The God I Believe In…

I don’t believe in a God who would _____.  I refuse to believe in a God who will _______.  The God I believe in would never ______.

On an almost daily basis I hear or read sentences like these.  And on the surface this type of language can sound like a beautiful sentiment.  They are typically said in an effort to distance God from some type of position that we think offends people.  In other words, “God isn’t like that.”  But just for a moment, imagine talking this way about anybody else.

Well, some say Bill hates bacon, but I refuse to believe in a Bill that hates bacon.  I mean, the Bill I believe in would never hate bacon.

We never talk like that.  Except about God.  It seems that we forget that God isn’t a thing, but a person.

Now, some of this comes from being unsure.  We don’t always know where God stands on certain issues.  The Bible can be confusing.  The church does not speak with one voice.  All that is true.

But.

How often does what God would never do just happen to match our moral leanings?  Isn’t it amazing that God would so often see things philosophically and politically just like me?  How fortunate that God seems to view the world much as I do!

Throughout time, people have consistently struggled with making God in our image.  And we do so today.

• God is definitely a democrat because I am.
• God is definitely for this political agenda which, oh my, just happens to match my political agenda.
• God is obviously against this sin (yeah I think that’s a sin).
• God does not care if we do that (whew, good thing God agrees with me, some of the Bible had me worried.)

As we constantly scramble to make God fit the image we want, we are forced to ignore the claims of millions of others who follow God.  We shuffle past parts of the Bible that don’t match our painting of the Lord.  We somehow always end up reading about “God so loving the world” but quickly move past talk of narrow paths or parables of banquets where guests are kicked out.  Or we do the exact opposite.

This isn’t a call for us to change our views or interpret scripture differently.  It is simply a call to honesty.  We should all admit that, perhaps, our image of God is faulty, incomplete and often self-centered.  We might be wrong about some things about God.  The “God I believe in” may not be an exact representation of the actual God of the universe.

And if we can be honest, then it makes us humble.  And if there is one thing the world could use right now, it is Christian’s willing to admit they don’t know everything.

So if you feel the need to take a position on God, here are a few options:

If you don’t believe God exists, then fine.  Don’t believe.

If you want to say “unless God does things a certain way, I refuse to follow God”, then fine.  That is a perfectly legitimate angle.  God is real, but I don’t like God so I refuse to take part.

Or claim to be a follower.  Try to live as a disciple.  And along the way admit that you can’t possibly discern every little thing about God.  No one can.

Those will all work.  But to claim that God should be followed, except when God seems to disagree with my preconceived notions, is goofy.  We don’t get to decide what God is like.  What God has to do.  How God has to treat people.  We are not God.  Again, humility.

Over and over in the Bible, people are surprised by what God does.  Their preconceived notions are consistently blown apart.  Ours should be too.  If they never are, then maybe we aren’t dealing with the real God but the god of our own creation.

Interestingly, we live in a time when so many claim that God accepts us just as we are.  Maybe it is time to offer God the same courtesy.

STOP

I think the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back was a Facebook post I read two weeks ago.

It was a Sunday and I was putting something on the church Facebook page.  My eye was drawn to a post that was sharing some commentary about the death of Nancy Reagan.  It caught my attention.  I didn’t care about the commentary, I just didn’t know that the former first lady had died. (With seven kids, staying up on the news cycle has become a priority somewhere between writing the great American novel and trying out for the NBA.  Things I would like to do, but have no time for.)  I have no particular affection for Mrs. Reagan, it’s just that her husband was the president of my childhood.

The commentary on her passing was pretty harsh.  The writer was not a fan of Mrs. Reagan.  And then came the comments.  I know it is a mistake to read them, but since some of them were by people I know, I couldn’t help it.

They were brutal.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised by what people are willing to say online.  But a woman had just died.  A woman who actually never held office.  Yet, she was called despicable names.  Called a racist.  A homophobe.  And numerous words I choose not to write here because they are beyond offensive. Some of those posting a comment consider themselves Christians.  But they simply joined the chorus.

Again, let me make it clear.  I am not some kind of fanboy of the Reagans.  There were many policy thoughts shared in the commentary about which I know nothing.  What I am writing is not about politics.  It is not about Nancy Reagan.  This is about us.  About Christians.  About how we talk.  About how we talk online.  About how we talk about politics.

The apostle Paul says the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  He doesn’t say be kind, unless you disagree politically.  Be gentle unless you think the other person doesn’t share your political philosophy.  Be patient except with those who don’t think exactly like you.

I wonder if you took all that Christian’s post or write online about politics, would the word joy describe any of it?  We claim to want peace, but our words stir up divisiveness and animosity.  In the name of love (loving our country, loving the poor) we spew vitriol and hatred.

What are we doing?  I am truly flabbergasted.

The only thing I can think to say in response is simply this:

Stop.  Just stop.

STOP!

The hateful rhetoric with which we often talk politics is blatantly unchristian.  Yet we cannot seem to be close to civil when discussing the other party’s candidates, or remotely objective when discussing our party’s.  Much of what we claim about the goodness of Christ goes out the window once we start discussing welfare and social security, Obamacare and guns.  Our speech shows we care more about an earthly election than the kingdom of God.  And we need to stop!

Just because the other person’s politics doesn’t fit your view of social justice doesn’t give you the right to call them a racist.  STOP.

No more name calling.  STOP.

No more assuming the motives of someone with whom we disagree.  STOP.

No more calling people evil because they choose to vote differently.  STOP.

Liberals are not libtards.  STOP.

Conservatives aren’t fascists.  STOP.

And by the way, a rant on Facebook that your twenty friends read isn’t an act of social justice.  Just STOP.

In an effort to cultivate the fruit of the Spirit, perhaps the best thing for many of us to do is to not comment.  To resist the urge to immediately make our case.  To learn the art of shutting up.  To just STOP!  If love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and gentleness are not going to be a part of what we say, then we need to exercise some self-control.  Just don’t speak.

Recently, I have heard many people ask, “How can someone call themselves a Christian and vote for Trump?”  Here is a better question:  How can someone talk about others the way we do and still claim we are following Jesus?

There are many concerned with Mr. Trump’s rhetoric.  They worry that his words will lead us into a rough place as a nation.  Perhaps.  But my take is that his words aren’t new.  His attitude is something I have read in the comments for years.  He is a reflection.  Not a reflection of a particular political philosophy.  But a reflection of a cultural attitude.  Attack.  Name call.  Show blatant disregard for those with whom you disagree.  This isn’t something new.  It is how many of us already act.  And we need to stop.

 

Hearing the Other Side

This past week there was a mass shooting at a recruitment office. Once again my Facebook feed was filled with takes on the situation. So I played a game. I simply looked at the name of the friend on my feed, or the organization, and guessed what their take would be, or what type of article they would post. I was right, pretty much every time. We have our positions, and we pretty much don’t change. Which is fine.  But one question keeps popping up in my mind: are we each so ensconced in our positions that we can no longer hear what someone who differs with us is thinking and feeling?

Let me stick with the issue of gun control, since it is not controversial at all. Once we have decided our position, can we empathize with someone who feels differently?

One person sees shootings at schools, churches and movie theaters and fears this happening again. They wonder why we don’t do more to stop it. Perhaps they fear for the safety of their children or students. Can’t we all admit that is a legitimate fear?

Someone else looks at history. They see how political regimes have turned on their people or a sub group of people, then trampled and destroyed those defenseless souls. They fear that a population without weapons is defenseless and could fall victim to mass slayings. Can’t we all admit that is a legitimate fear?

No. No we can’t.

Because to admit that the “other side” has legitimate fears, ideas or arguments is a sign of weakness. We can’t give an inch. We must keep them painted in a corner. We must not allow them a moment of respite, an inch of ground, a bit of respect. Because, we have to win. After all, we are right.

That is where we are, and it doesn’t matter the issue.

But how is any of that Christian? When we refuse to listen, we cannot possibly claim to also love our neighbor. When we refuse to admit that the other side has a legitimate case, we become liars and deceivers. When we act like anyone who thinks differently is idiotic, selfish, or delusional, we put ourselves in the seat of judgment, claiming we know better than everyone else, including many of our brothers and sisters in Christ.

How do we expect the world to listen to us talk about Jesus, when we refuse to hear someone else’s side?

By the way, before you begin feeling smug, thinking “my side or group doesn’t do that”, yeah it does. It does. Because this isn’t a democrat or republican problem. It isn’t a conservative or liberal problem. It certainly isn’t a church going or atheist problem. It is a human problem.

Somehow we have become convinced that listening to the point of actually hearing the other sides ideas makes us weak.  We truly believe that acknowledging the other side makes some good points or has some legitimate claims is an admission of defeat.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

Just because I listen well to my wife, and really try to understand her, and try to get her thoughts and feelings, and put myself in her shoes, doesn’t mean she is right. (I mean she is right, but that is another blog post.) No, by listening I am not “giving away the high ground.” I am simply doing the right and loving thing. It is by listening that I may actually gain the right to say something. It is by understanding her view that we begin to find common ground for solving the problem.

Listening in such a way as to actually seek understanding is in short supply these days. If you choose to listen, and try to actually feel for “the other side” don’t worry. There are plenty of people who will refuse to do so and will make sure your position is consistently defended. Leave that to them. Instead, choose to hear, to feel, to empathize. Who knows, you might even find out you were wrong. Oh no, that couldn’t possibly happen.

From Israel to Charleston

A couple of years ago I spent an amazing ten days in Israel and Jordan. I met incredible people and saw places that made both history and the Bible come alive.

The person who fascinated me the most was our guide. We spent nearly the entire time traversing Israel with an interesting fellow. I have thought about him much in the past few days.

Our guide was a retired gentleman. I am not sure what his job was before retiring, it appears to have been secretive. He was both knowledgeable and curious. When he discovered I was a pastor, he asked me to bring my Bible along and read pertinent passages about the places we visited (even though he is a secular Jew).

At the border with Syria he told the story of his involvement in the Yom Kippur War. He was working his job when his unit was called up. Within twenty-four hours he was on the battlefield in a tank! He shared his fear that if they lost the battle everyone he loved would die. He told about helping stop the slaughter of a large group of P.O.W.s. Eventually, he became quiet and said that he had shared all he could muster.

What I remember most distinctly was our visit to Yad Vashem, the Israeli holocaust museum. Silently making our way through the corridors, I was filled with reverence and pain. I completely lost track of time. Nothing else seemed important. As you get ready to leave the museum and head out on the grounds, there is a book that you can sign or leave comments. I desperately wanted to place my name there. But I had to wait a long time on the people in front of me. It was an older gentlemen, pushing a much older woman in a wheelchair. From the brief conversation I overheard, it was clear that this was his mother, who had come from America for her great-grandson’s Bar Mitzvah. The man mentioned to a security guard the she was a holocaust survivor. When it was her turn at the book, she stood. She began to write. It took her a long time. I waited patiently. She began to cry. Finally, she could write no more and collapsed into her wheelchair. Her son pushed her outside.

I approached the book, ready to write my name. But my eyes were attracted to the tear-stained page on which the woman had written. It simply said, “I miss you.” And then below it had name after name after name of relatives lost in the holocaust. I tried to write my name, but my weeping made it almost impossible.

As I shared this experience with our guide, he told me about his wife. She lost much of her family in the holocaust. He said that a couple of years ago he found a great deal on a car. She refused to let him buy it. Because it was a Volkswagen.

Whenever I hear Israel mentioned on the news, or read about Israeli politics online, I think about these things. Not because I am somehow now determined to side with Israel on everything. But because it helps me understand. It puts me, just a little bit, in the shoes of a Jew. It reminds me that behind words and rhetoric there are experiences and suffering and pain.

As I think about controversies here in the United States, I wonder if much of what we are lacking is a sense of understanding the story of others. It is one thing to know something about the holocaust, it is quite something else to visit a holocaust museum with people who barely survived it. Too often we speak in abstraction about right and wrong. To hear other’s stories makes it real. It doesn’t necessarily mean we will change our stance, but we will now be thinking about what our position truly means or does to others.

I am thinking today about the “rebel” flag. There may be lots of reasonable reasons to keep it up. I am for freedom of speech.

But can you imagine flying a Nazi flag in front of my friends from Israel?

Walk a little bit in another person’s shoes. Try to imagine what it is like to see a flag flying that represented a cause that held your great-grandparents in slavery.  Attempt to see that flag planted in the middle of the night in your front yard.  Visualize it being carried by men in white hoods as they parade through the streets of the very town where I grew up, just a few years ago.  I understand it may represent a lot of different things to you, but can we think about what it represents to them.

Perhaps our most under-utilized spiritual gift is our imagination. With our imagination we can attempt to see things from other perspectives. With our imaginations we can struggle with what it would be like to be a descendant of a concentration camp survivor. With our imaginations we might gain a little appreciation for what it is like to be black in the southern United States. I know we can never truly walk in other’s shoes. But I think it is time that we used the imagination God gave us to hear some stories and feel some pain.

The beauty of the incarnation is that it is the ultimate act of imagination.  God does not have to wonder what it is like for us.  He became us.  He walked in our shoes.  And He calls us to imagine with Him what life is like for others.

Whether the flag stays up or comes down is ultimately, perhaps, not the biggest deal. But before you decide, have you talked with some black people about it? Have you tried to see it from their view? Is this just all an abstraction, a game of logic?  Or can we think in terms of real people?  Are we willing to imagine?

The People of Charleston

 

Nine people are dead. Nine people. People.

But from much of what I read and see, that is perhaps the most inconsequential detail of this tragic event. What seems to matter is what this event says. What it teaches. What we can learn from it. What we should do.

Before the bodies of nine people were even removed from that hallowed place of worship, they had become pawns. Lessons. Points.

This is proof that we need gun control. That we need concealed hand guns. Changes to the mental health system.  That the racial divide is growing. That we should vote differently.

Stories are written. Blogs posted. YouTube diatribes filmed. It is almost as if we were waiting for this moment. Almost hoping for it. Not that anyone wants people to die. But their deaths sure do help us spread our agenda.

Why can’t we wait? Why must we hurry past the pain and suffering and loss? Why can’t we simply be sad? Why must we make it about us, about our agenda, about our politics?

Remember Rachel Dolezal? Or Caitlyn Jenner? Or Josh Duggar? Remember how important those stories seemed? But notice how quickly we hurry on when they no longer provide instant fodder for our point of view. Notice how we run when something much more dramatic comes along that really proves our point.

One of the things that sometimes drives me a little crazy is the slowness of God. I hear Christians laud God’s patience, but often that rings hollow to me. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad the Lord is patient with me, slowly guiding me toward maturity. But I want God to move more quickly when it comes to big problems. To step in and wreak a little havoc.

And yet, God takes his time.

Remember when Jesus showed up at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. Mary and Martha were in mourning for the loss of their brother. Now, if it was me, I would have run in declaring everything okay. I would have gone straight to Lazarus, raised him from the dead. See, problem solved. But Jesus takes his time. He stops and mourns with Martha. He stops and commiserates with Mary. He stops and weeps outside the tomb.

If Jesus can take the time to mourn, to be with people in their grief, why can’t we?

I think it is because we don’t see them. We don’t see people. They are far away. We don’t know them. They are a number. Nine. They are a color. Black. And we are more interested in what they can do for us.

Isn’t it interesting that these nine people become useful to us only after they are dead? Shouldn’t that tell us something?

Now, I know the time is coming to “solve the problem.” I am all for that. There is a time for solutions. For protests. For politics.  For debate.

But when is the time for people? When is the time to just mourn? When is the time to weep?

I sometimes wonder if one of the reasons we seem unable to solve many problems is we too quickly rush to the solutions?  In doing so we brush aside the people.  And isn’t brushing aside people the root of the problem?

Have you noticed that I have not mentioned their names? Maybe that should be a sign for us. When we run to make something a cause, without even knowing the names of the people involved, we become a part of the dehumanizing.

Clementa Pinckney, Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Sharonda Singleton, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lance, Susie Jackson, Daniel Simmons Sr., DePayne Doctor. These are not causes. They are not hashtags. They are not political issues. They are not points to be made. They are people. Created in the image of God. Brothers and Sisters in Christ. Let that be enough for a moment.

The Finicky Christian

My wife likes us to eat healthy. Lots of fruits and vegetables. And most of my kids fall right in line with this. They pretty much eat whatever is put on their plate. But a couple…not so much. One of my children, who is growing like a weed, is magically “not hungry” when a vegetarian soup is served. Another of my children just accidently overlooks the plate full of steamed vegetables. This annoys my wife, but I get it. Because I was a picky eater (My wife would claim I still am a little). Don’t get me wrong, I love vegetables. I just don’t dig fruit so much.

However, finicky not only describes how some of my kids approach food, it also describes how many Christians approach church. Church is viewed as an array of choices. So many in fact that numerous Christians are looking for a church that perfectly pleases their religious palate. Because we have so many church choices, there is very little need to partake of something that we don’t like. We can just keep looking for what we prefer.

So the chase of the “perfect” church begins. I like this theology, but I prefer that type of worship. I want a church that loves and takes care of the poor, but also has amazing classes for my four-year old. I want a church to take the exact right stance on every social and political issue. I want a church that calls me to a deep commitment to Christ, but understands that a whole lot of Sundays I won’t be there because I like to camp and travel. I expect a church to love me like I am family, but stay out of my personal business. And a church needs to understand that if I leave, it is not because I am not committed, but because the church is just not authentic/loving/compassionate/liberal/conservative/(fill in your own reason) enough.

Ignore the fact that there is no church on earth that can possibly fulfill all of this. Or that a church that even pulls a decent portion of this off would be an amazing place. For the finicky Christian, the impulse is to not consume even one thing that doesn’t please.

For years we have talked about the consumerism that plagues our churches. That it is easy to view church simply as another business whose job is to keep the customer (me) happy. I feel like we are moving toward something different. The finicky Christian isn’t merely interested in being happy or entertained (which is shallow), but rather believes they are right. They have figured out the answers. And church should conform as closely as possible to their viewpoint. So churches pretty much stink. If only they would do what I tell them. That is scary, and beyond self-righteous.

I run into more and more Christians who tell me they have no church, and don’t really want one. They are following Christ, and that is all that matters. They are Christians at large. I understand that the church can be a rough place. That horrible theology and practice, and even abuse or neglect, are real and could make anyone not want to attend. And we should all push for changes that help our churches look more and more like Jesus.

But I don’t think that’s the deal. For the finicky Christian, if a church can’t be found that really floats their boat, well….then perhaps there is no need for church. The church must change in the way I see fit, or I will leave. Whoa.

Of course, as any parent knows, there is something that can be done about finicky eaters. At our house, you can either eat what you are served, or you can be hungry. We are not making another meal because you refuse to eat broccoli or tomatoes.

But when it comes to finicky Christians, there is no way to force someone to do what might actually help them grow and mature. Instead, with our large number of churches and the advent of social media, we have made it easy to simply gripe, complain, and switch churches. Write a couple of Facebook posts about the hypocrisy of Christians, complain to your best friend that most churches aren’t doing enough to help people, and then you can say you tried to make it work, but churches don’t want to change.

For the finicky Christian, any breakup with the church is an “it’s not me, it’s you” situation.

But here is the big problem. Because we are so picky, we remain children. Part of being mature is the growing understanding that it ain’t all about me. That a group of people is highly unlikely to fit all my preferences and meet all my needs. But that is learned through sticking things out. I often call marriages “maturity factories.” They kind of force us to grow up, change, and mature. There is only one stipulation: you have to stick it out long enough for some growth to happen. Sometimes the reason church matures us is because IT IS NOT the way we would choose it. But again, that takes time.

When I was about eight years old, we sat down for dinner one night and there was some fresh, green onions on the table. My parents seemed to really enjoy them. I wanted to try one, but I wasn’t sure because while they may have been fresh and green, they were onions. When there was one left I took it. My mom said that I could have it, but I needed to actually eat it. No problem. But then I took a bite. Ugggghh. I kept chewing and chewing, but it wouldn’t go down. I sat and chewed and sat and chewed. How can food somehow grow in your mouth? Plates were now being cleaned. I was the only one left at the table. My mom gently encouraged me to just swallow. It will be okay.

This story would probably sound strange to my children. Because I love onions. I can eat one like an apple. I am not saying that I love onions because my mom made me keep chewing. I am just pointing out that often the problem isn’t the onion, it is the kid.

For many of us it may be time to grow up, and eat our vegetables.

Not Surprised by the Duggars

I hate to do this, but let me begin with a disclaimer: I have never seen “The Duggars.” I know they have a TV show about them raising a bunch of kids. I have never watched it. Not once. Partly because I do not have cable. Partly because I have enough to do without watching someone else who has plenty to do. And partly because if I do watch TV I want it to be a slight escape from a life of raising and homeschooling numerous children. So everything I am about to say is based entirely on ignorance. But as you will see, that may actually help.

What I do know is this: I am not surprised.

Whoa, wait a minute. Not surprised? Is that because I always thought these people were a bunch of hypocrites? No. Am I not shocked because I think the way they raise their kids destined this? No. As I said, I don’t know these people, don’t watch their show.

The reason I am not surprised is this: Sin gets in.

No matter all the other stuff circulating around this (liberal against conservative, homeschooling and public schooling, bunch of kids versus a small family, and a billion other things) one fact is inescapable: Sin gets in.

You can’t hide from sin. Homeschooling isn’t the problem, sin is. Just as public schooling isn’t the problem, sin is. Sin is a power, a force that is relentless. That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t seek better ways to do things. We should. Ideas should be weighed against others. Studies assessed. But the ultimate reality we sometimes refuse to face head on is this: Sin doesn’t stop because we do things well. No matter what our version of “well” is.

A government program can rearrange who has the money, but it can’t destroy greed. A family can shelter their kids from the media, but lust finds ways in. Background checks and bathroom buddies may help, but they aren’t foolproof. No, at some point we all must face the truth; sin finds a way.

I wish it was otherwise. That the perfect blend of psychology, sociology, laws, etc…could form some sort of shield. I long for a magic formula. If you will make sure your kids don’t watch this movie or hang out with that person, everything will be honky-dory. It simply doesn’t exist.

In response, some of us have decided to build a fort. To shelter our kids and families. To try to keep sin out with lots of rules and regulations. We live in fear of our kids being exposed to the wrong people. I understand that fear. It recognizes the power of sin. But often that fear which so gets the power of sin, doesn’t recognize the power of God. It is often empowered by the belief that doing enough things the right way somehow makes me ineligible for the bad stuff. But it doesn’t. And often those who have bought this fort mentality implode when sin finds a way through the back door.

But others have tried another route.  Since sin gets in, then we can do nothing, and we do almost nothing. We give in to the notion that sin is unstoppable, so why try.  This comes out in phrases like, “Well, teens are gonna have sex, nothing you can do.” Or, “She’s just a teenage girl, that’s how they act.” Or even, “He’s in the Terrible Two’s”. All of these ways of discussing people, especially children, assume the worst in people. They are animals who can’t control themselves. All you can hope to do is survive the calamities they will surely bring. Life becomes about “managing” our sin and the sin of others.  It leaves us not only cynical, but unwilling to even attempt to live in a holy or pure way.

This may all sound so very defeatist. Like what’s the point. Just let whatever happens happen. You can’t stop it anyway, so why try? But that’s not how I feel. You see, facing the reality of the power and scope of sin forces us to admit that what we need is something more powerful than sin. We are being bullied, and we need somebody to step in and show the bully the door.

At the heart of the Christian faith is the belief that, yes, sin and death are strong…but Jesus is stronger. That sin can put us in a hole of guilt and shame so deep…but grace is deeper. That the hate and distrust that devour our relationships is overwhelming…but can be overwhelmed by love.

I hope there is a third way to live. A place where we don’t seclude ourselves in forts, but also don’t give up hope. I want to live in the way of grace. Now, it is a hard place to live. Because on the one hand grace says, “Do your best” but also admits, “Bad stuff can happen.” A graceful life understands there is no insurance; that it isn’t all in our hands. Grace knows we can’t control anyone outside of ourselves (and often we don’t even do that well). The whole idea of grace begins with the admission that sin is powerful and bad things do happen to good people. But grace won’t let us give up. It won’t let us hide from the world, or live in fear, or became cynical and jaded and just give in. No, we trust in the One who points us toward how to live and gives us mercy when we don’t quite pull it off.  So there is always hope.

We all need to wake up to the power of sin.  To understand that no government program or parenting ideal or church done just right can fix the human heart.  Sin gets in.  And then, once we get our eyes wide open, once we see how truly powerful sin is, we may be ready to follow the One who overcomes sin and death.

Death Comes First

What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? ² By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer? ³ Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? ⁴ We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.

⁵ For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his. ⁶ For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin— ⁷ because anyone who has died has been set free from sin.

(Romans 6:1-7)

When reading the apostle Paul, one of the defining characteristics of his thought is the absolute necessity of death for those who wish to walk with Jesus. We are to crucify the sinful nature, crucify our minds, put to death the old self.

But far too often, we Christians want to run to Easter. We want the joy of the resurrection without the suffering of death. We long for a new life, while clinging to so much of the old. It seems we forget what should be obvious: Resurrection can only occur where there is death.

God longs to resurrect us. He is the giver of new life. That is his part. He brings the dead to life. No one else can do it.

But our role is to put things to death. To crucify that which needs to die so something wonderful can take its place. We often lament that we live in a world that has become so good at dishing out death. And yet, the one place where death would be good for us, we often shrink from killing.

We want resurrection for our marriage, but are we willing to first put to death the selfishness that is destroying it?

We want so desperately for others to view the kingdom of God as we do, but are we willing to crucify the arrogance and self-righteousness that pushes so many away?

We demand that our brothers and sisters conform to the values of Jesus, but are we willing to destroy that part of us that berates and mocks them when they don’t?

We want the freedom that comes with new life in Christ, but are we willing to take the responsibility of crucifying our sinful nature to get it?

Yet, God’s call is clear this Friday. Be crucified with Christ. Put to death the old.

Make no mistake, there are but two requirements for resurrection: the grace of God and death. Let us not forget which part we must play. It is Good Friday. Easter is coming, but first there must be death. But not just Christ’s death, our death.

The Straw Church

I am here today to speak for a group of people who don’t have a voice. They get blasted, blamed, criticized and dismissed more than any group I know. They are the problem. They are stuck in their ways, unwilling to consider change. They disregard the Bible, ignore the culture around them, and are generally stuck in the mud. If they would change, would move, would even just get out-of-the-way, the kingdom of God might have a chance.

Who are these people? Are they raving fundamentalists? Bible-ignoring progressives? Rich evangelicals? Out of touch mainliners? No. They are the straw church. And today, I speak for them.

Over and over and over we are inundated with blogs and books decrying the state of “the church.” Critics lament the exodus in droves of millennials, the unwillingness to line up with changing social mores, the lack of love for the poor. According to just a few articles I have read in the past week, all written by Christians, the church is racist, greedy, unconcerned, homophobic, and unwilling to actually follow Jesus. If I have read these correctly the only hope the church has is every church member immediately dying. (I may have stretched it, but not much)

And yet, I have been a part of church for all 41 years of my life. And for the life of me, I think the church that is being attacked DOES NOT ACTUALLY EXIST.

Now, that does not mean that there aren’t people in church who are racist, greedy, unconcerned, homophobic, etc… However, the argument often made is that those words can pretty much describe “the church.” But what if “the church” as so often decried is actually just a straw man for our positions?

You see, life is easier with a straw church. It gives us something to rage against, something to blame. “The Church” becomes the evil empire against whatever noble position I wish to proclaim. Because, if I find that often Christians are kind and generous, then how can I be prophetic? Whatever my position, it in some way behooves me to claim that I am standing up to the masses, whether or not I actually am.

Let me make my point in a rather simplistic way. I will read a blog or Facebook post decrying how “the church” doesn’t get it on some particular issue. The author will come out guns blazing. It is a serious critique. And then…well there are a bunch of likes, and lots of supporting comments from other Christians. If “the church” is the problem, then where did all these people come from? If your post gets all sorts of likes, your critique may not be as edgy as you think.

So what would happen if we just left the straw church out of all this? What if instead of making broad sweeping claims about what “the church” is doing, we instead grounded ourselves in the reality of real church.

What we find is the church is a mixture of all sorts of people, in various stages of Christian growth, with all sorts of different ideas of what the church should be all about. Some of those people can be offensive, while many of them are kind and generous. Most are hypocritical at various times. Some are more conservative and others more liberal. Some voted Republican, others Democrat, many are independents, and some have no interest in politics at all. Lots of them love Jesus and want to follow Him.

You see, the church is filled with messed up people, that’s kinda why it exists.

I once had a young woman complain to me about the way “the church” treated her. She was put down, not listened to, and generally pushed aside. I took it very seriously. But the longer the conversation went, the more it became obvious that “the church” had not done this. Rather, she had a confrontation with a particular person. Now, I know that each of us may be the face of the church to any particular person, but this person had lots of encounters with church people. But her assumption that she could make the leap from not seeing eye to eye with an individual to “the church” hates me was baffling. I could not figure out where it came from. But now I know. She got it from us, the church. It is how we talk about each other.

In no way am I saying the church is perfect or it is wrong to give some criticism. Just read the apostle Paul to know that is not true. But rather, what if instead of slandering whole groups of people or painting with such broad brushes, we got a little more succinct? What if instead of blasting “the church” we went to individuals and confronted them with what we think is wrong? (whoa, is that what Jesus calls us to?) How often do we actually know what people think and believe, or are we just assuming?

I know many “conservative” Christians who love all people. I know many “liberal” Christians with a deep regard for scripture. I know lots of hard-core Bible thumpers who desperately seek to help the poor. And I know some racists and wealth-mongers. How do I know all these people? They are all part of the church. The real church.

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?