Dilemma

An undeniable imbalance prevails between the evangelistic efforts by the average American church and the equally unavoidable lack of involvement in efforts to alleviate poverty, abolish crime, restore ex-offenders, minister to children of offenders, etc. I’ve given a lot of thought to this and wonder if we might resolve the dilemma by acknowledging the existence of an artificial distinction in practice between ”redemptive grace” and “transformative grace.” I have seldom met anyone who denies the fact that no one is outside the reach of grace and that Christ will save anyone, regardless of their sinful past. Certainly, we include ourselves in that redemptive reality. We expound Romans 3:23, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and in the next breath we hasten to Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ He Jesus our Lord.” We read those statements with an “of course” on the tips of our tongues. This is what I’m terming redemptive grace: “But God demonstrates his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him” (Romans 5:8,9). 

Rarely have I encountered anyone in the Christian community who would deny this saving reality; however, while we joyously proclaim the possibility of salvation regardless of past sin, we hesitate and falter at the point of helping those who receive new life to implement it, especially those who need a lot of help at the point of practicing it. We mean well and often are convinced that we’ve completed our task by proclaiming the good news of Christ, but when measured against the Scriptural standards declared in places like Isaiah 58; Amos 5:14-15; Micah 6:8; Matthew 25:31-46; and James 1:22-27; the actual application of our belief system is called into question. Stated simply: we readily believe in redemptive grace (God will save anyone), but we falter at practice transformative grace (God is willing and able to transform everyone). If we truly believe that God is not only willing to save anyone but also able to transform everyone, we will passionately engage hunger, poverty, homelessness, crime, substance abuse, unemployment, the restoration and reintegration of ex-offenders, and anything else required to ensure that every believer experiences what Jesus declares in John 10:10, a life that is full and meaningful in every possible way.

"The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." (John 10:10, KJV)

Adjusting

I received an electronic notice this morning stating that a colleague has "endorsed" me for certain skills he thinks I possess. I don't want to sound ungrateful; I sincerely appreciate the sentiment and gracious intent. The problem is that I know myself far too well to feel flattered by the gesture, and for me that's a very good thing. Succumbing to flattery is akin to embracing an alkaline self-love--nothing grows in that kind of soil. I love how Buechner explains it: "Romantic love is blind to everything except what is lovable and lovely, but Christ’s love sees us with terrible clarity and sees us whole. Christ’s love so wishes our joy that it is ruthless against everything in us that diminishes our joy." The ruthless truth is that I clearly identify with the Apostle's self-deprecating assessment--"There is nothing good in me." Some may protest such evaluation as undue criticism or harmful self-condemnation; however, I deem it simply facing facts, admitting harsh truth at face value. As important as relentless honesty is for moving off dead center, the key to sustained personal growth is not in the acknowledging but in the adjusting. God desires productivity, not paralysis. As I confess my short-comings, I stand on the edge of potential improvement. God's Word never upholds inward judgment for the sake of judgment; instead, evaluation is always for the purpose of development. Stouthearted introspection has its place, but what matters most is a productive response to honest self-examination.

"For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God." (Colossians 1:9-10, KJV)

Thomas Didymus

Thomas Didymus, a.k.a. "Doubting Thomas," was more a complainer than a doubter. He is best known for questioning Jesus' resurrection when he first learned of it, but his famous doubting was the visible side of a more subtle attitude that may be detected in earlier exchanges. He was never one to look on the rosier side of things. "Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow disciples, 'Let us also go, that we may die with him'" (John 11:16). "Thomas saith unto him, 'Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?'" (John 14:5). 

I guess that's why I feel an odd sense of kinship with Thomas; he was bent toward the Eeyore way of looking at life. We may label it with different terms such as grumbling, griping, belly-aching, or whining, but the result is the negative same. On one of our first dates, I was waxing critical about something and my soon-to-be wife startled me by asking if I wanted 'a little cheese with my whine.' She then uttered one her all time classic one-liners: "Whining is not attractive."  In King James English the word for complaining is "murmuring," but regardless of how we say it, whining is not attractive. Webster's says complaining is "an expression of unhappiness, dissatisfaction, or discontent." To say it another way, "Complaining is the outward expression of discontent from within" (Dr. Dale A. Robbins).

The interesting thing is that the one to whom Thomas complained most was Jesus himself. Irregardless of whatever circumstances evoke dissatisfaction, complaining is really deep down unbelief. If God is in charge the way we profess Him to be, murmuring and grumbling is essentially accusing the Lord of not holding up his end of the bargain. I read how Thomas questioned the Lord and my inclination is to say, "I would never complain to Jesus"; yet, to be honest, I do it all the time.  I complain about this, grumble about that, murmur about the other, all the time thinking that I'm doing it to myself, yet God hears it all. In the end, my complaints are to and against the Lord Jesus, and call into question the quality of my faith. 

"I use to think people complained because they had lots of problems. But I have come to realize that they have problems because they complain" (Robbins). Complaining doesn't change anything or make situations better; it amplifies frustration, fosters discontent, and spreads discord. Whining is an open wound that refuses to heal. Thankfully, Thomas was eventually able to declare, "My Lord and my God!" (John 20:28)

"Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world." (Philippians 2:14-15 KJV)

Seeing Trees

Do you know yourself? Note that I did not ask, "What do you think about yourself?" A world of difference languishes between the two, awaiting the intrepid individual with courage enough for self-inventory. Some refuse bold introspection because they fear a result something like the opening lines to Dostoyevsky's "Notes from Underground": "I am a sick man....I am an angry man. I am an unattractive man....I'm sensitive and quick to take offense, like a hunchback or dwarf." The lives that matter are the ones who dare to say "I am a sick man," then quickly turn to the Physician.

Many of us whittle away our days stumbling over ourselves. Lacking clarity, we fail to see the trees for the forests that loom nearby. "No one longs for what he or she already has, and yet the accumulated insight of those wise about the spiritual life suggests that the reason so many of us cannot see the red X that marks the spot is because we are standing on it" (Barbara Brown Taylor, "An Altar in the World"). Forests are unique to the individual, but each holds potential for revealing trees if we know where to look and are willing to look long and hard enough. We are all tempted to busy ourselves with forests of good things, but lose ourselves in the mix. How long has it been since you reflected on important questions like: "Who am I?" "What is wrong with me?" "What is right in me?" The only real difference between those who ultimately navigate the narrow way and others who meander aimlessly down side roads is that the former are able to contain their fear long enough to filter from the chaos what is true about themselves and what God can do to make it right. Communing with God is a regular necessity, but there is also need for people to take communion with themselves. 

“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” (Isaiah 6:5, 8 NIV)

Mentoring

If you've reached the place in life where you wish you could start all over again knowing what you know now, you're ready to be a mentor.  In Greek mythology, Mentor was a loyal friend and adviser to Odysseus, king of Ithaca. Mentor helped raise Odysseus' son, Telemachus, while Odysseus was away fighting the Trojan War. Mentor became Telemachus' teacher, coach, counselor and protector, building a relationship based on affection and trust.

Mentoring is a high dollar word that does more than imply an investment. It is the act of imparting to another your most valuable asset--yourself. Whether you're in a more formal arrangement such as mentor/intern, or a less formal friendship, the influence of one human being on another willing human being can be profound. Some time ago I was visiting a friend who helps lead Big Brothers Big Sisters North Texas, and was surprised to find near the entrance to their offices the T. Boone Pickens Mentoring Hall of Fame. I never knew such a thing existed. What quickly captured my attention was a massive pictorial timeline that depicts the history of Big Brothers and, essentially, a history of efforts in  this country of mentoring at-risk children. For years I have told my students that everyone should have a mentor and be a mentor, but exploring the Mentoring Hall of Fame evoked a sort of epiphany, jogging my memory of the intrinsic and eternal value of intentionally mentoring at-risk individuals, whether they be children, youth, or adults. What could be more Christ-like than one-on-one mentoring of someone who may be lost in many ways without such a valuable relationship? I have seen the benefit in my own life and owe a debt to many who have considered me worthy of their time and wisdom. As partial repayment, I make this a priority and encourage others to look for individuals in whom you may invest yourselves. Only eternity will reveal the significance of taking a little time to be intentional salt and light for someone who desperately needs to know she or he matters. Allow me to be redundant, everyone should have a mentor and everyone should be a mentor.

"One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts." (Psalm 145:4, ESV)

"So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us." (1 Thessalonians 2:8 ESV)

Vocare

"Vocation" comes either from the old French vocacion, meaning "call, consecration," or directly from the Latin vocare "to call." Either way, blessed is the individual who carries on with a sense of divine calling. "Only those who decline to scramble up the career ladder are interesting as human beings. Nothing is more boring than a man with a career" (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956). A great chasm exists between vocation and occupation.

An encounter several years ago illustrates this well, especially because of the nurse I'll never know.  At the time, I was devoting some of my discretionary time to working with the local Baptist association, and I received a phone call one evening at the associational office from a most unusual caller. A man traveling by bus back home to Tulsa from a funeral in Junction had suffered a seizure and was in Providence Hospital for treatment.  His name was Billy. He said that he had accepted Christ in the hospital and wanted to speak with someone about how to get started right in his new Christian life. The hospital gave him our number. I agreed to see him, and in so doing learned about an inspiring sequence of events.  It seems that a hospital chaplain had left with him a small book concerning salvation written by Billy Graham. Later that day a nurse came to his room, saw the book on his bedside table, and asked if Billy had read it. Billy replied that he had but that he needed someone to explain it to him. Astonishingly, the nurse arranged to take her break at that moment and proceeded to lead Billy in giving his life to Christ in prayer. This was an unmistakable exhibition of vocation by the unidentified nurse-living out her calling to honor Christ through nursing.  I learned all of this from Billy as I dropped him off at the bus station, and he told me that his life had changed forever as the result of one anonymous nurse. God bless you Florence Nightingale, whoever you are, and God bless all who work and serve with God in mind.

"And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him." (Colossians 3:17, KJV)

Dignity

Others look for reasons to shop; I find that any excuse will do so long as it takes me to a library. In that spirit I stopped by Waco's Central Library today to return a book, and although I could have placed it in the drop slot provided for just that purpose and left, I convinced myself that I could actually enter and confine my browsing to a minimum.  You see, I saunter through aisles of books like a connoisseur swirls and then inhales the aroma of vintage wine. All libraries and bookstores hold a certain attraction, but this is an especially sacred space for me.  Before securing an aircard for my laptop, Central Library was the most convenient place for me to access free Wi-Fi, so it became for a time, in effect, my office. Appearances have changed a great deal since those days. A major renovation by the City of Waco netted a fresh coat of paint, altered design, updated furniture, and expanded holdings. The one constant is its clientele. Seated in front of every computer screen and on every lounging chair in every remodeled nook and cranny is a colorful array of ragamuffins, homeless persons. Jokingly, I've remarked that our city has the most educated vagrants around. Seriously, sitting next to and interacting with them over time gave me a deep appreciation that went beyond the sights and smells that conjure stereotypes. To this day, I call them my "peeps." 

Scanning that familiar scene reminded me of three years ago when I chose to go undercover as a homeless man on the streets of Waco in order to get inside their heads if not under their skin. I convinced myself that I would never represent Christ with convincing compassion if I had no clue what it was like to walk the streets with no knowledge of what I would eat or where I would sleep. My wife was less than enthusiastic about my decision, but on a hot summer day I donned my dirtiest t-shirt, worst shorts, most ragged shoes, and drove downtown.  I parked on the edge of downtown, locked my wallet and cellphone in my truck, and set out for only God knew what. It was important to me to spend a couple of days penniless and communication-less, but I quickly learned that heat, humidity, and hunger make for a formidable trinity of want. I stopped by the local homeless ministry to inquire about a place to stay the night and learned that to do so I would need to shower along with the other transient men. I acquiesced to the requirement and accepted a towel and complimentary toiletries, and admit that I felt my dignity drip slowly from me along with the cold water in the primitive surroundings. I learned that finding a free drink of water downtown in one hundred degree heat is a job in itself, and by the evening I slumped nearly dehydrated and heat exhausted onto a folding chair inside a Lutheran church that provides a free meal to the homeless every Tuesday night.  I honestly can't say what made more of an impression--the spaghetti and bread that I gulped down like a starving man, the iced tea that rehydrated me, or the volunteers that remained resolute behind the 4'x8' tables as if plastic could shield them from the pain and need that filed in front of them.  I listened to a preacher speak generically about hope, but my mind kept wandering to where I would rest my depleted body for the night.

Space does not permit a detailed chronicle of those two days, but I can say that in short order I experienced an odd camaraderie with a homeless band of brothers, as well as the shock of having people cross streets to avoid me and refuse to look me in the eye. As parched as I remained those summer days, I soon found my greater thirst was for human dignity, and I will never look or fail to look upon the least of these in the same way that I did before. I learned profound stories of human agony and shattered dreams, saw raw expressions of thinning hope, but most of all gained a heightened sense of the importance of speaking a name, the significance of daring to touch, and the magnitude of grace.

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.' Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, 'Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or athirst, and gave thee drink? And when saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? And when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?' And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me.'" Matthew 25:34-40

(photo source: www.mlf.org)

Teachers

Bumper stickers aren't as prevalent as they were in the 70's, but I saw a throwback this week on the rear of a Volvo SUV that struck home: "If you can read this, thank a teacher." Come to think of it, for most anything you can do, thank a teacher; however, gratitude rarely flows in the direction of these professionals of transformation. French-born American historian of ideas and culture Jacques Martin Barzun hits the proverbial nail on the head: "Teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition." I'll never understand or agree with the inequity in this country that sees teachers on the average make less than plumbers or arborists.

In a wonderful coincidence, with the bumper sticker proverb still fresh on my mind, I received a phone call today from my third grade elementary school teacher. We've only communicated a handful of times since she broke my nine year old heart and married someone her own age about forty five years ago, so this was special. What made it even more special was that she called just to tell me that she is proud of me. Amazing! Although she phoned to tell me that I have blessed her life, the reality is that she is the blessing, having helped to shape my mind and forge my thirst to know into something palpable. No matter how long I live, I will read and think and question in her beautiful shadow. 

The fact is not lost on me that others have left their mark--professors, coaches, pastors, mentors, neighbors, relatives, colleagues, friends--with one thing in common, they gave something of themselves that in turn made more of me than I would have been without them. Teachers always deposit more than they withdraw. So, if you are reading this, thank a teacher; better yet, pause and utter a simple prayer of thanks for all those who have deposited something of themselves in you.

"You have heard me teach things that have been confirmed by many reliable witnesses. Now teach these truths to other trustworthy people who will be able to pass them on to others." (2 Timothy 2:2, New Living Translation)

Reaction

Worship is awareness, not activity. When understood in reverse, the focus of worship shifts to the act itself rather the Lord God Almighty Himself. Herein lies the terrible crux of the so called "worship wars." When battling over modes of worship or styles of music in worship, we march proudly away from God's presence and slink into incipient self-worship. Attention shifts from the Creator to creature comfort--our own fervor, our loudness, our posture, our musical preference, or any number of other details that place us at the center of the universe. Scripture offers a multitude of worship postures and expressions, but never loses sight of Holy God. Remember, worship is always reaction rather than initiation--I see God, I hear God, I know God is near; therefore, I respond to Him. Worship as initiation is idolatry and always produces preoccupation with form rather than Substance.

"Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth." (Psalm 46:10, KJV)

Peter

More times than I can count, I've asked church groups and classes of students which biblical character they would choose to be if they could go back in time. It may surprise you to know, as it has me, that rarely does anyone select the apostle Peter. Peter, of all people-- spokesman and passionate leader of the Twelve, one of Christ's inner circle, head of the Church following Christ's ascension, the "Rock" for Pete's sake! As I consider possible reasons for this anomaly, the best explanation I can come up with is that believers are, for the most part, an unforgiving lot--not primarily of others but of ourselves. We cannot bear to admit our uncanny resemblance to a beloved friend of Jesus who betrayed him when stakes were the highest. It's hard for us to get beyond the courtyard scene with accusations and sparks flying, Peter swearing, and cock crowing. We fail to acknowledge his stricken heart, grieving and repentant spirit, and dogged determination to never again fail his Lord. Peter struggled with and never fully recovered from his own denial, but the brokenness he lived with in its wake forged a graceful spirit. Near the end of his life, grace and love became his theme, exhorting other believers to believe in God's mercy, grace rolled off his tongue as easily as cursing did before. "Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy" (1 Peter 2:10, NRSV). It is possible to forgive one's self while remaining sensitive to the conditions that led us astray to begin with. Mercy and memory are suitable companions for disciples.

"May grace and peace be yours in abundance. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in Heaven for you..." (1 Peter 1:2b-4, NRSV).

Wisdom Teeth

St. Paul might have considered using wisdom teeth in his metaphor comparing body parts to church members, but knew it wouldn't have been true: 

"The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don’t need you!' And the head cannot say to the wisdom teeth, 'I don’t need you!' On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable" (1 Corinthians 12:21-22).  

He couldn't write that because wisdom teeth are most definitely dispensable. You can tell from my rather odd choice of subject matter that I've had a run-in recently along these lines. I had a wisdom tooth extracted this week and the moment it was forced to loosen its hold and relinquish its spot, I felt relief. It will take some time for the canyon to fill, but I'd rather deal with an empty crater than an angry intruder. Wisdom teeth, or third molars, inherited their name because they are the last teeth in the mouth to develop and "erupt." That's a dental/medical term that is definitely apropos in this case. Mine felt like a burgeoning volcano about to erupt.

Before I lose your interest entirely (assuming you're still reading), there is a lesson from the extraction worth sharing. I lived with the intermittent discomfort and pain from the tooth for a number of years and would have continued tolerating it if the misery hadn't become constant and edged toward a crescendo. I considered it a nuisance, an aggravation if you will, and had no idea how good it would feel if it was removed. In my case, the relief was instantaneous, and I keep asking myself why I waited so long to bite the bullet (or gauze) and be done with the pain. Strange as it may sound, as I sat tilted back with gauze  in the place where my painful tooth had been moments before, I instantly began to ask how many faults I tolerate in myself? What self-inflicted aggravations do I live with? What seemingly small things do I allow to keep me slightly off course for now and threaten to cause me to miss the mark in the end? Better to learn a lesson from wisdom teeth and deal swiftly with anything and everything that I tolerate but doesn't belong. The sudden relief may surprise you.

"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us." (Hebrews 12:1, KJV)

Changing the World

As a younger man I convinced myself that I could change the world; now my greatest struggle is against the world changing me. Early on my oil refinery worker father and church librarian mother convinced me that I could do anything God placed on my heart to attempt. They provided a safe place and secure environment from which to dare and dream outrageous things. When I wanted to go with the World Evangelism Foundation to South Korea at age seventeen and again at age nineteen, they encouraged me and did what they could to help. My choice to attend East Texas Baptist University in order to prepare for Christian missions rather than accept scholarship offers elsewhere or an appointment to Westpoint did not lead them to believe I'd been abducted by aliens and brainwashed into servitude. As a pastor in East Texas then Houston, and later as a missionary candidate, my mother was my biggest fan and quietly encouraged me to follow God largely. She was schooled by listening to Robert Schuller preach his possibility message while keeping her spiritual feet planted firmly grounded through Oswald Chambers' teaching on the crucified life, and she championed my own pursuit of surrender. When I stayed the course to leave for Africa just four months after my father's death, Mom never complained or asked me to reconsider. My missionary service was always more of a sacrifice for her than it was for me.

Life is for me, in many ways, easier now than it has ever been. Herein lies the crux of the dilemma. As Wordsworth warned:

        "The world is too much with us; 

late and soon,

         Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers."

The challenge for many of us is to embrace crucified service in the midst of relative ease and comfort. I neither wear hardship as a badge of God's approval nor pray to be uncomfortable; I do petition the Father to stoke the embers of passionate devotion so that comfort never becomes my standard for appraising God's grace. If I've learned anything through the years, it is that abundant living is in no way connected to abundance, but is, instead, inseparable from surrender.

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." (Romans 12:2, ESV)

Faith and Tradition

Things were simpler when I was a child. That statement could be applied broadly, but I'm speaking here about church and denomination. I was Baptist before I was born, literally not figuratively, adopted from a Baptist adoption home in New Orleans, reared in the home of a devout church librarian, and earned perfect attendance pin awards in Sunday School (only the elderly Culpepper couple had longer badges for more years of uninterrupted attendance). There was never a question of whether or not my sister and I would be attending church. No doubt you've heard the joke about the guy who had a drug problem as a child-- his parents drug him to church. That is my story, only with a twist that placed my mother in the leading role. 

I was immersed into the membership of Trinity Baptist Church at the tender age of seven, and never thought much about nor was I exposed to other faith traditions. Port Arthur boasted a strong Catholic community, but I grew up influenced by those who did not understand that tradition, and what we do not understand we most often resist and even criticize. I remember preaching sermons as a young man that criticized the Catholic Church and questioned many things about adherents to the Roman Catholic tradition. I was equally as quick to pass judgment on any group that did not share my denominational label. Without knowing it (and I would have vehemently denied it), I had more in common with Pharisees than I did the pioneers of my own free church tradition. Everything was simple then--if you weren't like me, you were wrong.

Fast forward now many years later, forty plus to be exact. I work for a Baptist university, preach most Sunday mornings in a Methodist church, and preach Sunday evenings for a non-denominational fellowship (in the truest sense of the term--a Christian group, a group of Christians, a family of believers that believe in family, a small gathering of believers whose loyalty to one another is surpassed only by devotion to Christ). I am drawn to the writings of the spiritual classics, most of which were written prior to the Protestant Reformation, making them Roman Catholic writings. My favorite weekday settings for prayer are Catholic sanctuaries, surrounded by images that evoke deep contemplation; colored glass and symbols that feed a hunger to know the unseen God. You may say that makes me quasi-Baptist, but you might also declare me to be quasi-Methodist, quasi-Presbyterian, quasi-Anglican, or even quasi-Catholic.

What I'm saying is that at age 54 faith and tradition are no longer simple matters, and I am comfortable with the ambiguity. My Christian identity can no longer be defined by or confined to a label; my allegiance belongs only to a Person. The Person of whom I speak loves all of His creation equally and sees us according to a color and not a tag line, not the color of our skin or our flag or our hymn book, but the color of the blood of Jesus Christ that makes us clean and makes us one. 

"When Jesus took the bread and said, 'This is my body which is broken for you' (1 Corinthians 11:24), it's hard to believe that even in his wildest dreams he foresaw the tragic and ludicrous brokenness of the church as his body. There's no reason why everyone should be Christian in the same way and every reason to leave room for differences, but if all the competing factions of Christendom were to give as much of themselves to the high calling and holy hope that unite them as they do now to the relative inconsequentialities that divide them, the church would look more like the Kingdom of God for a change and less like an ungodly mess." (Buechner, ~originally published in "Whistling in the Dark" and later in "Beyond Words")

"Though we cannot think alike, may we not love alike? May we not be of one heart, though we are not of one opinion? Without all doubt, we may. Herein all the children of God may unite, notwithstanding these smaller differences." (John Wesley)

Disciples's DNA

During the years I taught undergraduate ministry students, I encountered what I consider to be a common misunderstanding of an essential component of discipleship. Nothing is more basic to following Christ than obeying his demand for self-denial and cross carrying.  But What exactly did Jesus mean when he instructed his followers to deny themselves? What, in truth, did Jesus have in mind when he established this seemingly counter-intuitve prerequisite for discpleship? Perhaps by default, the frequent interpretation communicated to church-goers is that self-denial equates to self-rejection.  We think in terms of what G. K. Chesterton wrote: "There is only one thing which is generally safe from plagiarism -- self-denial" (G.K. Chesterton, The Collected Works of G.K. Chesterton Volume 29: The Illustrated London News, 1911-1913). Somehow we confuse denying self with ignoring or at least avoiding self-understanding.  The difference is colossal, since knowing one's self is paramount to obeying Christ's command in Mark 8:34.  Daily denying of self invokes an ongoing process of self-discovery, for only when I embrace the way God has fashioned me am I ready to relinquish all that I am to Christ.  How can I offer to Christ what I'm unaware is mine to give? Such a scenario would be more akin to hypnosis than surrender. In other words, 'DNA' does not stand for "Do not ask." The more I acknowledge my God-granted uniqueness, the better able am I to use that uniqueness in serving him.

"And when he had called the people unto him with his disciples also, he said unto them, Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me." (Mark 8:34 KJV)

Trembling

Is it wrong to admit a physical reaction to spiritual reality? I hope not. Contemporary Christianity seems bent on removing mystery from devotion, but it may be easier to tame the wind than keep our hearts in check when overwhelmed by grace. Though modern sensibilities may resist it, trembling depicts an essential movement of the heart before God. One need look no farther than the Psalms to find individuals whose Godward reaction is physical and audible. The Psalmists groan, cry, moan, laugh, long, desire, despise, dance, and shout; authentic and spontaneous, the Psalms disclose the sinner’s honest response to the overwhelming majesty of God. If we would understand their songs and allow them to nurture our inner life, we too must learn to tremble before our Creator; sadly, the physical and emotional experience of awe is largely absent from what we smugly term "worship" today. Desensitized by our own living, we are too numb to recognize the Holy. Our pace of life and even the noise in church can drown out a thunderous divine voice. Joining the masses of popular culture who see at best a God who is distant and unlikely to be encountered in the “real world", many run aground on social sand bars, rejecting any sense of awe because they are persuaded that it simply isn't sophisticated to allow religion to touch them very deeply or, Heaven forbid, visibly.

Physical trembling is not our main concern, of course, but I hesitate to put us at ease too quickly, for it seems odd that while all creation shudders before the power and purity of the Exalted One, we should proceed routinely, wholly untouched by His Presence. From Belshazzar’s knees clattering together, through Quaker and Puritan revivals, and on up to modern times, many have had a physical response to the reality of God. The mind, body, psyche, and spirit are woven together so tightly that we should expect to be affected as whole persons when we sincerely encounter God. The Hebrew words most often used for “fear” in the Old Testament depict God as one who elicits ultimate respect. Fearing God in the Psalms does not primarily mean quivering in anxiety and terror, but instead describes a profound sense of reverence. The heart of this experience of trembling is acknowledging the superiority of God over against ourselves. God is the Wholly Other; to encounter this Holy One leaves us awestruck. We may respond with tears or praise or with great waves of laughter and joy, rolling out of every corner of our beings, or the awe may strike us silent. Call it what you will, I call it trembling.

“Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob.” (Psalm 114:7)

“This is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.”  (Isaiah. 66:2)

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me." (Psalm 42:7, NIV)

How dread are Thine eternal years,

    O everlasting Lord!

By prostrate spirits day and night

     Incessantly adored!

How beautiful, how beautiful

     The sight of Thee must be,

Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,

     And awful purity!

Oh how I fear Thee, living God!

     With deepest, tenderest fears,

And worship Thee with trembling hope,

     And penitential tears.

(Frederick W. Faber)

Suffering and Christlikeness

"Never pray for an easier life--pray to be a stronger person! Never pray for tasks equal to your power--pray for power to be equal to your tasks. Then doing your work will be no miracle--you will be the miracle" (Phillips Brooks, Harvard graduate and prominent preacher, 1835-1893). The role of suffering in the Christian life remains a mystery, yet it holds enormous potential for molding our own upward climb. Robert Kruschwitz, Director of Baylor University's Center for Christian Ethics warns, "We must be very careful how we assent to suffering, for it's as difficult and dangerous as walking on a knife-edge. We must avoid, on the one side, the wrong sort of passivity that glorifies suffering as something good in itself and, on the other, the wrong sorts of activity that would eliminate suffering at all costs." 

The most commonly quoted Scripture passage on this subject is Romans 8:28: "All things work together form the good of them who love God and are called according to His purpose." Many invoke this as a sort of Christian talisman. If I belong to God, here's my insurance against extended suffering and ultimate disaster. But is that its real meaning and proper application? According to Henry Blackaby, "God's primary concern for us is not our position on the corporate ladder, our retirement benefits, or our comfort. His ultimate goal for us is Christlikeness. He will allow whatever is necessary into our lives so we become like Jesus" (God in the Marketplace). 

So, what does Romans 8:28 promise to us? Irregardless of how difficult and demanding the circumstances, by relying on God and responding toward Him rather than away from Him, God will see to it that we emerge on the other side of our situation more like Christ. When we decide and demonstrate that Christlikeness is more important than momentary ease and comfort, we are the miracle.

Enjoying the Night

I'm writing late at night once again from my sacred space, a place designed to house plants but well suited for meditating and writing. I built the greenhouse for my wife, but I sit here often, accompanied by a small assortment of Kimberly Queen ferns, a potato vine that insists on conquering its surroundings, a Bird's Nest fern, a grapevine that yielded grapes last month and then needed an escape from the summer sun, and an understated begonia. As I said, it's an eclectic mix. Tonight I'm able to see across the way to our neighbor's fire pit, and even though it's August in central Texas we've had enough rain this summer to lift the burn ban. "Sparky" (my wife's nickname for our neighbor) is making the most of this window of incendiary freedom. Life on a country lane is simple, especially after dark. Nights are a gift from God. 

As a boy the dark terrified me. I still remember crouching in bed, pulling covers over me like a cotton force field, quoting mantra-like the first Bible verse I ever committed to memory--"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee" (Psalm 56:3). The night no longer frightens me; in fact, I embrace it as solace for body and spirit. Insects exclaim the glory of their Creator while I do the same in mind and heart. Traffic sounds in the distance encourage me for the very fact that they remain in the distance. This space to be, the close of a day to consider what it means to be, is a divine gift, and I guard it jealously. When schedules get hectic and the demands on my time exceed the time available to fulfill them, I experience the full grief cycle, albeit in a shortened span: denial, anger, acceptance. But tonight there is no grief, no anger, and nothing to accept apart from a peace so strong that it must be a sweet shadow of the greater peace that awaits beyond time and space. Author and speaker Barbara Brown Taylor encourages just such a transformed view of the night in "Learning to Walk in the Dark."  Instead of avoiding the dark's mystery or opposing it as some nocturnal enemy, try seeing it as a gift. Pause, remember, evaluate, meditate, dream, pray, and most of all, enjoy

"I will give you the treasures of darkness and riches hidden in secret places, so that you may know that it is I, the Lord, the God of Israel, who call you by your name" (Isaiah 45:3, KJV). 

Business Cards

I love my job, partly because of the many interesting people I meet in my line of work. As a case in point, my university role took me to Chicago last week where I was introduced to outstanding leaders at both private and public institutions from literally all across the nation. One thing I learned early on was to carry plenty of business cards with me to such gatherings. That's because the introduction protocol goes something like this: I greet you and you look at my name tag. I pronounce my name for you because you've never seen a name spelled like mine. You ask what I do and I tell you that I am Associate Vice President for Development. Perfectly timed with my disclosure I slip a business card from my pocket and hand it over to you. You look at my card and then you repeat the procedure and I receive your name and card. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this ritual, so long as we keep it in the right perspective. The inherent weakness is that we may leave the encounter identifying one another by our positions and profession rather than getting to know the person behind the name tag and colorful card.

I admit that I'm delusional in many respects and have been for some time. I've operated under the illusion of being a pastor, a missionary, college professor, a development professional. I call this business card identity, and if I'm not careful I lose something in the process, reducing myself to whatever title my card states at that time. We are not what we do for a living. You and I are so much more than what can be described on a 1" x 3" rectangle of branded card stock; we are image bearers, kingdom citizens, called out ones. What I happen to do at any given moment for the purpose of providing for my needs and those of my family doesn't count for much in light of eternity. What matters is that I see myself as God sees me, and I am convinced that He never views me in terms of my employment. Revelation comes as I display the character of Christ, demonstrate the love of Christ, and embrace the joy of knowing Christ for myself. Irrespective of activity and way beyond appearance, I am nothing more and nothing less than a grace laden sinner who has found favor with the Creator of the universe. Try to get that on a business card. 

"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me."

(Galatians 2:20, KJV)

Grace Chronicles: "Sweet Exchange"

Far more important than something to read about, grace is a way of life. Divine mercy may be a theological concept to some, but for me it is a necessity. Grace is practical Christianity. One example of its relevance in ordinary circumstance is how grace instructs and empowers me to deal with "irregular people" (my wife's clever phrasing). Yes, there are some who grind on my nerves like grating Parmesan cheese, and I imagine that the feeling is mutual. I find it entirely possible on the basis of God's grace to fully forgive, refuse bitterness, refrain from criticizing, even though I may still not like someone or want to be around them. Not quite as easily, grace empowers me to forgive myself, even though at times I'd prefer to be anyone but me.  Whether I am learning to forgive someone else or to pardon myself, God's grace is the touch point that changes everything. 

Consider a selection from an obscure second century writer (Epistle to Diognetus) and see if your heart resonates: 

“He gave His own Son as a ransom for us, the holy One for transgressors, the blameless One for the wicked, the righteous One for the unrighteous, the incorruptible One for the corruptible, the immortal One for them that are mortal. For what other thing was capable of covering our sins than His righteousness? By what other one was it possible that we, the wicked and ungodly, could be justified, than by the only Son of God? O sweet exchange! O unsearchable operation! O benefits surpassing all expectation! That the wickedness of many should be hid in a single righteous One, and that the righteousness of One should justify many transgressors!”

(Source: The Epistle to Diognetus, 9.2-5)

Grace Chronicles: "Grace in the Mirror"

I often wonder what it would have been like to have had a grandfather. Oh, I had grandfathers to be sure, only I never had the privilege of meeting any of them. To be completely open about it, I'll never know exactly how many I never knew. The ones I heard a smattering of stories about include James Nash Richey, the Irish barber who died in a Model T Ford on the way back to Port Neches from a hunting trip when his daughter, my mother, was still an infant. Mom was the youngest of six siblings, the four oldest being boys much older than she, and one older sister who was never fully there and later took her own life. All that remains of Grandpa Richey (I have no idea what monicker he would have chosen for himself) is a small, slightly faded, black and white photograph that shows him standing behind an old fashioned barber's chair with a customer seated near a counter littered about with glass bottles of lotion and talcum powder, brushes of various sizes and types, and a straight razor.  Another bearded man stands in the corner of the image, and the whole scene leaves me wondering how long it was taken before the fatal Tin Lizzie accident, if these men were friends and perhaps hunting companions, why he chose barbering as his profession, did he like sweet potato pie, and the like. 

The other man who qualifies as my grandfather was Henry Pleasant Fowlkes. According to my mother (Dad never said much to me about his father), Grandpa Fowlkes was a kind and soft-spoken man driven to the drink by a not-so-kind and anything but soft-spoken wife.  Evidently, Mamie Fowlkes made life a nightmarish version of hell on earth, and Henry did what he could to cope, drifting from job to job, selling cars, delivering milk, working on assembly lines, and who knows what else. He came from good stock in Franklin, Tennessee, and must have been something of a disappointment to his father, Henry Pleasant, Sr., a Princeton alumnus, who held prominent positions in Franklin as an attorney, judge, elder in the Presbyterian church, Speaker of the House for the Tennessee legislature in 1879, and trustee of Central Hospital for the Insane for twenty years. Mom said that Dad's dad was generous to a fault, and died much too soon in her opinion, but perhaps just about right in his.

I have other grandfathers whose names I'll never know because of my dual heritage as an adopted son.  Through genealogical research I have learned something about my adoptive lineage, but only with an active imagination am I able to conjure up anything about my genetically connected heritage. I fantasized as a child, at times, about the circumstances that led a young woman to enter Sellers Baptist Home in New Orleans, give birth to and relinquish her infant son, likely without ever knowing he had his father's blue eyes, or his grandfather's Romanesque nose, or his mother's lack of height with a propensity toward added weight showing up under his chin. She may have been a wealthy heiress attempting to protect her family from the disgrace of an illegitimate heir. Perhaps she was an exotic nightclub singer whose past caught up with her, or possibly a mysterious immigrant with nowhere else to turn.  More likely, she was simply a naive young lady who made an inescapable blunder and opted to give away her mistake rather than attempt to erase it. What did her father think about her choices and actions? What would he have thought about me? And then there's the "father." Did he know? Did he agree? Did he care? Did his father know? What did he think?  What would he have thought about me?

There was one man that I asked to be my grandfather even though he wasn't. Henry Sutherland was a small, quiet man who was a member of our church in Port Arthur. I don't remember a lot about him except that he was a kindly henpecked man, and that he took care of the electronics related to the church's sound system, meaning he was always in church. One evening the Sutherlands were visiting in our home and I marched right up to him and asked him to be my grandfather.  For years I called him Grandpa and I think it made him feel special; we enjoyed an unusual bond, but I must admit that I allowed youth and distance to weaken its hold over time until it faded into the background without disappearing altogether.

Buechner writes of his own ancestors, "I would give so much to know about who they were, both for its own sake and also for the sake of learning something more about who I am myself" (The Longing for Home: Reflections at Midlife). I identify with his longing to learn more, but what I do know is that I am who I am by the grace of God, and I am becoming who I will be because of that same grace. I did not choose the circumstances surrounding my origin any more than I could have worked my way into God's good graces; everything is according to the goodness and good pleasure of the Father. When I stop to notice my mirrored reflection I have no clue who I might resemble, if, in fact, I resemble anyone at all, but grace is the looking glass that allows me to peer at myself and see what I can be, not what I once was.

"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1Corinthians 13:12), NIV)

Grace Chronicles: "People-Watching and Grace"

People-watching in public places is a great way to meditate on grace. I did just that this afternoon in an unexpected location. The conference I attended this week in Chicago ended a bit early today, so since my flight is not until tomorrow morning I fulfilled one of the items on my bucket list by going to The Field Museum of Natural Science on the shore of Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago. Museum map in hand, I set off on my adventure, and it didn't take long to recognize that the old "melting pot" adage is apropos in Chicago. I listened to those around me speak--senior adults, younger adults, children--and before long I was homesick for the English language. At one point, I looked to the museum map for orientation, only to find that it was printed in French! Moving from exhibit to exhibit, I felt like I was navigating a mosque or Hindu temple. I haven't been around that many head coverings, saris, and salwar kameez since I lived in Ahmedabad, India.

At this point you're probably wondering what any of this has to do with God's grace. Actually, it has everything to do with it. People-watching, especially where diverse cultures intersect, highlights the tremendous diversity among us culturally and individually. There is no end to human variables, but the one constant is the love of God.  Grace refuses to force individuals into a mold cast to fit someone else; the Gospel of Christ is a narrative of grace, custom fit for my story and yours.  This truly Good News is that God knows me. He's acquainted with my story; in fact, He's helping to write it. His grace comes to find me wherever I am and speaks a language I can understand. Grace never requires me to imitate anyone other than Christ.

"The narrative of grace may start with my failure, but it does not linger there. My self-image culminates in the Cross of Jesus Christ. He died for me so that I may be united with the Father through him and may serve my neighbor just as he has served me... The narrative of grace makes me the grateful recipient of God’s extravagant, unmerited love. It moves me to serve all the other broken people, the people just like me" (The Very Rev. Dr. Jacob W. Owensby).

Grace Chronicles: "Self-Disclosure"

I readily identify with Kurt Bubna's book, "Epic Grace: Chronicles of a Recovering Idiot." In it he writes: "I went back and forth on what to title this book, but I knew two words had to be included: grace and idiot. Both describe my life so well. Everything I have, everything I am, and every good part of me exists because of the unbelievable grace and goodness of God. His grace is truly epic. It’s larger than life and beyond my imagination. And that is a good thing, because too often in my life I’ve fallen into idiocy like a meteorite falling from the heavens, fast and hard with an explosive blast of burnout at the end." (Bubna is a read that I recommend.)

Such self-awareness may not be politically correct, but is essential to getting at the meaning of grace. Until I honestly 'fess up to who am --thinning hairline, thickening stubbornness, depraved nature, et al -- I will never move beyond intellectual assent and dive deep into relishing and reveling in God's unimaginable mercy. Whether or not I can answer this question largely determines what I do with grace: "Who am I?" I'm talking deep contemplation here, soul searching, mind boggling honesty. The kind of self-disclosure I'm advocating cuts and heals all in the same stroke. Honesty is generally painful, perhaps even brutal, but sincere contrition ushers in reparation. The moment I become honest enough to admit to myself the full extent of my own depravity, I am able to gain a glimpse of God's glory and the wonder of grace. Only those who stumble in the dark fully appreciate the miracle of light.

"What wonder of Grace is this

What story of passion divine

Where judgement and mercy kiss

Where power and love are entwined." (lyrics from "What Wonder of Grace (My Desire )" by Stuart Townend)