When You Think No One Is Watching--October 11, 2022

When You Think No One Is Watching--October 11, 2022

"Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, so that they may be saved." [1 Corinthians 10:32-33]

I almost couldn't believe my eyes--almost.

Two days ago, a tweet was going around some circles on social media where a person who names the name of Jesus proudly announced, "I make no apology for mocking other Christians who..." and then they proceeded to name some trivial practice that this particular Respectable Religious person didn't like.  It wasn't simply this person saying, "I don't agree with doing X," or "Here is a list of reasons I don't do Y," but rather, "I won't even apologize for mocking these fellow Christians who do this, because I think it is wrong."

Whew.

Then just yesterday, I kid you not, the leader of a nationally-known religiously affiliated men's organization proudly announced his position that the church has made a mistake by teaching "a Jesus that's an idol--a Jesus that says to love means being nice to everybody.  Jesus wasn't very nice. He wasn't very nice most of the time."  And while I'll grant that Jesus has some strong words of condemnation in the gospels, it is striking to me that his ire is almost always directed at the Respectable Religious Leaders of his day who are arrogant, mean, hypocritical, and condemning--he never condemns people for being too kind.

Hoo-boy.

These are just widely known instances that just happened to have happened in the last forty-eight hours in American Christianity... of course, it was only just a few weeks back I found myself behind a car in traffic whose bumper and rear window had three stickers:  one that had a Jesus-fish symbol, one that had the simple slogan, "Be kind," in frilly cursive script, and one that had a profanity [the one with the F] aimed at the prominent politician the driver does not like.  This is the air we are breathing all the time.  It just so happens that today we come across these words in our journey through First Corinthians that we've been on for the better part of this year so far.  How terribly, ironically, awfully fitting that we need to be reminded of Paul's insistence that we not go out of our way to be jerks to people, for the sake of the gospel and out of love for the people around us--not only those we already like and agree with, but especially those we don't.

There's a certain strand of what passes for Christianity these days that seems to relish, to savor, being bitter, vindictive, and mean-spirited toward others while it both prides itself on all of that spitefulness as a sign of how "tough" and "strong" it is and at the same time casts itself as the poor, put-upon, persecuted church being unfairly attacked for being faithful... when it's really being criticized for not looking like the real Jesus.  And Paul here just can't imagine that being the posture of Christians in the world--not toward other Christians, and not toward anybody else who doesn't share our faith, either.  For Paul, kindness and respect--not causing offense--isn't just a perk we offer to fellow in-group members, as a benefit for being in the Jesus Club with us.  It's our way of life and our position toward everyone. If anything, we are called especially to be considerate and winsome toward people who do not share our faith in Jesus, exactly so that we might get through to others when we do tell people about Christ.  We don't want to turn people away from ever hearing the news of Jesus because we have already alienated folks by our rudeness.  

That's the thing--we may not have the power to "make" anybody come to faith in Jesus, but at least we can do our utmost to remove the obstacles we could be placing in the way that keep other people from being able to hear Good News, because our demeanor in the world is so powerfully un-Christ-like.  It's been said that the gospel will always be something of a scandal to the listening world, but for us who share our faith with others, we need to be sure we are causing "the right kind of scandal."  In other words, if people are upset by the audacious love of God, or the challenging path of Jesus, or the difficult work of truth-telling, justice-doing, and neighbor-loving we are called to, fair enough.  But if people can't even get to the point of hearing the message of Jesus because we've driven them away ahead of time by mocking them, being deliberately rude to them, or sending the message that we "don't want their kind of people around anyway," then we've put the wrong kind of scandal in the way.

It takes so little effort to practice kindness.  It takes such minimal additional thought to treat others with respect.  And it costs absolutely nothing more to speak with empathy rather than with spite.  In a culture like ours that so often wallows in meanness--and in a time when church folks can think they have to be abrasive in order to be faithful--Paul calls us to think before we speak, because he knows that the world around us is listening, whether we realize it or not.  And the ways we treat people when we don't realize others are paying attention will be a more powerful witness, for good or for ill, than any religious sales pitch or sermon.

Lord Jesus, keep us mindful of how we treat people all the time, so that we don't get in the way of your good news with our own orneriness.

Gloriously Ordinary--October 10, 2022

Gloriously Ordinary--October 10, 2022

"So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God." [1 Corinthians 10:31]

There's an old Jack Handey line that makes me laugh still; one of his "Deep Thoughts" of Saturday Night Live fame went like this:  "I hope that when I die, a lot of people will say of me, 'That guy sure owed me a lot of money'."

It makes me chuckle, but it also makes me think about the opposite as well--what would it look like to live my life in such a way that it makes people praise God?  My goodness, that sounds beautiful, doesn't it?  Imagine it--what would it take to leave the sort of impression on others that your life brings glory to God?

I think when we hear that phrase, "do everything for the glory of God," we might immediately jump to the conclusion that you can only do that with big, spectacular accomplishments, or creating timeless masterpieces in art or music like Mozart, or causing some pivotal change in the world that altered the course of world events.  You might know that Johann Sebastian Bach famously wrote the words, "Soli Deo Gloria"--to God alone be the glory--on the music that he wrote.  And if you do know that, it can be really hard to think that our efforts will hardly compare to a genius like his, or the magnificence of a Gothic cathedral, or the way countless professional football players seem to dedicate their touchdowns or game wins to God [somehow suggesting that God is rooting only for their team, I guess?].  By comparison, the things you and I do in the course of an ordinary day can sure seem like small potatoes.  I'm never going to write a symphony, or the great American novel.  I'm never going to win public office.  And I am certain I am never going to score a touchdown in a major league stadium.  So... how am I at all going to give God glory with my small efforts and actions?

Well, this is part of the surprising beauty to Paul's words here.  Because Paul doesn't mention the need for any of us to paint another version of da Vinci's "The Last Supper."  He doesn't talk about composing an epic poem or even a haiku, and he doesn't mention anything about dedicating a sports trophy to God.  Paul starts with the commonest of things--eating and drinking.  Paul seems to think we can bring glory to God in the ordinariness of our daily routines, all the way down to a weekday lunch.  To borrow the words often attributed to Mother Teresa, "we cannot do great things--only small things with great love."  In other words, rather than picturing a concert hall, an art gallery, a football stadium, a battlefield, or the halls of Congress when we think of "bringing glory to God," Paul points us to our kitchen tables and the humble meals we share there.

In the bigger conversation here in First Corinthians, of course, Paul has been talking on and off about the larger question about whether it matters if your meat came from a pagan sacrifice before you bought it at the marketplace.  And the bottom line has been that we are free from worrying about the meat itself, so instead we can be attentive to being considerate of the people around us.  If eating particular foods will cause offense for someone who is at the table with you, you don't have to be a jerk and insist on eating it then.  And if nobody else has a problem with it, you can enjoy the food in front of you and give thanks to God for the bounty of daily bread.  The point is that even in our eating and drinking, we can act in ways that embody the kindness of Jesus--and thereby bring glory to God--or we can be jerks about it and get folks all bent out of shape over things that don't have to be a big deal.  The radical thing here is that God is glorified, not by stone monuments or a win for your political party, but by genuine kindness.

This isn't usually how we think about our actions "bringing glory to God." We are used to thinking we have to do something to make ourselves famous--that what God really needs is a boost in publicity from our accomplishments.  But nothing could be further from the truth.  God doesn't need celebrity endorsements.  But God can be glorified when we who belong to the people of God are known for love that meets people where they are at, sees them and honors them, and can be gracious and patient with them.  God is glorified when our lives are marked by Jesus' kind of love--and as Paul will famously say in a couple of chapters, genuine love doesn't insist in getting its own way but bears with the needs of the other.  In other words, if you really want to bring glory to God in your life, be the kind of person whose love is genuine and contagious.  You can forget about writing a best-seller or becoming a movie star.  Love like Jesus--let that be your "Soli Deo Gloria" written at the top of your life.

It is humbling to think how much of our life's work and our supposed accomplishments will be forgotten and crumble to dust after enough time.  But the ways we love, right here and now, will be the most powerful way we can give glory to God that lasts and leaves ripple marks on the world, radiating outward into the boundless motion of the sea.

I think, if I get to the end of my life and someone can say, "I saw a glimpse of what God's love is like in him," that will have been a life well-spent.  And it will have been, I dare say, glorious.

Lord God, let us bring glory to you in the ways we love in common places like our tables and workplaces today.

On Not Being A Jerk--October 6, 2022

On Not Being A Jerk--October 6, 2022

"Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience, for 'the earth and its fullness are the Lord's.' If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. But if someone says to you, 'This has been offered in sacrifice,' then do not eat it, out of consideration forone who informed you, and for the sake of conscience--I mean the other's conscience, not your own. For why should my liberty be subject to the judgment of someone else's conscience? If I partake with thankfulness, why should I be denounced because of that for which I give thanks?" [1 Corinthians 10:25-30]

Sometimes it is easier to wear a t-shirt that says, "Be kind" than it is to actually practice kindness toward other people.

I'm not saying it's a bad idea to wear a shirt, or have a necklace, or display a bumper sticker with the slogan, "Be kind," on it--I have a big one of those on my guitar case, actually, featuring Mr. Rogers on it, too.  But I am saying that we have a way of reducing good things to slogans we can print or share on social media and then not making the effort to live those slogans out in real life.  And that's where it really counts.

This is one of those examples.  In a sense, the whole situation Paul is addressing could boil down to being kind.  Basically, Paul says, if you're in a situation where someone else's conscience will be agitated by the source of the meat you have at a dinner, then be considerate of their feelings and don't cause additional offense.  But if you're in a situation where nobody will be upset or bothered about whether the meat at the table had come from a pagan sacrifice before it arrived at the butcher shop, then you don't need to ask or go out of your way to find out.  No harm, no foul.  It's simply a matter of being considerate of the people around you.

And that raises a really important point here that sometimes we church folk are not great at recognizing: sometimes the right question is not, "Is this a sin in all times and situations?" but rather, "What is the kind thing to do in THIS situation?"  Paul doesn't seem to think that eating or not eating the meat sacrificed to an idol is a sin [although he did make it clear earlier that we shouldn't be actively participating in the ritual act of sacrificing something to Zeus or Jupiter or Asherah or Caesar].  But here the question isn't about whether it is "sinful" to eat, but rather about being considerate of the other people at the table.  "If it's going to be an issue for them, don't be a jerk about it," Paul says.  And on the other hand, if this isn't going to be an issue at this meal, then go ahead and eat whatever is offered.  

Sometimes we want to reduce everything to a question of "Is it sinful to do X?" and then to make the only options a stark and absolute binary choice: either it's sinful, in which case it is forbidden for all times, or it is not sinful, in which case nobody can ever tell you not to, and there can be no restrictions, limits, or regulations on your freedom to do X.  But Paul reminds us that sometimes the right question is, "What does it look like to practice kindness and consideration for others in this situation?"  And that may mean we refrain from something we are technically "free" to do in some situations out of consideration for others around us.  In other words, sometimes the call just not to be a jerk outweighs the logic of absolute freedom to do things that aren't "sins."

It is really tempting in our day and age to make everything so starkly black-and-white.  You know how the thinking goes: if something is against the law, it is always wrong and never acceptable, but if it is legal, then there should be no limits or restrictions or regulations of any kind for any reason whatsoever on it, because... "freedom."  That's just a secular version of the same "is-it-sin-or-not" binary, and that just doesn't always apply, at least to hear Paul tell it.

Maybe a modern parallel would be worth considering, since we are not likely to have a lot of meat-sacrifice debates in the twenty-first century.  But I do know folks who are recovering from alcoholism and are doing the work, one day at a time, to stay sober.  And that changes my calculus about when I do or don't order a beer or a glass of wine.  If I'm in a gathering and others I know are struggling with sobriety, I'm not going to make it worse for them by telling them about this super delicious double IPA I have just ordered.  And if I'm the host of a gathering, I'll make sure there are non-alcoholic choices for people no matter what, just to be certain that I'm not making it harder for others to have a good time and stay sober.  It is oversimplifying to say, "Either it is always morally acceptable to drink alcohol or it is never acceptable to do so."  Rather, it really is context and relationship dependent.  That's not moral relativism--that's just recognizing that we are called beyond mere rule-following to the deeper practice of love, which involves empathy for others and consideration for what others might be going through.

In the course of my day, there are lots of things I am willing to live with restrictions, limits, or regulations on for the sake of being considerate to others, and it doesn't phase me at all.  I'll be the same is true for you.  I'm willing to wear a mask when I visit someone in the hospital or nursing home, or even in other visitation situations, if that will help others to be more at ease when we are concerned about spreading disease.  I'm willing to walk through the metal detectors to make sure I don't take any weapons into the courthouse when I go to drop off a return of marriage, even though I'm not carrying any weapons and yet still have to unload keys, phone, pen, and loose change.  I'm willing to ask about other people's food allergies or preferences before cooking a meal for guests, even if that means I have to change my plans for what I would have liked to prepare.  These are all small acts of kindness we can take in every day that move us beyond simply asking, "Is it sinful to do this?  Because if it's not, you can't restrict me." 

It is fair to say that there is more to the Christian faith than just practicing kindness to others--but it is certainly nothing less than that.  In a time like ours that sometimes prides itself on being inconsiderate of others' feelings and calling it "freedom," it is worth remembering that sometimes the best witness we have as Christians is simply taking the time and effort not to be a jerk.

May we at least start there today.

Lord Jesus, keep us mindful of others among us so that we can reflect your kindness and consideration for us that has made room for each of us as we are.  Don't let us be jerks today.

Holy Weirdos--October 5, 2022

Holy Weirdos--October 5, 2022

"'All things are lawful,' but not all things are beneficial. 'All things are lawful,' but not all things build up. Do not seek your own advantage, but that of the other." [1 Corinthians 10:23-24]

This is it, friends: this is what makes us blessedly strange, holy weirdos in the world.  In the midst of a culture that angrily shouts, "You can't tell me what to do--that's FREEDOM, baby!" the followers of Jesus speak another word: "We will choose to do what builds up and benefits others, rather than ourselves." They just don't know what to do with that.

If this sounds like a theme we've heard before in First Corinthians, you're right.   For Paul, the whole Christian life is oriented inside-out compared to the conventional wisdom of the day, and so he keeps coming back to this countercultural notion that we who follow Christ will live in his other-centered way as well.  And we will do that, even when the rest of the world insists that it looks foolish, or weak, or backward.  We will deliberately not use our rights or freedoms simply for our own self-interest, but will be willing to waive rights, to not demand what we are entitled to, and to use our freedom and ability for the sake of building up others.  And we will do such things because we have learned that this is the key to living life in its fullest since we've seen it in Jesus.

In this pair of verses, Paul is back to quoting his readers and their slogans.  They seem to have fixated on the idea that "all things are lawful" for them, much as that slogan had come up back in chapter six when they were hung up on using people as objects.  But once again, Paul has to remind them--and us--that we live by a different standard than merely asking "Is this legal for me?"  We live with other criteria than simply, "Is there a law that says I can't do this, and even if so, who says I really have to follow it?" Rather, the followers of Jesus ask the more vital question, "Will doing this build someone else up?"  We ask, "If I do this, how will it help a neighbor?"  And for us, that is actually an expression of our deep freedom in Christ.  

That's because we can be so grounded in the assurance that God's got us covered.  We don't have to look out of for our own interests above all else, because we dare to trust that God is looking out for our interests as well as those of the whole world.  We do not need to be constantly gaming out, "How will this benefit me?" because we recognize that God is already committed to our good and our well-being as a sheer gift of grace.  And we realize that in Christ we are not alone--we don't have to fend for ourselves in this world, because we are not left to our own devices!  And once we realize we don't have to waste our energy, our time, or our attention on getting ahead of everyone else, we are finally truly free to care for the needs of our neighbors, without reducing them to being recipients of our charity so we can rack up heavenly points or merit badges or gold stars.  Grace frees us to love our neighbors, maybe for the first time ever for real.

The other thing that's worth noting about this whole train of thought is that God's goal [if we can talk about God having "goals"] with us is not simply to "get souls into heaven," but rather to make us to be more and more fully like Christ--that is more and more fully embodying the living Christ who dwells in us.  And because Jesus himself is, to use Bonhoeffer's great phrase, "the man for others," we are being shaped more and more completely to be oriented outward toward the needs, the joys, the shared sorrows, and the situations of others.  The deeper we go in the Christian life, the less we'll find ourselves saying, "I don't care what it does to anybody else--I'm free to do it, and you can't stop me!"  The more like Christ we become, the less we'll accept the old, tired logic that says, "Me and My Group First!"  And the more the living God turns us inside out toward others, toward neighbors, toward strangers, and like Jesus even toward enemies, the more we'll reflect the character of Jesus himself.

In a culture that celebrates its own selfishness and still keeps cheering for the "Us First!" agenda, following Jesus' way of seeking the interests of others first is going to make us look weird.  But maybe that weirdness is really what we have meant by "holiness" all along.  Maybe it is a beautiful thing after all to be so blessedly strange.

Lord Jesus, make of us reflections of you own beautifully odd, blessedly strange, holy weirdness.

What We Endorse--October 4, 2022

What We Endorse--October 4, 2022

"Consider the people of Israel; are not those who eat the sacrifices partners in the altar? What do I imply then? That food sacrificed to idols, or that an idol is anything?  No, I imply that what pagans sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God.  I do not want you to be partners with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Or are we provoking the Lord to jealousy?  Are we stronger than he?" [1 Corinthians 10:18-22]

Okay, here's something of a conundrum. Jesus had a way of associating with all the unacceptable people--and yet I think it's right to say there are some things that Jesus is not to be associated with.  Jesus was willing to be in the presence of demons, and even to strike up conversations with them from time to time to hear the gospels tell it, and yet Jesus did not endorse the demonic agenda to wreck people's lives and sow destruction wherever they went. Jesus wasn't afraid of being in the presence of "sinners" or "pagans" or even of the devil himself, and yet he was clear not to let himself get co-opted by someone else's agenda.  He can invite himself over to dinner at the house of Zacchaeus [the notoriously crooked tax-collector who admitted he cheated people], but he doesn't publicly endorse bilking people out of their money.  He can stand before the Roman governor Pontius Pilate without fear or revulsion, and yet he does not pledge his allegiance to the Empire Pilate represents.  Jesus can even have a conversation with Satan in the wilderness, but he doesn't for one second align himself with the tempter's agenda, not even when all the kingdoms of the world are being offered.

So it's not that Jesus is too fragile or fearful to be in the presence of sin or evil. Neither is it that Jesus will have nothing to do with those who perpetrate evil or commit heinous sin--after all, he can even pray forgiveness for those who are murdering him--while he is bleeding out on the cross.  It's that Jesus won't let himself get hijacked by evil or turned into its mascot.  Being able to distinguish between those two can be difficult, but that's the key here, both to this passage and to a lot of the thorny questions we face in our day about where we draw lines and hold to them.

Part of what makes this passage from First Corinthians so difficult is that the issues seem so foreign from our daily experience.  We don't live in a culture where there are temples to Zeus, Apollo, and Artemis alongside shrines to Zoroaster, Mithras, and Isis, set amid official imperial worship of Caesar and Roma, the goddess of Rome, all right along the street on the way to the grocery store.  We are not likely to be invited to "give our hearts to Jupiter" alongside an altar call to "give our hearts to Jesus," so it can be hard for us to understand why Paul can seem so rigid about boundaries in one moment here and then flexible at other times. A few chapters back, he said it didn't matter whether one ate meat that had been sacrificed to an idol or not, since idols aren't real anyway--and yet now here, he is sharply condemning idols or participating in the act of ritual sacrifice to those idols.  So what makes the difference?

Let me suggest a thought experiment.

Imagine you get into a crowded elevator in a busy office building. You have no way of knowing who anybody is, what beliefs they subscribe to, what their politics are, or whether or not they are clutching to some deeply held bigotry.  It's possible their clothing or small-talk could give some hints, but just as likely that all of those cards are kept close to the vest.  You don't stop to interview each person in the elevator before getting on, just to make sure they are not members of the KKK or some white supremacist organization, or some hate group or neo-Nazi organization.  You just get on the elevator and wait for your floor.  And yet, at some point, we've probably all been on elevators with people who are committed to some pretty terrible bigotry, racism, or other kinds of ingrained hate.  We don't know it at the time, and yet we go on with our lives because we all recognize that sharing an elevator with someone is not an endorsement of whatever ideologies others in the same elevator may or may not hold.  

Now, let's take it a step further.  Let's imagine that you're on the elevator with the same crowd of strangers, and the fire alarm goes off, and the elevator car is stuck between floors, while you start to smell smoke.  Everyone in the elevator decides you need to evacuate the elevator, and somebody pries open the doors so that you can get out on the most easily accessible level.  You would help whomever else is there in the elevator to get out to safety, without knowing anything else about them, right?  Of course--you help whomever is in need of help, and you don't stop to ask whether anybody in the elevator is a member of the Klan or a neo-Nazi militia.  But that also means, in a sense, that yes, any time we do good for a stranger, we are taking the risk that we are helping someone who thinks or believes something terrible.  We do it anyway, because the nature of loving your neighbor is that we don't stop and ask whether our neighbor is worthy of the love we show.

But... now contrast either of those situations--just standing in an elevator with strangers, or helping to assist those strangers out of the elevator in an emergency--with what you might do if you do help everybody out of the elevator when the fire alarm goes off, and one of the fellow passengers looks at you gratefully for the assistance, and then says to you, "I'd like to thank you for your help--would you like to be my guest at a Klan rally we're having next weekend?" I imagine you would be aghast, and once the shock had worn off, you'd immediately refuse to go, whether in outright rejection or with a polite demural.  

Why?  What makes the difference?  Ten minutes ago you were all standing politely in the elevator together as perfect strangers, and no one had a problem.  Five minutes ago you were helping this person out of a stuck elevator when the smoke alarm went off.  You were in closer physical proximity standing inside the elevator car than you would be outside at a rally, and yet, clearly you can't accept the invitation.  Why the change? Well, now you are being asked something different--you are being asked to endorse, implicitly or explicitly, the particular ideology of racial hatred and white supremacy of that group.  You would not be merely standing near someone or helping a stranger, but if you went to the rally it would be expressing approval of their message.  And while you are free to help someone who believes something abhorrent to you if they are trapped in an elevator, there is a difference between helping them and endorsing their ideology.  It is good to help a neighbor, including neighbors who are strangers.  But that is not the same as endorsing whatever agendas they may also have.

Maybe our thought experiment seems a bit unlikely, but I hope it's at least helpful for clarifying.  The issue is never "Who are we allowed to be in close proximity with?" and it's not even, "Who are we permitted to show love to?"  There we are utterly free to love all in the midst of all, whether we like them or not, whether we agree with them or not, and even whether they also happen to subscribe to truly terrible ideologies or not.  The image of God in them is worthy of love, respect, and care no matter how reproachable we may find their worldview.  There is a difference, however, in whether we endorse or affirm the agendas of other people around us.  And we are under no obligation to let ourselves--or Christ--be co-opted to become the mascot for someone else's agenda.

So let me suggest that Paul is proposing something similar here.  While Christians in the first century were free to, say, buy meat from the market that had come from a pagan sacrifice [over which they had no control or awareness], there is a difference between buying meat and actively participating in the ritual sacrifice to another god or goddess.  One is the crowded elevator, and the other is the invitation to the Klan rally.  There is a difference between just getting some supper prepared and a whole-hearted endorsement of something wicked.  You can be on an elevator with strangers, and even help them in time of crisis.  You are not, however, obligated to go to Klan rallies or neo-Nazi parades with them as well.

In our day, the invitations tend to be more subtle.  But the point is still the same--as followers of Jesus, we are indeed called to love everyone, but we are not called to endorse everyone who comes along looking for Jesus' endorsement on their agenda.  And there are lots of voices looking to co-opt Jesus for their political platforms, their runs for office, their pet hatreds, or their rotten ideologies.  We do not have to let them.  We do not have to let Jesus be made into someone's mascot.  We may not have a local cult of Zeus looking to mingle followers with the church, but we do have plenty of agendas seeking Christ's favor.  Paul would remind us that our call is always to love people, but we do not have to give Jesus' stamp of approval on the agendas that are not of Christ.  We can leave the endorsing questions to him anyway.

The bottom line is that while Jesus absolutely does love everybody, there is a difference between that love and becoming a celebrity spokesman for what does not align with the way of Jesus.  And maybe in the places where we have let ourselves get those mixed up, today is a day to get some clarity once again.

Lord Jesus, help us to hear your voice strongly enough to know where you are leading us, and where you are not.

Become What You Receive--October 3, 2022

Become What You Receive--October 3, 2022

"I speak as to sensible people; judge for yourselves what I say.  The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ?  Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread." [1 Corinthians 10:15-17]

You’ve heard people say it all your life, I bet: you are what you eat. And what they usually mean is that if you eat junk food, your body will only get junk for its fuel. And if you eat good things, your body will take in the good nutrients and vitamins and such. And if I eat a lot of fried, oily, fatty foods, it will be no surprise that before long I’ll be able to see it on the scale.

But of course, it’s true at an even more basic, literal, level, too. We really do become what we eat, because the molecules and atoms that used to be our food get taken into our cells and become us. You literally do become what you eat, because what you eat goes into every cell of your body! Food in your body is different from fuel for a car, then, because the gasoline in your car literally just gets burned up and goes away. But the food you eat gets broken down and actually incorporated into your body—it becomes the raw materials for how your body makes new cells, bigger bones, new hair, and longer toenails. All of that “stuff” that is a part of your body used to be food, believe it or not. Even literally, it’s true: you really are what you eat.

Well, now, consider this for a moment. Paul uses the same language to talk about the meal of Jesus that we sometimes call Holy Communion, the Lord's Supper, or the Eucharist.  In the tradition from which I come, we Lutheran Christians believe that every Sunday, we receive not only bread and wine, but we receive the body and blood of Christ at the same time.  We dare to believe Christ is truly present in as earthy and visceral and as real a way as Christ's own incarnation walking, sweating, living, and dying as one of us in ancient Palestine.  We believe, following Paul's strong language in places like this, that we partake of Christ's own body and blood, "in, with, and under" such common elements as bread and wine. So follow me down the path of logical conclusions… if it’s true that you are what you eat, and if we are receiving the body of Christ each week, then… we are the body of Christ.

Of course, we say that already—we say that the church is “the body of Christ.” But maybe we just thought that was a figure of speech or just a religious, churchy phrase that sounds good to say. However, if we think about it, it really is true. We are what we eat. We are the body of Christ. In fact, that’s exactly what one older brother in the faith named Saint Augustine used to say. He was a pastor (and eventually a bishop) in North Africa in the fourth and fifth century, and he used to say every week at Communion time, as people came forward to receive the bread and cup, “Become what you receive: the body of Christ.”

This may start to boggle your mind, but it really is true: we believe that Christ really does dwell within us, and that we really do receive Jesus himself at Communion. We are not just play acting or imagining that Jesus is with us. We are not just wishing or remembering. We are receiving Jesus at the Table, and you are what you eat.

What does any of that mean? Well, it should mean that we take seriously the fact that we are meant to be the face of Christ for other people around us. In other words, other people are supposed to be able to learn what the love of Jesus is like by seeing us. I wonder—what impression do people get about Jesus when they see us? When they see you? When they see me? If together we are the body of Christ, are we doing the kinds of things you would expect to see Jesus doing?

There’s a song by the Christian group Casting Crowns that asks the very same question in their own way. Their refrain goes, “But if we are the body why aren't His arms reaching? Why aren't His hands healing? Why aren't His words teaching? And if we are the body Why aren't His feet going? Why is His love not showing them there is a way?” It’s a good set of questions: since we receive the body of Christ every week, we literally are the body of Christ. And since we are the body of Christ, let us do what you would expect to see Christ doing today, so that others will see the face of Christ in us.

Lord Jesus, let us be your body today. Let us become what we have received at your table.

Where We Give Our Hearts--September 30, 2022

Where We Give Our Hearts--September 30, 2022

"Therefore, my beloved, flee from the worship of idols." [1 Corinthians 10:14]

The obvious ones are easy, honestly.

A golden calf, a statue of King Nebuchadnezzar that the Babylonian army forces people to worship, or even old Pharaoh claiming the power of the divine for his right to enslave people.  They're all false gods, and you know it pretty easily, because they overplay their hand.  They're just so obvious about it.  Those are the idols we have a sporting chance of knowing not to worship.  If there's an actual statue, or totem, or symbol they want you to give your heart and your allegiance to, you know something's fishy.

The trouble comes with the more subtle idols--the ones with just enough marks of the genuine article that it's harder to spot a counterfeit.  It's when someone takes the language, or name, or trappings of the real and living God and uses them dress up a faker, that's when it gets harder to know we've been suckered into give our hearts to a fraud.  It's what happens when we let the God we know in Jesus be co-opted and pirated to repackage something lesser--that's where we so easily get tripped up.  In fact, even in the original Golden Calf episode from ancient Israel's memory back in the book of Exodus, the way Aaron sells the golden statue is by selling everyone on the idea that this shiny cow is the same "god" that brought them out of Egypt.  It's got just enough veneer of the real living God--who actually did bring them out of Egypt through the Sea and out of Pharaoh's clutches--that the people lose their ability to distinguish between the invisible, intangible Yahweh and a statue made from their melted jewelry.  Once the people are told that this is the same God they've always known--just now in convenient portable statue form!--they're hooked, and they'll give their hearts and allegiance to the statue.  Aaron doesn't need to invent a new god to get the people bowing down--he just has to get the people's religious "brand loyalty," so to speak, while leaving the substance of the real God behind.

I think that's the thing that Paul is most worried about as well, too--not that the folks in Corinth will give up on Jesus for some newly invented deity, but rather that they'll get hoodwinked into following after some counterfeit version of what Jesus is all about.  Paul has already spent a whole chapter insisting that idols of other gods and goddesses aren't real anyway, since there is really only one God and only one Lord, Jesus, back in what we call chapter eight.  And back there Paul seemed to be echoing what his readers in Corinth already knew and understood--so I don't think he is worried as much that they'll go back to worshiping Zeus or Asherah or Apollo or what-have-you.  I do think he is worried that they'll fall for a counterfeit Christ, and some sloppy fake gospel that leaves us unchanged.  I think Paul is more worried about an idolatrous version of Christianity that doesn't reorient our hearts away from "Me-and-My-Group-First" thinking and toward the others-first way of life that actually looks like Christ.  I think Paul is worried about us confusing our safe, unchallenging mental pictures of Jesus with the real deal, who constantly surprises us, disarms us, redirects us, and moves us to tears with the depth of his love.  

And honestly, I think that's the bigger worry we face as Christians in this day and age.  It's not the danger that we'll pitch Jesus altogether in favor of some newly minted deity--I think ours is the day when we are tempted with counterfeit Christs who look and sound nothing like the authentic Jesus: the one who isn't interested in building an empire or setting up a "Christian" nation, but rather who reveals the Reign of God among the nobodies and the outcasts, the sinners, the failures, and the fools.  Surely ours isn't the only time in history that has been susceptible to that particular temptation: we've been doing it for most of the last two millennia, every time we confuse political power with the way of Jesus, every time we try and domesticate him to be our mascot or our genie to grant us prosperity and luxury, and every time we co-opt Jesus to endorse our pre-existing agendas and platforms.  Every time we ask Jesus to bless killing, to rationalize our greed, or to endorse the way of empire, we reveal we've got a counterfeit dressed up in Jesus' robes in our minds.  These are the truly powerful idols, because they come wrapped up in garb we think we recognize from the real Christ.  These are the most dangerous idols to be reckoned with, because they are the ones subtle enough to fool us, at least some of the time.

Today, my guess is that we don't have a strong pull to give our hearts to a statue of Pharaoh... or Nebuchadnezzar...  or even a golden calf.  But we do keep letting ourselves get bamboozled into falling for pretenders stamped with the name of Jesus.  Maybe today is a good day to point ourselves back to the real deal--the Love who first called us and whose name we still bear--so that we might learn again to recognize the genuine Jesus from the fakes we keep confusing him for.  Maybe it's a lifelong commitment to keep close to the real and living Jesus, so that we won't be fooled anymore to give our hearts to another lesser savior, and instead find ourselves held always by the real article.

Lord Jesus, keep showing yourself to us, so that we can be clear and grounded in you, amidst all the ways we fall for pretenders around us.