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)