No Velvet Rope--February 1, 2023

No Velvet Rope--February 1, 2023

"Consider your own call, brothers and sisters; not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing the things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God." [1 Corinthians 1:26-29]

When you have nothing to prove, you are truly free.

And the community of Jesus is meant to be a gathering of people who have nothing to prove... and nothing to be ashamed of.  That simultaneously makes us free--and binds us together in love.

It seems like everywhere else in our lives, we are forced to preen and posture ourselves to make ourselves acceptable, or to attain some status of belonging.  We learn it early on in school, as kids fragment into cliques and castes of the cool and the uncool, the trendy dressers and the unstylish, the athletic and the clumsy, the popular and the wallflowers, and a host of other lines.  As we get older, the particulars may change, but the impulse to make ourselves seem "impressive" is the same old routine.  Whether it's the level of education you attain, or the amount of money you make, or the neighborhood you live in, or whether you share the politics of your coworkers, or whether you look, act, or think the same, we end up still trying to fit in like we are back in middle school trying to avoid being ostracized before the big dance.  And ironically, in the attempt to fit in with whatever clique, class, or caste we think we want to belong to, we end up more alienated and cut off from other people because we fear they'll take our spot in the club.

And you can play that game, I suppose, but--truth in advertising--it's always a losing one.  No matter what the variable--class, education, power, influence, wealth, ethnicity, or whatever else we come up with--just when you think you have "arrived" among those of the preferred status, the game invents a new status, a new VIP level, a yet more exclusive elite, and you don't measure up anymore. It's like we're all living out the old Dr. Seuss story about the Sneetches, all vying to have stars on their bellies, until everyone does, and then the status symbol becomes having no star.  It's all one terrible, desperate game, and nobody who plays it can come out on top; the house always wins.

But... you don't have to play.  That's the open secret that the followers of Jesus are meant to be shouting from the rooftops.  You don't have to play the old games of status.  God has already chosen to include people of every stripe, category, and class, and deliberately lifted up the ones regarded as "nobodies" by the world.  This is part of the sheer brilliance and beauty of God's choice to make a community defined, not by status or sameness, but by grace.  And the apostle Paul recognizes that this is not an accident, and certainly not a flaw--it is exactly how God has intended the community of Jesus.  God has chosen the ones labeled "nobodies" and regarded as "nothing" by the So-and-Sos to show how empty the status of "So-and-So" really is.  God has created a community in Jesus where you don't have to be from the "right" background, or tax bracket, or pedigree, or educational level in order to belong.  It is Jesus' claim on us that makes us belong, and not our ability to fit into anybody else's cookie cutter mold.  We are bound to each other, then, because of Jesus' love for us, which takes away any grounds any of us have for bragging that we "got in"... and it removes any reason to have to envy anybody else, either.  There is no secret VIP section, no first-class seating, no velvet rope.  There is only a welcome to all of us on the grounds of God's grace in Christ.

And like I say, once you "get" that--once it becomes clear you don't have to play the game of reaching for a certain status to fit in--you are truly free. And in the very same moment, you realize you are tethered to everybody else through love because they are no longer your competition vying for a limited number of spots on the team, but members of a family you have been brought into by the power of that love before you even realized it.

This is God's alternative to the world's stupid game-playing.  We are what it looks like to build a community on the genuine kind of love that doesn't need to impress, boast, or envy, because it is just done with all that nonsense.  We are a glimpse of what it can be like not to have to worry about fitting in or measuring up.  And we have been from the beginning.  When we forget that and turn the church into one more exclusive club defined by your money, your ethnicity, your education, or your social class, we betray the beautiful vision God has intended for us and turn Christianity into a religious version of the Sneetches.  But it doesn't have to be that way.  The question really is whether we will dare to believe what the Gospel already says: we don't have to prove anything to anybody, and we don't have to be ashamed of where we've come from or who we are.  

Today, let's live as people truly freed from that tired old losing game, and step into the ways love holds us together.

Lord Jesus, enable us to let go of the need to acheive a certain status, and to trust your claim on us as we are.

The Beautiful Scandal--January 31, 2023

The Beautiful Scandal--January 31, 2023

"For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God." [1 Corinthians 1:18]

It is the bullies and blowhards who brag about who they can beat up; it is the living God who identifies with the beaten.

That's the truly scandalous, but deeply beautiful, picture we get of God in Jesus.  God chooses to take the place of the victim rather than stand with the victimizers. God chooses silent solidarity with those who suffer, rather than loudly gloating over the defeated and the bruised.  That's because of how love works--love is always more concerned to do what is needed for the beloved than to get attention for doing it.  Love doesn't need to boast, and it certainly doesn't need to bully.  Love is willing even to look foolish to everybody else, and therein is its power.  

The apostle Paul knows that sounds like utter nonsense to the logic of the world.  That's clear in this powerful sentence that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship.  Paul is saying that the logic of God's love runs completely counter to the boastful impulses of the world to intimidate, gloat, and boast.  And he shows us how God's love completely confounds the world's thinking at the cross.

The conventional wisdom--and the official position of the Empire, by the way--was that the meaning of the cross was devastatingly final: the Empire won, and Jesus lost. The crucifiers are the winners, said Rome, because they took this person deemed a potential threat and they annihilated him. The Empire believed--and boasted it loudly so that everyone else would believe as well--that the cross of Jesus was proof of its own greatness and power, because they had done their worst to this homeless itinerant rabbi and snuffed out his claims of another kingdom, greater than Rome's. But Paul begged to differ. He insisted that the fact of the cross has to be read differently--and that Rome was getting the meaning of the crucifixion of Jesus completely wrong.

Paul insists that the cross of Jesus doesn't reveal Jesus' defeat at all--just the opposite. It reveals the surprising victory of Jesus, who exhausts the worst possible thing that the powers of the day could do to him, and broke that power open between Friday's cross and Sunday's empty borrowed grave. The cross doesn't show the empire's strength, but rather its impotence--all the empire knows how to do is to kill and smash and destroy, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. And at the very same time, the cross reveals God's quiet strength in the willingness to be made vulnerable, weak-looking, and defeated in the broken body of Jesus. The cross reveals that God has a different kind of power than the one that Rome recognizes, but ultimately God's kind of power can exhaust and outlast all of Rome's efforts.  And what's more, God doesn't need to boast about that power--it is evident simply in the way divine love outlasts everything else.

That's just it: Rome looked at the cross of Jesus and said, "We killed him. We are the winners." But Paul insists we look at the cross and see, "Jesus laid down his life for them, even when they had made him their enemies. That's Jesus' victory--and it even redeems his killers." Jesus' kind of victory in the cross will not let our evil, our violence, and our rottenness be the last word about us--rather, the last word over us will be Jesus' own prayer of mercy, "Forgive them, for they don't know what they are doing."

These are two completely different readings of the same exact set of facts. Now, either boastful Rome is right, and Jesus is just one more victim of humanity's wicked need to dominate and destroy. Or Jesus is right, and the cross turns out to be God's hidden way of absorbing the worst we can do, exhausting the power of our evil, and exposing the emptiness of our impulse to build empires and dominate one another. The cross is either proof that might makes right and you have to make an example of your enemies before they rise up to stop you, or the cross is the end of that kind of deathly logic and the victory of God's own quietly self-giving, enemy-embracing love. You could, I suppose, interpret the cross either way--but Paul is insistent that only the second one is correct, over against all of Rome's arrogant protests.

To folks stuck in the logic of empires (past and present), the cross is something to be embarrassed about if you are Jesus, and something to gloat about if you are the one holding the hammer. To the followers of Jesus, however, the cross is the sign of the victorious love of the One who took the nails, because it breaks the power of those who use death to intimidate, and it reconciles even with the enemies of God.

It really amazes me that the earliest followers of Jesus didn't try to hide or soft-pedal the cross of Jesus, or downplay the idea of a crucified Savior--they understood that it's the cross that reveals God's amazing love, and how different that love is from the obnoxious and boastful way of the powers of the day.

Today, it falls to us to continue to speak that revolutionary word, and to live the same kind of love that doesn't need to stand and shout with the bullies, but bears the worst they can dole out.

Where will that direct us in this day?

Lord Jesus, reshape our thinking in light of the love you have shown at the cross.

Sharing the Walk--January 30, 2023

Sharing the Walk--January 30, 2023

"He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" [Micah 6:8]

There doesn't need to be drama between us and God.  If we find there is drama in that relationship, you can be sure that we're the ones who have added it.

This is one of the things I love about this well-known verse from Micah, a verse many of us heard this past Sunday in worship as part of our first reading. Micah cuts through our melodrama and calls our bluff when we are getting all worked up about what God wants, and he just says, "It's never been complicated, and God is not trying to make things difficult."  God isn't looking for us to prove our worthiness or achieve our way into some saintly status. God has never been holding auditions or try-outs--God has only ever invited us to share the road as we walk together.

What's hard for us, of course, is that so often we want to make a big production out of our faith and make it a quest... a burden... a crusade.  That allows us to see ourselves as heroic, rather than as humble, and quite frankly, our egos need to be stroked.  If we can tell ourselves that we've endured fierce persecution, or sacrificed life and limb in the name of God, or left some monumental legacy to the impact we've made for our faith, then we can tell ourselves we've "earned" a place in heaven.  But to hear that God has simply called us to walk in God's own ways of justice and mercy, well, we can't pretend we're "heroes" when we are doing that.  We have to see ourselves as children being invited on a walk with a parent, as recipients of grace.

I think of that story in the book of Kings about the Syrian general Naaman who goes to see the prophet Elisha looking for a dramatic and spectacular show of power to heal his leprosy, only to be told to go wash in the Jordan River seven times.  And at first, he gets mad that Elisha won't come out and wave his hands over him to make him well, until a servant points out to him that if he had been told to do some big and daring quest to be healed, he would have done it--so why not do this small and easy thing?  And of course, that's just it--some part of Naaman wants to have to "do" something big to be healed.  His ego needs a "quest" or an epic battle or a perilous journey or something like the Twelve Labors of Hercules to let him believe he's earning the help he is seeking.  He wants to be able to boast, if to nobody else other than himself, that he's "won" the favor of God.  In the end, what it takes for Naaman to be healed is for him to let go of that need to be heroic, and instead to let a humble dip in an unimpressive river be the means of his healing.

Micah seems to be telling the same to the people in his day, and in ours.  To be drawn into relationship with God is to be pulled into love, and love doesn't need to perform for the beloved--love just seeks to walk together.  There's no need for putting on a show; God just calls us to share the path.  It's like the difference between all those overly dramatic love songs, proudly insisting that the singer would climb the highest mountain or swim the deepest ocean for the beloved, and what actual love looks like--that is more likely to actually just want to wash the dishes together or fold the laundry side by side.  God has never needed us to "prove" our devotion or commitment with some hero's quest; God has simply invited us to walk along the same way.

Today, then, part of learning both how to love God, and to let ourselves be loved by God, is to learn to let go of that need for dramatic shows of piety, and instead to see the ordinary as the place we relate to God, and grace as the currency of that relationship.  God was never looking for us to prove ourselves; God has only been calling us to walk together.  Realizing that means we are finally free to abandon our pretense, our posturing, and our boasting, so that we can just enjoy the walk.

O God, enable us to walk humbly with you today, and always.

Birds’ Nests and Coffee Cakes—January 27, 2023

Birds’ Nests and Coffee Cakes—January 27, 2023

“Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice…” (Ephesians 4:31)

As the old saying puts it, you can’t stop the birds from flying over your head, but you don’t have to let them land on your head and make a nest in your hair. That little chestnut of wisdom is so widely known I’ve seen that quotation attributed to everybody from Martin Luther to a Chinese proverb to modern day authors. But regardless of who said it first, it’s true.

And that truth often applied to our thought life, too. That is, you can’t control every thought that pops into your head uninvited, but you can do something to limit how much attention you give to individual thoughts, and how much you let them occupy in your consciousness. You can’t change what is “out there” in the world, but you can decide how much of what is “out there” you are going to allow “in here,” in the inner places of the heart.

I find it’s the same with cupcakes. We had a few mini-pastries left over after a meeting a little while back, and after everyone else had left, they were there on the kitchen counter in the church, calling to me. They said, “Steve, look, let’s just be honest. We’re delicious. And we’re ‘MINI’ pastries, so we hardly count at all as food. Come on, finish us off. We won’t put up a fight.” They made a compelling argument. And for a while, every time I walked into the kitchen, or wandered past on my way somewhere else, I could hear those little coffee cakes calling to me.

You know what made them seem so tempting? They were out. They were sitting there, in plain view, in the little clear plastic tray they came in. They seemed to be crying out to be eaten just because they were easily reachable. We've got other snacks around, too, and there is a grocery store just a couple of blocks away with plenty more food—but I would have had to work harder to get to those. They seemed somehow, out of reach.

Well, eventually, I knew I needed to resolve this, so after one (yes, I had one—are you happy?), I made myself put the rest in the box and the box in the cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind. I wasn’t going to give them any more attention. I didn’t want to—or at least, part of me didn’t want to, and it thought that it could get the better of the other part of me by removing the treats from my view. Once they were out of sight, I didn’t find myself reaching for them for the rest of the day.

Paul’s way of talking about “bitterness and wrath and anger” and the rest seems to work much the same. Paul knows we can’t stop every last thought that might appear in our heads, or check every emotional impulse at the gate before it lights up a synapse in our brains. But… we can decide how much mental space we want to give over to things, and we can decide which kinds of responses and attitudes will be easily within our reach, and which we will have to go to the trouble of opening up a cupboard door to get to them. We can decide where to put the pastries.

Maybe it seems odd to compare bitterness and wrath to coffee cakes, but the more I think about it, the more I see they have in common. They both look like they will be delicious. They both promise they will satisfy with just a bite, only to make you want more once you’ve given in. And they both end up leaving you feeling empty, and yet somehow like there is a lump in the pit of your stomach from having too much of them.

Look, we don’t have to deny that sometimes there is a fiendish enjoyment in feeling bitter or nursing a little bit of envy—you get to make everyone else out to be the enemy, you get to tell yourself that you’re the poor, put-upon, wronged one who hasn’t done a thing wrong but bat your eyelashes, and you get to relish twisting the knife when you retaliate at someone you think has done you wrong. Unleashing wrath, too, can have its moments—it has a way of making people feel powerful, intimidating, and in control when they pick up a dish to throw or make some withering remark to cut some to shreds. So, yeah, it can feel great to indulge in a bit (or a bite?) of wrath, envy, and bitterness. But they are empty calories. And you won’t really be filled.

Paul’s direction to us, then, is quite simple: put those in the cabinet. You can’t necessarily stop ever having the impulse to say something scathingly unkind to get back at someone for what they said to you. But you can take those responses out of easy reach. Put them away. Like they are back in the far corner of the pantry, next to the junk food and the cupcakes and the spices you never use. Put them where they won’t be your go-to responses. And see how it changes you.  

Maybe the way we learn to love like Jesus is to take the things that get in the way of that love and put them out of our reach.

Don’t let anything build a nest in your hair today. Or ever.

Lord of our lives, keep us from weaponizing this day by reaching for harsh words to use against others.

Nothing to Sell--January 26, 2023

Nothing to Sell--January 26, 2023

"As [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea--for they were fishermen. And he said to them, 'Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.' Immediately they left their nets and followed him." [Matthew 4:18-20]

Talk about burying the lede, right?  Here we have the divine Son of God, the Messiah for whom Israel has been waiting for centuries, the Prophet Greater Than Moses, and the announcer of the very Kingdom of Heaven and the Reign of God--and his invitation to a pair of guys working for the family business is, "Follow me, and I'll make you fish for people"?  That's it?  

Jesus is about to summon these two on a life-changing--and world-changing--adventure, which will include miracles, signs, and wonders, not to mention confrontations with the powers of evil, and all he says to pique their interest is, "How about some more fishing?"  Simon and Andrew, along with the others who would join Jesus' community of disciples, would be sent out to places all over the world, challenge the Empire, and even witness resurrection from the dead--and the only preview Jesus gives is a riff on the day-jobs they already have? That's so... underwhelming, so... nonchalant.  It's such a stark contrast to the world of non-stop hype in which we live.  And I guess that's what makes it so perfectly fitting for Jesus.

Jesus doesn't have to brag about how "great" his ministry is going to be, or about how important he is.  He doesn't belittle or look down on the labor that Simon and Andrew are already doing, either--he doesn't say, "What a pitiable waste of a career you are stuck with--why don't you come with me and do something important?"  And he doesn't try to make his invitation sound better by making it exclusive--there is no audition process or tryout, and he doesn't say, "We only have a limited number of spots, so I'm only accepting the best of the best to be my disciples."  Jesus doesn't insinuate that "everybody is talking about me and my movement, so if you want to be popular, too, you'd better support me."  

There isn't even a promise of a spot in the heavenly city, or of real estate along one of those streets paved with gold.  Jesus certainly could have mentioned any of those things, and he wouldn't have been lying--unlike the offers of the Tempter in the wilderness, Jesus actually has the power and authority to give those perks to anyone he might wish to.  He could have even casually let it slip that people would be naming churches after likes of "Saint Peter" and "Saint Andrew" for millennia to come, if only they would just come and follow him now.  All of that would be true, and all of it could have been part of the sales-pitch.  

But that's just it--Jesus doesn't do the hard-sell, because he isn't selling anything.  No hype is necessary when you actually have the goods. And Jesus doesn't need to belittle or mock people in order to puff himself up or make his call to discipleship sound more exclusive or impressive.  That's because Jesus' call to follow is a call to be drawn into Jesus' love, and genuine love doesn't need to puff itself up with boasting.  Genuine love is more interested in listening to other people and meeting them where they are than in persuading everybody how "great" I am.

Sometimes it seems to me that the church in twenty-first century America has fallen for thinking we are here to sell something, and that therefore we have to use classic sales tactics to get people to "buy."  We end up marketing churches and finding our "niche" or our "demographic" and trying to elbow one another out of contention while we compete for worship-service attenders and congregation members.  You end up with lots of polished signage, ads, social media postings, and pamphlets, but less and less love that looks like Jesus.

The same happens when Respectable Religious Folks turn the gospel into a deal--say the right words, pray the right prayer, do the proper list of churchy things, and then you've secured your spot in the afterlife.  That's just not how Jesus does things: he simply offers life lived alongside him, convinced that is what brings us most fully to life.  Maybe Jesus knows, too, that when you sound like you are selling something, whether it's vacuum cleaners, used cars, or religion, you come off sounding like you're more interested in what you can get from would-be buyers than in their interests.  And Jesus hasn't come to "get" anything out of us, but rather as the fullest expression of God's self-giving for us.  That's what love does, and that's why love doesn't need to brag, hype, advertise, or posture.  Jesus doesn't try to "wow" would-be followers with big talk or grand promises because he isn't looking for sales from customers--he's building a community for disciples.

In so many ways, it all comes back to what Jesus says at the end of John's Gospel when he tells his disciples on his last night with them that he intends for people to recognize us as his followers by the ways we love.  Jesus just models that from the start, gathering people without bragging or boasting about how great he is or how awesome other people will think they are if they join his club.  He just offers his presence and to share the journey--he offers the way of love.

I wonder how many times in our lives we get sucked into thinking we have to sell something--our churches, our faith in Jesus, or even friendship with us--when what people most deeply need is just genuine love that invites people to share the journey.  What could it look like to be genuine with people that way?  Who might it point you toward in this day?

Lord Jesus, enable us to love people genuinely, like you have first loved us.

Faithfulness Over Fame--January 25, 2023

Faithfulness Over Fame--January 25, 2023

"Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee.  He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali.... From that time Jesus began to proclaim, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near'." [Matthew 4:12-13, 17]

Jesus doesn't make himself a celebrity, and he doesn't set out to become powerful or famous, either.  If anything, Jesus makes a point of doing the opposite--carrying on with a mission and a message that had begun before him, like he saw himself as part of a team of relay runners rather than an all-star by himself.

I think that's a part of how he loves, too, now that I think of it.

These few verses are how Matthew gives us the start of Jesus' public ministry.  And it's the utter ordinariness and absence of pomp or circumstance that gets me.  For one, it seems that the event that sets Jesus' ministry into motion here is finding out that his contemporary, John, had been arrested.  Jesus knows, in other words, that John's work needs to be carried on, but that he's not going to be the one to do it--and Jesus knows that picking up that mantle will put a target on Jesus' back, too.  Jesus begins his public ministry, not looking for stepping stones on the path to success or celebrity, but knowing that he's likely to get in trouble with the power-brokers and king-makers.  

This is not the way stories of the rise of political darlings or celebrity sensations should go, right?  We know how those stories go--the profiles of young and successful "up-and-comers" who start making a name for themselves, or who burst on to the scene with charisma, raw talent, and originality.  We know how celebrities promote their latest movies or albums making the rounds on talk shows and doing PR blitzes, and how aspiring candidates write books [or have them ghost-written] to generate buzz before they announce their latest campaigns.  We know, in other words, that if you want to get yourself known, you have to talk yourself up and brag about what makes you worthy of notice.

Well, apparently Jesus has little interest in promoting his "brand" or making anybody's "it" list. Instead, he picks up where John the Baptizer left off, echoing his exact same message and knowing it would likely land him in trouble with the authorities just like John, too.  Jesus isn't looking to become famous--he has come in love to bring the Reing of God.  And that doesn't require applause or paparazzi--just his faithfulness to the task at hand.

It probably is worth noting too, that Jesus' message, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near," is word-for-word what John's message had been [see Matthew 3:2], so it's clear that Jesus isn't here to test-market a new slogan or tweak John's message to make it more popular.  Jesus announces the same subversive message John had shouted out in the wilderness--that Rome and its empire were not the be-all-end-all, but rather God's own kind of Reign was taking shape right under Caesar [and Herod's] nose, and there was nothing any emperor or kind could do about it.  Jesus announced, too, like John, that God's Reign was worth dropping whatever else you were doing and leaving behind old allegiances and agendas in order to participate in it.  In other words, Jesus didn't come to sell some way to get what you wanted from God--it wasn't some first-century version of the ever-popular [but never accurate] prosperity gospel that promises God's help to make you richer or more successful. Jesus doesn't make the easy move for a message that sounds like a sales-pitch, or puff himself up to market himself.  He borrows the words John was already using and announces God's Reign without insisting that he crown himself the new Caesar along the way.  Jesus doesn't need to brag or boast--he just picks up the baton that had fallen to the ground when Herod's police had come for John the Baptizer.  He's not interested in becoming famous--he is interested in being faithful.

That's the difference with Jesus.  He is always more committed to carrying out God's mission in love and to meeting people with God's love than he is to getting attention for himself.  In a culture like ours that is obsessed with making celebrities--and teaching the next generation that it's a worthy life-goal to become famous simply for being famous--Jesus' way is always going to sound strange.  In a time like ours that often measures success by the number of "followers" you have on social media, the number of "views" your content has, or the number of clicks, likes, and subscribers you can boast, Jesus offers us an alternative.  He is committed to doing God's work of loving the world whether or not there is fanfare, because genuine love doesn't need to brag.

That's worth our reflection today, too.  Part of what that says to me is that if we are seeking to learn to love like Jesus loves, then we can practice doing good for others without advertising it.  We can be people who care for a neighbor without needing to post a picture of our good deeds, or who do the little things behind the scenes that nobody else will notice.  We can see our work as church not about selling a "brand" but simply sharing a message that is not our own with the world.  We can be done with trying to angle how this or that action will make us "look" and instead simply act in light of what Jesus' kind of love directs us to do.  And really it's amazingly freeing not to constantly have to worry about whether other people will notice what we do or applaud our actions.  It means we are freed to spend our time and energy on what actually shows love instead of what will show off.

Today, what would it look like for us to spend our energy and time like Jesus--not needing to make ourselves the center of attention, but pouring out our energy into what shows love?

Lord Jesus, allow us to forget ourselves enough not to need to boast about what we do, and simply to act and speak in ways that point to God's Reign.

What Propels Us--January 23, 2023

What Propels Us--January 23, 2023

"Not that I am referring to being in need; for I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and of being in need." [Philippians 4:11-12]

There’s an often-repeated story about a businessman who goes on vacation to the ocean, where he finds a man in disheveled, rather tattered looking clothes fishing off the pier with a very slow, laid-back demeanor. This man at the pier was clearly hoping to catch what would become his supper. “You know,” the businessman, “if you took another job right now and worked two jobs, you might soon have enough money to buy yourself a boat.”

“And then what would I do?” asks the laid-back man with the fishing pole.

“Well, you could catch more fish, make more money, and soon, you could get an even bigger fishing boat, to catch even more!” came the confident reply from the businessman.

“Oh, I see,” says the other. “And then what?”

The businessman seems eager to be giving out this entrepreneurial advice, so he answers, “You could hire more and more workers who would do more and more of the fishing and you could be the head of the company, in charge and calling the shots!”

“Oh, I see… and then what?” came the familiar reply.

“Well, then you could make enough money that after enough years, you could retire, put your feet up, enjoy life, and just catch some fish all day long,” says the businessman… to which the other man can only smile and reply:

“Sir, I am doing that already.”

Turns out it is possible to be quite content with only a fishing pole to your name, and it is just as possible to be quite empty inside while your giant house is full of possessions. And if that is true, then being content is not directly related to the external circumstances around you.

Or at least, it doesn’t have to be.

As our year exploring different dimensions of love continues, we now turn in these weeks of Epiphanytide to what it means that love "is not envious or boastful," and a key to both of those is discovering how to live without needing to compare ourselves to other people.  When we look at what other people have and think they have it better, we end up envious; and when we compare ourselves to other people and think we're superior to them, we end up boastful.  There are dangers either way, and both of those attitudes stifle our ability to receive what we do have and to appreciate it as grace.

Contentment in life, which goes a long way toward a peaceable life, can be cultivated when we are willing to stop defining ourselves in terms of how we measure up to someone else, or what our external circumstances lok like. If you decide that your happiness is all tangled up with the amount of possessions you own, or how your salary compares to someone else's, or whether your stuff is better than your neighbor's, then, yeah, you have just let your external circumstances hijack your life. But on the other hand, if there is something else, something internal, something planted and rooted deep within you, that gives you a deep joy, then you can be content even when all the other outside stuff feels like it is falling apart.

A sailboat can only move when there is enough wind to fill the sails and push it forward, and it can only move where the wind’s direction will allow it to go. A sailboat (if it doesn’t also have some kind of onboard motor) is more or less at the mercy of external factors. A motorboat, on the other hand, has its own internal source of propulsion, and so it can travel even when there is no wind—or when the wind is blowing in the wrong direction.

Paul talks about contentment in the much the same way: it is about having a God-planted source of joy in our lives that makes is possible for us not to pin our hopes and our peace on what happens to be going on outside of us. And that kind of Christ-centered peace allows us to keep on an even keel regardless of what the wind is doing today. Christians are motorboats in this sense, I guess.  Or at least, we are free to be motorboats, if we dare to pull the cord and not leave ourselves solely to the mercy of the wind.

Notice that Paul doesn’t say he can be content all the time because being a Christian automatically means that things go right for us all the time. And notice that he doesn’t say that more food or creature comforts wouldn’t be nice. It’s just that his source of peace isn’t tied to having more. Rather, it comes from trusting in a God who promises to provide enough. Enough for the day, enough for a life, enough to satisfy. When you can trust in that promise, the worries that come from the need always to have more, more, more just… dissolve. You don’t always have to keep asking, “What next?” like you are driven to buy or manage or hoard more stuff. Paul finds his peace, his groundedness, doesn’t come from how things are going around him or how he compares to anybody else—they come from the presence of God who dwells within him. And that is what he is offering to us, too.

There is a line from a poem my grandfather used to read to me, from Rudyard Kipling’s “If,” that talks about, “If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same.” Something like that is the freedom of Paul’s kind of contentment, of Christian contentment. It’s not saying that it’s not nice to have more than you need from time to time, or a surprise bonus piece of cake after dinner, rather than being hungry. It’s not saying it’s not nice to have the creature comforts of air conditioning or cable television or a smart phone or whatever your personal wish-list would include. It’s just saying that those external things are impostors when it comes to really determining our peace and deepdning our love. They can come and go and we will not be left sitting still dead in the water waiting for wind. When we let Christ’s promise to hold us always be enough for us, we don’t always have to be eyeing the next leap as though that will make us happy. Maybe we have already been given all we need to be content… right where we are.

If envy of others or boasting to others keeps me from being able to love them well, then the things that help me not to be caught up in envy or boasting in the first place are likely to help me grow in love, too. And when my inner propulsion comes from knowing I am beloved of God, I don't need to rely on comparing myself to anybody else either way.  Staying grounded in God's love for me, then, enables me to love others without constantly comparing myself to them.  That's where we can start today.

Lord Jesus, give to us today the eyes to recognize the gifts you have placed in our lives today, to appreciate them, and to find peace in your presence, independent of what is going on around us.

A Fierce Kindness--January 20, 2023

A Fierce Kindness--January 20, 2023

"For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian." [Isaiah 9:4]

When it comes right down to it, God chooses to be the One who disarms bullies, frees captives, and stops abusers--not the one who backs the powerful simply because they are powerful.  Knowing the difference not only helps us to see God rightly in the world, but also helps us to know how to navigate the world in the footsteps of God's kindness.

Getting that confused, on the other hand, does a terrible disservice to God's reputation in the world, and makes it harder for people to let themselves open up to the love of that God.  It matters, in other words, how we picture God, how we understand what God is up to in the world, and how we let God break apart the boxes we keep building to try and force God inside.

Let me back up for a moment. In fact, let's shift gears and talk about something entirely separate from God and the Bible for a moment.  Indulge, for a moment, my inner nerd with a bit of Star Wars lore. In my favorite Star Wars movie, The Last Jedi, a young promising student named Rey comes to legendary Jedi Master [now with a salt-and-pepper beard] Luke Skywalker, seeking his training so that she, too, can learn to be a Force-wielding Jedi like him.  Skywalker asks her what she thinks she knows about the Force, and she replies, "It's a power that the Jedi have that lets them control people and make things float."  The grizzled old Master answers back, "Impressive--every word in that sentence was wrong."  The Force, he insists, isn't a power you have that you can compel to do your bidding, but an energy beyond anyone's mastery that binds all living things together.  In other words, she came knowing some of the right words she had heard before ["the Force," "the Jedi," the "Dark Side," and such], but not really understanding what those things meant.  And from there, well, Rey can't help but get every word wrong.

Maybe it's easier to see something like that happening when we are watching it on a screen in a sort of blockbuster space-fairy-tale that takes place "long ago in a galaxy far, far away" than to have to face the ways we so easily do the same with God.  But... we do, in fact, get things terribly wrong with God sometimes, and we end up misrepresenting who God is.  This passage from Isaiah is one of those moments we have a chance to hear carefully and to get it right.

Here's what I mean.  Often, our talk of God starts with just picturing the "Biggest" thing we can--we speak of God as "the Higher Power" or "Supreme Authority" or "King of the Universe" or "Architect and Designer of the Cosmos."  And those aren't necessarily wrong, but it's really easy to start with just picturing God as the power or authority that props everything else up, and from there to say, "Whoever has power or authority or might in the world must therefore have it because God has authorized them to have it."  We end up saying things [as happened for a very long time in medieval Europe, for example] like, "Whoever is king is in charge because God has appointed them to be king, and therefore to resist the king is the same as resisting God."  Or we end up saying things [as happened for a very long time in slaveholding America, for example] like, "Slaveholders are backed by God's authority and ordering of things, and so the enslaved should not seek their freedom or question The Way Things Are."  Or we come to conclusions like, "Everybody who is in a prison cell is getting their just punishment, and they should rot in jail behind bars forever for doing whatever bad things they did, because God's authority rubber-stamps whatever punishments or sentences our systems come up with."  We end up just picturing God as the Cosmic Muscle that enforces human authorities.  And we end up with terrible theology that says things like, "The bombs destroyed your village because God willed for that more powerful neighboring nation to invade you," or "God wants you to stay in an abusive relationship because God endorses The Way Things Are," or "It's wrong to work for release and rehabilitation for those who are imprisoned, because God's justice demands they suffer enough."  We start by just picturing God as the "Power Behind the Powers of the Day," and don't realize how far afield that leads us from who God actually is revealed to be in the Scriptures.

Here in these words from Isaiah, for example, God's kindness shows up as God disarms the bullies who have harassed the listeners, as God breaks their weapons and stops the enemy armies who have attacked them.  God's kindness takes a side to stop the abuser, to let the oppressed go free, and to break the weapons used by bullies to intimidate the people.  God takes a stand with those who have been intimidated and hurt, and God chooses to stop the ones who have made them afraid.  That's who God is, to hear Isaiah tell it.

That's a big deal, because like I say, sometimes in history--including very much in Christian history--we have made the colossal mistake of defining God first and foremost as the one who props up all the other powers, armies, generals, tyrants, dictators, and bullies of the day.  When we start there, we are always going to end up confusing God for an idol of "order" that preserves "The Way Things Are," rather than recognizing how often the real and living God shakes things up by releasing the captives, disarming the bully, and breaking the power of the oppressor.  It's God standing up for the enslaved Hebrews against Pharaoh and delivering them through the Sea... and God listening to Hannah's prayer and giving her a son, Samuel... and God preserving Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace against Nebuchadnezzar... and God saving Daniel in the lions' den... and over and over and over again.  If we actually read the Scriptures we get the picture of a God whose heart is turned in kindness toward those who are threatened, rather than God as the Source of Power for the powerful.

And what's more, God doesn't intend for the ones who have been picked on or bullied to just in turn become new bullies or oppressors, either.  God doesn't say, "Your enemy has a rod, so I'll give you all some weapons, too, and you'll just fight it out and we'll see who comes out on top."  God doesn't believe that the way to fight an oppressor with a rod is to give more rods, sticks, swords, and spears to the oppressed ones, so they'll turn around and abuse in return.  Rather, God breaks the weapons of the enemy and disarms the bullies.  God is fierce, to be sure, but it is a fierceness that comes from a place of kindness and love for those who are most easily forgotten or ignored.  That's who God is.

I wonder, where are there places in our own lives where we have been living with illusions or confused mental pictures of God?  Where have we settled for thinking of God as just the Authority Figure who backs up all the other voices who claim to have "power" and "authority," and where have we missed God's actual presence in the world as the One who stops bullies, makes abusers cease, breaks weapons, and disarms the aggressor?  Where might we need an Isaiah [or a Luke Skywalker] to speak with honesty and love, "Every word in that bad theology of yours is wrong," and maybe show us a clearer picture like this one from Isaiah 9?  And if we do come face to face with the realization that we've been getting it so wrong for so long, will we dare to let go of our idols and imaginary pictures of "God" so that we can be drawn closer to the living God whose heart is kind?  Or will we choose to dig our heels in and hold onto our illusions because they are familiar, and don't require us to change?

There's the choice, today and every day.  God is pretty clear here about who God chooses to be--the one who disarms the enemy and breaks the weapons of the oppressor, so that nobody has to live in fear anymore.  Where will we go from here?

Lord God, help us to see you honestly, beyond our illusions and idols, and to be a part of your work of kindness and release in the world for all who live in fear.

Seeing the Overlooked--January 19, 2023

Seeing the Overlooked--January 19, 2023

"There will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time [the Lord] brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest..." [Isaiah 9:1-3a]

When people get overlooked in life, it's not that they're actually invisible--it's usually that others are too busy, too comfortable, too distracted, or too self-absorbed to see them.  And it takes a special skill to walk through life deliberately enough to truly see the ones who are left to fall through the cracks.  That is at the heart of God's kindness, and the same kindness we are led to practice.

These words from the prophet Isaiah are beautiful, to be sure, but beyond that they are compelling because they reveal a God who stops to see others who have been forgotten, overlooked, or pushed aside.  They reveal a God who remembers, and who takes the time to attend to people on the margins.  We might not always recognize that, because we often hear these words on Christmas Eve and we are so quick to jump ahead to the next few lines about the "child born for us" and the "son given to us" in the verses that follow.  We want to get to the part we connect with the child in the manger, but we miss the word of deep divine kindness that sets the table for the arrival of the Messiah.

The promises here in what we call Isaiah 9 are spoken first as a word of hope to people on the margins of Israel--the tribes on the borders of Israel and the realms of outside empires who were constantly threatening.  The regions by the "the way of the sea" [the coasts near the Mediterranean], the land across the Jordan River, and the region called Galilee "of the nations" were all set with one foot in Israel and one foot in the territory of Gentiles. They were often the target of attacks from would-be invaders, and that made them vulnerable, fearful, and discouraged.  Not only that, but if you lived in those outside borderlands, it was easy to feel like the folks in the capital didn't really care about you.  The palace, the Temple, and all the powerful people were off in places like Jerusalem. Everybody knew that kings came from David's family line and tribal lands down in Judah--it was easy to dismiss the lands of Naphtali and Zebulun as unimportant, or negligible.  Surely there were voices in Isaiah's day who talked about Jerusalem and Judah as "real Israel" and dismissed all the other outlying lands as lesser--not as authentic, not as devout, not as genuinely a part of the people of God.  The people in these overlookable places were getting it from all sides--the threats of surrounding nations looking to conquer or plunder them, and the indifference from their own nation's "important" places.  It was easy to believe that you didn't really belong, and that you weren't really worth protecting, if you lived there.  It was easy to believe the pundits and the powerful that "real Israel" didn't include you.

But God has never accepted the lines we humans draw to designate folks on the outside of the center as unimportant or unworthy. To the contrary, God makes a point of seeing the ones who have been overlooked and pushed aside.  And that's the promise here.  Specifically speaking to the ones who constantly hear they don't matter or are just targets waiting to be conquered, God says, "I haven't forgotten you, not for a second, and you will be glorious."  God says to these people who have been discouraged by being overlooked and undervalued repeatedly, "I'm going to shine a brilliant light on you, and I will bring joy to you."  The ones who feel like they are invisible in the darkness are seen after all--God has never lost sight of them, and God will shine a light on them so that nobody else will forget or dismiss them, either.  That's how God's kindness works--always seeking the ones who have been dismissed, disregarded, and disrespected, to lift them up and let them be seen in a new and glorious light.

And then, when we do hear the following verses speaking of a "son given to us" and a "child born for us," whom we recognize in Jesus, it becomes clear that Jesus' mission in the world is, just like Isaiah spoke of, the work of seeing the overlooked and raising up the lowly.  Jesus' mission, just as God's mission all along, is rooted in kindness that takes the extra time and makes the extra effort to see those treated as invisible.  And so for us, too, if we are going to follow in the way of Jesus, our work has much to do with seeing the people we have found it too easy to overlook, or those whom we have been too distracted to recognize.  It is, in other words, the work of kindness, and such work isn't just an emotional feeling about people, but the willingness to slow down the breakneck pace of our lives enough to look around.  It will also mean being willing to abandon our own present-day habits of dismissing some people as less important, or pushing their needs or voices out to the margins just because they're different.  It will mean choosing to see people as neighbors to be cared for and fellow children of God who are beloved, rather than as enemies, threats, or stepping stones we can walk on in order to get what we want.  And it will mean we make a practice of looking at people in the eye, face to face, rather than overlooking them even when it's easy.

Today, may God's own kindness that stops to see us as we are give us the capacity to see others with kind eyes as well.

Good Lord, help us to see others the way you do--with kindness.

How to [Not] Defend a Lion--January 18, 2023

How to [Not] Defend a Lion--January 18, 2023

"Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near." [Philippians 4:5]

Did you ever wonder what words come to mind when other people think of you? Did you ever spend a moment considering what traits, what adjectives, what mental pictures, come to mind when the people who know you give you a thought?

And, now that we’re going down that trail anyway, have you ever given thought to what words you would want to come to mind when your friends, your family, and your co-workers hear your name mentioned? I’m not talking about pretending or puffing yourself up to be something you are not, but honestly, what traits about yourself to you think rise to the surface? When other insightful, perceptive people around you read your life like a book, what kind of book is it?

I ask because Paul has an answer for what he would wish to be toward the top of the list for followers of Jesus. And frankly, it is not always (or even often) at the top of ours. Paul wishes that we Christians would be known for our gentleness--for our kindness. And for him, that gentleness is connected with his firm belief that Christ is coming again soon. “The Lord is near,” Paul says, and so therefore, we are to “let your gentleness be known to everyone.” In other words, he is saying, Live your life in such a way that when people think of you, at the top of their description is, “Oh my, what a gentle soul!” Because after all, Jesus’ coming is near.

That is not often how Christians act, to be honest. All too often, our reputation is not for being gentle, but for being, among other things, hypocritical, angry, critical, dour, sour-faced, or whiny. “Gentle” does not often crack the top ten, and "kind" isn't always the impression church folk leave from their social media posts, if we are going to be truthful about things. And especially when “religious” people get to talking about Christ coming again, we often sound especially vitriolic and angry. Listen for very long to the religious voices on TV and radio as they talk about the world going to hell in a handbasket and how “true believers” (meaning people who believe exactly like them) won’t have to worry about the disasters happening on earth because they’ll be watching the carnage from the safety of their seats in some heavenly loge while others get “left behind.” (Never mind for a moment that the whole notion of a secret whisking away of believers is a misreading of the New Testament—that whole “rapture” business is a conversation for another day.)

At any rate, when the watching world thinks about the supposedly Christian voices they know, and especially when those voices are talking about Jesus’ coming again, they don’t usually think of us being “gentle” or "kind," but often rather bloodthirsty-sounding, and using the talk of Jesus’ coming as something frighten people into faith with—as if it were possible to scare someone into salvation.

And yet, there’s Paul, who has the return of Jesus at the forefront of his mind, and he pictures Christians being known for their gentleness in light of how “near” the Lord is. It’s funny, almost, that Paul doesn’t feel any need at all for himself, or for any of the rest of us Christians, to get defensive or bitter or ornery or to play the victim-card, as he thinks about Jesus’ coming. He really seems to think that—in light of Jesus’ imminent return—the best thing for Christians to be known for is not our end-times diagrams or our religious scare-tactics, but our way of being gentle with others.

It sort of reminds me of the old saying: How do you defend a lion? You just get out of its way. If there is a lion threatened by poachers, let’s say, you don’t need to stick yourself in the situation and put up your fists trying to make yourself look tough for the lion’s sake. The lion is going to be just fine all by itself. The lion has the power to take defend itself—you can just let it make the call about how or when to use it. And you, in the meantime, can be calm and at ease and relaxed. Or to use Paul’s word for it, gentle.

For us, the followers of Jesus, our hope in Jesus’ coming again means that we don’t have to get ourselves bent out of shape in angry tirades trying to come to Jesus’ defense. He’s the lion—he doesn’t need our fists. And frankly, our attempts to “defend” him probably get in his way more often than not.

Instead, we are called to be witnesses of Christ—yes, the Christ for whom we are waiting to come in glory and triumph—through our gentleness. We are called to point to Christ in the ways our kindness can lessen the anxiety in the room—or at least, not add to it! We are called to be examples of Christ in the ways we can sit in quiet with others in those holy, vulnerable moments of life. We are called to be living pointers to Christ in the way we just “show up” for others when they need us, without making a fanfare or a fuss over ourselves.

And there is a reason for all of this, a reason that we do not need to get ourselves all worked up and tense and harsh for Christ, even besides the fact that the only way to defend a lion is to get out of its way. And the reason is this: even though Jesus is the Lion (indeed, even “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” as the book of Revelation calls him), he is also ultimately “the Lamb who was slain.” And in the scene from Revelation where the voice calls out, “Hey everybody, look, it’s the Lion!” everybody turns their heads, and there is no one there but a Lamb, having been slain, but alive again (see Revelation 5 on this subject). The Lion is announced, but it is a gentle Lamb who shows up, because Jesus’ way of being victorious is through his gentle self-sacrifice and suffering love. We are supposed to be gentle, because the One we are waiting for saves and reigns and rules through gentleness, too.  We are called to practice kindness, because the One for whom we hope has shown kindness to us.

So… what will people remember about you today, do you suppose? When they think about the fact that you are associated with this Jesus person, what words will come to mind to describe you? And can we dare today to represent--not defend--the living Christ, in our own peaceable love? Can we dare to be so bold as to be known for our gentleness?

Lord Jesus, let our lives today be reflections of your own peaceable, suffering love and your gentle reign.

The Opening Question--January 17, 2023

The Opening Question--January 17, 2023

"The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, 'Look, here is the Lamb of God!' The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, 'What are you looking for? They said to him, 'Rabbi' [which translated means Teacher], 'where are you staying?' He said to them, 'Come and see'." [John 1:35-39a]

The first words on Jesus' lips in John's Gospel... are a question.  They are an invitation to conversation, and they become an open invitation to share Jesus' journey. And for the ones who answer that opening question, life is never the same.

I don't know that I had ever thought about this before, but really it's amazing that after all the build-up and drama and foreshadowing [and John's Gospel can really lay it on thick some times], the first time we actually get words out of Jesus' mouth, he is unpretentiously asking a question of would-be followers and inviting them to come along with him.  Of course, each of the Gospel writers is something like a movie director telling their own versions of the same basic plot.  So I don't get fussy that John's version of the movie gives us this conversation, while, say, Matthew gives us a different conversation between Jesus and John the Baptizer as the first words he speaks, or Mark just unloads with a fierce message, "Turn around and believe--the Reign of God has come near!"  Each of these writers is choosing a different moment to give us our introduction to the adult Jesus, and that's fine.  But just let it sink in that, of all the things John the Gospel-writer could have chosen, he gives us this ordinary seeming moment, where Jesus is open and inviting.  "Come and see," he says, looking eye to eye at two strangers, and inviting them to be where he is, to stay where he stays, and to follow his way.  Beyond the words themselves, the way he speaks them reveals a kindness and even a humility that draws others in.

After all, when John started writing this Gospel, he opened up with a glorious and majestic poem about creation.  John's Gospel is the one that begins, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... and the Word became flesh and lived among us...full of grace and truth."  And not only that, he's now given us two dramatic introductions to Jesus as his forerunner, John the Baptizer, has called our attention to him and pointed him out as "the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!"  It has the feel of the big moment on stage when the curtain pulls back, the timpani player hammers out a drum roll, and the limelights all focus front and center on the star coming forward to belt out a show-stopping number, and then--Jesus comes forward, not shouting a slogan, preaching a sermon, or singing a bold anthem, but striking up a converastion.  

"What are you looking for?" he asks.  It carries the feel of asking, "Just so we're clear, what is it you think you are in search of?  What is it that has led you to me?"  Jesus gives the impression he wants to dispel any mistaken impressions or false advertising about himself.  He is being utterly real, utterly honest, and utterly unpretentious.  Jesus doesn't need to puff himself or make himself look more impressive.  He doesn't hype the spectacle of what people will see when they follow him like P.T. Barnum or some carnival barker, drumming up ticket-buyers for the afternoon show.  If anything, Jesus seems to slow down these would-be disciples who have come to him, cautiously asking what they think they are expecting from him.  He is not a salesman, and he is not in advertising.  He is just real.

In fact, that's one of the things about Jesus [as John the Gospel-writer shows him to us in his telling] that remains constant, all the way through. You might recall that on Easter morning, when Jesus has risen from the dead but it's not quite clear to all the other characters at the tomb what's going on, that Jesus calls to Mary with a question, "Whom are you looking for?"  It's not that different from this opening question to the would-be disciples, and in the end, the thing that tips Mary off that he's not just the gardener is in the unpretentious way he calls her name, "Mary," [to which, she responds, "Rabbi"--in another beautiful bookending echo of this story].  From beginning to end, the story of Jesus is the story of his kindness that invited people in.  Jesus had this disarming way of putting people at ease, helping them to let down their guard [and their pretenses], and to feel truly included in whatever was going on.  And, as happens here in the opening chapter of John's Gospel, it changes the lives of these would-be disciples who end up following Jesus and carrying his message and way of life to all creation.

I wonder--could we see this day as a similar opportunity?  In a time when it's easy for the church to be regarded as a product to be sold, and for the gospel to sound like a sales-pitch, could we see this day simply as the chance to engage people with kindness and disarming openness, and to let that lead where it will?  I'll be honest, even as a pastor, every time I overhear a respectable religious person [no doubt with the best of intentions] start in talking to a stranger with a clearly rehearsed canned spiel trying to get someone to make a decision for Jesus on the spot, it makes my insides queasy.  It's not that I'm against sharing our faith--not at all.  It's that the rehearsed sales-pitch speech sounds so strikingly unlike Jesus, who doesn't use a pamphlet or a program or any other promotional literature, but just meets people where they are and makes the invitation, "Come and see."  Could we invite people that way?  Could we speak with honesty to friends and neighbors, or even strangers and enemies, and say, "There's something compelling about this Jesus, and his way of loving people--I won't promise anything more or anything less than Jesus, but come and see"?  Could we hold off on seeing the Christian faith as a deal to be accepted [Jesus certainly doesn't act that way], but more of a shared journey with Jesus?  And could we then keep making ourselves available to people around us, simply making the authentic invitation to join the walk and share the road?  Could we dare to engage people with the kindness we see in Jesus, which opens up to their questions, thoughts, ideas, and needs?  I don't know about you, but that sounds downright compelling to me.

And it makes me grateful that I have been drawn to a Savior whose first move is to ask questions and invite conversation, even from me.  Even from you.

Lord Jesus, draw us in by your kindness, and let us meet others with that same genuine care we have first met in you.

An Absence of Fire and Fury--January 16, 2023

An Absence of Fire and Fury--January 16, 2023

[John the Baptizer] saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! [John 1:29]

After all the talk of fire and wrath, the One John had been waiting for turns out to be best described as a Lamb.  How about that?

We get reintroduced to John every year it seems in the weeks of Advent, and he's generally a pretty fiery figure.  He's the one dressed like a wilderness survivalist and who talks like a prophet, who calls even his devoted listeners "brood of vipers." This is the guy who was utterly certain that when God's Messiah came, he would bring down judgment, burn the unworthy and unrepentant with fire, and cut down the wicked like a lumberjack with an ax.

And now here, the next thing you know, John comes face to face with Jesus--who, mind you, apparently doesn't look impressive or noteworthy at all--and now somehow John knows... this is the one you were waiting for.  And yet, the first thing John blurts out about Jesus is:  "He's a Lamb."

No conquering king imagery.  No mighty emperor who will overthrow the Romans.  No burning words of judgment.  Not a lion; not even an intimidating ram with fierce horns to charge at his enemies with.  Jesus--the One John had been waiting for--turns out to be a Lamb... the kind that would bear the sins of the people in a sacrifice.  It is without a doubt one of the great reversals of the Bible, and it reveals that when God truly chooses to be revealed most clearly, God chooses to be known in kindness and gentleness, rather than fire and fury.

And, to gauge it from John's response to finally getting it, John is apparently discovering the joy of being wrong.  Rather than being bitter and upset that Jesus isn't what he wanted, rather than being angry or disappointed that the Messiah didn't turn out to be a warrior-king but a Suffering Servant, John just seems to take it all in with awe and humility.  "Here he is, after all," John seems to say with a grin, "I should have known--he's the Lamb of God, while I had been looking for a general commanding angel armies.  Well, how do you like that?"  Maybe that's the difference between John's response to Jesus and the Respectable Religious Leaders' reaction to him.  Both John the Baptizer and the so-and-sos among the Pharisees and Sadducees had been surprised by what Jesus turned to be, but John apparently learned how not to dig his heels in and double-down on his wrong-ness.  John was willing to let God's unexpected gentleness in Jesus lead him to a new way of thinking, rather than ignoring what didn't fit with his assumptions.  I wonder whether we could dare to be that brave, too, and to let ourselves be surprised by the kindness of Christ, rather than trying to force him into our boxes of vindictiveness and triumphalism.

Maybe that's enough for us to chew on for this day--to ask ourselves how we will respond when we come face to face with the grace of God, and whether we will let God be bigger than our expectations, or whether we'll try and coerce Jesus into our own coercive preconceptions.  Because Jesus is going to keep on being his Lamb-like self, even if we sometimes tell ourselves we want a Caesar.  Jesus is going to keep on being the One who lays down his life for us rather than the one who destroys his enemies in rage.  Will we be open to letting his kindness stretch our understanding of God?  And will we be willing to let God's kindness shape the ways we love the neighbors around us as well?

Lord Jesus, surprise us as you will with your unexpected gentleness--and reshape us as you do.

Beyond Boundaries and Bare Minimums--January 12, 2023

Beyond Boundaries and Bare Minimums--January 12, 2023

[God says to the Servant:] "I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeons, from the prison those who sit in darkness." [Isaiah 42:6b-7]

The thing about kindness is that it goes beyond: it does more than some "minimum requirement," it sees past the boundaries of "my group," and it asks, "what would be helpful for the person who I now can see before my eyes?"  Kindness--both God's and our own... and the place where they meet in Jesus--doesn't keep its head down or bury its face in a screen.  And it doesn't look the other way in the name of "minding its own business," either.  Kindness asks, "What might someone else, other than myself, be going through--and how might I bring goodness into their situation?"

The more time I spend looking more closely at passages like this one from further on in Isaiah 42, the more I see just how much kindness is at the very heart [no pun intended] of Jesus' mission, as the embodiment of God's Servant.  We get a glimpse here that God's own purpose in the world is healing, restoring, freeing, and consoling, and that the Servant of God--again, whom we Christians recognize as Jesus Christ--has been sent precisely for the work of kindness that sees beyond boundaries and goes beyond bare minimums.

In particular, I would note how the Servant is called to be "a light to the nations"--that is to say, beyond the borders of just the one nation of Israel.  There would have been plenty of people in Isaiah's day who said that God's work was limited to "their people," "their group," "their nation," and "their kin." Sure you help out your own, they'd say--that's all well and good.  But going beyond the boundaries to be a light for "THOSE people"?  That would start to upset some folks.  Taking care of "your own" can sound like meeting the minimum requirements; but helping those beyond the lines, people who might not help you back, people who are different, maybe strange, and possibly frightening, can seem "too much."  "You'll spread our limited light too thin if you go out illuminating the nations," you can hear the protest go.  "It's fine to help open the eyes of our blind people, but don't go helping them foreigners--they might not be our kind of people, you know?"  That sort of thing.  To be a light "to the nations" calls for the kindness that sees beyond in-group and outsider status.  To care for those who are imprisoned in a dark dungeon somewhere means going out of your way to recognize that there are indeed those shadowy places that many don't want to have to think about.  It requires, in other words, the energy and attentiveness to see and act beyond our own little narrow field of vision.

And when you think about it, that is exactly what we see in Jesus, as the gospels tell the story.  Jesus doesn't just keep his head down and live a quiet little life helping out just his mom, adoptive father, brothers, sisters, and fellow residents of Nazareth.  He is always moving outward, in ever wider circles.  He goes from town to town healing and casting out the spirits that oppress people.  He expands his social circles from only upstanding, respectable religious types to all the "wrong" people, from tax collectors to prostitutes to notoriously generic "sinners."  He crosses cultural and national boundaries by befriending Samaritans and helping Gentiles.  And he tells people from the beginning that he has come to do all this as his purpose from the start--this is not an accident or an unwitting case of mission-creep.  Jesus, as God's Servant, has come to embody the very kindness of God, which always goes beyond expectations and seeks to see what--and whom--others overlook.

Now if all of that is true, or even just in close to the right ballpark, then it's also true that we are called to practice that same kind of boundary-crossing, extra-mile-going kindness, too.  After all, even though we Christians recognize Jesus as "The Servant" figure the prophets talked about, in a sense "The Servant" is really a description of what God's people were supposed to be all along.  At their best, the people of Israel and Judah were meant to be collectively the Servant of God and a "light to the nations," whose way of practicing justice and mercy drew others into the radiant presence of God.  So this whole way of life built on kindness that goes beyond minimums isn't just reserved for Jesus; it's not something possible only for a superhuman Son of God.  It is a way of seeing that our eyes are capable of beholding, too; it is a kind of action that our hands and feet are capable of moving in.  

And maybe it really is simply a matter of starting to see as Jesus has been teaching us to see all along.  His stories are so often about the way kindness grows--or doesn't grow--depending on how we see the neighbors around us.  The Samaritan on the road between Jericho and Jerusalem [see Luke 10] sees the man lying in ditch by the side of road as a neighbor in need, and as Dr. King pointed out, he asks the pivotal question, "What will happen to this person if I don't help?" rather than merely wondering, "What could happen to me if I do help?"  His deep kindness starts with a willingness to see more than the priest and the Levite can see, as pre-occupied as they are with their lists of religious things to do.  And on the flip-side, the pitiable rich man finds himself alone in the underworld having been unable to even see--to truly recognize--the face of a fellow child of God in Lazarus who laid at his gate hungry and sick [see Luke 16].  He is unable to offer kindness to Lazarus because he cannot see rightly that this is a neighbor whose sheer existence should pull the rich man beyond the boundaries of his property to welcome the poor beggar in.  Perhaps, then, the key for us to grow in Christ-like kindness is to let Jesus heal our eyes first, so that we will see beyond the narrow confines of our usual routines and in-groups.  Perhaps we are in need of having our sight healed, so that we can then see as fully and widely as Jesus does... and then we can move like he does, beyond the boundaries of bare minimums.

Let's start there today, then--let us dare to ask Jesus to open our eyes to see more widely and deeply, so that we can take the next step and the next and the one after that, as we grow in Jesus' compassionate love.

Lord Jesus, heal our eyes to see like you do--beyond the lines of "our group" or "our interests" or "our limited experience"--so that we may love with the kindness you have shown us.