Miraculously Diverse

There are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. (1 Corinthians 12.4-6)

Everything Falls Into Place

When people ask what I do for a living, I blithely answer, “I put on shows in barns.” There’s always a chuckle, followed by, “No, really, what do you do?” And I explain that I actually do put on shows in barns. Corporate clients hire the teams I work with to stage large employee gatherings. We start with nothing but an idea and figure out how to fashion live experiences that convey the messages our clients want to deliver. I’m the creative director—the idea guy. But the finest ideas in the world will come to naught without the rest of the team doing its best to bring them to life. The event producer visits the selected location and evaluates the available space—usually a large hotel ballroom or convention hall—to see what’s possible. Then we add designers and technicians, all of whom take responsibility for their share of pulling the pieces together. When I arrive onsite, I walk into a hollow room rapidly being transformed into a meeting venue. The stage is under construction. Lighting and sound gear is being rigged. Video equipment is put in place. In roughly 24 hours, a barren room becomes a theatrical environment where all the creative elements come together to inform and motivate an audience of several hundred people. 

Obviously, I could never do this on my own. The task is too great. It requires more time and manpower than I could possibly provide. But, more than that, I don’t possess the talent and know-how to do it alone. And one of the first lessons in my business is learning to trust and respect your teammates. They know what they’re doing and if the job is going to get done right, you’ve got to let them do what they’re supposed to do, while you do what you’re supposed to get done. I’ve been at this for 25 years now; to this day, I don’t really understand how everything falls into place. But it does.

This is the principle Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 12, where he discusses diversity of gifts. Initially, his explanation of how the Body of Christ functions would seem logically straightforward. “The community of believers is equipped with an enormous variety of talents and abilities,” he says, “all of them provided by the same Lord.” If we use my profession as a metaphor, Paul is telling us that God is the Client. God selects and endows each of us with gifts so that, working together, we can create something out of nothing, something that will bring God’s vision and message to life. Whether or not we accomplish what God desires of us depends on three things: recognition of talents we’re given, willingness to participate, and ability to trust and respect those we work with. The task is too great for one of us to manage alone. And although we will never fully understand how everything falls into place, when we commit our talents to God’s use, somehow the work gets done.

The Common Good

Once we digest Paul’s explanation, however, things become less clear. We start asking questions. What are my gifts? What do I bring to this project? Where are my strengths and, conversely, where am I limited? All of this boils down to the hardest question of all: who does God want me to be—what does God want me to do—to help build God’s kingdom? Some soul-searching is required. We need to inventory our talents to discern how they can be used constructively in the community of faith. Alas, Paul’s practicality falls by the wayside when he lists gifts God has given the Body. He dives into the mystical end of the pool, describing decidedly supernatural abilities: spiritual wisdom, knowledge, and discernment, faith, healing, miracles, prophecy, diverse tongues and interpretations of tongues.

If such phenomena were evident in our lives, most of us wouldn’t know how to recognize them—let alone deploy them properly. While we may have witnessed these gifts in others, we shouldn’t mistake Paul’s roster as definitive. Nor should we imagine that not possessing these specific talents precludes us from offering the gifts God has bestowed on us. “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good,” verse 7 says. The ultimate question becomes, “How do I manifest God’s Spirit in my life?” And that can happen in an infinite variety of ways. Some of us possess gifts of joy, others gifts of compassion, and still others gifts of service, activity, and artistry. Every list of gifts is unique to each believer, all of them provided for the common good. Whatever we contribute to the building of God’s kingdom is worthy and necessary. So what are your gifts?

Miracle Workers

There is a second part of Paul’s story we should also reckon with. Often we know what our gifts are, but we worship and serve in faith traditions where they’re unwelcome—not because they’re not valued, but because we’re not valued. The talents and abilities God places in us are as native to us as other components of our making: gender, ethnicity, and orientation. They are inseparable from everything else God created us to be. As a result, the compulsion to use our God-given gifts for God’s glory often drives us to reject—or hide—our God-given identities. The world is full of women endowed with leadership talent who accept lesser roles for the sake of remaining in patriarchal traditions. Tens of thousands of gay believers endure the agonies of belittling doctrines and preaching in order to offer their talents to homophobic faith communities. Worse still, divinely gifted believers of every kind have withdrawn from the Body of Christ entirely because of discrimination and disrespect. And we must ask, how does any of this serve “the common good”? Why do we cling to religious exclusion when it's so obvious that it causes great suffering within Christ's Body?

Choosing where we worship and serve is a complicated decision based on many factors: our upbringing, where we live, our comfort with certain theologies, liturgies, and approaches to community life. Yet we must come to grips with the dilemmas that grow out of our decisions. If we remain in communities where we must surrender our identities in order to use our gifts, we dishonor our making. On the other hand, if we find new homes where we’re trusted and respected, we may have to sacrifice the comfort of traditions we’ve grown to love. We pray for the day when all believers are trusted and respected across Christendom. And we mourn the great losses that many traditions suffer by undervaluing believers who don’t fit their norms. Paul’s vision of the Church’s vast diversity of gifts imagines a miraculously diverse community of faith. When we make peace with who we are and the gifts God gives us, that miracle will become a reality. May God grant us strength and faith to be true miracle workers, wherever we are.

The gifts God gives each of us are as intrinsic to our making as our gender, ethnicity, and orientation.

Complacency

There is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3.28)

By now you’ve heard the name Malala Yousafzai. By now you’ve joined millions the world over made sick at the thought of such barbarity. That anyone—let alone a religious sect—would attempt to assassinate a 14-year-old advocate of educating young girls is beyond comprehension. The more I’ve thought about this perverse tragedy, the more I’ve wondered about the man who actually pulled the trigger. What was going on his mind as he pointed his rifle at a school bus, waiting for the precise moment when Malala passed into its sights? How did he feel in the seconds after he shot her? What is he feeling now? Does he feel like a hero—a warrior of Allah? Has he any remorse at all, or has his inner compass gone so awry that he’s rationalized his crime as an act of righteousness? These questions quickly brought to mind Eudora Welty’s famous short story, “Where Is the Voice Coming From?” Written immediately after the 1963 assassination of civil rights activist Medgar Evers (who, like Ms. Welty, lived in Jackson, Mississippi), the story chillingly imagined the killer’s madness from the inside out. Describing what prompted her to write the story, Ms. Welty said she somehow realized, “Whoever the murderer is, I know him; not his identity, but his coming about, in this time and place. That is, I ought to have learned by now, from here, what such a man, intent on such a deed, had going on in his mind.”

In the West, we can’t help but regard the attempt on Malala Yousafzai’s life as too monstrous to contemplate—particularly since it was allegedly committed in the name of Allah. Yet in our rush to condemn, we must also grapple with our complacency about the treatment of women in our own culture. And, tragically, many of the attitudes and policies that relegate women of all ages to second-class status are rooted in antiquated, erroneous Christian dogma. There is simply no excuse—civic or religious—for accepting gender inequality in American society. There is no reason why women don’t earn equal pay for equal work. There is no justification for denying them full access to healthcare, control of their bodies, and the right to safeguard their future with every advantage given to men. What does it say of us as a people—especially we who claim discipleship—that we aren’t grievously troubled by a culture that puts more emphasis on telling women how not to get raped than teaching men rape is unacceptable? What does it say of us that we value male opinions of gender-related issues more than women’s? What does it say of us as a Church that we’ve not yet fully rejected the notion that God is a male and that men are more qualified than women to lead us in worship and service? Like Welty, we know where these voices are coming from—we know their coming about, in this time and place. The question for all of us, but believers in particular, is: are we raising our voices against them?

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul experiences a magnificent “Eureka!” moment that rebuts the sexist slant of his other writings. “There is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus,” he proclaims. Gender discrimination—or any prejudice, for that matter—has no place in a believer’s life. It simply doesn’t belong in God’s kingdom. We can sigh with great relief that we don’t live in a culture that tolerates the heinous religious violence perpetrated on girls and women like Malala. Yet our daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers nonetheless are the objects of male-propagated injustice. We know where these voices are coming from and they will continue to come until we lift our voices for equality and justice in obedience to our faith. Paul has set before an ideal, prevailing on our belief in Christ as the Great Equalizer, Who makes all of us one. May that belief pierce our hearts and disturb our complacency with a world where men and women are not yet equal.

God Uses Women

Musings Occasioned by the Feast of the Annunciation

God sent the angel Gabriel to the Galilean village of Nazareth to a virgin engaged to be married to a man descended from David. His name was Joseph, and the virgin’s name, Mary. Upon entering, Gabriel greeted her: “Good morning! You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.” (Luke 1.26-28; The Message)

I would be dishonest to pretend I have any idea where what follows is going. Usually the posts begin with a destination in mind and get built in reverse. But this one starts with a calendar entry and a question, “What can we say about this?”

Today is the Feast of the Annunciation, when the Roman Church and many mainstream Protestant denominations observe Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she will bring the Living God into the world. And, for reasons I trust will become clearer as we go, that sets my mind spinning.

So, as I said, I have no idea where this is headed, how long it will go, and what will surface along the way. For all of these reasons, it feels best to ditch the usual format and proceed in free form. I beg your indulgence for what may turn out to be stream-of-consciousness ramblings that may, but just as well may not, hang together as all of a piece.

*****

Opening observation: the Feast’s date on the liturgical calendar slights the Annunciation’s magnitude. For obvious reasons, it’s set nine months to the day ahead of Christmas. This year we mark it on March 26, as the 25^th fell on a Sunday, which puts it at cross-purposes with Lent’s progress to Calvary and the empty tomb. And that’s my point. At this stage in our Lenten pilgrimage, our heads are so tightly wrapped around Jesus’s last days on earth that it jars us to reflect on the mystery surrounding His entrance into our story. Just when we’re primed for next Sunday’s palms, and Holy Week’s dirges, and Easter’s anthems, the calendar grabs us by the collar and says, “Look!” We’re bolted out of Jerusalem’s aborning madness to land in Nazareth’s uneventful calm—which is about to be shattered in the wee hours of a non-descript morning, when an angel will surprise a teenaged maiden with the best news ever to fall on human ears.

And yet… Yes, the Annunciation’s intrusion on Lent’s sacrificial season—its dogged determination to dig hope out of the desert’s fallow ground—seems ineffably right. It rounds out the circle of God’s redemptive narrative: life-death-life; faith-despair-faith; miracle-mourning-miracle. With the Annunciation, the whole story falls into place. God’s promise of a Savior comes to fruition and Christ’s promise of resurrection meld into one sweeping movement of divine grace that changes the course of history and opens the door for every human to access the transformative power of true life. And whom does God choose to usher in both of these staggering realizations? God uses women.

*****

God uses women. All of these centuries later, despite the progress we’ve made to rectify gender inequality, many of us are still taken aback that God ordains two women—two Marys—one a country girl of no notable means or education, the other a city woman whose battle with unholy spirits brought her to Jesus—to witness the greatest moments in human history. Where are the men—the prophets and priests, politicians and militarists, teachers and historians, power brokers and intellectuals, the fathers and sons, brothers and uncles—at the Annunciation and Resurrection? They’re nowhere to be found. Gabriel visits Mary of Nazareth in her solitude. When Mary Magdalene learns that Jesus is alive, depending on which Gospel we read, she’s either alone or in the company of other women. When we account for the lowly estate of women in first-century Palestine, that God entrusts God’s plan to two women should shake us to the core. It is a revolutionary decision of unparalleled proportions—a revelation we can’t possibly ignore—a proclamation about gender that cannot go unheeded.

*****

There’s no disputing that Mary of Nazareth is Christianity’s first believer. When Gabriel tells her that God has chosen her to bear the Christ Child, she first confesses her doubts: “How can this be?” (Luke 1.34) Once the angel explains God’s plan—a design that contravenes every law of nature—Mary, blessed with childlike faith and humility, believes. “Here am I,” she says, “the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (v38) In that moment, she epitomizes the believer’s experience. First she doubts. Then she believes. And finally, she agrees to fulfill God’s purpose for her life.

There’s no disputing that Mary Magdalene is Christianity’s first messenger. It is she who delivers the promise of the Risen Christ to the disciples. And her experience in many ways replicates Mary of Nazareth’s. She comes to the tomb, discovers Jesus isn’t there, and immediately questions how this can be. “They have taken away my Lord,” she weeps, “and I do not know where they have laid Him.” (John 20.14) Unaware that she’s speaking to Jesus at first, she believes, despite its utter impossibility, when He tells her He’s alive. Then she agrees to do as Jesus asks. She declares His Resurrection to the others.

*****

So we must ask ourselves, what does this mean? Does God’s decision to favor two women with carrying out the most significant events in our faith indicate God prefers women to men? Can it be that God places greater trust in one sex over another? And if this is so, does that get us any closer to eradicating gender inequality and the harms it precipitates? How does reversing the scheme—assigning women the dominant role—change anything?

It doesn’t. But I don’t think God’s decision to use women was ever meant as a statement about the superiority of either gender. Instead, I believe it was the exact opposite. God’s insistence that women undertake key roles in the redemption narrative underscores God’s belief that gender is irrelevant. One’s ability to question, believe in, and agree to honor God’s purpose is the deciding factor. God uses women. God uses men. But the incontrovertible proof that God uses women at the Annunciation and Resurrection opens our understanding that God uses all of us, as God wills, according to our willingness to say yes to God.

*****

And so we ask ourselves again, what does this mean? What does this say to us today?

Of late, I’ve grown increasingly troubled about recent turns our culture has taken regarding women. In the US, political and religious discourse has become perilously misogynistic—and we’ll get to that momentarily. Of equal alarm to me, however, are the not-so-subtle demeaning images and messaging that are starting to resurface in advertising and entertainment. Take a look at these two commercials currently in heavy rotation:

Both show no shame in depicting women as “the other”—in one case, explicitly touting Dr. Pepper Ten as “not for women” and the other confining bikini-clad women to the sidelines, while the “hero” drives the car. The Kia ad positions itself as a “dream”—a coy defense against charges of chauvinism—but both are crafted to feed the fantasy of male superiority. Without turning this into a Master’s thesis on sexism in advertising, I’d encourage us to watch carefully for how many TV commercials give little thought to reassigning women to “little lady” status. With increasing regularity, we see women sitting by while their husbands do all the talking. And when women do speak up, they’re often abrasive and mistrusting—shrews, basically, who belittle their men.

While The Hunger Games recently opened to much praise for “empowering” its teenaged heroine, it isn’t fully absolved of sexist leanings, as Katniss triumphs in a masculine-skewed arena. The whole point is that she’s tougher, and tougher minded, than her male adversaries, as well as her male ally. She doesn’t find a better way that defeats a hateful system; she’s just better at beating the system. Inasmuch as we can find her reflection in Scripture, she’s not modeled on the two Marys; she’s closer to the David who defeats Goliath and the Samson who summons his last ounce of strength to destroy the Philistine temple. Katniss is the exception that proves the rule: men are stronger, more resourceful, and entitled to dominate. The sad truth beneath her story is she’s a fluke—a mystical figure on par with Joan of Arc, a young woman inexplicably endowed with the courage and ingenuity to beat men at their own game.

And not for a minute do I believe that that’s God’s intention in using Mary of Nazareth or Mary Magdalene. The point in casting them in lead roles isn’t to prove they’re better than men. It’s to teach us God sees them no differently than men. They’re availability to God is what vaults them to—for lack of a better word—stardom. They rise to prominence on the same faith that raises their male counterparts in Scripture.

*****

In this, the two Marys are not alone. The Bible places them in a long line of women whom God uses to stunning effect. And in every case, the woman is empowered to act through her own agency. The “Marion model” applies across the board: she questions, believes, and agrees to be used by God. Sarah laughs, trusts, and honors God’s plan to birth a people through her. Moses’s mother fears, releases her anxieties, and humbles herself to serve as her son’s nursemaid. Hannah does something very similar with Samuel. Rahab, Naomi, Ruth, Esther, Deborah, Elizabeth—the pantheon of great women who overcome profound questions, believe in God’s purpose for them, and act in agreement to God’s plan is a testament to the courage of their faith in a God Who uses all of us as God wills. They don’t view themselves as second best—as Plan B’s that God resorts to when suitable men can’t be found. They trust God’s judgment in choosing them and, in turn, choose to do what God asks of them. Only inasmuch as human nature and society place them in “female” roles do they fulfill God’s will as mothers and queens, wives and lovers. Their calling itself isn’t gender specific.

*****

This truth—that God uses women to demonstrate inclusion, not distinction—causes much grief when we hear and see politicians and prelates abuse the Christian faith as a means of oppressing women. To deny women equal rights in society and the Church is nothing short of blatantly defying God’s expressed will for humanity. When we hear Rick Santorum denigrate birth control (and, with it, the health benefits it offers) as a license to engage in a sexual lifestyle that is not “how things are supposed to be,” we hear a man stripping women of their God-given agency. Mary of Nazareth’s role in bearing the Christ Child is sealed by her agreement. “Let it be,” she says. What if fear or pragmatism, both of which she had good reason to exhibit, had resulted in her demurral? What if she’d told the angel, “Find someone else”? Would God have forced her to conceive and give birth to Jesus? One shudders to consider that possibility. Yet today, many Christians and denominations crush a woman’s right to say “yes” to God’s will by denying her right to say “no.” And they do this in the most nefarious way imaginable. They demonize anyone who supports a woman’s right to choose as sexually irresponsible—defying “how things are supposed to be”—never once considering that the mother of God, the first person to believe in Jesus and hence of the mother of all believers, answered God’s calling by choice.

Then there's the brazen contradiction that the issue prompting Mr. Santorum’s comment—borne on the uproar of conservative Christians opposed to women’s agency in childbearing—came after years of ignoring how the provision of health coverage for men provided them free access to sexual enhancement products. To put it bluntly, enabling male sexual performance past its prime appears to pose no threat to “how things are supposed to be,” even though many partners to men who take sexual enhancements would furiously argue otherwise.

In the gay community alone, studies and anecdotal evidence demonstrate that ready access to male sex hormones and erectile dysfunction treatments has taken its toll in heightened spread of STD’s, infidelity, and no end of secondary harms. So, on one hand, one supposes this validates religious concerns about access to sex-related medication and treatments. But it also proves the misogyny seething beneath conservative Christianity’s surface, in that it would connect inappropriate sexual behavior to women’s access to birth control, while ignoring the male side of the equation. Furthermore, this gives slip to the lie that bypassing religious organizations’ obligation to provide free birth control to women by making it a matter of choice settled with insurers is a violation of religious freedom. Based solely on the Annunciation’s example, denying women the agency of choice constitutes religious bondage.

*****

So we must ask again, what does this mean? What do we see at the Annunciation and empty tomb—and how should what we see in them open our eyes to see the world as God would have us see it?

God uses women. God chooses women. God uses men. God chooses men. But there’s a second part to the story that can’t go unnoticed. In return, women choose to be used by God. Men choose to be used by God. And therein lies the beauty of God’s will, as well as the miracles that God begets in us when we agree to participate in God’s plan. We confront our doubts and choose to believe. We believe and choose to act. And everything comes full circle: life-death-life; faith-despair-faith; miracle-mourning-miracle.

I so love that Gabriel greets Mary by saying, “You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.” (Luke 1.28; The Message) With that, the angel confirms that we all are blessed with God’s beauty—that God’s beauty can be found in each of us, inside and out! Though we may doubt it, we must believe it. And with our belief, we must be willing to act upon our faith, to enwomb the Christ Child like Mary of Nazareth and to declare the power of the Risen Christ like Mary Magdalene.

Choose to be used.

The Annunciation, as well as the empty tomb, is where God demonstrates gender is irrelevant.

Let's Go Up

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD!” (Psalm 122.1)

Till Every Exile Comes Home

What gracious Facebook friends I have! Besides linking posts on Straight-Friendly’s group page, I also put them on my personal page, dropping them on family and friends. Every time I post a link, I hear a lot of them groan, “Here he goes with that stuff!” Yet, other than a couple tightly wound Christians, not one has charged me with overstepping. In fact, I’m often surprised and moved by positive responses from people I considered unlikely to show any support. Ever the optimist, I imagine those who’ve not said anything pro or con view the links favorably. Meanwhile, the realist in me argues that many dislike what I do and are too polite to complain. The truth, I guess, lay in the middle. Most probably breeze by my stuff as I do much of theirs, because Facebook is the Land of the Unhidden Agenda, where any and everyone can say what’s on their minds and keep saying it until they’re tired of saying it—usually long after people tire of hearing it. Whether or not my FB friends look kindly on what I say and do there, it’s a smart bet they’re over it by now, many of them wishing I’d give it up and move on. Sometimes I wish I would, too. But I can’t.

When God’s Spirit and Word spoke healing to my heart, it broke anew for multitudes of LGBT and straight believers unjustly ostracized by foul doctrines of fear, shame, and rejection. Assurance that nothing can separate us from God’s love won’t let me quit saying so till every exile comes home. Compared to the task facing those of us who hear the Spirit call the Church to renew its first love—the Gospel of grace, equality, and inclusion—I know my efforts don’t carry a flea’s weight. Yet having so little to offer compels me to do all I can in the biggest way. With regrets to those who are weary with me, I suspect this obsession is with me for life, gaining insistence the closer we get to a day when Christians of every gender, ethnicity, orientation, class, and persuasion are joyfully, freely welcomed by all members of Christ’s Body.

Can—will—that day arrive? Along with believing there’s no good reason why it can’t, I find no use in excuses for why it won’t. Or so says my optimist. It never saw a mountain it couldn’t scale once faith in God’s power and trust in God’s purpose entered the picture. Oddly enough, my realist, who generally sides with logic and skepticism, doesn’t disagree. It does, however, stop short of buying the dream without caveats. Reviving the Apostles’ doctrine of Christ’s acceptance relies on us forsaking prejudices and myths that wormed their way into our traditions, fractured our unity, and corroded our witness. That’s a tall order.

Belittling a Few to Mass-Market Belonging

Since many who govern Christian lives obtained and hold power by preaching fear of rejection, we can’t imagine they’ll champion equality and inclusion. Early in the Christian movement, it became clear the leader with the biggest draw held the most clout. Not a few figured out that barring select groups was the quickest, surest way to pack the house with would-be insiders. For centuries, those charged with advancing the Gospel have built huge, slavishly devoted followings by fueling an intrinsically covetous desire to have what others can’t get. Twisting Scripture every which way—or, if that failed, inventing exclusionary “theologies” from whole cloth—they present the Church as a members-only organization, not the let-everyone-come organism Jesus brought to life with His blood. As a consumer strategy, belittling a few to mass-market belonging couldn’t be more effective; its replication in every ad touting status or getting ahead verifies that. One thing’s certain: it inflates many prelates and pastors’ self-importance and makes a lot of them very rich—every one of them fully aware that hawking the Gospel to endorse exclusion negates Its truth and cheapens the price Christ paid to substantiate It. Exclusion is the most subversive, dangerous doctrine ever visited upon Christ's Church.

You’d expect the shameful history of religious wars, public strife, and private torment brought on by Christian exclusion would cause every leader in every faith community to demand it cease, regardless if they care or even understand that true discipleship is defined and measured by Christ’s command to love God and others without restraint. But here’s the rub. Nullifying doctrines of inequality and exclusion cancels all power to leverage fear of rejection as a control mechanism and campaign tactic, which many in authority can’t afford to do.

Humanly Impossible

Suppose churches literally became what Jesus indicates they should be: safe harbors where none is rejected and all are equally entitled to God’s grace. How would that work? It’s humanly impossible. Despite the New Testament’s outlay of church governance, only a lunatic would try to hold such an unmanageably diverse and needy crowd together. With nothing to fear, what’s not to lose? Without sinners to keep out, there’s nothing to keep saints in. If Jesus means what He says in John 6.37 (“Whoever comes to Me I will never drive away”), and if the Spirit and the Church actually say what Revelation 22.17 says (“Let everyone who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.”), we’re looking at a managerial nightmare. Not that there will be much to manage. Nobody joins a club that lets anybody in.

My realist urges me not to lose sight of the scarred history, ingrained traditions, and nagging insecurities that plague the priestly caste at the summit of the mountain that my optimist hopes to conquer. Waiting for an invite like the one in Revelation wastes precious time. That offer has stood since Christ stepped out of the tomb. It will forever stand. There’s no excuse for stalling in the valley, starving for community and nurture until those at the top send invitations barreling down the hill. If that’s what it takes to press our way toward inclusion, we ain’t going anywhere for a while, because what we’re waiting on ain’t coming any time soon.

Those occupying the mountain may rule it to their liking. But they don’t own it and can’t stop us from climbing it. So why keep murmuring about high officials and lofty communities too terrified of falling to budge? They don’t have to come to us—and we need to stop wishing they would. What they do or don’t do to end the Church’s long night of exclusion has no impact on us. God gives all exiled believers a fear-free, outrageously joyful answer to their dilemma. It’s not a demand or denial. It’s a decision, delivered on wings of a song that says, “Let’s go up.”

Going to Meet God

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD.”

Most of us raised in church grew up singing one or another version of Psalm 122.1. Composers have set its lyric in every style and genre—from toe-tapping, let’s-get-our-praise-on versions that emphasize the “glad” end of the sentence to richly sacred hymns that evoke the privilege of entering God’s house. Psalm 122 is the third in a 15-song suite (120-134) known as “The Songs of Ascent,” sung by ancient Jews while climbing Jerusalem’s Temple Mount (a.k.a. “Mt. Zion”) for festival services. These songs surpass others that extol Temple worship. They’re informed with a sense of community and stubborn hope. They span an enormous range of emotions, referring to the best and worst of Israel’s experience. As worshipers look up to the Temple, they repeatedly describe a God Who watches over them. Their joy mounts as they sing; reciting how far they’ve come makes vivid where they’re going. It’s bigger than going to church out of obligation (like many part-time Christians do at Christmas and Easter). They’re going to meet God, every song drawing nearer to God’s dwelling.

A fascinating aspect of The Songs of Ascents surfaces with four (122, 124, 131, and 133) composed by the Temple’s visionary, David, and a fifth (127) by its builder, Solomon. Yet these songs are written like the rest: in the voice of a commoner marveling at God’s goodness and power. Israel’s two greatest kings join the procession—not out of noblesse oblige or politically savvy solidarity. Implicit in their point of view one finds an electrifying confession of faith. This is God’s mountain, God’s house, and they, along with every pilgrim, are God’s people. They own these truths without presumption of owning what belongs to God. Canny recognition of what’s theirs and what’s God’s frees them from inequities and fears that shatter community and sanction prejudice.

David and Solomon leave their palatial heights to ascend Mt. Zion with their people. They surrender authority as Israel’s anointed leaders to honor Who’s really in charge. And while Israel habitually backslides into exclusionary policies, both kings consistently take a hands-off approach regarding elitism. God’s awesome reality in their own lives—made real by keen awareness they’re undeserving of divine favor—stays before them. In Psalm 131.1-2, David writes, “O LORD, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and marvelous for me.”

The Spirit of Ascent

This is the spirit of ascent: the mightiest man in Israel admitting he’s not big enough to take the reins from God. Weighty matters exceed his knowledge and authority. Much of what happens around him is unmanageable. What God demands is humanly impossible. Yet David doesn’t grab for control to retain to power and position. He’s so smart about where his authority ends and God’s begins that he celebrates his limits. And when the call goes out—“Let’s go up to God’s house”—he’s thrilled. It’s a little thing. But he does it in a big way.

When we answer the call to go up, we bear in mind our ascent is about meeting God where God dwells. We concede our limitations while doing what we little can in a big way. With that comes a lamentable concession that not every church is a house of God. Many don’t nurture organisms where faith thrives and all are invited to take the living water as a gift. They’re merely clubhouses—organizations whose members define themselves by what they’re not instead of Whose they are. They’re founded on covetous desire to have what those who don’t fit the accepted profile can’t. They preach and practice belittlement to conjure a false sense of belonging, status, and getting ahead. Thus, we have to free ourselves of the idea that boycotting worship because expertly marketed clubs won’t admit us proves anything. Our ascent bypasses such places without a glance. They’re not where we want to be, nor should be. Not being welcome is our first indication they can’t provide what we need. We’re climbing God’s mountain to meet God. Jesus promises never to drive us away. The Spirit and the true Body of Christ says, “Come.” We must own these truths.

A New Normal

In every Christian exile there’s a profound longing for a safe home where none is belittled and all belong. Those we find will, in many cases, be nothing like those we left. Our trek isn’t intended to return us to clubhouses that mock God’s sovereignty and our making. Our ascent leads to homes that defy the norm in obedience to a new normal. Once we start filling up authentic houses of God, members-only mentality will self-destruct. Fear of rejection will lose its luster, and physical, emotional, and spiritual violence born of exclusion will cease. For that to go, however, we must let go fantasies that homes where we’re not wanted or appreciated will suddenly change their ways. Mistaking magical thinking for faith-bred optimism can be as paralyzing and unproductive as stubborn denial.

Though it seems those occupying the summit hold the power and write the rules, nothing could be further from the truth. The power resides in us. The only rules that merit attention are laid out in God’s Word. They’re not hidden in obscure passages or legalistic fine print, either. They’re writ large in Old Testament commands to welcome the stranger and embodied in Christ’s life and teachings. God’s Spirit beckons us to God’s house. Let’s respond gladly. Let’s go up.

You call us to Your mountain, to meet You in Your house, O God. Forgive our reluctance to climb. Make us glad as we go up and lead us safely home. Amen.

There’s no excuse for stalling in the valley, expecting an invitation to come rolling down from those who occupy the top of the hill. Power to go up and meet God resides in us.

Up-Enders

These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also. (Acts 17.6)

Response to Real Change

“The more things change the more they stay the same,” 19^th-century critic Jean Baptiste Alphonse Karr mused. We take him to mean progress is illusory; though advances look like breakthroughs, they’re no more than fresh approaches to age-old challenges. To be sure, reading the epigram from this angle gives us plenty to mull over, since we live in what’s often described as a rapidly changing world. Communication is a prime example proving we’re awash in fast and furious transition. In roughly 600 years—a finger-snap in the human saga—written text evolved from tedious, time-consuming manual transcription to instant messaging (no less tedious or time-consuming, for different reasons). The methods changed, but the endgame is the same: packaging information to travel across time and space. In this sense, the saying suggests at its best, change is improvement, not innovation, refinement rather than revolution.

If this is what Karr meant, the adage proves his point, as it’s merely a fresh spin on an old idea. Ecclesiastes, a volume of proverbs traditionally attributed to Solomon, says, “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun.” (1.9) But I have a hard time agreeing, simply because what’s old indisputably began as something new. Though perhaps not as frequently as we imagine, revolutionary ideas can and will emerge, changing the world on such a profound level nothing stays the same. And what’s interesting about this is Ecclesiastes and Karr’s observations most assuredly apply to our response to real change. That has always been, and no doubt will always be, exactly what it is in Acts 17.1-15, where Christ’s revolutionary Gospel provokes emphatically opposite reactions from two remarkably different sets of people. It’s the classic faith-meets-fear conflict played to the hilt with everything but pitchforks and torches.

Hot Spot

The drama starts with Paul and Silas arriving in Thessalonica, Greece’s thriving deep-water port on the Aegean coast. Given what happens, the setting couldn’t be more perfect or ironic. Commercial advantages as the hub where West Asian, European, and Middle Eastern trade routes intersect grace it with a sound economy that stabilizes its multicultural population. Yet due to its location it’s equally well known as one of the least stable and sound places to live. The Romans call the region Thermaicus, or “Hot Spot,” alluding to thermal springs surrounding the city. Geologists connect prevalence of naturally hot water with seismic activity, and Thessalonica lives up to expectations. Earthquakes and tremors are common, as are landslides and avalanches in looming mountains that squeeze the city to the coast. So, despite their economic and cultural stability, the restive landscape makes Thessalonians easily excitable and stubbornly rigid. (Living on shaky ground that spews scalding water, staring at mountains that could dissolve into rock piles at any moment, will do that.) Which is why things get real hot real fast when any threat to the status quo comes to Thessalonica. And that’s what Paul and Silas bring to town.

Paul marches into the Thessalonian synagogue and draws its teachers into a heated discussion about Messianic prophecies that Jesus fulfilled by His suffering and resurrection. This goes on for three weeks, creating buzz that attracts bigger crowds at each Sabbath’s performance. Thessalonian Jews pack the front of the house, while Greeks who observe Jewish traditions fill the Gentile gallery and many of the city’s prominent women look on. Paul’s eloquent mastery of Scripture persuades many to embrace Christianity. Envious of his success and enraged that he preaches a faith that includes all ethnicities and genders, traditionalist Jews team up with local thugs and wreak chaos. They tear through the town looking for Paul and Silas. When they can’t find them, they attack Paul’s host, Jason, dragging him and other believers before the city authorities. “These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also,” they complain. (Acts 17.6) Framing their indictment as a global shift is a cunning ploy; the slightest mention of terrestrial upheaval puts any Thessalonian on edge. Then they come in for the kill, misrepresenting the Gospel as a subversive plot. “They are all acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor, saying that there is another king named Jesus.” (v7) The city finds this disturbing. Becoming a reputed haven for up-enders puts its socioeconomic stability at risk.

Wisely, the city leaders release Jason and the others. While this is going on, Paul and Silas head south, to Berea. Although the city is also situated on rocky terrain, its ground is surer than Thessalonica’s and its people more reasonable. Paul does the very same thing he did in Thessalonica: without hesitation, he goes to the local synagogue. (Will he never learn?) The Bereans aren’t threatened by his message. “Many of them therefore believed, including not a few Greek women and men of high standing,” verse 12 reports. Similar changes to those that occurred in Thessalonica take place. But they’re welcomed. And they’re big news. Word of them reaches the disgruntled Thessalonians, and what do they do? They hurry down to Berea “to stir up and incite the crowds.” (v13) This time, their ploys don’t work. Paul leaves Silas and Timothy behind to establish the Berean church and travels on to Athens. That’s what up-enders do: they boldly declare their revolutionary message everywhere they go, turning the world upside down one step at a time. Someone recently framed this strategy as “Think globally, act locally.”

The Same New Ending

Christian theologians and historians cite Paul’s Thessalonian and Berean adventures as the moment the Church comes into its own. Prior to this, the doctrine of inclusion is realized on a case-by-case basis. The influx of Gentiles and other unorthodox believers has raised many concerns among Early Church leaders, which they resolve at the Jerusalem Council (Acts 15). And now we discover what real change looks like, as everyone—Jews and Greeks, men and women, the lowly and the prominent, poor and rich, ignored and respected—come together under Christ’s banner of love. There is no status in the Early Church—no barriers preventing total acceptance. Everyone plays a role; everyone is equally valued as an essential member of Christ’s Body. This is revolutionary—completely new and unheard of, not only in Judaism, but also in pagan religions and ancient society at large. While many welcome this change with enthusiasm, just as many find it so fearful they rally to prevent it from taking hold.

As seen in Paul's era and our own, when the Spirit calls the Church back to Its original doctrine of full inclusion, response to real change is always the same. Those resisting it will resort to every available tactic to see it’s defeated. They’ve heard about up-enders like us, who’ve courageously taken Christ’s revolutionary Gospel to heart. When real change reaches their shores, they’re alarmed, primarily because they live where stability and soundness aren’t guaranteed. These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also! Figuratively and literally, they take to the streets, starting trouble and vilifying those who don’t agree with them. They attack inclusion’s allies and prevail on leaders to do something. They travel wherever inclusion is welcomed and make ruckuses there, too. That will not change. Neither will the final outcome, because real change cannot be thwarted.

John’s Gospel sums up real change’s invincibility beautifully: “What has come into being in Him [Christ] was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1.3-5) Yes, it’s the same old story. But with it comes the same new ending. We who are convinced Christ’s Gospel insists on total inclusion are up-enders. We’re turning the world upside down with the message we’ve been given. Adversarial responses are predictable to a fault. They’re nothing new and therefore nothing to worry about. We don’t stop because backward-thinking people disapprove. We don’t hang around to hear their allegations. We move ahead, turning the world upside down one step at a time. The more things change the more they stay the same: light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.

God of endless change and perpetual motion, set our compasses to Your Spirit. Endow us with boldness to speak Your Word to fearful ears in unstable places. Open our eyes to the futility of those who oppose real change. And fire our passion to turn the world upside down one step at a time. Amen.

It’s the same old story: real change the Spirit calls us to lead frightens and angers many. But the same old story always comes with the same new ending.