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internet monk

I just discovered the internet monk's blog this week, due, of all things, to a reference in an article on the "health and wealth gospel" in Time magazine. His post on revivalism, my first to read, is compelling. Even better, his current post is a review and recommendation of Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution, which I would also recommend highly.

agreed

From Mike Cope's blog:

"Several fundamentalist Muslims, angered by the Pope’s statements that some parts of Islam are violent, have responded in violent retaliation. Thankfully, many moderates of their faith are pointing out the tiny inconsistency in their objections."

playing the fool

I’ve been thinking some about the practicality of Jesus’ teaching lately. You know, pondering it’s relevance for day-to-day living. I’ve arrived at two conclusions, and, to be honest, they leave me more unsettled than anything else.

On the one hand there is a degree to which living as Jesus prescribes yields obvious rewards, not just beyond death but right here and now. If you’re nice to people, they’re typically nice right back to you. You forgive, you get forgiven. You love, you get loved. In fact, it is this very balance that gets preached most here in America—kind of a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours theology. We assume that this is what Paul means when he writes that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him,” (Romans 8:28). Living selflessly may be hard for a time, but the real truth is that you get back what you give. So your selfless living is really more like a deposit in the Karma bank. You’re gonna get it back.

The problem is that doesn’t mesh very well with what Jesus actually taught. Consider, for example, the Sermon on the Mount found in Mathew 5-7. Many believe this to be Jesus’ greatest sermon. Okay, I can understand that given the scope and depth of what He says, but most of us hold this particular teaching at arms length, refusing to really dive into it and examine ourselves in the light of it.

Jesus begins with what we call the beatitudes. We like to teach these in Sunday school. To small children. We talk about this like they’re poetic and “nice”. Nice? Here’s what I mean: some of the beatitudes make sense to me—blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, are merciful, are pure in heart and are peacemakers. I can understand these as noble character traits. But blessed are the poor in spirit? Those who mourn? The meek? Those who are persecuted? That’s blessing? This is Jesus’ practical teaching on how to live? “Be sad, be spiritually bankrupt, suppress your strengths and rejoice when people pick on you—then you are truly blessed.” Does anyone else have a hard time swallowing this?

This is the sense in which Jesus’ teachings are anything but relevant, particularly in a culture like ours. We love power and independence and being happy. We would never want anything but those things, let alone pursue their opposites.

And really when you consider Jesus’ teachings regarding being nice and forgiving and loving, even those are more than you bargain for. Jesus says to love our enemies. Our enemies. Not just the bully who picked on you in the fifth grade or that guy at the office who you can’t stand—our enemies. People like terrorists and rapists, killers and child molesters. Yeah, love them. And not love from a distance. Oh, no. Not this “Well, I love them with the love of the Lord” stuff. No, real love. Love that can be seen in action. Love like the kind of love you have for yourself or your family. Love that visits them in jail, for example.

Try that on for size. It’s hard. Really hard.

So this is what I’ve been thinking about and I’ve been hitting my head up against the reality that our culture isn’t very well situated for this kind of a life. I mean, folks here in America, “Christian” though we may be, wouldn’t be too crazy about someone who took all of Jesus’ teachings seriously and actually tried to live like that. People would think you were nuts. You kind of would be. When I read Paul and he says we should be “fools for Christ” it sounds poetic to me and kind of cool. This just sounds crazy.

But that’s what Jesus calls for. Given the course of His life, we shouldn’t be surprised. The “suffering servant” has, in fact, called us to follow Him. We act like it’s exciting and fun. It can be, but more often than not, when you get past the warm-fuzzy part, it’s as scary as it is anything else. This playing the fool stuff. This following Jesus. This social revolution.

And I’m trying to figure out how you do that. Any thoughts?

wallpaper

I just added three new desktop wallpapers to my other website:

If you want to download any of these (yep, they're free), click here.

sad and confused

Over the past week two of my readers have been taking me to task. In response to a post expressing the idea that love is the greatest possible weapon against hate, they have asserted that I am a hypocrite, selfish, dishonest, a liar, a gossip and generally ignorant in the nature of love. Clearly these two individuals have something of a problem with me.

Looking back over the past couple of days and the onslaught of comments left on this blog, my predominant emotions are confusion and sorrow.

I am confused because these two critics have expressed everything from distain to pity for me, but neither has taken me up on my offer to contact me and attempt to resolve their grievances. I have made (and continue to make) this offer sincerely: if anyone who reads these words feels that I have wronged them, please contact me directly at your earliest convenience so that we can begin to work toward reconciliation. If you truly believe I have wronged you, then please consider this offer as a productive alternative to internet snipe tactics.

I am sad simply because I don’t have the desire to fight anyone.

I don’t write this blog because I want to engage in theological debate. I don’t write to prove anything about myself or for personal gain. I write because I enjoy writing. I think faith is a journey—a careening, confusing, frighteningly wonderful journey that should be shared. I am saddened that there are people who would rather fight, would rather prove something, would rather gain something (though what I don’t know) than to engage in dialogue along that journey. That they fuss and fight in the name of righteous indignation only compounds my sorrow.

If my words hold no weight for you, if something I’ve done or said has invalidated my opinion in your eyes or if you feel anger towards me and you simply cannot stomach the sound of my voice in any medium, then I invite you to ignore me with a vengeance. Pay no heed to what I write and just move along.

If you desire reconciliation, please contact me.

For those new to this unfortunate discussion or those who just want to go back and skim the highlights of the last few days, I’m sorry to disappoint but I’ve deleted all the aggressive comments—even the ones posted by my friends in defense. (Though I thank my friends for speaking up and for encouraging reconciliation.) I will continue to delete any comment that seems to me to be a personal attack. If you just disagree with me, removed from any personal grudge, please comment away. I welcome you to the dialogue.

I want to close this post by saying again that my heart’s desire is reconciliation and peace. If either of the two of you who are angry with me choose to contact me, I will be happy to listen to your frustrations and I pledge to join you in working to re-establish friendship.

I can offer you nothing more than this. Take it or leave it as you choose. Either way, please abandon your anger and move on. Life is too short to wallow in hate.

the real

"Only when we have come in touch with our own life experiences and have learned to listen to our inner cravings for liberation and new life can we realize that Jesus did not just speak, but that he reached out to us in our most personal needs. The Gospel doesn’t just contain ideas worth remembering. It is a message responding to our individual human condition. The Church is not an institution forcing us to follow its rules. It is a community of people inviting us to still our hunger and thirst at its tables. Doctrines are not alien formulations which we must adhere to but the documentation of the most profound human experiences which, transcending time and place, are handed over from generation to generation as a light in our darkness."

—From Reaching Out by Henri JM Nouwen

I find the above quote deeply moving. It reminds me of what’s real.

I’m in San Antonio this weekend, visiting my wife’s family. We’re having a very pleasant time. This morning we attended her parent’s church, even getting up early enough to attend Sunday school. I have to be honest with you: I didn’t agree with every element of theology I heard this morning in class. But I learned something anyway.

There was an older gentleman in the class, a real patriarch of the church. He’s somewhat set in his ways from what I gather and more than a little vocal. Throughout class he took it upon himself to interject his opinion on the passage being discussed, frequently reading the notes from his study bible in their entirety as proof of his point of view. The teacher, an intelligent, well-read, well-prepared middle-aged woman, was kind and gracious throughout. Every time he began to speak, she not only allowed the interruption, she invited his input. She listened to his objections and answered his questions, even the dogmatic ones, with respect and patience.

It was beautiful.

Not beautiful because I agreed with everything spoken or because the lesson was delivered with masterful skill, but beautiful because a very real display of love and community played out before me. I felt like I was on holy ground watching it. Seeing the church be the church.

And that is church: our struggling together, our loving each other even as we disagree, our patient acceptance of one another as God’s beloved. It humbled me to be so close to it, to know that I might not have been so patient. To see how much I have yet to learn about love.

But it gave me hope, too. Hope in the idea that church is more than doctrine and programs. Hope that in ways both great and small God’s people are living out the call to love others. Hope that my moments of weakness and mistake will be met, not with the cold criticism of those who think themselves above reproach, but with a warm mercy and patient kindness.

We are on this journey together, you see, and the landmarks guiding us along the way are not doctrine and rules but moments of quiet, unremarkable grace exchanged by fellow travelers. No, there’s nothing mystical in that, no magic formula that cures the world’s ails. It may even seem a small thing to some, and I suppose it is.

But it’s also what I see Jesus doing—meeting with people, people not good enough or smart enough or well-bred enough to run in the right circles, and embracing them with love and respect. In spite of their flaws. In spite of their sin. In spite of their lack of wisdom. He entered into community, birthed community wherever he went, because he loved people and he loved them as they were.

I think that’s beautiful and raw and real and while I am nowhere near his perfect standard of love, I hope I am learning daily a little more of what it means to love those around me. And I hope in the meantime, while I’m learning, those around me will be patient with me as I sometimes fail.

what you believe, part 2

Part 1

Wow. I got more response (in the form of comments) from that last post than I’ve gotten in a while. It only seems nature to continue the conversation—and it is a conversation. Please, whether you agree or disagree with me, feel free to join in.

I’d like to pick up where one of the comments to my last post left off. A friend of mine (and a qualified theologian in his own right), Jeb Barr, wrote:

“We know the command to love is absolutely paramount for a Christian. But nations are not Christian. Christians must turn the other cheek and not defend themselves, but nations do not. In fact, nations are to uphold justice, and Paul even refers to their divine right to ‘carry the sword’. We certainly know from the Old Testament that God can and does use nations and war to advance His purposes.”

What an excellent point Jeb makes. I agree completely.

This calls to mind another thought that’s been bounding around in my brain lately, though it’s not an original thought. I have to credit Lee C. Camp and Shane Claiborne as the originators. Here it is:

When we talk about “we” (as in, “We should feel this way about the war…” or “Our response to 9/11 should be…”), who is “we”? The vast majority of the time I would contend that “we” is the nation of America. This makes sense in as much as we are Americans and given that we love our country. But what should the church’s response to such events be? What should we, as Christians, do in the face of such evil?

I can’t disagree with Jeb’s assertion that nations are charged with the responsibility of defending their people and preserving order. That is absolutely correct. And Jeb asks a question that needs to be asked: “If pacifism were to be embraced as a national calling rather than merely a personal one, what would it mean to ‘respond in love’ as a nation? It sounds good, but what would it really look like at a practical level?”

I would answer first by saying that I do not mean to convey that pacifism is a national calling. I believe, however, that God has called his people, corporately and individually, to a high standard of love. This means that the church and the individual disciple cannot but weep at the brutal reality of war. (And Jeb said this: “…there does have to be a disconnect between supporting that course [violent response] and also loving people, especially those that could be considered our enemies. We can support the right course of political action while also mourning the suffering caused by it and actively involving ourselves in the process of healing and restoration.”) I am made very uncomfortable by comments like “Kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.” I struggle to see love in the enthusiastic embrace of violence.

Secondly, I would say that I don’t know entirely what it looks like for the church (or for me) to love our enemies, global or local. All too often we don’t even ask that question. But we need to.

As disciples, our first allegiance must always be to our God and his mission. He has charged us to love, even in the face of hate. How do we do that? What does that look like? How do we determine what is “the right course of political action” and to what degree should we attempt to persuade our government to pursue non-violent resolution? How can we be the voice of healing and of love in a world overrun by blind aggression?

I don’t know. But I think we need to start asking.