’t like it.  I like this one better.”  What she was pointing at were two pictures of white women.  One was in black and white, the other in color.  What she didn’t like was black and white photographs.  It’s drabness she hates.  “I like the colors better,” she said as I felt my pulse begin to slow.  “Can I color this one?”  “Absolutely,” I sighed with great relief.

As my daughter wandered off looking for crayons, I got dressed and thought about those few moments.  So much happened.  So many emotions.  So much fear.  I wanted so badly to immediately begin fixing the “problem.”  But my wife’s voice and many parenting books rang in my ears, “just listen.”  So I did. Through it all the one thing I did well was this: I didn’t stop the conversation.  I asked why.  I let her explain.  Thank goodness I did.

But how often we don’t slow down.  We live in a time where jumping to conclusions is simply a way of life.  In our sound-bite society, we are trained to hear a little bit, and draw massive conclusions.  With a sentence or two we can nail a person’s political leanings or religious ideology.  All I need is a few words and I can create a mountain of opinion.

What I don’t need is more information.  What I don’t need is context.  Information and context just slow me down.  They keep me from drawing the simple conclusions I find so comforting.  I prefer to quickly categorize people and ideas so they match up with what I already believe.  When I slow down and listen I am forced to admit the complicated nature of life and people.  Going slow pushes aside my sound-bite politics or catchphrase religion.

Slowing down not only allows the words to have a context, but the person as well.  Most people who I really know, even if I disagree with their position, I don’t find them hateful.  I have people very close to me who share radically different views on several controversial topics, but I am able to see these views as part of a whole.

As a follower of Christ, I am amazed by how often I jump to conclusions.  How often I assume that others are mean-spirited, prejudiced, closed-minded, and just downright don’t care.  I hear a blurb, read a piece of an article, or catch a snippet of a conversation and I am off and running.  I then quickly lump the perpetrator in with other like-minded perpetrators.    It is quick, easy, and utterly stupid.

We all know we are to take the plank out of our own eye before attempting to remove the speck in someone else’s eye. But in our haste all we need is the hint that there might be a speck and we are jabbing away with our thumbs.  And if that speck is something we truly despise, well look out.

Jesus asks me to slow down.  Not just “don’t judge”, but slow down.    See the whole person.  Listen to their heart as well as their words.  Be patient.  Why am I in such a hurry to settle things?  Jesus calls me to live in the nuances and paradoxes of people.  I cannot do that when I am in a rush.

If I try to slow down, to take a little time, to not be so quick to decide, it means changing some well-ingrained habits.  It means holding my tongue.  It means asking more and better questions.  It means being okay with being puzzled or unsure.  It means letting someone explain.  It means not assuming I understand.  It means giving the benefit of the doubt.  It means offering what I so want from others; a little patience.