tension

“God will know how to draw glory even from our faults. Not to be downcast after a fault is one of the marks of true sanctity.”

—Dom Augustin Guillerand

I believe the above quote is both true and very difficult to live up to. This is hard because there is a tension in understanding the severity of sin and reveling in the freedom of forgiveness at the same time.

To dwell too much on the problem of sin is to become overcome with your own fallen nature. It’s depressing, frankly. We are weak, hard-hearted, selfish creatures of habit and impulse. And what’s more, our sin has separated us from the one true reason for our existence—relationship with God.

Conversely, to rejoice too quickly in the truth of grace is to take for granted what God has done for us. God has forgiven us—he has wiped the slate clean. And he keeps wiping the slate clean every time we fall, every time we wander away, every time we betray him.

Do you see the dilemma?

How do you live your live with a true understanding of the tragedy of sin (which you commit daily) without letting that understanding steal your joy? And how do you maintain joy at the thought of your salvation without forgetting that you are fallen and in constant need of God’s grace?

I always think of David when I think about this balancing act. David knew how to sin. He was really good at it—we have more than one story to prove it. But David was also quick to repent when confronted with his sin and when the repenting was done, it was done. He accepted God’s forgiveness and went on.

No pity parties. No self loathing. No haunting regret. He understood how awful his behavior had been, but he also understood God’s capacity for love. And he trusted that he was loved.

I love that about David.

Truthfully, I envy that about David because, while I share in David’s talent for screwing up, I’m not nearly as good at getting over it. I start off half the prayers I pray with “I’m sorry…” I think this is because it’s hard for me to believe, I mean really believe, that God’s going to just forgive and forget, you know? Oh, I believe it in theory. In practice, matching my sin up against his forgiveness, I get nervous.

I’m not saying I should. I’m just saying I do.

And I worry about erring too much on the other side. I know people who are always talking about the fact that they are forgiven and never really thinking about what it is they’ve been forgiven of. People who don’t take sin seriously. I used to do that. It’s dangerous. It’s a good way to get yourself in big trouble.

All of this brings me back to something I’ve thought a lot about over the last few years: relationship. Maintaining this balance between God’s unending love and my sinful nature is more about relating to God than it is about theory. And the balance is found, I think, in that relationship. It’s hard to take him for granted if I really know him and really understand all that he does for me and how much he loves me. And it’s hard to take sin lightly when I understand how much it hurts him and how great an obstacle sin is to my intimacy with him.

In short, there’s just no getting around the fact that being a disciple is all about being in relationship with God in an acutely personal way.

True to form, I’ve muddy the nice, clear waters with my pesky theological questions and now I’m going to sign off after having given you only half an answer. Sorry. That’s as much of an answer as I have.

But I'd love to hear your thoughts...

free speech

A good friend has asked me to remove the comment moderator from my blog. He writes:

“Would you please take off your comment moderation. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much but it really does. I understand if you chose not to.”

It bothers me, too, Randy. It bothers me that I found it necessary to use the comment moderator in the first place. But, low and behold, there are people out there who found my blog to be a convenient medium for their strong opinions about me. Which would have been just fine if those strong opinions had been positive.

They were, however, about as positive as bacterial pneumonia is fun. Which is to say not at all.

But whatever it was I felt I had to lose when I turned the comment moderator on I don’t feel as insecure about now. I mean, I know some of these folks, the folks who don’t like me, still read my blog. (Hi guys! Isn’t it cool that you can track web traffic through the modern miracle of technology! I am so glad to see that some of you are regular, even daily, readers!) But I am no longer intimidated by the opinions of others. So, Randy, you get your wish. The comment moderator is set to “off.”

If you’re reading and you think my opinions are crap, you can now feel free to say so. If you think I’m brilliant, insane, ungodly, silly, stupid or (more likely) cleverly witty with a satisfying hint of genius, I invite you to click on the comment button and speak your mind. Why not? Tell me what you think of God, what you think of my writing style, my morals, what you think of the musical artistry that is Pearl Jam or what you think of church.

Your opinions are welcome here at disciple 13!

I mean, I can always turn the comment moderator back on, right?

service, part three

parts one & two

More questions on service:

Does service have to be feeding the hungry or clothing the poor to be service? Is it service if I volunteer for or work for a ministry program aimed at, say, education?

This is a question I’m struggling with right now. I’m in the process of launching a ministry website and I would very much like to believe that my time spent developing that site and it’s contents is service. And I think that it is.

However, it’s not hands-on service. I don’t get face-to-face contact with anyone. So there’s a definite element missing. But there’s another element missing, too. I believe that it’s also important for me to be coming into contact with folks who are in genuine need. This is scared ground, serving someone who is in no position to return the favor. Some of the most poignant spiritual experiences of my life have been in these very situations. Often God is uniquely manifest in the one being served—which is quite scriptural given that Jesus says we’re really serving him when we serve someone in need, (Matthew 25:40).

Is it service if I’m just nice to people?

Yes, and at the same time, resoundingly no.

I believe that it makes little sense to invest time, money and effort into feeding the hungry only to treat the people you come in contact with day-to-day poorly. Certainly it could be said that a “servant heart” would have to include the compulsion to be kind to others, even those you aren’t serving at a soup kitchen.

True as this is, being nice to others simply does not fully encompass the concept of service. I’m absolutely sick of the mentality within the church these days that suggests being a disciple really isn’t all that costly. Of course it’s costly. To paraphrase Dietrich Bonhoeffer, salvation cost God the life of his Son—why wouldn’t it cost us something? If Jesus’ service meant washing his disciples’ filthy feet, shouldn’t our service require us to get dirty, too? (And no, holding a door open for someone is not “getting dirty.”)

Service is ultimately about love. If I love Jesus, I should feel compelled to love others. This compulsion should stir within me every time I see or hear about someone who isn’t eating because they don’t have food or is living on the street because they don’t have a home. I’m not naïve. I know there are people out there taking advantage of those who would attempt to live as servants. But I read no passage in the Bible that calls me to meticulously evaluate the genuine need of a stranger who asks me for help while I read several passages instructing me to give the shirt off my back.

And it is love that should compel me to do this.

I have to confess, I don’t have it down. I pass up opportunities to serve and I need to find a program or shelter or soup kitchen or something to volunteer at. Not because it meets the rigorous requirements of God’s law, but because I hate the idea that Jesus is out there, manifest somehow in the form of the needy, and I am comfortably removed from him, denying him help by my inaction. I care about him—I want to help him.

That, I believe, is the heart of service.

why I listen

I listen to Pearl Jam because the pain represented in Vedder’s early lyrics reverberates within me while the healing represented by his more recent work inspires me.

I listen to Johnny Cash because the raw honesty of his music mixed with an undeniably dark outlook on life leaves me feeling like I’m conversing with a treasured friend, even when the story told is foreign to me.

I listen to Audio Slave because Chris Cornell screams questions aimed at the discovery of truth and he is unafraid to scream those questions even toward God himself.

I listen to the Old 97’s because they are wildly fun and delightfully irreverent.

I listen to U2 because Bono is a musician-turned-world-leader who actually cares about the poor and hurting. His music, while not always pointed at world issues, often reveals the depth of true love in its various forms.

I listen to Derek Webb because he is one of a very few Christians artists unapologetically calling the church to be what she has been called to be.

What do you listen to and why?

service, part two

I’ve gotten some positive feedback about the post on service (part one) and that has prompted me to think more about the topic.

Here are some questions:

Does the modern church’s approach to service work?

Most churches have ministry programs in place to address service needs. In some cases these require no more than a monetary commitment from members. Sometimes members donate time or other resources.

Let me say first that I think these programs accomplish good things. My question is meant to address the average church-goer’s concept of service as a result of those programs. Have we developed a mentality that limits our concept of service to a weekly check given or a few hours of volunteer time? Is it possible that these sort of programs have inadvertently encouraged us to justify a lack of service in our everyday routines because our “service quota” has already been met through a church program or a financial gift?

Do you have to be physically feeding the poor to be serving?

I struggle with this seemingly simple question. On one hand, no, certainly not. The individual who works tirelessly in various ministry efforts that indirectly provide needed services to the poor, the hungry, the needy and the abandoned is doing service. And yet, there’s no relational component to a hands-off form of service, and isn’t that the most important component?

In other words, if my ministry efforts result in 1,000 hungry people receiving food, that’s good. But if I never meet one of those hungry people, never talk to them or get to know them, never invest time in relationship with them, never show them love in a personal way, while it’s still good that I’ve helped to feed them, how is my effort any different from a government relief program? What makes my effort “Christian”? What connects it to Christ?

I feel strongly that the relational component of service is vitally important. I do believe we should be giving money to programs (both Christian and secular) that help people (locally and abroad), but I also think we should each be finding ways to interact with those we serve in a personal, relational, ongoing way. A single trip to the children’s hospital you’re giving money to does not constitute “relationship”.

Why do we make this a one-or-the-other situation? You rarely hear about the person who gives both money and time generously. But maybe that’s what we should be doing.

More to come…

nothing that has not died

“The structural position in the church which the humblest Christian occupies is eternal and even cosmic. The church will outlive the universe; in it the individual person will outlive the universe. Everything that is joined to the immortal Head will share his immortality. We hear little of this from the Christian pulpit today. What has come of our silence may be judged from the fact that recently addressing the Forces on this subject, I found that one of my audience regarded this doctrine as ‘theosophical.’ If we do not believe it let us be honest and regulate the Christian faith to museums. If we do, let us give up the pretense that it makes no difference. For this it the real answer to every excessive claim made by the collective. It is moral; we shall live forever. There will come a time when every culture, every institution, every nation, the human race, all biological life, is extinct, and every one of us is still alive. Immortality is promised to us, not to these generalities. It was not for societies or states that Christ died, but for men. In that sense Christianity must seem to secular collectivists to involve an almost frantic assertion of individuality. But then it is not the individual as such who will share Christ’s victory over death. We shall share the victory by being the Victor. A rejection, or in Scripture’s strong language, a crucifixion of the natural self is the passport to everlasting life. Nothing that has not died will be resurrected.”

—From The Weight of Glory by CS Lewis

service

"When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

"Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

"Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'

"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

"Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."

—Matthew 25:31-46

I believe Jesus’ message in this passage to be a simple one: serve others. Help the helpless. Take care of the ones who cannot take care of themselves.

I do not interpret this message as a call to our government or even as a call to the church. I believe Jesus is calling the individual to serve. After all, he plans to hold individuals accountable. The parable clearly states that he will separate individuals based on their individual actions. In other words, attending a service-minded church or dutifully paying your taxes (and thereby funding welfare programs) is not enough. You have to be nice to people, too. You have to care and serve and give, especially to those who are in real need of help.

This passage has been on my heart for a while now, kind of haunting me. I think about Jesus separating people based on their service and I ask myself how many I’ve clothed or fed. Not many. Not enough.

And here’s the thing—I don’t think Jesus spoke this parable because he wanted a clever writer to come along 2000 years later and role out a church model that advocates a balanced approach to dealing with hunger, homelessness, neediness, sickness and imprisonment. I don’t think the story is about a checklist. I think the story is about a heart condition rooted in an understanding that people are, well, people, and that we should care about them.

When I pass a homeless person, for example, it should break my heart. I should think about how they are someone’s son, someone’s brother and I should imagine how I would feel if it were my brother out there on the street and what I would do to help him. I should feel genuine compassion and that compassion should prompt action. And, yeah, that action could be a prayer. But if “you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, ‘Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!’ and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn't it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?” (James 2:16-17).

I’m tired of saying I care and acting like I don’t—and yet, the very expression of that thought provokes fear in me. To say such a thing obligates me to action, and action scares me. I mean, what does it look like to drive past a homeless person and actually care? Am I going to have to start talking to these people? Giving them food? Eating with them? Imagine the time commitment if I respond every time I see someone in need.

And then I consider what Jesus has said. To refuse help to anyone in need is to refuse help to him. Could I drive past Jesus without a thought? And if I cared about Jesus standing there, needing my help, would my caring prompt action?

You can dodge the reality all you want—God knows I’ve avoided it for a long time—but my willingness to serve others is a clear indication of my love for Jesus. I can say I love him but it is my heart, proven by my actions, that speaks the truth.