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.

What I'm Taking Up for Lent

Christians around the globe have entered the reflective season of Lent, the period of 40 days (excluding Sundays) leading to Easter. The Lenten season invites us to slow down and journey with Jesus toward his cross. More, it invites us to ponder the mystery that the Christian way is a way of death and resurrection. "I have been crucified with Christ," wrote the Apostle Paul, "nevertheless I live. Yet it is not I, but Christ who lives in me."

Many people want to ask, "What are you giving up for Lent this year?" That's not a bad question, but I'd like to pose a different one. What are you taking up during Lent this year? What meaningful, important, faithful practice--perhaps something that you have taken up in the past, but has gotten pressed out along the way--will you take up during Lent this year?

Here's my answer: A few years ago I became very interested in a strategy and methodology for working with many of the world's poor called 'micro-finance.' Micro-Finance is a way of providing low-interest loans to help men and women start small businesses to support themselves and their families. Millions around the globe have been empowered by means of micro-finance. Initially, I read a great deal about micro-finance , even introduced a micro-finance project in conjunction with Horizon International to our congregation . At one point, I began to research micro-finance projects that are being done in the US--and whether or not it would be possible to introduce it here (where jobs are badly needed!) in Central Michigan. Alas, I allowed my interest in micro-finance to be pushed to the edge. So, for Lent, I'm picking it up again. I'll be researching (mostly on the web) what's been happening with micro-finance around the globe, as well as the possibilities for using it here at home.

That's what I'm taking up during Lent. What about you?

If You Say So

I think I've heard more feedback from last Sunday's sermon than any I've delivered for awhile. (Feedback sometimes comes in the form of questions, at other times as comments, pro or con, and at other times as rotten tomatoes lofted at my car). I spoke about the obedience of Simon Peter in Luke 5, and the importance of the fact that his obedience was to the word of Jesus. I suggested that 'obedience' can be badly corrupted in churches (or anywhere else), when leaders (such as me) demand that church members do what the leaders say, or they will be disobeying God. I suggested that each person's task is to follow the freeing, life-giving word of Jesus.

My goal in this sermon was to reiterate that each and every one of us must do the hard work of discerning a vision for our lives, that all of us must learn to listen to the word of Jesus (the word that gives life) above the din of many other competing words, and each and every one of us must discern our calling(s) as human beings. I believe that discernment is long, hard and holy work. It involves prayerfully discovering a vision for our lives and living out that vision. It means discovering the unique ways that God is inviting us to join our lives to his love for the world. It means creatively discovering ways that we are about God's ongoing work of renewal that is taking place around and among us. I believe that this work of discernment is creative and playful and holy. And, I believe that we should allow no one--not even our pastor--to rob us of this beautiful work.

When we all, listening to the word of Jesus, discern our way, we are a beautiful chorus of differing voices--a far more beautiful thing, in my view, that folks who walk lock-step in the will of their leader.

Tomatoes anyone?

The Inclusive Fellowship of Jesus

Well, after a nice, long summer break from blogging, I'm refreshed and glad to be back at it. I hope you'll jump in and help me get the ball rolling once again.

A number of years ago, a group of church growth experts suggested that one of the ways to help a church grow is by creating a 'homogeneous' congregation. Stated simply, the idea they put forth was that the more the people of a congregation are like one another, the more likely that congregation is to grow. Churches grow faster, these experts told us, when they consist of people who are generally of the similar economic class, race, political belief, and so forth.

Over the years, this idea has morphed a little bit into the idea that if churches give people enough choices of what they would like in worship, the church will grow. For example, a traditional worship service will attract people (mostly elderly) who want to sing hymns and who enjoy a certain style of music, and a contemporary service will attract people (mostly younger than the traditional service) who like drums, guitars and choruses. This can be taken a good deal further, of course. I have a cartoon that depicts a sign hanging in front of a house of worship with a list of times and worship styles targeted for different audiences: a country and western service, a jazz service, classical, hip-hop and the list goes on. Although on the surface of things, this appears to be very different than the principle of homogeneity I mentioned in the last paragraph, I think it is in fact the same thing. Now you can be with people just like yourself, right down to the style of music you enjoy!

As you might have guessed, I'm having some trouble with this notion of homogeneity. It strikes me that one of the most radical and peculiar things about the ministry of Jesus is precisely how inclusive it is. I've teased this idea a number of times by pointing out that one of the followers of Jesus was a Zealot, a member of a party that wanted nothing more than to overthrow the Roman government; and another of the followers of Jesus was a tax collector, who gathered tolls from Jewish peasants to support the Roman government. As Clarence Jordan once quipped, I'll bet there was a night or two when Jesus had to sleep between those boys!

Paul the apostle reminds the church that in Christ the distinctions between men and women, slaves and free, and Jews and Gentiles have been overcome. A new, inclusive community has been formed in Christ. And, if I'm reading Ephesians correctly, this inclusive community witnesses to the Lordship of Jesus precisely by breaking down the walls that once separated us from one another. "He is our peace, who has broken down every wall."

One small way that our congregation attempts to bear witness to the unity-in-diversity that we have in Christ is in our worship. As we have written on our web site, "By intention, our two Sunday morning worship services are identical. While we have great respect for many churches that have opted to provide two or more very different worship services (traditional and contemporary, for example), we have chosen to have two identical, blended services. Our blended worship is intended to bring together a diverse gathering of people."

It is, or course, always an open question whether or not we're 'blending' our worship well. There are no doubt differing opinions about this (as well there should be in a diverse congregation!). However, this much seems very clear to me: Our efforts to 'blend' our worship in a way that welcomes a broad cross-section of people will cost something of everyone. Some may find it to stilted; others may long for something quieter; others may wish we sang nothing but hymns, and still others that we dispense with anything except choruses. I believe that a serious effort to come together across our differences is costly to all, but well-worth the effort if it bears witness to the one who breaks down every wall.