:: In.a.Mirror.Dimly ::

This isn’t a post about God having a smite button. The results I describe are not unlike smiting, but they are entirely self-inflicted. I’m talking about the call to follow Jesus as a disciple and the daily moments we have to choose between obedience and our own plans.

I’ve learned that God lets us resist him. We can fight against God. However, we often won’t like the results. When I have said “no” or “wait” to God, I’ve discovered one of the following: frustration, anxiety, anger, or sadness. Sometimes I get a mix of them all.

I was reading the story of Elisha yesterday, and I began to wonder what would have happened if he resisted the wardrobe change that Elijah suggested for him. What if Elisha said, “No thanks. I’d rather hang here at my cozy estate and keep plowing with the oxen than put my life at risk with that crazy king of Israel!”

Here is where interpretation ceases and a little creative speculation comes into play. Sure, Elisha would have enjoyed some great years at his farm. But if you know the story of Elisha, which I heartily recommend, God repeatedly used Elisha to give the Israelites victory over the invading Arameans. When Samaria was surrounded, God spoke through Elisha and brought deliverance to the people of Israel.

What would have happened if Elisha had refused God’s call for his life?

We can only guess about the various scenarios that would have unfolded, but here are a few suggestions:

Elisha Would Have Struggled with Greed

If he had remained at his substantial farm with his 12-yoke of oxen workforce, Elisha would have continued to enjoy financial security. He never would have known God with the same intimacy as a prophet. In fact, he would have most likely struggled with greed, and who knows what could have happened from there.

Israel Would Have Been Destroyed

Without Elisha’s God-given guidance, the Arameans would have most likely captured the capital and occupied the rest of the country. Elisha would have eventually lost his farm and oxen at the end of the day.

The Worship of God Would Have Suffered

Faithful prophets of the Lord had it rough back in Elisha’s day. They had endured serious persecution under Ahab’s queen Jezebel, and even Elijah had fled in terror at her threats. Elisha helped fight against idol worship and kept his fellow believers on track. 

What’s at Stake for Us?

The story of Elisha reminds me that the decisions I make about obedience can have incredible ramifications for both my own future and the future of others. In addition, saying no to God does not guarantee safety or happiness. In fact, taking a big risk for God and watching God provide is a far safer place to be—even if the process feels anything but “safe.”

God doesn’t delight in making us miserable. He doesn’t use a smite button when we disobey him in this world. He lets us have what we want. When we repent and seek out his desires for us, the self-smiting will cease, and we’ll find peace even in the midst of facing challenges at the prompting of God.

I was careful to avoid saying that I would never go to church again, but it was certainly hard to imagine how it would ever happen again. Nine years ago I left a season of rooted stability in my faith and entered into a six-year season of transition into another expression of Christianity.

The basics remained the same, but over that time my perceptions of the church, salvation, the mission of God, the ministry of the church, and my own life calling passed through a major, major overhaul. I don’t know if you’ve ever done major renovations on a house before, but much like house renovations, my faith renovations were not pretty.

I was angry, frustrated, and disappointed at various times. I had a hard time tolerating those who remained rooted with their faith in tact. Sometimes I struck out at them, and sometimes they struck out at me for asking unsettling questions.

I’m now in a season of relative stability, rooted in a take on God that fits my limited perspective. As I look back over the past nine years of transition, I can see how others around me are in similar seasons of being either rooted or transitioning.

• Some have been disappointed by Christianity for various reasons and left the faith.
• Some have switched from one denomination to another.
• Some are still wandering.
• Some have found loving Christian community in new places that had previously been off their radar.

If we hope to keep the unity of Christ in the midst of our divisions, we need to understand these seasons. Besides our divisions over beliefs and practices, we can also divide over our seasons of belief.

At the risk of oversimplifying things, here are three seasons I have observed:

The Rooted Season of Faith

Many of us are in a rooted season in our faith where we have a certain level of comfort with our understanding of the Bible, our spiritual practices, and the ways we serve others. Those who are rooted need to be aware of welcoming those who are sprouting in their faith and have yet to find their place, while also remaining patient with those who are being transplanted.

The Transplant Season of Faith

For some of us who have been rooted in one spot for a while, sometimes the old answers and ways of doing things stop making sense. We all have our different reasons for pulling up our roots and moving elsewhere, though sometimes wider trends emerge.

Transplants are often in vulnerable positions, as they don’t feel like they fit anywhere, their beliefs have been shaken in some way, and they may be hurting enough to become combative. The hardest thing for a rooted person is patiently loving an argumentative transplant. I reached a point during my own transplant process that I actually couldn’t go to church for a season because I wasn’t in a healthy place to deal with it.

Besides spreading conflict, another problem with transplants is they sometimes rush into something new without dealing with their previous hurts and disappointments. I saw this a lot with folks who were disappointed by the church and then jumped right into house churches or emerging churches without seeking healing first.

The Sprouting Season of Faith

On the opposite end of the spectrum from the more jaded transplants are the sprouts, Christians who are still enthusiastic about their faith. The danger with sprouts is transplants can snuff out their zeal with their grievances, while those who are rooted may fail to reach out to them and nurture them in the faith.

A sprout can wither easily and get trampled down if it isn’t guarded with care. Sprouts will have lots of questions and they may feel overwhelmed by the maturity of those with deep roots. Those who are rooted must make sure they protect the sprouts from storms and hard times, ensuring they receive the nourishment from God they need so badly.

Besides different beliefs and practices, Christians differ with their seasons of faith. I’m sure there are folks who would claim to be hybrids or something different altogether, but these three seasons keep coming up for me. When we understand the seasons of faith of those in our communities, we’ll be able to love them right where they’re at today.

Do these seasons of faith make sense to you?

Have you passed through a season of transition or of being rooted?

As a veteran of Catholic elementary school and a survivor of fundamentalism, I like to think of myself as rather experienced in the realm of poorly exercised authority. My elementary school seemed to teem with sadistic teachers who only knew how to punish us in groups because of the one undiagnosed ADD kid.

At their worst, the fundamentalists figured out a way to make the Bible feel like my sadistic Catholic school teachers—a guide to the punishments we’re bound to receive unless we’re perfect. As a child, most of the religious authority figures I knew were rather heavy on the guilt and punishment end of things, save for a few women who were amazing teachers and Christians.

Attaching the word “loving” with authority strikes me as impossible in some unguarded moments, and yet, for Christians, this is really the only way authority truly works.

Read the rest of this entry »

One of my fondest memories of seminary is lunch time. The first generation Korean students gathered at a table and opened their Tupper wares to share with one another. I was even invited to pick up some chop sticks in join them at times.

Meanwhile, the occasional middle-aged pastor who had forgotten to bring a lunch would survey the vending machines with dread, knowing that the cheeseburger in a plastic bag would be his best option. He delayed that decision as long as possible.

Once a month we had a guest speaker come for a pizza lunch. Just about the entire seminary turned out for these events, filling the cafeteria and giving us all a chance to see each other and to catch up. These lunches gave us something that is essential when a bunch of people from a variety of backgrounds and relationships gather together to talk about God: relationships.

Do We Speak Truth in Relationships?

I love the way that ideas and conversations can spread on the internet, but the most significant drawback is the relational void that can occur in some online “conversations.” That isn’t to say that relationships can’t happen—they do. I’m just saying that we can now enter into conversations where we know nothing of the people participating in them.

Consequently, we don’t understand where someone is coming from and we’re not all that invested in seeking the best for that person. We just see a pile of text that challenges something important to us. There’s no prospect of seeing that pile of text at the next community lunch.

The Difference That Relationships Make

I’m certainly all for sharing my ideas online and hearing out those who disagree with me. However, I’ve observed some interesting dynamics. For example, though I’m a committed Arminian, many of my closest friends since childhood remain Calvinists. Although my childhood church is complementarian in their views toward women, and I have changed to egalitarian, I would pay close attention to the opinions of my pastors should they even contact me with a concern about my writing.

It actually can be quite easy to be friends with people we know who believe differently from us. Of course we all have experienced exceptions to this.

Who Should We Listen To?

As a general rule, I put the most stock in the opinions of the people who know me the best. Starting with my wife and some family members, I also pay close attention to friends, pastors, and colleagues. It is both unhealthy and impossible to acknowledge every opinion online as a kind of authority for our lives, and yet, it’s often tempting to do just that—even if we think we need to challenge these voices.

Who Should We Ignore

The tricky part about blogging is that I need to remain open to conversations with folks from a variety of perspectives, but I also can’t let a challenge from someone who doesn’t know me rattle my cage. I can’t lose sleep over the stuff coming from denominational leaders, celebrity pastors, and groups that would condemn someone like me.

They’re free to believe as they wish and I recognize their place in the church, but their critiques are also irrelevant to me. They have nothing invested in my own spiritual growth or the growth of my community, and therefore the best thing I can do is to seek accountability among those who desire to see myself and my community grow. While I seek guidance from perspectives outside of those who agree with me, a relational investment is critical.

Recognizing the Benefits of Authority

Having set some boundaries around the opinions I care most about, I want to make it clear that within the confines of relationships and becoming personally invested in one another, I also highly value the place of authority. We all need pastors and friends who care enough about us to challenge us to change. Tomorrow I’ll write about the freedom that comes from loving, relational authority.

Nine years ago we were newlyweds. I remember when our photo album arrived from the photographer with 4×6 prints and negatives. Yes kids, people actually used to hold pictures in their hands, and you could only make another print if you brought the negative to a developer—I’m sorry if all of this is making your head spin.

I looked through the pictures and began to think about having some prints made, buying frames, and putting up some pictures around the house. Perhaps a nice picture of Julie for my desk and a portrait in our bedroom.

However, I had seminary classes, my wife was attending graduate school, and it seemed like we never found the time for it. We’d wait for later—a time when we’d have more time.

Nine years later, I’ve made no progress on this. Worse than that, there are so many things that I’ve put off by telling myself, “I’ll get to this when I have more time.”

It’s like I’ve created this fairy land in my future where I’m be rested, relaxed, and completely at leisure to do as I please. The truth is that we can always fill up our time with something. You can never have “enough” time.

One area where God is working on my heart lately is the stewardship of my time and how badly I can waste it. One night I drove over to our community market, which is an amazing natural foods/organic grocery coop. It’s in the middle of our residential neighborhood, so I parked on the street and could see the lights from televisions flashing in every single living room on our block.

The sight saddened me, but then God, champion for hypocrisy exposure, reminded me that I was chomping at the bit to go home and watch a bit of hockey. There was no use arguing that hockey is morally superior and more redemptive than Dancing with the Stars, even if I know that’s true. The matter was one of time and priorities.

I can always put off important things by saying that I’ll have more time in the future for them. This is a lie that turns me into the victim of the circumstances, when in reality I’m a victim of my own mismanagement—which is another way of saying that it’s my fault alone.

When Jesus came to earth, Simon and Anna proclaimed that God’s salvation had come that day. Herod sought to kill the newborn child because the threat to his rule was immediate. When God acts, there is no room for delay. We can’t let our circumstances become obstacles.

Jesus told his disciples that the time has come now. Today is the day to repent. Today is the day to follow him. When a man tried to put off following Jesus in order to take care of his family obligations, Jesus wouldn’t let him off the hook.

God’s timeframe is always now, not later. As much as I’d like to delay dealing with my sins and bad habits, God wants to heal them now. As much as I’d like to fill my day up with “important” tasks, God wants me to pray now. Whenever God prompts us to act or sit, to think or rest, he’s seeking what’s best for us.

I keep thinking that I’ll get to these things, but if I expect God to heal me in the future, he’s actually saying that he wants to do it now. He doesn’t want me to wait for a day when I’ll be less busy, less stressed out, and less fragmented because that day will never come. While I wait for life to become less stressful, I miss out on the source of healing that I need the most—the one thing that I’ve been waiting for.

Today’s post is a synchroblog with Christine Sine. Check out her post: Jesus is Coming—What Do We Expect?

And hey, did you know Advent is coming? I contributed to this great collection of meditations that is now available: Waiting for the Light: An Advent Devotional. Also check out Christine’s advent video.

I have something surprising, if not shocking to share with you. It’s something so astounding, that you may not even believe me.

Nothing can quite prepare you for this. So I’ll just go ahead and say it:

There are Christians who love Jesus, serve Jesus, and are even saved by Jesus who… disagree with me.

I know, I know, that is shocking news for you. I sometimes find it hard to believe some days.

There are divisions in the church that separate the sheep from the goats, but these divisions don’t necessarily lead to breaks in our fellowship with one another—even if these divisions take issue with my awesome perspective…

If you’ve read my book Coffeehouse Theology, you know that I’m a firm advocate for dialogue with other Christian perspectives. In fact, the diversity of Christian views available makes the Christian faith stronger in today’s context.

Over the past year I’ve given a lot of time to thinking over redemptive approaches to others, and I think division itself can play a somewhat redemptive function, provided we know when to unite.

My grandparents used to have this huge German Shepherd. They loved that dog, but it growled at the grandkids. Every time we came over, the dog was relocated upstairs. We were divided on our views and experiences of the dog, but for the sake of visiting with each other, the dog was hustled upstairs and locked away.

There are some issues in Christianity today where we have sharp disagreements, and so far as I can tell, we’ll always be divided to a certain degree. We can play around with our word choice here, but I think the word “divided” is in the only way I can honestly describe the nature of some debates.

I’ve seen some Christians do admirable work at fostering dialogue and understanding. There is real value to such dialogue, but I’m curious whether each side enters dialogue thinking, “If I just expressed my views perfectly, those other dummies will change their minds.”

There simply are issues where Christians both love Jesus and remain divided. In most cases that come to mind, civil dialogue won’t bring us to a place where many on either side will change their minds.

Our divisions are real, but we don’t have to let them consume us.

Our divisions are real, but they don’t have to cut us off from one another.

Our divisions are real, but we can actually remain united in spite of them.

For the foreseeable future, I don’t see myself attending a church where women aren’t allowed to teach. I will continue to acknowledge spiritual gifts and healings. I can’t imagine ever again tying the Republican party to my Christian faith. I don’t see the point in trying to ban same sex marriage, but I know I’m not as progressive on this issue as many of my left-leaning friends.

Those are just a few of the issues where I differ from some other Christians that I know. These are issues that “divide” us on one level, but I don’t have to let them get in the way of what actually unites us.

Let’s face it, we’re going to hang on to different theologies, support different cases, and attend different churches. The solution isn’t getting everyone on the same page, and sometimes the solution isn’t always dialogue.

Christian unity does not come from our heads. Unity isn’t a list of bullet points. Unity comes from the life of God’s Spirit within us. Our fights and divisions can’t undo the presence of God among his people.

However, we can decide that our issues and divisions are more important than God’s Spirit. We can fail to recognize the means by which God has made us one—sabotaging his uniting work among us in spite of our divisions.

If someone is good enough for God’s dwelling Spirit, then who am I say I’m too good, too right, or too “just” to have fellowship? How could I ever think I have higher standards than God? 

While looking at a smashed pumpkin in the street the other day, I thought to myself how nice it is that the restless youths didn’t target our place. We have some nice planters with flowers that would probably be quite amusing for an intoxicated youth to smash.

It’s not like I’ve invested a lot of time and money on our front porch, but I’ve done enough to like it the way it is. No drunken late night remodeling required, thank you very much.

Then I had the oddest shift in my thinking. I was reminded of a friend who is living in a new monastic community in Philadelphia. He once made a remark, that I will butcher with my own paraphrase, that owning property is the source of many human conflicts.

There’s something worth pondering in his statement.

Think about this. If I have nice furniture on my porch, I now have something that I will most likely try to defend. I will engage in conflict in order to protect my possessions. However, if my porch is empty, the drunken youths of W. California Ave. must find their amusement elsewhere—that, or just go to bed.

I began to wonder if it’s better to own nothing. Do the monks and hermits have a corner on us?

A pastor who researched such things found that even monks who take a vow of poverty find things to squabble over and protect. In other words, simplicity can help us sharpen the focus of our lives, but it won’t save us from the desire to possess things and to protect them at the expense of our relationships with others.

And thus, we are left with matters of the heart. We can’t outwardly engineer for inner heart change. Only God can do that. Only God can bring us to the point where realize that we own nothing in this world, whether or not we have it in our possession or not.

While I’d rather someone didn’t trash my flowers, I aspire to arrive at a place where I can view my porch as a place that is empty. I truly own nothing there. I have things that I can use, but should they be taken away, I need to let go since they never were mine to begin with.

And once we figure out the porch, we can begin to think about what I own in the rest of the house…

I use the word “aspire” with specific intent. I don’t write any of this as someone who has beaten materialism. I feel like a toddler who just stumbles along in this department.

May God loosen my grip on the things of this life so that I can take hold of him.

What are your thoughts on ownership and stewardship?

I remember the look on my coach’s face as I threw one ball after another—as in, the opposite of a strike. He mixed a “Why me?” sort of despair with a tinge of amusement—perhaps it had to do with the absurdity that his starting pitcher couldn’t throw a strike in a play off game.

The stakes weren’t exactly high in the grand scheme of things. I was pitching in an eighth grade baseball game, but for me, it was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I remember hitting rock bottom as my coach made an audible snide remark about me as yet another batter trotted to first base.

We often see coaches walk out to the mound to advise struggling pitchers in the majors. As much as I hated my coach at that moment, I just wanted help. What was I doing wrong? I’d practiced over and over again to the point that I knew how to throw strikes. A pre-game panic attack had thrown me into a tailspin, and I didn’t know how to salvage my form.

Looking back, I can see that my problems started long before that game. Our coach didn’t really teach our team all that much. He could hit ground balls and fly balls in practice, but I had to teach myself how to throw a fastball, slider, and changeup. I even taught myself how to throw  a knuckle ball.

Previous to that playoff game, I just showed up and pitched. My coach literally taught me nothing. He didn’t invest anything in me, and when I fell to pieces, he just stepped back and watched.

My step-dad was the one person who actually invested anything in my young, short-lived baseball career in Jr. High. He taught me a few things about how to hit, and his lessons paid off. In one game he stood behind the batting cage and said, “Think of that pitch as a big grapefruit.”

It never occurred to me that baseballs could be compared to grapefruits. How does that help anyone? I’d think that a grapefruit would just explode on contact into a sticky but delicious snack. Humoring him, I told myself that the incoming pitch was, in fact, a large grapefruit.

In those seconds, I no longer saw a tiny, spinning baseball with red stitches. I saw an enormous yellow grapefruit that had been lobbed before me and was just begging to be clobbered. I swatted that ball with everything I had, sending it way beyond the centerfielder. I remember my step-dad yelling, “Yes!” as I took off for first base.

It felt good to have his support at that moment, something so different from that other time on the pitching mound when I couldn’t throw a strike. Someone wanted me to succeed. He invested in me, stood with me in my moment of challenge, and celebrated when I succeeded.

I write all of this not by way of publicly chronicling my stellar baseball career. I assure you, these are the highlights—save for the one game where I really got my knuckleball going. I wanted to talk about the feeling you get when someone is supporting you and working hard to help you succeed.

To say that God isn’t like a Jr. High baseball coach ventures toward the obvious, but I honestly think that I sometimes turn God into this smug, wait-and-see coach who is just watching us fall apart from the sidelines. God wants us to succeed because he expects that of us, but it’s tempting to think that he could take us or leave us depending on our performance.

God doesn’t want failures… or does he?

I had already made up my mind to write about this topic today, and then I read Ezekiel 18 this morning. Check it out. It’s a beautiful statement by God about wanting his people to succeed, forgiving them when they fail, and welcoming them back.

God is deeply invested in you and me because he is passionate for his people—even if we fail. His Spirit is here with us because he’s with us in the game. He’s empowering us, cheering us on, and dusting us off when we fall and sulk back to him.

We can go back to God after we fail because he’s right there with us, hoping that we’ll come to our senses and turn our “no’s” into “yes’s.” As long as you have today, your “no” does not have to be final. Your fail does not define you.

Stop looking at your failure. Look up to God because he’s leaving the sidelines where you expected to find him. He’s coming out to help you.

If you read the Bible long enough, you’ll realize that reading the Bible isn’t enough. In fact, if you learn every story and law and try to imitate everything you read, you’ll drive either yourself or everyone you know crazy.

The more you try to systematically obey the Bible, the harder it will become. Jesus didn’t leave us with a one-size-fits-all blueprint for obedience and discipleship. He asked different things of the various people he encountered.

Some were called to leave everything and follow him. Others were told to stay put and serve their communities. Still others were told to go and sin no more without a command to start following him.

There surely were some basic ground rules in place for followers, but the we can find examples in the New Testament of both rich young rulers who were asked to leave everything behind and home owners who practiced hospitality and generosity.

What is Jesus asking you to do?

The Bible tell suggests this: You’ll need to ask him rather than looking up the answer in the Bible.

And that creates an interesting picture of obedience.

There are the basic rules that must be obeyed if you want to be part of God’s people. Love the Lord first, love your neighbors, and don’t let anything prevent you from doing either. Those who allow greed, pride, selfishness, anger, or any other sin interfere, the call is for swift repentance.

Obedience is pretty simple to figure out since we know exactly what God requires of us in the scriptures. But there is another form of obedience where we hear from God and know what he expects of us, and we can choose to disobey him. We should have some biblical precedents for this kind of obedience, but this is a little different because it tends to apply to individuals or groups.

One example would be Paul and Barnabas who were praying and fasting when the Holy Spirit set them aside for missions work. Some Christians were called to stay put in Antioch, but in the case of Saul and Barnabas, they had specific work that God called them to do.

There were biblical examples of this kind of prophetic calling to God’s mission, but this kind of obedience is far more specific to individuals in a certain situation. God both lays out the ground rules for us in terms of general obedience and speaks to us concerning particular callings.

If we make an obedience system out of the stories in the Bible, then we’re going to miss the guidance provided by the Holy Spirit and we’ll fall into legalism. Some things in the Bible are quite clear, but other aspects of obedience require an attentive ear to the Spirit of God.

As I’ve started to understand the latter aspect of obedience, I’ve found that Christianity makes a lot more sense. I’m not called to be a Paul. I’m called to listen like a Paul, resist sin like a Paul, and obey like a Paul, but there’s a good chance God hasn’t called me to make tents. I’m not a lover of camping and God especially knows I don’t pay close attention—a real problem if I started sewing tent seams together.

The world is a better place without me trying to make tents or traveling from town to town to debate in synagogues. I’m grateful that God has made us with our individual gifts and particular callings. I’m grateful that the Holy Spirit keeps me from making myself and my family crazy.

May we have ears to hear what the Spirit is speaking to us today.

The first time that I actually realized what it means to be a Christian, I had a sinking feeling in my gut. I felt like I’d been tricked. There’d been some kind of mix up.

I hadn’t really thought much about the costly bit about making disciples or letting Jesus actually become the Lord of my life. I had to let go of control. I had to trust my future in his hands.

My own plans for security and a good job couldn’t be tweaked. Scrapping was even too good for them. They had to be destroyed.

I remember those days when I feared what would happen if I really let God pry my fingers away. I wanted to keep a hold on my life and my future. I thought I could look out for myself better than anyone else.

I was toying with saying “no” to God.

We can say no to God for any number of reasons. We may struggle with fear, greed, or pride. We may doubt his love for us. We may fill our minds with half-baked theology.

Saying no to God isn’t hard. Nothing feels more logical. Why wouldn’t you trust your own judgment over a leap in the dark?

I feel like my life has been an ongoing process where God continually pries my finger away one by one. I thought I knew what I should do for a career. I thought I knew where we should live and minister. Those plans have since been detonated, blown to bits with no survivors.

The funny thing about obedience and following Jesus into a leap is that you begin to learn things, you build momentum. You get to see God provide. You find out that you didn’t want certain things quite so bad once you’ve stepped away from them. You discover new things that you never expected to love. You find out that God can provide all that you need, even if you don’t have what you always thought you wanted.

Our move to Ohio was, in some senses, a step of obedience into something new. However, speaking for myself, I had also seen on several occasions that God had provided exactly what I needed in my previous leaps. There were some tough, uncomfortable moments, but along the way, I received provision from God.

The more I look back at God’s faithfulness over the years, the easier it is to let go when I sense he’s yanking at my fingers again. I still have moments of doubt and resistance. The word “no” creeps into my mind. However, I have something precious and powerful to call upon: God’s provision for past obedience.

That sinking feeling still hits my gut sometimes. Some days I dread what the next challenge will be. I don’t expect the sacrifices to become easier.

I can still think of many ways to say no to God. I still have all of my same reasons to resist his plans for life. However, I now have some pretty good reasons to say yes.