I just finished the book UnChristian, following Pagan Christianity a few months ago, and I wonder, can church as I know it ever reach the Busters and Mosaics?
What would that church have to look like? What would be core values?
To battle the perception of the church as antihomosexual a core value would have to be not accepting or rejecting a person due to their sexual orientation. The church would have to be a community that opens it's arms to everyone, understanding that we are all in different places in our faith journey, and providing opportunities for everyone to use their gifts in loving obedience to God.
To battle the perception that the church is judgemental a core value would have to be the ability to accept everyone, working to develop vibrant personal relationships between all of its' members. It's ministries would have to be intentionally multi-generational, fostering relationships between all ages, races, and genders.
To battle the perception that the church is hypocritical a core value would have to be honesty and integrity, modeled in leadership, reinforced in teaching, and expected of everyone. Members would have to be willing to hold themselves accountable to each other.
It would have to be unlike any church I've been to, willing to lay down what it has always seen as "church" in the interest of reaching those for whom Church is a dirty word.
I wonder what it would look like. Would there be sermons, homilies, teaching times, shared teaching? Would there be sacraments, and if so, which and how? Singing? Band? Internet, videos, powerpoint? Where would it meet, a home, a public building, a coffee shop, a sanctuary?
The challenge is huge and somwhate frightening and exciting and stimulating, the goal to create an UnChurch to battle the UnChristian label. And yet if what Kinnaman and Lyons have learned is true, do we truly have a choice?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
And Hope Will Never Disappoint
I live in the great state of Michigan, a state where the economic emergency is having it's full affect. It's difficult to read the news every day, wondering if it will all collapse. Are we heading for another depression?
It's New Years Day and Israel and Gaza are lobbing bombs back and forth at each other. The TV shows tanks lined up, ready for an oncoming invasion. Neither side is backing down. Will there be no peace?
AIDS has gone from being a gay disease to an epidemic that is wiping out fathers and mothers from millions of children if Africa. With all of the advance in medicine can't we end this epidemic?
Our young people are leaving the church in droves, finding it irrelevant or unable to satisfy their desire for freedom. Truth is a relevant thing, not a given. Are our children really destined to repeat every mistake we've ever made?
It's enough to drive a man to despair. Yet it's the words of a guy named Paul that bring us light in this darkness. In a letter to the church in Rome he wrote "Suffering produces character, and character perseverance, and perseverance, hope. And hope does not disappoint."
May those be the words of your New Years resolution. Always hope, never be disappointed. Let that hope lead you into the new year in 2009.
It's New Years Day and Israel and Gaza are lobbing bombs back and forth at each other. The TV shows tanks lined up, ready for an oncoming invasion. Neither side is backing down. Will there be no peace?
AIDS has gone from being a gay disease to an epidemic that is wiping out fathers and mothers from millions of children if Africa. With all of the advance in medicine can't we end this epidemic?
Our young people are leaving the church in droves, finding it irrelevant or unable to satisfy their desire for freedom. Truth is a relevant thing, not a given. Are our children really destined to repeat every mistake we've ever made?
It's enough to drive a man to despair. Yet it's the words of a guy named Paul that bring us light in this darkness. In a letter to the church in Rome he wrote "Suffering produces character, and character perseverance, and perseverance, hope. And hope does not disappoint."
May those be the words of your New Years resolution. Always hope, never be disappointed. Let that hope lead you into the new year in 2009.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Jesus for President, or, is the Bible Hard to Understand?
I am reading Jesus for President by Shane Clairborne and Chris Haw. I can't say I am really enjoying it, but I am reading it. In my reading I stumbled across something that makes me wonder, how difficult is it to really understand the Bible?
The authors revisit a story told by Jesus, one that you probably heard if you've spent time reading the Gospels. Jesus is talking about our response to our enemies. Broken down, it looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right to him to be slapped.
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too.
If your enemy forces you to walk a mile with him, walk and extra mile.
Clairborne and Haw lean towards an insight from Walter Wink on this passage. Wink looks deeper into the Jewish background and history of the time this passage was written. His deeper insight looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right cheek to him, also. In doing so he will have to look you straight in the eye if he is to slap you. You no longer assume a pose of a humiliated slave; you say to him "I am on the same level as you, are you really going to slap me?"
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too. When the two of you stand before the magistrate to settle your debt, you will be naked. This will shame your enemy, that he would take what you have and leave you naked.
If your enemy, probably a Roman soldier, compels you to walk a mile with him, carrying his equipment, walk an extra mile. To be seen in the company of a Jew will bring insult to the Roman soldier, stepping beyond the law that allows him to command you to carry his gear.
There's little doubt that Wink's insights add depth to the passage. And I don't question them; he's done a lot more exegetical and historical research than I have ever done. But is it too much? Couldn't the passage stand as a powerful response to our enemies, just as it is? Clairborne and Haw take it further, pointing out that the enemy is most likely the Roman soldiers and citizens, and again, probably very likely it could. But the speech isn't directed toward the Roman government. It's not the speech of an insurrectionist or political motivator.
All of the responses in Wink's interpretation seem to turn the table, raising the oppressed, offering a passive form of resistance. This passive resistance then becomes a basis for a Christian philosophy of non-violent resistance. Again, probably so. But what type of passive resistance is it when a man let's himself be tried in a fixed trial and murdered by crucifixion? Martyrdom?
But I think it is more likely that Jesus is teaching a simple lesson to a simple people. You call your enemy out by offering him the most unlikely of responses:
If your enemy strikes you he expects you to strike back. Turning the other cheek makes him think about his actions and motivations, perhaps making him realize what he has done.
If your enemy takes your cloak he expects you to either wrestle it back or try to get it back through the justice system. Offering your underwear is bound to throw him for a loop.
If your enemy compels you to carry his stuff a mile, go two. Perhaps your extra help will open a conversation or relationship with him that will break down the walls that separate the two of you.
I'm not arguing that we shouldn't look deeply at these historical and cultural views in understanding the Bible, but we should be careful when the meaning seems fairly clear that we are not reading too much. I can't imagine all these things passed through Jesus mind; instead he was reacting as the grace-filled Son of God.
The authors revisit a story told by Jesus, one that you probably heard if you've spent time reading the Gospels. Jesus is talking about our response to our enemies. Broken down, it looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right to him to be slapped.
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too.
If your enemy forces you to walk a mile with him, walk and extra mile.
Clairborne and Haw lean towards an insight from Walter Wink on this passage. Wink looks deeper into the Jewish background and history of the time this passage was written. His deeper insight looks like this:
If your enemy slaps you on the left cheek, turn your right cheek to him, also. In doing so he will have to look you straight in the eye if he is to slap you. You no longer assume a pose of a humiliated slave; you say to him "I am on the same level as you, are you really going to slap me?"
If your enemy takes your outer garments, give him your underwear, too. When the two of you stand before the magistrate to settle your debt, you will be naked. This will shame your enemy, that he would take what you have and leave you naked.
If your enemy, probably a Roman soldier, compels you to walk a mile with him, carrying his equipment, walk an extra mile. To be seen in the company of a Jew will bring insult to the Roman soldier, stepping beyond the law that allows him to command you to carry his gear.
There's little doubt that Wink's insights add depth to the passage. And I don't question them; he's done a lot more exegetical and historical research than I have ever done. But is it too much? Couldn't the passage stand as a powerful response to our enemies, just as it is? Clairborne and Haw take it further, pointing out that the enemy is most likely the Roman soldiers and citizens, and again, probably very likely it could. But the speech isn't directed toward the Roman government. It's not the speech of an insurrectionist or political motivator.
All of the responses in Wink's interpretation seem to turn the table, raising the oppressed, offering a passive form of resistance. This passive resistance then becomes a basis for a Christian philosophy of non-violent resistance. Again, probably so. But what type of passive resistance is it when a man let's himself be tried in a fixed trial and murdered by crucifixion? Martyrdom?
But I think it is more likely that Jesus is teaching a simple lesson to a simple people. You call your enemy out by offering him the most unlikely of responses:
If your enemy strikes you he expects you to strike back. Turning the other cheek makes him think about his actions and motivations, perhaps making him realize what he has done.
If your enemy takes your cloak he expects you to either wrestle it back or try to get it back through the justice system. Offering your underwear is bound to throw him for a loop.
If your enemy compels you to carry his stuff a mile, go two. Perhaps your extra help will open a conversation or relationship with him that will break down the walls that separate the two of you.
I'm not arguing that we shouldn't look deeply at these historical and cultural views in understanding the Bible, but we should be careful when the meaning seems fairly clear that we are not reading too much. I can't imagine all these things passed through Jesus mind; instead he was reacting as the grace-filled Son of God.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Psalm 23
A Modern translation of Psalm 23, written shortly after I learned the transmission in my car will cost $1,200 to replace:
The Lord is my auto repair man;
I’m not worried about my car.
He steers me onto smooth pavement;
He makes sure my muffler is secure.
He fills my gas tank completely.
His GPS leads me where I have to go,
To the right places in my life,
The places that give Him glory.
Even though I walk through a valley of broken gears
It does not scare me.
For You are my Mechanic.
Your wrench and your socket comfort me.
You repair a transmission before me
Regardless of my doubts.
You pour gear oil over my head;
My fluid levels are full.
Surely smooth shifting and good mileage
Will be mine from now on.
And some day I’ll park this Neon
And walk on holy ground
Forever.
The Lord is my auto repair man;
I’m not worried about my car.
He steers me onto smooth pavement;
He makes sure my muffler is secure.
He fills my gas tank completely.
His GPS leads me where I have to go,
To the right places in my life,
The places that give Him glory.
Even though I walk through a valley of broken gears
It does not scare me.
For You are my Mechanic.
Your wrench and your socket comfort me.
You repair a transmission before me
Regardless of my doubts.
You pour gear oil over my head;
My fluid levels are full.
Surely smooth shifting and good mileage
Will be mine from now on.
And some day I’ll park this Neon
And walk on holy ground
Forever.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Lessons
So, I cancel our Genia Small Group for Thursday night because of stress from personal and work situations. Seems like the right thing to do, take a little time to gather myself together, relax with my family, a little devotional time. Then someone asks me one of those questions you just can’t ignore, the kind of question that sticks in your brain and in your heart and in your soul. The question was “doesn’t it seem to make more sense that we do get together and pray about these things?”
The answer, of course, is yes. I resisted, yet I knew then and know now that the answer to this question should always be yes. And truthfully most of the time we just don’t do it.
Look at my statement above; I needed to take some time for me to gather myself together.
When push comes to shove, spiritually and emotionally, most often I do everything in my power to fix it myself, and when that fails (as it often does), and only when all that fails, do I turn to God.
If the definition of sin is that we miss the mark, that there is truly something wrong with us, then this desire to solve it all myself is an obvious sign of sin.
We are all sinners, and of them I am often the worst. I know now what the Apostle Paul was talking about. And it's not a case of poor self-image; it's a case of understanding what a mess sin has made of everything, including us.
Pray. Pray bodly, pray loudly, shoot up arrow prayers, pray in desperation, pray Scripture, intercede, petition. But pray.
Lesson learned. At least for now.
The answer, of course, is yes. I resisted, yet I knew then and know now that the answer to this question should always be yes. And truthfully most of the time we just don’t do it.
Look at my statement above; I needed to take some time for me to gather myself together.
When push comes to shove, spiritually and emotionally, most often I do everything in my power to fix it myself, and when that fails (as it often does), and only when all that fails, do I turn to God.
If the definition of sin is that we miss the mark, that there is truly something wrong with us, then this desire to solve it all myself is an obvious sign of sin.
We are all sinners, and of them I am often the worst. I know now what the Apostle Paul was talking about. And it's not a case of poor self-image; it's a case of understanding what a mess sin has made of everything, including us.
Pray. Pray bodly, pray loudly, shoot up arrow prayers, pray in desperation, pray Scripture, intercede, petition. But pray.
Lesson learned. At least for now.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
I Turn My Eyes to the Mountains
When you are in Boulder, Montana, it's impossible not to turn your eyes to the mountains. They are everywhere. Some look more like rocky hills with tall pines and lots of grass. Others are definitely more mountainous, with large rock outcroppings. Some lift above the tree line, baring granite faces. Others rise so high they are still covered with snow, even in mid-July.
The Psalmist writes about the mountains. I lift up my eyes to the mountains, he says, and I know that feeling. Every time I step out the hotel room or the mine office I look up. I wonder if people who live here all the time experience the same feeling, the same desire to look to the hills.
I don't know why I do it; do I expect to see something I've never seen? Do I expect something to come rolling down the mountain? Do I expect a dramatic change in scenery, a sudden snow squall or intense lightning storm? No, I think I look up because of an inbred desire to do so. We look up. We turn our eyes to heaven. We lift up our eyes to the mountains. When the world drags us down and we hang our head in sorrow and shame there's a force in us that causes us to look up.
There is a certain peace and serenity in these mountains, in all mountains, that just isn't found elsewhere. I've stood in the warm waves of the Atlantic and the gold-tipped waves of the Pacific, and not felt that peace. I've stood in the cold waters of the Mediterranean Sea, the sea Paul sailed on and was shipwrecked in, and still haven't felt that peace. I've wandered through forests and prairies and meandered my way through big cities, to no avail. Peace, peace, they cry, but there is no peace.
I look to the hills, the Psalmist says, and where does my help come from, where does my peace come from? My help comes from the One who made these mountains, who spoke them into being, who separated them from the waters and shoved them up into the sky.
My help doesn't come from the mountains, from gods of the hills or some mysterious force mountains seem to possess. No, my help and peace comes from the Maker of Mountains, from the Head of the Hills, from the Ruler of the Rocks.
He will watch over me day and night, protecting and providing. He never sleeps; He never slumbers. He will watch over me always, today and tomorrow and forever. As long as these mountains stand and these rocks hold fast, and even when they crumble to the dust from which they came, He will watch over me.
Maybe the pull to look up is more than the desire to enjoy the beauty of the mountains. Maybe the pull to look up comes from God. Lift up your heads, don't walk looking despondently down, the King of Glory has come in, in flesh and blood and bone.
Our help is in His name.
The Psalmist writes about the mountains. I lift up my eyes to the mountains, he says, and I know that feeling. Every time I step out the hotel room or the mine office I look up. I wonder if people who live here all the time experience the same feeling, the same desire to look to the hills.
I don't know why I do it; do I expect to see something I've never seen? Do I expect something to come rolling down the mountain? Do I expect a dramatic change in scenery, a sudden snow squall or intense lightning storm? No, I think I look up because of an inbred desire to do so. We look up. We turn our eyes to heaven. We lift up our eyes to the mountains. When the world drags us down and we hang our head in sorrow and shame there's a force in us that causes us to look up.
There is a certain peace and serenity in these mountains, in all mountains, that just isn't found elsewhere. I've stood in the warm waves of the Atlantic and the gold-tipped waves of the Pacific, and not felt that peace. I've stood in the cold waters of the Mediterranean Sea, the sea Paul sailed on and was shipwrecked in, and still haven't felt that peace. I've wandered through forests and prairies and meandered my way through big cities, to no avail. Peace, peace, they cry, but there is no peace.
I look to the hills, the Psalmist says, and where does my help come from, where does my peace come from? My help comes from the One who made these mountains, who spoke them into being, who separated them from the waters and shoved them up into the sky.
My help doesn't come from the mountains, from gods of the hills or some mysterious force mountains seem to possess. No, my help and peace comes from the Maker of Mountains, from the Head of the Hills, from the Ruler of the Rocks.
He will watch over me day and night, protecting and providing. He never sleeps; He never slumbers. He will watch over me always, today and tomorrow and forever. As long as these mountains stand and these rocks hold fast, and even when they crumble to the dust from which they came, He will watch over me.
Maybe the pull to look up is more than the desire to enjoy the beauty of the mountains. Maybe the pull to look up comes from God. Lift up your heads, don't walk looking despondently down, the King of Glory has come in, in flesh and blood and bone.
Our help is in His name.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
In the Mines in Montana
I'm blogging from the small town of Boulder, Montana. This is my third or fourth year here, but my wife's family has been coming here every year for a lot longer. Our purpose for our visit is pretty clear; to get better, to get healing from some of the ailments we suffer. Some of us struggle with arthritis, some with fibromyalgia. I have a long-standing battle with psorisasis.
The cure is pretty simple; we spend several hours a day in the shaft of a healing mine, breathing in radon that is produced by the breakdown of uranium. The mine is named the Free Enterprise Health Mine and it has been open for a long time.
I know, you're freaking about the radon, but don't. There is tons of sustantive evidence that the radon gas scare is just that, a scare. The amounts of radon we would need to inhale to actually harm us is immense; we would have to live in a mine for several decades.
The owner of the mine is Pat Lewis; her father was the original owner. The history of healing that goes on here is amazing, cataloged in large books in the Mine office. Even more amazing is the story those who are here have to tell, people who have seen the healing take place, people who also come back year after year.
We've got about 14 hours of treatment in and the psoriasis on my knees is gone. My ears have healed and the scales have flaked off my elbows. I can see that all of us are moving better, sleeping better, getting better.
It just reminds me of the amazing healing properties God has built into our bodies, and how we often forget about them, getting lost in our world of pills and drugs.
The cure is pretty simple; we spend several hours a day in the shaft of a healing mine, breathing in radon that is produced by the breakdown of uranium. The mine is named the Free Enterprise Health Mine and it has been open for a long time.
I know, you're freaking about the radon, but don't. There is tons of sustantive evidence that the radon gas scare is just that, a scare. The amounts of radon we would need to inhale to actually harm us is immense; we would have to live in a mine for several decades.
The owner of the mine is Pat Lewis; her father was the original owner. The history of healing that goes on here is amazing, cataloged in large books in the Mine office. Even more amazing is the story those who are here have to tell, people who have seen the healing take place, people who also come back year after year.
We've got about 14 hours of treatment in and the psoriasis on my knees is gone. My ears have healed and the scales have flaked off my elbows. I can see that all of us are moving better, sleeping better, getting better.
It just reminds me of the amazing healing properties God has built into our bodies, and how we often forget about them, getting lost in our world of pills and drugs.
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