My Father

The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”  Romans 8:15 (NIV)

When I was in college, I attended (for a very short time) a Campus Crusade Bible study. The one thing that I recall from that experience was the leader talking about fathers – how the imagery of God as Father was uncomfortable for her, because of the abusive relationship she had with her own dad. Her understanding of fatherhood was so twisted by abuse, she couldn’t comprehend how God as Father could be good. She asked us if we felt the same way. I didn’t – my dad has always been one of the most amazing examples of what it means to live your life in and through and for Christ. It’s easy for me to make that leap from my daddy to God as Father, because he exemplifies reliable support, care, love, and is the greatest personal cheerleader ever, but he never let us get away with stuff, either. We were held accountable.

To me, this is the internal image I have of what it means to call God, my “Abba, Father.” God is absolutely consistent in his love and in his discipline, in his cheerleading and his correction. I am eternally grateful for the example that my own daddy provided for me. In his life and words he always points us to our heavenly Father. 

Happy Father’s Day, Dat Faddy! 

Merry Christmas! This is a special season of expectation, reflection, and hope. I think it's this season of expectation that makes me reflect upon those expectations we have that are unmet.

We all have them - when things don't go the way we think they should. When we think we know someone and then they surprise us by doing something that seems out of character (or, what we think their character would be).

Jesus was not what people expected the Messiah to be. The people were expecting their savior to come boldly, in the clouds, on a white horse, ready to trample the oppressive political regime of the day to the ground. Instead, their savior came in tiny, needy form. A bundle of squalling humanity, born in the poorest conditions and unremarkable in every way except for the fact that he was the Son of God. How unexpected!

And then, at a critical moment when all seemed lost, when the end had surely come for this tiny Jewish movement, and yet another Messiah-figure had been killed at the hands of the Romans, this completely unexpected Messiah did something else unexpected - instead of succumbing to death, he conquered it. He was resurrected!

The people expected something big and grand, but they got something tiny and weak - an infant, born in a stable. And later, after his death, when the people expected weakness, what they got was strength and victory over death.

How often do we miss out on what God is doing because we are looking for something we don't expect?

Spreading Love into Hearts full of Hate.

The past few days have been horrifying. A bombing and shooting rampage in Oslo, three separate mass shootings in Seattle over personal disputes, a road-rage incident that ended up with an innocent bystander dead... all horrific in their own way and all examples of the marriage between hate and aggression. It's been overwhelming to me - to see so many lives lost, tragically and senselessly. I keep asking the question - what makes people think it's okay to pull out a gun when they are angry? What is different now than it was twenty years ago? Have we somehow taught this generation that the best way to solve a problem is to bully your way through it?

Then I am gently reminded that this is not such a new problem. From the earliest days of humanity, we have a consciousness of our darker side - of the evil that lives inside of each and every one of us, that sometimes feels like it's going to escape. In the early pages of Genesis, we have two brothers - Cain and Abel. One is a shepherd, one a farmer - and both offer sacrifices from their labors to the God that walked with their parents in the Garden of Eden. Abel's is accepted. Cain's is not. The anger and frustration boil over, and Cain lures  his brother to the field, and kills him. Hatred and aggression, married together into tragedy.

Whether or not you accept the literal and historical truth of this sacred story, it is clear that the earliest storytellers were concerned with this dark side of humanity. They recognized that we are all capable of something equally horrific, and sometimes at the smallest trigger will release the bullet.

But there is good news, too. Yes, like Cain we all must suffer the consequences of our actions - we cannot take someone's life (literally or figuratively) without dire consequences. Cain was sent away from God, out of the land destined to wander the earth. We also suffer consequences. But we also have the hope of redemption. Unlike Cain, WE don't have to stay wandering in the wilderness. WE are not destined to being sent away from God's presence for eternity. In fact, we have Jesus Christ who makes it possible for us to return, fall on our knees before God, and say we're sorry - and feel God's welcome embrace. God welcomes us home, dresses us in glorious new clothes, and throws a party.

It is no less heartbreaking to hear stories of senseless, violent death. It still makes no sense to me how someone can be so callous toward human life, can allow their anger to take over so much of who they are that they kill. In fact, it's a little more desperate to think that this is human condition, not cultural conditioning. But I find hope in the promise that God's Kingdom will someday rule over all the earth - the yeast is still rising, the seed is still sprouting. And until that day, I will try to spread love into hearts full of hate.

A Gift Worthy of a King

Throughout Advent, two lines of a song echoed in my ears. If the song they came from was playing, those two would stand out - as if they were played louder than the rest of the music. Silence found those two phrases echoing through my head, a far away drumbeat sending a message across the miles.

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pa pum pum.
I played my best for Him, pa rum pa pum pum.

In my journey of relationship with Jesus, there is so much focus on the friendship quality of that relationship that I forget about the Kingly quality of my Savior. I forget that he introduced us to a whole new type of Kingdom. The people of Israel were not expecting a Messiah who would save them from themselves - they were expecting a Savior who would save them from Rome. The Kingdom they expected was an earthly kingdom to overtake their oppressors and set up Israel as a political might in its own right. But Messiah they got was anything but expected. The Kingdom that was established that day of Jesus' birth, the Kingdom that continues to grow in strength and power, just as a pinch of yeast grows the bread dough from the inside-out - it is a whole different kind of Kingdom than what we experience in our past, or present governmental systems.

So I forget. I don't focus on the honor deserved by that little baby who turned into a Rabbi, a healer, a miracle-worker, a forgiver of sins. I think of Jesus as a grown-up, itinerant preacher who talked about the Kingdom of God with stories of servants and masters, of soil, seeds, and birds. He used the things people knew about to talk about things people couldn't understand. And I forget that he was the King proclaimed by angels and stars - introduced first to unworthy shepherds and areligious foreign astrologers. A king worthy of the best gifts.

The magi brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to this new king. It was a common practice in the Ancient Near East (ANE) for foreign rulers to present gifts to a newborn king of their neighboring lands. So it's not all that strange that these star-watchers from the east (probably Babylon, maybe Persia) brought along such gifts when they came to see the new king. What was unusual was that instead of meeting him in the capital city in a palace, lying in a gilt cradle, surrounded by nursemaids and servants - they found him in a no-name town, in a house just like every other house, cradled in his mother's arms. How they must have questioned the star as they approached the door to that home. Really? A king? Here? But on they strode, confident that the heavens would not steer them wrong. There was nothing "normal" about this king from the start.

But still I forget: my Jesus is a King.

As those two lines from The Little Drummer Boy drummed themselves into my soul over Advent, I asked myself this question: "Am I offering my best to the king? Or am I offering what is left after all the other needs around me are met?" Like the little drummer boy, I don't have a gift to give that is suitable for a King. I daily try to offer what I have, but I forget that He deserves my best.

Today I offer my best to the King.

Hide and Seek

I haven't posted much in the past few weeks. Life has been rather crazy (which is the excuse), and I've been mad at God, I think (which is the reason - why do I want to write about God's love when I'm ticked off at the Big Guy???).

This morning I was listening to the classic hymn, "Be Thou My Vision." It's a classic Reformation hymn, but I love Phil Keaggy's version of it - with Celtic-style instrumentation and a rock back-beat. Awesome. I didn't listen intentionally - it came on my music player while I was exercising. I was lost in thought and didn't even realize I was listening to it until one of the verses hit me in the solar-plexus -

"Be Thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight. Be Thou my armor, and be Thou my might. Thou my soul's shelter and Thy my high tower. Raise Thou me heavenwards, o Power of my power!"

Yeah... I've been feeling rather embattled on many fronts lately - and as I listened to that verse, I realized that I am feeling angry at God because I don't feel like I'm being protected from much. I don't feel that security that the full armor of God should bring. And I'm not relying much on God's strength - I'm still trying to pull it off myself. No wonder I'm exhausted!

I started wondering why... why is it that God seems so far away at times like these? All sorts of theological answers come to mind, but a thought from a book I read recently keeps pounding in my head - a spiritual director, speaking to his directee, suggested that God's absence from her life may be by design - God may be hiding and she is to consciously seek God out - like a game of Hide and Seek. But instead of God being the seeker, it is she who searches.

It's Biblical, but that really flustered me, theologically-speaking. After all, isn't the point of the Christian faith that we now have full access to God? We don't need an intermediary! We have a relational God who is seeking US out for relationship. But here this author was saying that there are times God pulls away from us - never so far away that he is inaccessible, but far enough that it requires us to search.

As a child, I never liked the game of Hide and Seek. As the seeker, I felt a sense of panic after the first few hiding spots had been checked - "what if I can't find my friend???" As the hider, it seemed an eternity to be in a small, cramped space trying to be still and silent (neither of which I am particularly good at in the best of conditions). So goody... now I get to play some Hide and Seek with God. And it's that sense of panic I feel agitating in my soul - "what if I can't find God again?"

And here comes the Christmas story. For many years, the idea that has touched my heart most deeply is the concept of Immanuel (which is Hebrew, and means, "God with us"). The thought that the Creator of the all things could take such an interest in this tiny little planet on the far end of a tiny little solar system really boggles the mind. But yet God came... in the form of a tiny baby who grew to be the New Adam, our Great High Priest, the Lamb of God, a prophet, and a healer. God came. And God stayed. Immanuel.

Now, I've got to seek out the One Who Hides. I know He is not far, but God wants me to keep searching until I find Him in a new place. Until then, I will put ON my armor (instead of diving into battle without it), and allow its presence to guard and comfort my searching soul.

Hallelujah, Immanuel.

A Post-Election Day Elegy - on Values, Culture, and God

I am reminded every significant election year how much we are influenced by the values into which we are brought up. Our values are the things that motivate, direct, and influence us more than anything else. Any conscientious voter will agree that, as they are reading through the issues and deciding on which candidate they will cast their vote - the one thing that influences those decisions more than anything else is what they value. I was brought up to value people over anything else (except faith, but it is because of my faith that people are valued) - those with whom I have a relationship and those with whom I do not... People are essentially the most valuable resource we have and thus should be cared for as one's top priority. This lends itself quite well to a certain political perspective. I know others, however, for whom fiscal responsibility, freedom, liberty, and hands-off government are key values. Again, that leads to another political perspective. I had a discussion with one of our local candidates recently about how, when he starts off his speech by talking about budget and finance, he immediately turns off a voter such as myself. Yes, I want fiscal responsibility, but I hear him saying "cut cut cut" and in my brain that translates to people being left behind. And that is unconscionable to me. We want essentially the same things, but our values direct how we talk about it and how we act on it.

I was thinking of this in relation to God as well. Our values very much determine how we describe God - or if we even believe in God at all. I struggle with the cultural aspects of how we see a "higher power." The academician in me wants to acknowledge that my culture and values have created a God in their own image - in the same way someone from an atheist worldview sees "God" as an interpolation of the weak-minded; or how a Hindu might see a god as an active, if somewhat malicious, participant in personal events, requiring propitiation but not providing any lasting effect for creatures trying to reincarnate to a higher form. Culture defines how we understand God. But does that mean God does not exist - if culture forms our image of God? Can God still exist in some pure form that is nothing like what we expect, but yet completely what we expect, and more?

My culture has produced in me certain values - my family and upbringing have further defined and shaped them. I see God from that perspective, but also acknowledge that there are other viable perspectives on God that can only further my understanding of who God is, rather than challenge God's existence as if God can only be one or the other. It's like the political point above - we all look for essentially the same things, but our values direct how we talk about it and how we act on it. A Muslim sees God in the routine of daily prayer, in the giving of alms, or of the call to pilgrimage to Mecca. A Jew sees God in carefully-followed laws and observances. An atheist doesn't see "God" at all, but sees the natural order as a god of its own kind - a series of forces that make all things work and give human beings the intellectual capacity for scientific knowledge of these forces.

As I said, I am convinced that God exists - beyond culture, beyond values, beyond worldview. But I also acknowledge that God is so much bigger than what I can possibly define, so I am willing to accept other people's understanding of God as equally as valid as my own - or at least on the same footing. But I know... KNOW... that God exists. It's the subtle, quiet assurance of Spirit reaching out to spirit to convince and assure me when I begin to question. It's at the same time indescribable and indisputable.

But my values far too frequently try to put God into a box - one in which God cannot fit. It's like trying to say that politically I can ONLY vote for those things which value people, ignoring the needs of corporations and free economy. I will vote my conscience, but I have to accept that the judgments of "the other side" are valuable as well. I can continue to inform and mold my own political worldview in the same way; hearing and welcoming the religious perspectives of others informs and molds my understanding of God.

Keeping God in the Equation

Recently, someone called me a hypocrite. As far as I can tell, it was because I wasn't fitting into the little box into which she thought all Christians should confine themselves (so they don't bother her?). She herself has disregarded the Church as a irrelevant and hypocritical institution, so I fit right into her presuppositions, I guess. I won't argue the facts of the accusation - it's neither important nor relevant to the point I want to talk about. I was left with this sense that I had been completely misunderstood - as a Christian and as a pastor. It made me go back and look at the stories of Jesus, when he called the religious leaders of his day "hypocrites." How does that title fit me?

The religious leaders of Jesus' day were so wrapped up in the day-to-day requirements of religion, they'd forgotten about God. That's the message we see from Jesus in the Gospels. He pulled out the "hypocrite" card whenever the religious leaders were trying to catch him at breaking one of the 713 "commandments" of Jewish law. Jesus spoke harshly to them about their legalistic ways, and then turned the law into something life-giving that pointed to God. He healed on the Sabbath. He allowed his disciples to harvest food on the Sabbath. He forgave sin.

Jesus took issue with those who followed the commandments carefully, but didn't grasp the importance of the God-Human relationship. They didn't seem to get it, that the Sabbath requirements (for example) were intended to give life and rest to us humans so that we could be more fully engaged with God in our rest and in our busy-ness ("The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath").

When I look at the religious leaders of Jesus' time, and compare them to myself I would have to say - yes... I am a hypocrite. I'm not overly-concerned with legalistic interpretations of scripture as they were, but I do fail miserably at trying to keep God in the equation of my life at all times. I get wrapped up in the way I see the world, and forget that God has a different perspective.

I have this little booklet that I have kept with me for years. In the 90's when we all carried around Daytimers, it was tucked into the front cover behind my business cards. It now occupies digital space on my smartphone. This little booklet is called, "The Practice of the Presence of God" by Brother Lawrence (Nicholas Herman). If you've ever heard me teach, it's likely you've heard me mention this little booklet. Brother Lawrence was a lay-brother in a 17th century Carmelite monastery in Paris. He did nothing to distinguish himself - in fact he was a kitchen assistant in the monastery, and did his best to remain anonymous. But Brother Lawrence provides for us this amazing testimony of living your life as worship. It is described this way,

When a young man is in love with a girl, he does not think of his beloved every instant if he has important work to do. But his devotion to her permeates all that he does with an overtone, and when a pause comes his mind naturally turns to the loved object; for our minds by their very nature turn ever so swiftly to the point where our treasure is, and they do so without effort.

That same principle is at work if God is your heart's desire. Such is the "practice of the presence of God" of Brother Lawrence. For him, the opportunity to peel potatoes for the brothers was an act of worship. In his second conversation with his scribe, M. de Beaufort, he says that his goal is that the love of God should be "the end of all his actions."

I think that's what Jesus was trying to get across to the scribes and Pharisees. It's not about the potatoes - it's about why you're peeling them. It's not about the Law - doing all the right things at the right times. It's about living a life of communion with our Creator - and doing it through every day actions as well as through spiritual disciplines and rigor.

So yes, I guess I am a hypocrite because I forget, like the scribes and Pharisees, that my motivation for action is worship. I forget to keep God in the equation.