Thursday, October 27, 2022

The Web of Grace--October 28, 2022


The Web of Grace--October 28, 2022

"To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of languages, to another the interpretation of languages.  All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses." [1 Corinthians 12:8-11]

Some things are simply not a matter of earning, buying, or even of choosing wisely.  Some things are just flat out gifts you find yourself having received, beyond your efforts, and the only question you are left with is, "What shall I do with the gift in my hands?"

Maybe it's really the things that matter most in life that turn out to be gifts we didn't pick, much less achieve, but which we realize have been given to us for the sake of others.

It's hard for us to wrap our minds around such an idea, I suspect, because American culture tends to teach us the opposite.  Ours is a society that believes everything is a matter of earning and achieving, and also a matter of my choosing, like ordering off of a touch-screen menu [hold the mayo, but I want extra pickles! And I must have dipping sauce!].  We pride ourselves on the belief that we have near infinite choice, and we praise as heroes the ones who say they have built their business empires and fortunes from nothing but their sheer grit and talent, even when it turns out those folks usually have had a pretty good leg up to get themselves kick-started.  And in a culture that wants us to tell our life stories as a matter of earning and making smart choices, it is hard to hear Paul say, "Actually, it's the Spirit who chooses to give us the aptitudes, talents, and abilities we have as the Christian community--so they're not matters of your smart selection or hard work to achieve them.  They are grace."

But that, of course, is exactly what Paul says: the skills, talents, and capacities we have in our life together as God's people are gifts the Spirit gives us, not that we have chosen.  And to say they are gifts means they are not given as payment or reward for our virtue or hard work, but rather as signs of grace meant for the good of all.  Accepting that truth means starting to unravel the tale we've told ourselves that we've gotten where we are by sheer smarts and hard work, when we are actually the recipients of grace that enables us to do well.

This is the trade-off of belonging among the Jesus community: we are going to have to let go of the myth that any of us are self-made success stories, so that our hands will be open to receive the gifts the Spirit chooses to give each of us.  And in that letting go, we will at long last have to admit that God's Spirit knows better than we do what each of us needs and how each of us contributes.  It will also mean recognizing that even the talents and abilities I most strongly think of as "mine" are actually God's gifts intended to be shared with all.  

All of that is humbling, but my goodness, it opens up the whole world to us in a new way.  What Paul wants his first hearers and modern readers to know is that we aren't alone in this life--we are not left to our own devices, and we are not abandoned to make good or bad choices with only our own smarts to direct us.  Before we were even aware of it, the Spirit gave us gifts, capacities, passions, energies, and talents.  And without waiting for us to choose the right gifts to "fit" our needs or situations, the Spirit has chosen what to give us that would benefit all.  That's always been the goal in the big picture for the Spirit--not just what will bring me success, but what will build up all of us.  And that also means that the Spirit's gifts to others are also meant for your benefit.  Every gift of the Spirit to you is also the Spirit's gift through you for the good of others. There is an amazing web of grace that binds us all together, then, in Christ--we are not just people who happens to believe similar things about Jesus, but we are mutual recipients and sharers of the Spirit's gifts for all of us.  So as we head out to face this day, with all the challenges, opportunities, and needs it will bring, we do it bound up together with the whole church alongside of us, equipped together to meet whatever comes, and supplied by none other than God's own Spirit, who first breathed life into creation in the beginning.

You and I can face what today brings--because we are not alone, and we are more than our own individual achievements or choices.

O Spirit of Life, open our eyes to the gifts you have put in each of our hands, that we can find strength in what you have given to others for our sake, and so that we can offer up what you have given us for the needs of others.


Wednesday, October 26, 2022

The Gift of Difference--October 27, 2022


The Gift of Difference--October 27, 2022

"Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." [1 Corinthians 12:4-7]

Sometimes I just can't get over how truly, wonderfully revolutionary the New Testament really is.  And sometimes I can't get over how much the modern-day voices of Respectable Religion try to blunt, soften, or stifle the radical vision of the early Christian witness.

These verses from First Corinthians are a prime example: they absolutely revel in diversity and difference among the Christian community, and they insist that the point of our different gifts is for the good of all, not just for me and my self-interest.  By contrast, we live, I would say, in a time when a lot of folks--including "religious" ones--are afraid of difference and comfortable with selfishness.  A lot of Respectable Religious Leaders in our culture seem threatened by seeing a diversity of expressions of faith, ways of doing things, and perspectives for living out the gospel... and at the very same time are not at all bothered by the mindset that says, "We have to look out for the interests of OUR group first."  Put those two impulses together and you end up with a sort of homogenous tribalism that says, "We all need to be the same, and we only look out for 'our kind' of people."

Paul, on the other hand, keeps insisting that both halves of that equation are wrong: God intends for there to be diversity of gifts, ways of serving, kinds of activities, and expressions of our faith, and God intends for us to use whatever we have for the good of all, not just people who fit in my little sub-group.  [Sometimes I think if Paul showed up on the scene in contemporary American Christianity, a lot of pastors and churches would shove him out the door for all of his subversive "seek the common good" talk and his appreciation for diverse expressions of the same Spirit.  And I suspect that they would disaffiliate from the Apostle Paul confident that they were doing it for the sake of righteousness.]

But honestly, what we most deeply need is the refreshing perspective we get in these verses.  I'm tired of the same old selfishness and fear of difference that's floating around out there.  I'm tired of hearing Respectable Religious voices say that it is somehow our "Christian duty" to prioritize the interests of our own little tribes, traditions, denominations, ethnic groups, or nations rather than the good of all.  I'm tired of the knee-jerk reaction of fear or mockery that seems to bubble up any time someone outside of the cookie-cutter mold speaks about what God is doing in their lives--how women in ministry are still so often belittled, or how people from different cultures, languages, and ethnic groups are often treated like they have nothing to contribute, or how listening to those diverse voices is so easily dismissed.  And I'm tired of hearing so many voices who name the name of Jesus using their pulpits, soapboxes, and social media platforms to make their listeners afraid of "the other" rather than seeing "the other" as someone with gifts given by God, whose difference is also a gift of God.  We've all heard that for so long from so many places that I suspect we don't even realize how contradictory it is to Paul's actual perspective here.

What Paul invites us into has so much less fear and so much more joy than that.  He invites us to see the different perspectives, passions, and particular abilities of others as divine gifts to be celebrated, rather than something dangerous to be shunned or something tedious to be dismissed.  That has a way of both humbling us--because it leads us to realize that no one of us has all the necessary gifts alone--and also enriching and encouraging us, because it assures us that none of us has to live this life of faith alone.  We are made for interconnectedness.  We are made to share our strengths and to use them to shore up our collective weak places.  We are meant to see our individual gifts as something meant for the common good, rather than hoarded and leveraged for just the ones who are exactly like me.

In fact, I'm reminded, now that I think of it, of a beautiful insight of our older brother in the faith Martin Luther along the same lines. In his commentary on Galatians, Luther offers this insight, which just as easily could have been a commentary on these verses from First Corinthians: "If there is anything in us, it is not our own; it is a gift of God. But if it is a gift of God, then it is entirely a debt one owes to love, that is, to the Law of Christ. And if it is a debt owe to love, then I must serve others with it, not myself. Thus my learning is not my own; it belongs to the unlearned and is the debt I owe them… my wisdom belongs to the foolish, my power to the oppressed. Thus my wealth belongs to the poor, my righteousness to the sinners.”

What an amazing--and honestly, joyful--perspective!  And the thing is, there is nothing hold me, or any of us, back from living every day in that perspective. It's not something we have to achieve or work toward--it is simply a matter of recognizing what is already true.  God has given each of us gifts that are not simply our own, but belong to all, and we are able to receive the value of the gifts others bring as well--so long as we can see those others as people graced by God rather than folks to be afraid of.

Today, what could it look like to see our unique mix of passions, talents, perspectives, and abilities as gifts of God for the common good, and then to see what others bring as gifts of grace in the same way?  I honestly can't wait to find out.

Lord Jesus, free us from the fear of others with different experiences and abilities, so that we can be filled with joy at the diverse mix of gifts you have brought into our midst.

Tuesday, October 25, 2022

Meaning the Words--October 26, 2022


Meaning the Words--October 26, 2022

"Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed.  You know that when you were of the Gentiles you were enticed and led astray to idols that could not speak.  Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of God ever says, 'Let Jesus be cursed!' and no one can say 'Jesus is Lord' except by the Holy Spirit."  [1 Corinthians 12:1-3]

Let's clear something up:  treating Jesus like your mascot or personal possession is easy.  It's cheap.  It's popular.  And anybody can do that.  They can even dress it up in the language of piety to sound deeply devout--but it's still about trying to use Jesus to endorse your own agenda.  And, to be even more honest [perhaps uncomfortably so], it's a really common thing to do, even among Respectable Religious folk.

But to make the claim that Jesus is "Lord"--well, that's really saying something.  Or at least to mean that claim, rather than just mouthing it as pious lip-service or reciting a creed from memory like a parrot that doesn't understand the sounds it has been trained to mimic, that's a big deal.  To name Jesus as Lord isn't about invoking Jesus' power or status to back up our own agendas, but rather it is about declaring our allegiance to his agenda.  And that is something that we need the Spirit's help to do--on our own, we keep trying to crown ourselves sovereigns over our own lives like Napoleon.  It takes the pull of the Spirit in our lives to redirect our hearts and hands to give our allegiance to Jesus and his upside-down Reign where the last are first and the lowly are lifted up.

That was certainly even more evident in the first century when Paul first wrote these words.  We have become so familiar with the phrase "Jesus is Lord," and we can so callously utter them without consequence in our lives, that we might well miss just how radical a claim it really is to confess Jesus as Lord--if we dare to take that claim seriously.  In Paul's world, it was as stark a statement as saying that up is down or day is night.  It was as risky--and counter-cultural--a claim as Copernicus saying that the Earth went around the Sun rather than the accepted conventional wisdom [insisted on by the Keepers of Respectable Religion in his day, mind you] that the Earth was the center of the universe, with the Sun and all the planets orbiting it.  To say that Jesus was and is "Lord" was a clear rejection of the Empire's claim that Caesar was Lord--in fact, it was that very statement that the Empire demanded its subjects, including Christians, affirm.  And it was that very claim that ancient Christians refused to endorse--they would not mouth the words, "Caesar is Lord" or offer even a pinch of incense to Caesar on an imperial altar, even though that defiance cost many Christians their lives.  From Paul's perspective, nobody just glibly said "Jesus is Lord," because everybody in his world knew that saying those words risked a death sentence--and nobody gambles with their life so recklessly if they don't really believe the words they are saying. [To borrow an insight of C.S. Lewis, while plenty of people in history have died for things they believed in that turned out to be incorrect or outright lies, nobody dies for a lie that they know is a lie.]

For that matter, even to people who weren't big fans of the Empire, it looked simply absurd to claim that a man who had been crucified by the Empire was actually the Lord of the universe.  To the watching world, it seemed obvious that whoever is doing the crucifying is really in charge, and whoever is getting crucified must be weak, foolish, and defeated.  But Christians, from the very beginning, made the outrageous claim, not only that Jesus was and is the true Lord of all, but that his way of accomplishing victory and establishing his Reign was precisely at the point that looked like an utter loss: the cross.  Nobody says something like that by logical deduction.  Nobody, at least not in Paul's time, makes a claim like that because it is popular.  Nobody who heard the story of a homeless, weaponless rabbi getting executed on Caesar's orders would have said, "That's predictable. It sounds exactly like the rabbi won and the Empire lost"--well, nobody except someone who had been given the eyes to recognize it by the Spirit of God.

That's actually what Paul had said back in the very first chapter of this letter.  The message about the cross sounds like weakness and foolishness--utter nonsense!--to the watching world, but to those who have been called by God and given the eyes of faith to recognize it, we see in the cross the power and wisdom of God.  By sheer logic, conventional wisdom, and "common sense," it looks like Jesus is a loser who got crushed by the powers of the day, but by the direction of the Spirit, we can see a completely different understanding: that the Crucified One is indeed the Lord of all creation, and his way of reigning is the power of self-giving love that was willing to be killed by his enemies [and for their sake] rather than to kill them.

In a sense, this is exactly what we meant the other day when we talked about being a Christian and being "re-storied."  To be a Christian is to learn to tell a different story from what the rest of the world tells--about Jesus, about true power, about the world, and about who is really Lord.  To a world that just keeps rehashing the same old tale of "Might makes right," and "You've got to look out for your own interests first," the story we call the gospel sounds ridiculous.  But we have been shown by the very Spirit of God a different story--one in which the loser turns out to be the victor, the cross turns out to be Jesus' triumph, and the powers of the day are exposed to be empty husks.

In our time, the trouble is that church folks have gotten so used to reciting the phrase, "Jesus is Lord" that we run the risk of forgetting how radical a notion that really is.  We keep wanting to take the title "Lord Jesus" and slap it on our same old notions of power, and Respectable Religious folks keep wanting to let Jesus get co-opted to prop up their political agendas [often to support things that don't sound very Christ-like, at that], or to pretend that Jesus blesses our selfishness.  But when Paul talks about confessing "Jesus is Lord," he doesn't mean just reciting those words as an empty slogan or magic words to guarantee we will get what we want or have divine endorsement on our power-grabs.  The only way to really mean "Jesus is Lord" is to recognize that the One you are calling "Lord" is the One who laid down his life and endured execution by the Superpower of his day, and that his kind of lordship doesn't look like imperial conquests but the washing of feet, the welcoming of outcasts, and the love of his enemies.  Jesus' lordship doesn't come at the point of a sword or the barrel of a gun, but with a towel and basin and nail-scarred hands.  The only way anybody can possibly see such an outlandish claim as the God's-honest truth is if the Spirit of God shows it to us.

Today, then, let's be done with the cheap ways we try to misuse the name of Jesus on our own personal or partisan agendas.  Let's be done with using Jesus as a mascot to endorse our own wishes for control, money, or status, and instead allow Jesus' upside-down reign to surprise the world, ourselves included.

In other words, let us dare to confess that Jesus is Lord... and let us dare to mean it.

Lord Jesus, let us mean what we say about you in the ways we live this life according to your upside-down Reign where the last are put first and the lowly are lifted up.

Monday, October 24, 2022

The Reverse-Deer Conundrum--October 25, 2022


The Reverse-Deer Conundrum--October 25, 2022

"Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord.  Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died. But if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged. But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world. So then, my brothers and sisters, when you come together to eat, wait for one another.  If you are hungry, eat at home, so that when you come together, it will not be for your condemnation. About the other things I will give instructions when I come." [1 Corinthians 11:27-33]

So, true story... once upon a time, my wife and I were in the car on our way home from somewhere one evening, less than a mile from home.  And as we come around a bend in the road, my wife says to me, "Deer!" to which I responded without even thinking, "Yes, honey?"  

At that point, she pointed ahead to the four-legged creature crossing the road [rather surprisingly to us, right in town on the edge of the campus of the university in our town, too!], and again said, "Deer!  Look, Stephen--a deer! Watch out!"  She wanted to make sure I had seen the animal crossing the road, both to avoid hurting it and to avoid having us crash into it.  Now, while to this day I insist that I was aware of the deer and was in no danger of hitting it, I will readily admit that I was confused at first by her warning.  I heard "deer," and heard "dear," like a term of endearment--so I answered, "Honey," with the same amount of perceived affection.  But in the wider context, it's obvious that she wasn't trying to be affectionate, but to make sure I perceived the living creature illuminated by the headlights so that we didn't crash.  Missing that deer could have been disastrous for all three of us--me, my wife, and the deer. For a moment, however, I heard the words that came out of her mouth and thought she was calling me "dear."

Now, years later, we can laugh about the moment.  But I've also never been able to shake the memory of that encounter when I read this passage from First Corinthians, too.  And that's because it has taught me the potentially disastrous consequences of missing the point by taking a message out of context.  This passage is one of those places in the New Testament that has been weaponized as a way to condemn people whose sacramental theology is deemed "wrong", when Paul himself tells us he's concerned about a lack of love in the community that gathers around Jesus' table.

In particular, over the centuries sometimes theologians have zeroed in on the stark warning from Paul that "all who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves."   And it was assumed that Paul was warning that when you eat the bread and drink the cup in what we call Holy Communion, or the Lord's Supper, that you had to have the proper metaphysical understanding of what was happening in that ritual moment, or else you were condemning yourself to hell by communing "unworthily."  This was an especially popular interpretation of the passage during the medieval and Reformation-era times in church history when Christians fought [often with accusations of heresy that were punishable by excommunication or burning at the stake] over how, exactly, to understand the presence of Christ in our celebration of Communion.  For some, particularly those influenced by theologians like Thomas Aquinas [who himself was riffing on ideas borrowed from Aristotle], the elements of Communion--the bread and the cup--ceased to be bread and wine but metaphysically became the body and blood of Christ, but still "looked" like bread and wine on the outside.  Others, like the older brother in the faith from whose tradition I come, Martin Luther, was convinced that Christ is and was truly and physically present in the bread and cup, but that you didn't have to believe that these elements stopped being bread or wine while also being the body and blood of Christ.  And, of course, there were others still who had other opinions--that we "spiritually feed on Christ," or that these elements are purely a symbol of Christ's death on the cross, or any of a number of other variations in between.  Over enough time, those different traditions tended to harden into rigid dogmas, and then were used as litmus tests for who was, or was not, acceptable as "worthy" candidates of receiving Communion.  If you believed the wrong thing about how Jesus was present, you were out--because you weren't "discerning the body" correctly.  All because, if you take this verse out of its larger context in First Corinthians, it could sound like Paul is just warning people to have a proper theological or philosophical belief about what is happening.

But when we zoom out even just a little bit to the immediately surrounding verses and read that sentence in its surrounding context, it becomes clear that Paul isn't particular interested in questions of metaphysics, but of love for people in the community.  It turns out we have a reverse "Dear/Deer" problem here--without the context, we miss the point of what is being said.  If you are predisposed to read the Bible as a metaphysical primer teaching the precise doctrinal positions you have to believe in order to attain eternal life, you will take every verse as a philosophical proposition to be learned and memorized in a catechism.  Like the old saying, "To the one with a hammer, everything looks like a nail."  When we actually see the flow of Paul's thought here, he's more concerned with the ways people are not recognizing that they ARE "the body of Christ."  Paul had already used that way of speaking earlier in Chapter Ten, when he insisted that "because there is one bread, we who are many are one body." And he'll spend the better part of a chapter coming up next talking about being "the body of Christ" as well.  He's also just told the Corinthians how disappointed he is that when they come together to share this meal, they are not looking out for one another, waiting for those who haven't gotten there yet, or hoarding for themselves without being considerate for those without.  In other words, Paul is upset that they haven't "discerned" that THEY together are the body of Christ, and they are acting in ways that deny their one-ness.  

What has upset Paul here is not a concern for bad metaphysics, but for a failure to love.  The folks in Corinth have allowed "Me-and-My-Group First" thinking to infect their holiest gathering, because they're each grabbing food for themselves rather than waiting for one another and making sure that all are ready and able to participate in the meal.  And that, for Paul, is what runs counter to Christ.  It is the refusal to seek the good of others first that flies in the face of Christ--not whether you have memorized the correct diagram of sacramental theology.

The real tragedy of all of this, of course, is that for centuries, different Christian groups have gotten so focused on their particular take on the phrase, "discerning the body" as reason to keep people from sharing in communion [all out of fear that someone would partake "unworthily"] that the meal intended to bind the followers of Jesus together as one body has turned out to divide and fracture us further.  Our bickering over who has the exactly correct way of dissecting a Mystery of grace has turned out to splinter us further into factions who keep each other out, rather than Holy Communion being a point at which we are all made one again.  What a terrible irony.

For us today, it's worth letting this be a case study in how to avoid missing the point by forgetting context.  Like me in the car, taking "Deer" to be "Dear" and missing the context of having an actual antler-bearing animal in my headlights' field of vision, we can get so hung up on a phrase like "discerning the body" that we misunderstand what it is actually being used to mean.  When we try to reduce the Mysteries of our faith to a set of "right answers" we can memorize or diagram, we have certainly confused the real and living God with an idol of our own making.  But when we see that, over and over again, the Scriptures are more interested in making us into people who love well, we avoid disastrously missing the point.  

In this day, let's spend our energy and attention seeking how to love well--that will mean things like looking out for the interests of others more than just ourselves, and seeking the benefit of everyone rather than just Me-and-My-Group-First.  I have more than a hunch that God is more interested in deepening our capacity to love like Christ than to have the right answers on a philosophy exam.

Maybe then we will not miss out on acknowledging--and loving--the people God has placed right in front of us.

Lord Jesus, give us the humility and courage to hear the Scriptures with fresh ears and your calling to make us people who love like you.

Re-Storied--October 24, 2022


Re-Storied--October 24, 2022

"For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 'This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.' For as often as you eat of this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes." [1 Corinthian 11:23-26]

I've read a lot of different definitions for being a Christian over the years, some good and some leaving much to be desired.  But I keep coming back to this one: to be a Christian is to be re-storied by the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Well, maybe that's not a very helpful description if I don't also say what I think I mean by "being re-storied."  Let me put it this way: we are, each one of us, shaped by the storied that we tell over and over again.  They come to form the way we see the world, the ways we understand ourselves, and the ways we think of where we've come from and where we're going.  In a household, those stories might be literal family stories--the way Great-Grandpa came over from "the old country" and started over with nothing as an immigrant, or the way Grandma held the family together during the war and raised the kids while Grandpa was serving overseas, or the way Mom was the first one in the family to go to college.  Those stories are not simply records of "what happened," but they tell the rest of the family, "This is who we are."  The stories may tell the succeeding generations, "We come from immigrant stock, so don't ever bad-mouth those who come here from another country, and don't you dare shut the door on those who come after us, because someone first held the door open for us."  Or they may instill the value of hard work, or of family cohesion, or the importance of using the opportunity to get an education if you can get one.  One way or another, we teach our children and grandchildren something of who they are by the stories we tell--especially the ones that come to have an almost ritual way of being retold.

Nations and societies do the same thing--the stories we retell often come along with rituals and holidays we observe.  In the United States, we mark the formation of our country with the signing of the Declaration of Independence--a written statement of principles and ideals, rather than a battle--and yet we also celebrate with fireworks as a nod to the "bombs bursting in air" that are a part of our national story and anthem.  We tell our story as one of freedom from colonization in that national story, and it is invoked by politicians of every stripe, party affiliation, and generation.  Or, take the ways different states have told different stories about race in our history every third Monday in January--some states observe that day as Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, in recognition of the work of the Civil Rights movement in the mid-20th century to end segregation and strive toward racial equality... while other states have continued to celebrate "Robert E. Lee" Day on the very same day in January.  They are not just interchangeable reasons for a day off from work--they each tell a different story, of who the people are that celebrate them, and who they are striving to become.  Even in recent decades, there is more storytelling going on in the ways we observe commemorations of September 11, 2001 [and with it, the oft-repeated reminder to "never forget"], or the move in recent years to make Juneteenth a federal holiday.  These are not neutral actions, but they tell stories, which shape who we are and how we see ourselves.

The same has always been true for the people of God, even stretching back to its earliest memories as a people.  When the wandering tribes of Israel were freed from slavery in Egypt, the story of their liberation become a foundational piece of their identity. Every year it was retold and re-enacted in the Passover, and the memories of having been enslaved and oppressed as foreigners in Egypt left impressions on Israel's laws and values, too.  Every commandment about giving justice to immigrants, or treating foreigners the same as fellow Israelites, or making special provision to provide for aliens [and there are many such commandments] came with the fingerprints of that ancient story: "...for you were aliens in the land of Egypt, and you know what it was like to be mistreated when you were the foreigners."  Over and over, the psalms and hymns of ancient Israel remember the story of how God had set them free from Pharaoh, how God had provided for them in the wilderness, and how God had given them good and just laws.  The old stories kept forming the people, generation after generation, to become a certain kind of people with a certain way of life.  All of that is what it means to be a "storied"--or re-storied--people.

And for us who are claimed by the story of Jesus, the central story that re-makes us--even week by week--is the story of Jesus' death and resurrection.  And very much like ancient Israel's practice of rehearsing its ancient story with a meal of storied bread in the Passover, the followers of Jesus do not merely listen to words about Jesus over and over again. We are reconstituted by the meal of Jesus, who inscribed the signs of bread and wine with the Story of his own death--and the hope of resurrection as well--so that we might be people storied in a new way.  When we share in the bread and cup that we call "Holy Communion," or "the Lord's supper" or "the Eucharist," we are being re-storied--remade and reshaped in light of the cross and empty tomb.  We are given a different--indeed, upside-down--set of values compared with the watching world.  Rather than being people obsessed with power, domination, success, or control, we are marked by the story of suffering love that defeated evil and death by being crucified, rather than by killing Jesus' enemies.  We are people now who don't trace our liberation through a war or a battle being won or even from a piece of paper, but through Christ's death and resurrection.  And to take that seriously will change the way we see the world and move within it.  To take the bread and to share the cup will re-story us.

For whatever else happens in the lived moment of our sharing the bread and cup of Communion--and there is plenty more we could say that "happens" there--we are restoried people.  We are reminded once again of who we are and whose we are, and that grounds us for facing the world as a unique people in the world.  Indeed, like Stanley Hauerwas says, we become "God's countercultural option" in the world--to live lives that are otherwise unintelligible except for the death and resurrection of Jesus.

That's why, among all the things that the first Christians could have made sure to pass down to the next generation, among the most important were the Storied Meal of bread and wine by which we are restoried ourselves as the cross-marked community of Jesus.

Lord Jesus, remind us again whose we are--week by week at your table, and day by day in this life.

Thursday, October 20, 2022

The Missing Ingredient--October 21, 2022


The Missing Ingredient--October 21, 2022

"Now in the following instructions I do not commend you, because when you come together it is not for the better but for the worse. For, to begin with, when you come together as a church, I hear that there are divisions among you; and to some extent I believe it.  Indeed, there have to be divisions among you, for only so will it become clear who among you are genuine.  When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord's supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk.  What!  Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter, I do not commend you!" [1 Corinthians 11:17-22]

We have a rule at our house around supper time. It is simply this: you don't start eating until everybody else in the family is seated at the table, too. That's it. Not very complicated, really. There's really just a simple mental checklist is involved to follow it:

(Step 1) Look around at table.
(Step 2) See if someone in the family is missing.
(Step 3) If someone in the family isn't at the table yet, repeat Steps 1 and 2.
(Step 4) Once everyone is seated together, then we can pray and pass the biscuits and eat.

Now, just because it's a simple rule doesn't mean it's always easy to follow. After all, our lives are busy, and sometimes one person is late coming home from work, while another person has an early evening meeting to get to, and meanwhile kids are running in and out of the bathroom washing their hands (or trying to get away with just pretending to wash them), and there are plates and platters being carried out to the dining room table in a flurry, too. And sometimes, it is very, very tempting, for some members of our family (their identities shall remain undisclosed) to start putting forkfuls of macaroni and cheese into their mouths, or eating their watermelon chunks before everyone has come to the table.

And when that happens, we put a stop to it. Busyness or meetings to get to are not acceptable excuses for eating without others, and neither are "But I'm really hungry!" or "I just really like watermelon." In a family, we wait for each other. We wait at the table for one another, and we hold off filling our own bellies until everyone has arrived. That's just what we do.

And the reason we do this--the reason my wife and I regularly allow ourselves to be cast as the bad guys at supper by insisting that we wait for everybody--is frankly that suppertime is about more than just consuming calories. The family meal is a chance for us to shape the kind of people we are. The dinner table is a place to practice love--and genuine love doesn't look after its own hunger first, but rather waits for everybody else who is coming to the table to join as well. That is crucial.

Sure, there are times in the course of a week when I just quickly grab a bite of lunch while standing so I can get back to work. Sure, there are days when I just skip the lunchtime ritual altogether. And sure, in the mornings, sometimes breakfast is rather scattershot with the early adult departure before the sun is up and the kids needing to be out the door to get to school, too. But supper time is different. It is not really just about food. There is a missing ingredient to supper, even when all the serving platters and side dishes are already out on the table. Supper is this wonderful moment when we remind each other that we are bound to each other in love, and that love means you wait to make sure everybody else knows there is a place for them at the table. You wait for them. You make space for them. And you make it clear that "my" individual hunger is not more important than the welcome of each person to the table.

Now, that also means that we have knowingly chosen to set the pace of dinner, not according to who can wolf their meal down the fastest, but according to the needs of the slowest person to get to the table. We don't say that dinner starts as soon as the first person gets to their chair and grabs the fish sticks for themselves. We don't even say, "First come, first served" at the family dinner table. We almost do the opposite: we wait for whoever is the last one to get to the table, and we all share the serving all at the same time. That is an important piece of teaching one another--not just the kids, but reminding the grown-ups, too--what love looks like.

And love is not a first-come, first-served commodity. Love is not awarded according to who gets to the buffet line first and piles all the shrimp on their plate so there is none left for the latecomers. Love waits. And that means that love gives a certain priority, not to whoever thinks they have "earned" to get to eat first, but actually to whoever is slowest to get to the table, and whoever has the hardest time getting the corn scooped onto their plate.

So far, I hope all of this is rather straightforward and without controversy. I imagine that on this point, family dinners look much the same all across our communities, and across our country, maybe even the world. And I expect that by and large in our family meals, we can all affirm the importance of making the effort of waiting for whoever is last, providing for whoever has the least, and setting aside a place for whoever has been left behind. You wait to eat until the last person has been seated. You help make sure the people around you have had everything passed to them. You make sure to save some for whoever is going to be arriving late, or you save leftovers to bring to the person who couldn't get out to your house for dinner. This is obvious stuff, I hope.

But somehow that same logic, that same obvious almost self-evident logic of dining room love, gets confused when we consider the wider family to which we belong in the community of Jesus. And we have been getting hung upon it since the first century. There was a time, as our passage today from First Corinthians describes it, when the followers of Jesus met for worship, fellowship, and discipleship all around tables for a community meal of the family of God. And in the midst of that meal, they would not only eat their own dinners and break bread together, but they would retell the story of Jesus' meal with his disciples--the meal we now call Holy Communion, or the Eucharist, or the Lord's Supper. But just like happens with my kids prematurely scooping macaroni or shoveling watermelon into their mouths, in the early life of the church you had the same kind of me-first attitude creeping in. Some people, whether as individuals or as nuclear family units, would eat on their own first, while others had nothing. They acted as though the meal wasn't a shared common experience, but simply a race to get food into their bellies. It was Me-and-My-Group thinking at its most obvious. And the apostle Paul had to smack them all upside the head and say, "No! No! That's NOT how we do things here!"

Paul is upset, not because the Corinthians have gotten their metaphysical diagrams about the transubstantiation of the eucharistic elements slightly wrong, and not because they had forgotten to use incense or organ music during their liturgy, but because they had forgotten to treat this moment like a family dinner. And at a family dinner, you wait for everybody. You pace yourselves, not according to who can eat fastest and get to seconds, but according to who is the slowest, so that they don't get left out. At a family dinner table, you put your own needs and hunger in a lower priority than welcoming everybody else to have a place at the table. At the family meal, you take into account the needs of the last, the least, and the left behind. So Paul said, in so many words, "That's what you need to be doing when you gather with other Christ-followers! You all need to put the needs of the others before your own immediate gratification!"

This is where we often have a hard time. I don't have too much of a problem teaching my kids that they need to wait for everyone to come to the table. But I know there is this self-centered streak in me that has a hard time telling myself, on Paul's authority, to do the same in the wider circles of my life. And yet, that is just what Paul is calling us to: to put the needs of the other before our own wants. To wait until everybody has gotten the chance to sit. To put my own wish for a drumstick be put beneath the need of the person next to me so that they can have some chicken too.

Paul knew the power of sharing a table together with others. And he knew that we need the regular practice of learning to share tables with one another not just within our nuclear families but across them as well, or else we will turn our own little families and tribes into idols. And so Paul insisted that in this family, the family of God, we wait for each other, and we honor each person's contributions, and we also let others come to the table regardless of what they have to bring or offer. In this family, we wait for one another. In this family, we look out for the needs of the other. In this family, we put others before ourselves, and instead of getting huffy or bitter about it, we can rejoice that someone else got to have their needs attended to. That is radical talk these days, where it is so much more popular to talk about getting as much as you can, as quickly as you can. It is radical because it will mean that day by day, each of us will reorient our lives, not around trying to hoard treasures into piles, but around the needs of the slowest, the lowest, the least, and the last.

We wait until the slowest person coming on their way arrives. We make room for the last-minute arrivals. We hold off on filling our plates with wants and wishes until after everybody there gets enough for their needs. And maybe, just maybe, if we practice it as church together, we will be transformed to practice the same kind of love outside the walls of church, just recklessly loving people without the tired old logic of "first come, first served."

May today be such a day: may we put the needs of others before our own. May we prioritize the last, the least, and the left behind. May we wait until everyone is welcome at the table before stockpiling the fried chicken for ourselves. May we live in the fullness of sharing our treasures with one another. And may we discover that true communion sprouts up from that sharing.  That may be just what the world has been missing, all along.

Lord Jesus, lead us to your table, and bring us to welcome others as you have made a place at the table for them, too.

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

The Money Under the Mattress--October 20, 2022


The Money Under the Mattress--October 20, 2022

"But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ. Any man who prays or prophesies with something on his head disgraces his head, but any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled disgraces her head—it is one and the same thing as having her head shaved. For if a woman will not veil herself, then she should cut off her hair; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved, she should wear a veil. For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and reflection of God; but woman is the reflection of man. Indeed, man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for the sake of woman, but woman for the sake of man. For this reason a woman ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man or man independent of woman. For just as woman came from man, so man comes through woman; but all things come from God. Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering. But if anyone is disposed to be contentious—we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God." [1 Corinthians 11:3-16]

Sooo... this is quite a passage, isn't it?  

If it felt like we had left the minefield earlier and were past the complicated and provocative places in this letter, well, now we have ambled our way right back into the danger, it seems.  And I've got to admit to you that not only does this passage seem really, really hard to find some kind of present-day devotional connection for, but the logic in this passage is really hard for me to follow.  With all due respect to the apostle, I can't follow Paul's train of thought, but he seems to think he is perfectly clear and his conclusions perfectly obvious to everyone, even when he throws out a phrase like "because of the angels" out of nowhere.  If I am going to put my cards on the table, I need to admit to you that this is a really difficult passage for me to make heads or tails out of, and we're going to have to stumble our way to some kind of meaning for us rather precariously.

That said, I have often been reminded by that line I have heard attributed to biblical scholar Renita Weems that when we find ourselves wrestling with a biblical text, there is value in refusing to let go of it, like old Jacob, until it gives us a blessing.  And so, rather than just shrugging this section off altogether as obscure or determining that it has nothing to teach us, let me suggest we press on and at least keep wrestling until something dawns on us.

But first, a historical detour, if you'll indulge a fellow text-wrestler... I'll bet you know someone who lived through the Great Depression.  Maybe it's far back, now that we are ninety-plus years removed from the great stock market crash, but I'll bet you have some recollections of those who endured, and were shaped by, those years.  For folks who went through the worst of the 1930s, almost everyone was affected permanently by the hardship of the Depression, and it shaped the habits and mindsets of many of that generation, even for decades after the Depression was over and the post-World-War-II boom was in full swing.  Many who had to scrape by, saving and reusing whatever materials they could, were forever changed into being prudent and frugal.  Many who knew what it was like to have nothing would never waste anything again--not food, not clothing, not old broken tools, nothing.  If it could be fixed, they fixed it.  If it could be saved, they saved it. Many who went through that time stopped trusting institutions like banks and instead kept their valuables hidden in the house. It was a coping mechanism, or really a survival strategy, that almost everyone who lived through the Great Depression became familiar with.

Of course, for people who had never lived through a time like that, it seemed strange to see their parents or grandparents saving up and washing old aluminum foil, or storing stacks of newspapers, or even hoarding things that would almost certainly not be used again.  And for some people, the skills and practices they had learned during the Depression--which were almost universally necessary during the worst of those times--eventually became hang-ups they couldn't let go of when times got better.  To those of a younger generation, the practice of saving old tinfoil or twine in drawers in your kitchen might have seemed irrational, while to those who lived through the Depression, it was a carryover from what they had learned as common sense in their formative years.  

Now, I want to propose a thought experiment of a sort.  If you lived through the Depression and had learned to scrimp and save, or to hide your money under your mattress because you didn't trust the banks, or to hoard used materials in case you needed them again, it would have seemed just universally true that everybody should do the same.  All your neighbors were saving household goods; all your friends and relatives were keeping their money under the mattress rather than in a risky bank, too.  So it just would have seemed universally true that everybody should follow those practices, too--because they were the coping skills you all had learned by going through the same things. [We might point today the way school children today are growing up learning to have active shooter drills, and wonder at how that experience is skewing and scarring them--or for folks who lived during the height of the Cold War, what it did to a generation who grew up hiding under their school desks in case of nuclear fallout.]

But at some point, the skills and habits of that Depression-era generation might no longer have been as useful or universal.  At some point the conditions in the wider world changed.  We have, for example, the ability to recycle aluminum or glass or plastic so that wholly new products can be made.  We have the FDIC that insures the money in bank accounts in case the bank would fail.  We are increasingly moving away from periodicals printed on paper, to be read once and thrown away the next day.  And there are a host of other ways that the needs and habits of daily life are just different from the ones that created the Depression-era generation's survival skills.  They had a purpose and a rationale in the time in which they arose, and we don't need to fault the people who lived through those times and were shaped by them--but we can also perhaps recognize that those habits which seemed universal and necessary for survival at one time were actually the product of a particular time and place.  

We can be grateful for the ways our parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents learned to endure through difficult times.  And we can choose to learn from their examples and find ways to use their insights to guide us through the circumstances of our times. But we also can recognize that some of the things they took as universally true might not be useful or applicable in other times or places.  Plenty of mothers have told their children, "Don't forget your coat," in childhood, but we also knew it didn't mean we had to wear a heavy parka for a summertime day at the beach.

I want to suggest at least the possibility that some of the same thing is going on here in what we call First Corinthians.  Paul has some very strongly held positions about what the "right" way to wear hair was for men and women, particularly in the context of public gatherings of the Christian community.  And while Paul seems to think that these are universal or "natural" truths--timeless and independent of culture or circumstance--perhaps these are the kinds of customs that were bound to his time and place.  After all, even though Paul speaks against men having long hair here in First Corinthians, he surely would have also known about the practice in ancient Israel of the "nazarite" vow--like Samson famously took--whereby men would refrain from cutting their hair or beard for a period of time, or even as permanent vows.  In ancient Israel it was not degrading or shameful to be a man with long hair, but in fact, it could be a sign of deep devotion to God that you had made this nazarite vow.  However, in the Greco-Roman culture in which Paul and his readers lived, there was a different set of assumptions about what "normal" or "natural" hair or dress was supposed to be.  And perhaps, like those who lived through the Great Depression and were taught the practices of saving, reusing, and not spending, Paul is reflecting what everybody in the time in which he lived took to be "the way things are."

Now, I don't mean to just dismiss Paul patronizingly and say, "That poor fella was only saying what people in his time said, and he only thought what people in his time thought--we are free to ignore him because we live in different times."  If the analogy between Paul in the first century and the Great Depression-era generation of the '30s is a fair one, then we wouldn't just dismiss the experience of those who lived through the Depression, either.  We just might have to stop before automatically copying their habits in other times and circumstances.  There were reasons for saving, scrimping, and hiding your money under the mattress.  And those were such important habits that they probably preserved a lot of families long enough to see them through until times were better.  And even in a day when we have the FDIC to insure bank accounts or online newspapers instead of needing to hoard stacks of old yellowing daily papers "just in case," we can certainly still learn from them the importance of good stewardship of what you have, and the danger of being wasteful.  So it's not that we're free to just dismiss what an earlier generation thought was important.  

And yet at the same time, we aren't being responsible if we just copy the practices of another time or place as though they are not context dependent.  There was, after all, a time when it seemed "obvious" that a respectable man of means should wear a powdered wig--and now, in a time when we can wash our hair more frequently and don't have the same fear of lice, we have other ways of wearing our hair.  Failure to wear a powdered wig isn't the social scandal in twenty-first century American that it might have been in, say, eighteenth century France or England.

So here's what I want to propose for Paul and First Corinthians.  If he lived--as I think he did--in a time when there were certain assumed codes of dress and appearance that differed for men and women, then it's at least worth asking, "What would have been the consequence of flagrantly violating those standards in public, and would it have been worth that cost?"  There are times, after all, when it is important to stand against the "conventional wisdom" of the day and to be willing to go against the flow, no matter how controversial or troublesome it makes you seem.  But that is not always the case--sometimes, the choice to stand out is just causing a whole lot of scandal for no good reason.  And the question to ask, perhaps, is when we should be willing to be provocative for our faith in Christ... and when being provocative is really just being a jerk or wanting attention.  I'm reminded of an insight of Gerhard Ebeling who talked about causing the "right" kind of scandal versus the "wrong" kind of scandal as Christians.  And if we are making a big fuss over something that isn't really a gospel issue, we are putting obstacles in the way of others being able to hear the Good News.  

I think that's why Paul had been so laser-focused earlier in this letter on the question of meat sacrificed to idols--he knows that he doesn't care about where his meat came from, but he knows it could become a huge stumbling block for someone else, and he doesn't want someone else's faith to be snuffed out because they weren't mature enough yet to get over the idea of meat that had come from a pagan sacrifice before it was sold in the market.  And so here, I think Paul would tell us, too, that the choices we make as Christians, even down to the ways we dress or carry ourselves, will leave an impression with other people, and we should be at least mindful of why we do, or do not, provoke people with our choices.  

I could--in the name of "Christian" freedom--insist on wearing a baseball cap everywhere I go, indoors or outdoors, in home visits as well as in public worship on Sundays.  But there are so many folks for whom it is a sign of disrespect to wear a hat indoors that I don't waste my energy fighting that battle and insisting on wearing a hat when I sit down in their living rooms to visit.  Does God care?  Not really, I don't think--except that God cares that I show respect and love to my neighbors.  What shape and form that respect takes will change in different cultures and different times--much like there are cultures in which it is a sign of respect to take your shoes off when you enter someone else's house, and cultures in which that would be seen as being overly familiar or casually rude.  To me, it seems a waste of time, energy, and good-will to go around thumbing my nose at those customs when I could instead build a rapport with people by avoiding things they could take as signs of disrespect.  But I should also be aware that those customs and mores are not fixed in stone, and that the ways we show respect may change over times or contexts.  Social expectations will change over time, and I don't have to fight to keep one dress code or another in place for all times.  What does endure is the call to love, and that includes being mindful about what will show respect or disrespect to others--and knowing when it is important to challenge others' expectations, versus knowing when it is wiser to live within social custom.

For what it is worth, the Gospels show us that Jesus had the wisdom and grace to know how to navigate those waters, both when to go with the flow and when to push against it.  The same Jesus who tells Simon Peter they need to pay the temple tax and go along with what is expected of them in Matthew 17:24-27 [in fact, making a point of saying that he is doing it "so as not to cause offense," mind you] is the same Jesus who has no problem scandalizing the Respectable Religious People while the woman at Bethany anoints his feet, or when he strikes up a conversation with the Samaritan woman in John 4, or when he invites himself over to the house of Zacchaeus or Matthew.  Jesus is neither intimidated into staying inside other people's expectations all the time nor obnoxiously obsessed with upsetting people just for the sake of upsetting people.  Maybe that's the cue we should take, and maybe that's what Paul is trying to get at here:  there are times when we choose to be winsome and not to be abrasive, and there are times when our faith calls us to stand out--but to know we are going to risk catching flak for it, and to know how and when to spend our chips to do so.  If we are never intentional about critically thinking why we are doing what we are doing, we'll end up like the person who still hoards newspapers because of Depression-era habits. But if we are wise enough, and self-aware enough, to ask, "What is the right thing to do in this moment, this context, and this situation?" we can know when to ride with the current, and when to go against the flow.

The one other thing we'll have to acknowledge, though, in all of this conversation, is that there may well be things that we in our day and time think are timeless and universal truths that may just be artifacts of the culture in which we live.  And before we insist that some particular hang-up of ours is a universal and timeless rule, we would be wise to step look beyond ourselves and see whether the customs ingrained in us are the result of our unique circumstances, rather than laws carved in stone.  There are times we will want to keep doing what we have been taught by "conventional wisdom" and common sense--and there are times we'll see those are just what are used to doing.... and that maybe we don't have to keep storing our money under the mattress any longer.

Lord, give us the wisdom to know how to navigate the waters of our culture and our time with humility and grace.

Wednesday, October 12, 2022

What We Hold Onto--October 13, 2022


What We Hold Onto--October 13, 2022

"I commend you because you remember me in everything and maintain the traditions just as I handed them on to you." [1 Corinthians 11:2]

It's been said that "tradition" is the living faith of the dead, while "traditionalism" is the dead faith of the living.  One hopes that makes it obvious which to choose, if you have the choice between them.

Of course, sometimes we can be so worried about becoming stuck in the old, dead routines of traditionalism that we throw the baby out with the bathwater and pitch the living, vital rhythms of tradition that are still valuable and still breathe life into us.  Especially in a time and culture like ours that seems infatuated with newness and novelty, the idea of carrying on a tradition can seem hopelessly out of touch at best or downright repressive at worst.  For good and for ill, we live in a society that is quick to question the decisions and thinking of those who have gone before us.  

Now, to be sure, sometimes that critical approach is necessary--we should, after all, be able to probe down into the reasons that the people of the past did what they did, and we should decide whether those reasons are good enough to continue to do the same in a new time.  There are, after all, some truly terrible things that have been handed down from one generation to another as traditions, and they absolutely needed to be questioned and then brought to a halt.  There was a time when slavery was "traditional," when treating women as the property of their husbands or fathers was seen as "traditional family values," and when blood-letting was a "traditional" remedy for illness recommended by the best medical minds.  So before we just baptize our nostalgia, yes, there is good reason for our age to be a cynical one. And the deep distrust many have for any kind of traditions [especially ones associated with institutions, or religion, or--gasp--institutional religion] comes from having seen so many of those traditions turn out to be disappointments.  

And yet... there are some things we keep coming back to, things we then pass along to our children and the next generation beyond that, because they continue to bring us to life.  We hand on the things we have found to be vital and essential, so that those who come after us don't have to keep reinventing the wheel, and so that others can receive what we have found important enough to give to them.  The word for that is simply, "tradition."

Holding those in tension is the tightrope walk that keeps us from falling off of "tradition" into the disaster of mere "traditionalism." Maybe that's why the famous line from the musical says, "Without our traditions, our lives would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof."  Traditions that serve a purpose can be exactly what keeps us steady enough to keep going in life, and they can keep us grounded in what really matters. And I think that's the spirit in which we have to hear Paul's words here.  Paul does indeed commend the Corinthians for holding onto the traditions he has given them, but you get the sense that we are talking about those vital things that keep faith alive and kicking.  This isn't "You must have red carpet in your church building, because every church carpet we have ever had was red before."  And this isn't an instance of passing on old prejudices and bigotry from father to son in the name of promoting "traditional" morality, either.  This is Paul who has just finished talking about his practice of empathy and consideration for others as a way of imitating Christ.  That's the kind of tradition we're talking about here--and yes, that is vital.

So let's take the risk of being a little bit weird in a culture that seems hell-bent on throwing out whatever was popular five minutes ago and going bananas for whatever the Next-Big-Thing is touted to be.  Let's dare to believe that there are indeed some things that have been handed to us as traditions in the way of Jesus that don't automatically need to be thrown away or dismissed as "outdated." Let's consider that tradition can be the wisdom of the past that spares us having to reinvent the wheel, and that it can be what keeps us grounded in the things that truly bring us to life.  That still gives us the breathing room to question things that have been handed to us uncritically or that seem to be dead weight rather than life-giving patterns for life, but it also keeps us from losing babies along with bathwater.  And perhaps if we ask the question, "What things do I want to offer to the future that have helped me navigate life well?" we get a sense of what traditions are worth holding onto, and which ones are just white elephants don't know what to do with.

Maybe to a culture that is perpetually chasing after the new for the sake of its sheer novelty, holding onto vital traditions might just be a surprising breath of fresh air.

Lord Jesus, as others have taught us the way of your love in the world, allow us to continue to hold onto what they teach, and to consider what we will pass on to those who come after us.


Tuesday, October 11, 2022

A Performer for the Music--October 12, 2022


A Performer for the Music--October 12, 2022

"Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ." [1 Corinthians 11:1]

All right, no disrespect intended, but... why, Paul?

I mean, why do we need Paul as someone to imitate, if he himself is just doing his best to imitate the way of Jesus?  Why the middle-man?  Why the need for another step between Jesus and us?  And why does it need to be Paul?

I hope my questions make sense here. I'm all for following Jesus, and I'm completely on board for the idea that we are called to be more and more like Christ--in fact, that God's own Spirit is forming us to be more fully like Christ as we mature in faith.  That part I can wholeheartedly support.  But in all sincerity and with all due respect, why would Paul offer himself as a worthy example for the folks in Corinth to pattern their lives on?  What makes Paul a close enough replica for those ancient Christians to use him as their template for being "like" Christ?  And isn't there the danger of losing the precision of the original every time you add another successive imitation, like making a copy of a copy of a copy on an old-fashioned mimeograph machine, each time losing a bit more of the original's clarity?

I think those are all valid concerns, actually.  And honestly, I think no less than Paul himself would agree that when we take our eyes off of Jesus for too long we are likely to get sidetracked or led astray.  And Paul himself has already happily reminded us, way back in the first chapter of this letter, that he ain't Christ, and that only Jesus gets to be the Savior who dies for our sins.  Paul wasn't crucified for our sake, and he knows it.  Paul knows he's a sinner who's been forgiven and given a new start.  He knows that he was an enemy of Christ and was claimed by God's grace, not that he's the model disciple without flaws or failings.  Paul will be the first to admit he's not just a screw-up, but he calls himself elsewhere "the chief of sinners." So it sounds like the apostle himself knows that he's not a very accurate copy of Jesus, even for all his best attempts and efforts.  Paul's got feet of clay, and he knows it.

But oddly enough, maybe that's exactly why we need someone like Paul to be another model of what it could look like to live the way of Jesus.  And I mean that at two different levels.  For one, we need other people to embody the way of Jesus, not only as examples to copy but as partners on the journey walking beside us.  We need other people to show us Christ-likeness, because Jesus can't be reduced to a mere set of principles, a list of rules, or an abstract concept.  We need people who show us in their lived choices, the way they share tables and break bread with strangers, the way they sacrifice for others, the way they listen and ask good questions, the way they get tired and go to bed and start all over again in the morning.  We need people to embody the way of Jesus because that's what the way of Jesus is for--it's a way of life that is lived, not a book to be read and memorized. 

It's almost like looking at a piece of sheet music but knowing that you won't really know what it sounds like unless you get a person with a piano or trumpet or cello or flute to play it for you.  Having the printed musical score is a helpful tool for making music, but you aren't actually making music if you just have the black and white notes on a page.  You need someone to perform it.  Even with mistakes or missed notes here and there, even with a slightly irregular tempo or a missed rest, you get a better sense of how the music goes when it is played by a musician than when you just look at notes printed on paper.   And the Christian life is like that--we don't just need a printed book to tell us "in theory" what it looks like to follow Jesus or what things Jesus did in a different time and place.  We need people interpreting the music and playing the melody on their instruments, even if we will play it yet differently with our different instruments, because music has to be performed to be truly experienced.  It's not just a printed score.  We need a performer for the music.

So yeah, we need people like Paul was for the folks in Corinth--a living, breathing, human being who is striving to walk in Jesus' footsteps--who can show us his own interpretation of playing the Jesus melody, so to speak.  It doesn't mean we'll duplicate everything Paul ever did, but it does mean that where we need someone to show us in actual lived actions and choices what Jesus' kind of love can look like, he's a place to start.  And like listening to different performers play the same song, noticing how each gives slightly different inflections, slightly different pauses, and slightly different nuances that make the piece their own, we'll be able to learn from watching the likes of Paul... and Mary Magdalene... and Francis of Assisi... and Dorothy Day... and Dietrich Bonhoeffer... and the people in your own church, living out their faith day by day.  We need the lived examples, even if our lives our in different eras and circumstances, so that we can figure out how we will play the Jesus melody in our time and in our place.

And the other thing that is helpful about having someone like Paul to look up to is exactly the fact that he admits he'll get it wrong sometimes.  See, sometimes the hang-up we have with Jesus is that... well, he's Jesus.  He's the perfect Son of God.  Like the writer to the Hebrews puts it, he's like us in every way and has been tested in every way like us... but without sin.  And honestly, that can make Jesus seem out of reach.  [He's not, of course; Jesus is always as close as our own breath, but we have a way of imagining him at arm's length or further because he is without sin, and we are, well, pathological stinkers.]  But to know that Paul is someone who struggled, and sometimes messed up, and then started over again and tried to follow Jesus all over again--that gives us a role model we can relate to, in those times when Jesus seems impossible to follow.  Because we know that Paul started from a place of being absolutely turned away from Jesus to being brought close in, we can relate to Paul and his own failings and rejections in a way that maybe seems harder with Jesus, because he never wavers and always does God's will. Maybe part of what we need to have an example for is how to fail well... in other words, how to own our mess-ups, start over, and keep striving to walk the Jesus way.  If all we had was the record of Jesus' actions, we might think it was impossible to follow him perfectly and therefore that we shouldn't even try.  But with Paul as a role model, we know that there are going to be times where he struggled and blew it, and that we can learn from him how to start over again when we blow it, too.  It turns out to be a beautiful thing that all of our role models in Christ are sinners, stinkers, and mess-ups like us--they teach us how to start over.

So yeah, maybe after all Paul knows what he is doing by offering his own life as an entry point to imitating Jesus.  It's not because Paul pretends he is always going to get it right, or that there is only one right way to be Christ-like.  But rather we need something--or rather somebody--to show us what the notes on the page could sound like.  We need someone to play us the tune, however imperfectly, so that we can add our instruments into the music.

Now--think about the people in your life who have been that for you.  Think about the people who have lived the way of Jesus for you, from whom you have learned and seen glimpse of Christlikeness.  And then dare to imagine that there are people who are looking to you right now to see what it could look like to love like Jesus does.  Where will you point them?  How will your example direct them in the way of Jesus?

Lord Jesus, help us to see the people you place in our lives who point us to you.