Broken Jesus Everywhere

One of the reasons I believe that the season of worship called 'Lent' is vitally important is that during Lent we must confront our own idolatrous ideas about God. In Lent, we pay special attention to the cross. To some, that may sound sadistic. I can understand why they might feel that way. But for me, the cross of Jesus confronts my tendencies to form God in my own image. Or, more accurately, the cross of Jesus confronts my propensity to form God as what I would be if I had all power and glory. I would crush my opponents and coerce their obedience. I would enforce my will and insist on lock-step submission. I would be the ultimate winner. What we meet in the person of Jesus is quite different: he comes in love, suffers among us, works with persuasion rather than coercion, shares our common lot, bears the world's anger on his shoulders, submits to the powers-that-be, and, incredibly, he dies. It is here, at the cross, that Paul the Apostle said that we see "the wisdom and power of God."

In the Gospel of Mark, the final week of Jesus' life encompasses approximately 33% of the Gospel. While most of the stories of Jesus' life and ministry are told quickly and with little attention to detail, the movement of Jesus toward the cross in the final week is told slowly, carefully, with great attention to detail. In fact, the Gospel of Mark has a great deal more to say about the crucifixion of Jesus than it does about his resurrection. One gets the impression that Mark (and Matthew, Luke and John, for that matter) is trying to make a point here.

Why is all of this so important? I believe that we live today in a culture that is obsessed with power. We live in a nation that is, arguably, the most powerful nation in history. We pride ourselves in a military that is larger, better equipped and more--here's that word again--powerful than any other on the planet. We brag of powerful financial markets and our powerful influence in the world. We admire powerful people, like those who have the authority to say, "You're fired." Is it possible that our obsession with power belies a deep idolatry at work among us--that we have fashioned idols that look more like Caesar than like the God disclosed by Jesus? Is it possible that this is a profoundly different way than the way of Jesus, who came not with an army but with a towel, not with a sword but with a cross? And is it possible that our character will be formed by that which we worship?

I desperately need Lent, this time of contemplating 'broken Jesus everywhere.' I believe that the world desperately needs a church that is willing to be formed by the God we meet at the cross.

A New Thing

"Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:18-19)."

When Isaiah prophesies that God is doing a new thing, he is not suggesting that what has come before is unimportant. The Bible consistently reminds God's people to remember the stories of God's faithfulness throughout the ages. Memory is a crucial dimension of faith. But the memory of God's faithfulness is also what equips us to embrace the "creative transformation," as some theologians have called it, in this present moment. We remember God's creative work in the past in order to embrace it in the present moment. God is acting, right now, in this moment, to do something new, to cause springs to break forth in the desert and rivers to run freely through the wilderness. The beauty of that for me is that I don't have to go on doing what I've always done, living in the ruts that have held me up 'til now. There is some way, small or large, that I can step forth as one raised from the dead and live differently, even in this present moment. For me, the greatest disappointment of all is not a human being who has done some bad things in their life. The greatest shame is a human being who is not growing. May God forever strike from my lips the words, "That's just the way I am."

Decisions, God's Will and Jazz

Many people find it difficult to make decisions because they are so concerned to do God's will that they are frozen into indecision. Because it is important to them to line their lives up with God's purposes, they ponder and pray over important decisions and then... they worry: what if I don't get God's will right? It is ironic to me that the community of Jesus, people who have encountered amazing grace, are sometimes frozen into indecision because they are afraid they'll miss God's plan. It seems to me that quite the opposite can be true. Because we are the recipients of grace, we can be free to make courageous decisions precisely because we are aware that nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even a less than best choice. I do believe (passionately so) that we should make decisions a matter of discernment and prayer. But what if God's guidance to us is less like micromanaging our lives and more like, well, jazz. Have you ever noticed the freedom that jazz performers have when they work through a certain piece of music, how there is flexibility to go this way and that, to improvise and experiment, all within a song that they know very well? The point is, they know the music and what the song is supposed to do, but they have great flexibility within the song to try different things. I think the gospel's work in our lives might be something like that. Yes, we absolutely have guidance in the gospel--there is a 'song' that we're called to play. "Love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself" is a great place to start. But within that guidance there is tremendous freedom to work it out, to try different things, to make passionate and courageous decisions about the living of our lives, all within the grand design of God's beautiful song. Perhaps something like this is what Paul had in mind when he wrote, "It is for freedom that Christ set us free."

Confessions of an Older Son

This last weekend, I was privileged to take part in a retreat along with 15 others from our congregation where my good friend Arthur Kelly took us into the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15. For me personally, the weekend was good and troubling. Good, because the relational connections were very rich and the food and laughter were potent medicine. Troubling, because our reflections on Luke 15 led me to an unanticipated place. During our meditation on the story, I found myself relating to the older brother, the one who refused to come to the party that had been thrown for the younger son who had returned home. You will recall that the father threw an outrageous party when the prodigal returned, complete with music and dancing and a splendid banquet. But the older brother sulked and complained, "I've been about your business all these years and you've never thrown a party for me..." I was moved to discomfort, while reflecting on the story, by an emerging awareness of the jealousy that lurks in me--a jealousy that limits my capacity to celebrate with and for others who are at the center of the party. Jealousy is a bitter root, a poison in the well. For me, this is not a theoretical reflection, but a personal confession. That said, I was also deeply moved during the retreat by the words of the father to the older son. "My son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." I hear those words as a powerful invitation of grace, not only to returning prodigals but also to 'older' sons.