Twister

We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming. But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into Him Who is the Head, into Christ. (Ephesians 4.14-15)

A Winning Proposition

Remember Twister? It’s the deceptively simple children’s game that forces players into increasingly difficult contortions to see which of them can stick to their positions without collapsing. If it were played individually, the player with the most stamina and flexibility would win. What makes Twister hard is that you’re asked to work around other players to find your spot on the mat. Consequently, you’re required to twist yourself into crazy positions just to stay in the game—which sounds like fun, but ultimately proves futile. Twister is one of those perverse kiddie games that have no winner. When the clumsiest, weakest player goes down, everyone falls. Of course, kids will play again and again for the fun of it. But the game loses its appeal over time. As kids mature, they see it for what it is: a ridiculous exercise that leads to embarrassment more often than pride.

Invite a group of teenagers to play Twister and they’ll smirk. It’s a silly game unworthy of their time. They’d rather hang out and talk to one another and listen to music or watch TV or try their hands at more challenging games—all of which appears less engaging than Twister’s contrived gymnastics. Yet teens get it. Things they love to do intuitively hone their understanding of the world, each other, and themselves. Hanging together is how they learn to live together in community, and the surest way to land on the outs is by forcing others into uncomfortable positions and demanding they stick to them. Teen life is defiantly agile and fluid and unsettled. That’s why it’s the scariest passage in life. It raises more questions than it answers, more than a community can handle, more than anyone can process. That’s also why most of us mature into adults who abandon the quest for community and revert to Twister-like games we’ll never win.

Of late, we’ve seen a whole lot of Twisting going on. Political posturing in the UN, Europe, and the States has forced otherwise nimble people into rigid positions that endanger global stability. The bigoted comments of a fast-food CEO have contorted buying lunch into a moral dilemma. At the Olympics, eight badminton players were ejected from the Games after bending over backwards to increase their odds of winning medals by intentionally losing preliminary matches. A Mississippi congregation bowed to pressure from a handful of hypocrites and closed its doors to an African-American couple asking to be wed in their sanctuary. Our contempt for these and similar shenanigans can only go so far before it boomerangs, because we all—in some way, shape, or form—play Twister. Indeed, many of us have got so good at it we play multiple rounds at once. We strike a position here, another there, and yet another over there. And we’d rather get buried beneath the weight of our contortions than confess that it’s a loser’s game. In Sunday’s readings, Paul urges us to grow up and pursue lives of faithfulness that strengthen community. He gives us a winning proposition.

A Perfect Seven

If we listen attentively to the text (Ephesians 4.1-16), we’re immediately startled in that it offers us a choice in how to live, while explicitly telling us we have no choice. Paul writes,  “I beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (v1-3) We are called into community and told how to create and sustain it—humbly, patiently, lovingly, and peacefully. Either we heed our calling or we don’t. Our attitudes and behaviors either foster unity or they defeat it. We’re free to get twisted up in positions and poses. But if we decide to do so, we disqualify ourselves from any hope of togetherness. “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, Who is above all and through all and in all,” Paul tells us in verses 4-6. Reread that and count the ones: a perfect seven. Our unity—our commitment to community at the expense of personal persuasions and preferences—makes that possible.

Before we break out the rainbows and lollipops, we should note the community Paul describes is remarkably diverse and multifaceted. He defines it not by the compatible personalities or common interests of its members, but by the vast array of gifts Christ has given to them. There are specific callings within the greater calling, Paul says, all of them designed “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for the building up of the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.” (v12-14) In other words, your talents, my talents, and those of every other believer are given for one purpose: growing together in the community we call “Christ.” And if we follow Paul’s metaphor to its obvious outcome, we admit we have no means of predicting what the fully matured Body of Christ looks like, how it behaves or thinks. Jesus and the Apostles tell us what it should look like, how it should behave and think, but how that happens remains a mystery. Thus, we are not called to shape the Body—presuming to dictate the nature of its growth by contorting ourselves into ridiculous, self-serving positions. We are summoned to contribute all of our gifts to community making, to invest our whole selves for the sake of a greater whole. This is a grown-up’s intentional endeavor to build unity, not a childish game that collapses in loss.

The Community Challenge

“We must no longer be children,” Paul writes, invoking images of a different sort of twister: “tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming.” In our determination to twist faith into certainty, we invite division, decay, and instability. Our vain contortions guarantee collapse. Paul’s letter comes to us in a timely fashion, when we need to be reminded Twister is a silly, pointless game beneath our calling. Instead, we should undertake the community challenge Paul issues at the end of Sunday’s passage: “But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into Him Who is the Head, into Christ, from Whom the whole body, joined and knitted together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.” Then, and only then, will we achieve the perfect seven, united in one body, one Spirit, one hope, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God.

We’re called to make community not take positions.

Awestruck

I am fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139.14)

The psalmist ponders the care and thought God invested in creating him and he’s awestruck. “I am fearfully made!” he sings. The utter genius of his physiology and all of its functions flabbergast him. But it’s more than that. It’s how his body has been shaped to house the mind and spirit God placed in him. We are God’s finest creation—God’s ultimate masterpiece. And each of us is all of a piece. “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God, and that you are not your own?” Paul asks in 1 Corinthians 6.19. We must know that. And we must respect the truth of our making, accepting who we are and what we’ve been given. We are fearfully—perfectly—made so that we can witness our awesome God’s perfection in the world. We are made to love, to bless, to honor, to serve God and our neighbors. We are not broken, incomplete, or misshapen in any way. We are mirrors of our Maker: awesome, perfect, miraculous, and complete. Everything about us is fearfully made.

Friends and Family

If you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5.46-48)

In Love with Law; At Odds with Purpose

Today’s Gospel picks up where last Sunday’s left off—midway through the Sermon on the Mount’s most daunting segment. Although it’s less likely Jesus delivered the text in one setting, and more probable Matthew spliced numerous lessons together to solidify a platform for all that follows in his Gospel, the sermon’s organization is a feat of oratorical genius. Jesus begins with The Beatitudes, a high-level incentive plan that defines His core message and targets downtrodden and marginalized people who will constitute the backbone of His movement. He makes no promises about improving their situations. To the contrary, He says following Him will compound their troubles. Yet, from the start, He turns human logic on its head by promising their struggles won’t go unnoticed or unrewarded. What life takes will be returned: impoverished spirits will inherit spiritual wealth, bereft souls will find comfort, the lowly will be lifted, and so on. Then He confirms their invaluable worth by portraying them as salt that preserves the Earth and light that brings safety to the world. Once He seals His bond with His audience, Jesus turns to the Law that overwhelms them—directly, by disenfranchising them, and indirectly, by legitimizing sources of their distress.

Since He’s about to rattle some really big cages, Jesus prefaces His comments by insisting, “I’ve not come to destroy the Law, but to fulfill it.” (Matthew 5.17) It’s hard to imagine His listeners understand what that means, as many of us, though aided by hindsight and the Epistles’ in-depth analysis, are no less challenged to figure it out. As Jesus steps through the Law, He intentionally focuses on extreme behaviors like murder, adultery, divorce, and pompous oaths—i.e., infractions beyond the pale of ordinary, Law-abiding people. What throws them, however, is His dissection of attitudes and presumptions that pave the way to unthinkable crimes: aggression and deceit that end in senseless death; lust that fuels infidelity; indifference that erodes unions; hubris that enables insincerity. Had Jesus merely recited laws, His followers could have checked them off without thought or reservation: I’m not a killer; I don’t sleep around; I’m wed for life; I honor my vows. As the list went on, their hearts would swell with greater pride and affection for the Law, because It verified how righteous and obedient they were. That’s precisely what Jesus opposes by stressing how easily we can be in love with the Law while still at odds with its purpose. “’Do not kill’ is meant to accomplish more than deter murder,” He says. “Its primary purpose is to thwart lesser evils that lead to murder. Failure to acknowledge and abide by the Law’s intentions is tantamount to breaking the Law.”

Much Closer to Home

Jesus uses the “big sins” to lay the groundwork for what comes next, because what comes next drives much closer to home. It’s here, in verses 38-48, that He proclaims four pillars of His gospel: tolerance, selflessness, equality, and unconditional love. He’s still discussing the Law, mind you, but He’s left the no-brainers to dig down into the hard stuff—edicts intended to shape our responses in virtually every situation we encounter. First, He breaks down “eye for eye, and tooth for tooth”—a three-time favorite from Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy. Jesus explains the point behind the measure’s severity centers on defusing conflicts before resorting to useless extremes. The law’s apparent equity is transparently inequitable. Taking your eye after you’ve taken mine won’t restore my vision. Extracting your tooth after you yanked out mine won’t ease my pain. By intention, the rule is designed to show it’s fallacious to equate retribution with justice. By intention, it expects us to find a better alternative before retribution becomes a last resort. The answer, Jesus teaches, is tolerating adversaries by negating their abuse. “Don’t resist an evil person,” verse 39 says. “If anyone slaps your right cheek, turn the other one also.” He segues from tolerance to selflessness, instructing us to exceed undue demands. “If someone wants your shirt, give up your coat, too,” He says. “If you’re asked to walk a mile, go two. Give when asked, and don’t refuse any loan requests.” (v40-42) How does this satisfactorily resolve conflicts? It doesn’t. It preempts them.

Wow. If it feels like Jesus’s strategy for conflict resolution is over-the-top, what’s next boggles the mind. He cites a law found in Leviticus 19.18—“Love your neighbor”—that is widely misinterpreted to imply “hate your enemy.” He debunks this error by insisting distinctions between friends and enemies are non-existent. If we’re truly God’s children, He explains, then our attitudes must align with God’s, and God treats no one preferentially. He reminds us, “God’s sun rises on the evil and the good. God’s rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous.” Everyone is equal. Thus, in God’s eyes, loving friends is loving enemies; loving enemies is loving friends. Establishing equality is this law’s purpose, Jesus explains, before expanding its implications by asking, “If loving people we already love is all we derive from it, what do we gain? Even tax collectors”—reviled as traitors and crooks—“do that. If we limit our compassion to like-minded family members, where’s the benefit? Even non-believers do that.” (v46-47) So what if we boast day and night about how godly we are? We’re in the same rut as the rest of the world. In other words, without unconditional love, nothing changes.

The Ultimate Statement

Jesus concludes His discussion about fulfilling the Law’s intentions by saying, “Be perfect, therefore, as God is perfect.” (v48) It’s the ultimate statement, one that we should hear clearly and carefully. Otherwise, we’ll dismiss what He asks of us as ludicrously unachievable. It teeters on the ambiguity of its seemingly least important word—as. While striving for perfection is a mainstay of our Christian walk, it’s essential for us realize why we’re told to embrace so lofty an aspiration. “Be perfect like God is perfect” sets the standard. The thoughts and behaviors we find in God are the thoughts and behaviors we should emulate. God tolerates our insolence and abuse. We should do the same with others. God answers our undue demands by exceeding our expectations. So should we when asked. God’s mercy preempts conflicts to avoid unjust retribution. We extend mercy to achieve justice as well. God shows no preference among people. Nor should we. God loves without condition and expects no less from us. We’ll find perfection we seek in the Law—not by loving It, levying It, observing It, or obeying It, but by fulfilling Its purpose.

But there’s a second layer to “Be perfect” that replaces “like God is perfect” with “since—or because—God is perfect.” We are God’s reflection on Earth, the living, breathing embodiment of God’s presence. Perfection transcends aspiration to become spiritual responsibility. Resolving conflicts equitably isn’t enough. Gravitating toward friends and family who look like us, think like us, and behave like us falls short. Holding our ground, taking positions, building fences, and dismissing anyone who differs from us makes us no different than anyone else. Nothing changes. We weren’t created to look, think, and act like one another. We were made to look, think, and act like our Maker. When we learn loving the Law is futile if we’re at odds with Its purpose, we’ll fulfill the Law. Once we realize our differences are illusory, we’ll stop worrying about how things look and start seeing what God sees. That changes everything.

We fulfill the Law when we start seeing everyone is the same as us, and stop expecting them to look, think, and act the same us.

What's in a Name?

If you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed, but praise God that you bear that name. For it is time for judgment to begin with the family of God. (1 Peter 4.16-17)

Netherworld

I’ve not taken time to think much or write about Anne Rice’s disavowal of Christianity because I’m not a fan of her novels. I am, however, an admirer of her individualism. She is one intrepid lady. She merits respect for risking popularity to challenge readers to reconsider their views on timely and controversial topics—even though her eccentric persona often seems as calculated and pretentious as her prose. Rice’s knack for shock appeal ranks her with Madonna, Prince, and Lady Gaga. (She’s a rock star trapped in a writer’s body.) Yet despite her mannerisms and methods, I usually trust her motives are sincere. This most recent tempest gives me pause, though. Whatever her intentions are, she’s in over her head with this one.

Rice’s decision to no longer identify as a Christian while continuing to abide by Christ’s teaching traps her in a netherworld not unlike that of her most famous vampire, Lestat. He’s not dead, but he’s not alive. Rice’s situation is no less bizarre. She’s abandoning the Body of Christ while hanging on to Its Head. It’s a double severance—her from It, It from Him. This may be a marketable premise for a novel, where paranormal constructs build suspense. In terms of faith, it’s a perilous position. It accedes powerlessness (or unwillingness) to forgive, a thing so alien to Christ one can’t conceive how Rice’s proposition possibly works.

Suffering and Shame

In the rush of comments, many gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Well, she’s leaving the Church, not the faith” they said. That sounds reasonable, since Rice castigated her chosen denomination as “anti-gay,” “anti-feminist,” and “anti-birth control.” But, by her confession, she didn’t quit the Church or her church. She quit being a Christian. That’s profoundly different, as she should know from a decade of writing extensively about her faith and early Christianity. It’s also too glaring a blunder for someone who earns a fortune with words. If she didn’t mean it, why did she type it? First Peter 4.16-17 solves the mystery better than anything I’ve come across. “If you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed,” it says, “but praise God that you bear that name. For it is time for judgment to begin with the family of God.” It’s not the Church, her church, Christianity, or Christ that Anne Rice wants to escape. It’s being called “a Christian.” She’s trying to elude the suffering and shame that comes from being numbered with a people that dishonors itself by its disobedience to Christ, disregard for others, and disrespect for God’s creation. We can empathize with her feelings. But is her move sensible and scripturally sound?

Rice has done exactly what Peter teaches not to do. The rashness of her action reinforces the attitudes of millions who cite the Body of Christ’s iniquity as justification for staying away. But isn’t naïve to believe Christianity and the Church would be ideal were it not for the heretics, hypocrites, and demagogues? Christ and His teachings are perfect because they’re divine. The religion and institution built on them are manmade and therefore never were nor ever will be perfect. When the Apostles recognized this, they fervently urged us to strive for perfection. Perfect Christianity and a perfect Church imply full knowledge and understanding, which obviates their purpose—i.e., increasing our knowledge and understanding. In 1 Corinthians 13.9-10, Paul says, “For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.” The perfection we long for will come, and learning to forgive and tolerate one another's imperfections is what leads us to it. In light of this, Rice's defection seems either premature or immature, or possibly both.

Peter instructs us to praise God for suffering and shame that comes “when you bear that name.” Saying “I’m a Christian” confesses weakness and imperfection. It embraces every believer’s imperfections—even the failures and enthusiasms that contradict what we believe Jesus taught and exemplified. “I’m a Christian” tells everyone, “Yes, I belong to that unruly, conflicted family that constantly embarrasses itself and the Savior it follows.” We can’t admit this without suffering and shame. But we praise God for the grace to do it, because acknowledging our brothers and sisters’ faults as integral to their faith teaches us why our faults and failures are so integral to our beliefs. It’s why condemnation and ambivalence have no place in Christianity or the Church.

The Forgiveness Quotient

Could it be Christians who inflict suffering and shame are given to us so we can learn to love, forgive, and accept them before attempting to do so for non-Christians? In Matthew 18, Peter asks how often must he forgive his brother, suggesting seven as a reasonable quota. Jesus takes Peter’s figure, squares it, and multiplies it by 10: “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven.” (v22) Before we conclude our duty to forgive expires with Sin #490, we should note the numbers’ symbolic weight. Seven represents perfection. Seven squared totals absolute perfection—i.e., God’s nature. Ten signifies completeness. The forgiveness quotient is perfection X perfection X completeness. Ergo, there is nothing a Christian can do, say, or suggest that we mustn’t forgive. Rice’s reasoning is flawed because it concedes we haven’t power to forgive and tolerate imperfections found in the Body of Christ.

What would Peter’s comment be if he caught Rice’s announcement about rejecting the Christian name. He might ask: Whom does this benefit? Does severing your family ties help them? Can you influence their thinking and behavior in absentia? How can you convey God’s love and acceptance to the world if you can’t tolerate us? “For it is time for judgment to begin with the family of God,” Peter tells us. Everywhere in God’s household, we find imperfections—in us, others, our leaders, our dogma—everywhere. If we’re not present, doing our family duty by wrestling with our failures forgiving one another, as living proof of God’s grace and mercy, nothing will change. Christianity has no interest in what others do against us. It's only focus is what we do for them. We’re Christians. We make change happen. What’s in a name? If it’s “Christian,” there’s love, forgiveness, acceptance, integrity, humility, and power. For all the suffering and shame that comes with it, it’s an honor both to be a Christian and called one. We pray Anne Rice and anyone else deceived to think otherwise will grow to understand this.

Peter tells us to praise God for the privilege of being called “Christian”—despite the suffering and shame our failures impose on all who bear the name.

Timeless Treasure, Temporal Clay

We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

                        2 Corinthians 4.7

Body Battles

Walt and I live in Boystown, Chicago’s gay enclave. Walking within a mile’s radius of our place takes us past a dozen thriving gyms, many with big windows to ogle sweaty specimens running and climbing on state-of-the-art equipment. I sometimes slow down to observe them. Their bodies don’t intrigue me—they’re basically the same; I find their facial expressions far more interesting. They generally fall into three categories: anxiety, determination, or frustration. Rarely do I see any signs of pleasure or fun. Indeed, many of their grimaces and clenched jaws suggest a resemblance to soldiers under fire. They’re at war with their physiques, fighting onslaughts of time and gravity, beating back a barrage of mortal arrows riddling their frames and psyches.

Body battles are not unique to gay people, of course. One imagines straight gym junkies number considerably more, only because the straight-gay ratio is what it is. And though I confess I could do with a regularly scheduled skirmish myself, I find it disconcerting that so many seem obsessed with physical perfection while so few attend to total perfection. Jesus never told us to work on our bodies. But in Matthew 5.48, He did say, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect.” Paul does allude to physical fitness in 2 Corinthians 7.1, though it’s just half the story: “Let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God.” Physical fitness plus spiritual fitness equals perfection. Zero body fat and six-pack abs don’t always reflect that. In fact, they often indicate inner turmoil, because many of us have been seduced into detesting how we’re made.

Talking Back to God

Keeping our bodies in shape is one thing. Reshaping them is another. Devoting hours to repetitive motion, depriving ourselves of nutrition, and mortgaging our futures for surgical sculpture convey an unhealthy desire to be someone other than who we are. We’ve turned from conforming to our God’s likeness to pursue manmade images. Whom are we trying to please? We say drastically altering our looks will make us happy. But the missing link—the part we won’t admit—is we’re searching for happiness in others’ eyes. We’ve succumbed to post-modern idolatry. Listen to Romans 1.24-25 and test the current craze for artificially enhanced attraction against it: “God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts to sexual impurity for the degrading of their bodies with one another. They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator.” Today, we carve idols from our bodies. And as we see far too often, we’re terrible idolmakers. We can’t stop tampering with our work, and before long, we’ve gone from beautiful to berserk.

Later on, Paul writes: “Who are you, O man, to talk back to God? ‘Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, “Why did you make me like this?”’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?” (Romans 9.20-21) Questioning why God shaped us as He did and allowing objectified ideals to destroy our self-image is tantamount to talking back to God. According to Psalm 139.14, each of us is “fearfully, wonderfully made.” We all fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces into a perfect reflection of God. As Paul explains in 2 Corinthians 12, God imbeds thorns in our flesh to increase our reliance on His grace. “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties,” he says in verse 10. “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Inner Treasure

Since beauty exists in the eye of the beholder, its value fluctuates and its reliability fails. That’s why we call those obsessed with their outer appearance “vain”—it’s a waste of time. Total perfection can only exist within. It surfaces in attitudes and actions, not proportions and features. Its beauty is absolute and immeasurable; it surpasses human perception to portray God’s splendor, magnificence, and power. When we inwardly conform to His image and likeness, His transcendent beauty shines through us. Its value is eternally priceless.

“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us,” Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4.7. We possess a timeless treasure in temporal clay. We can chip away at our clay until we die. But when that day comes, the beauty we’ve worked so insanely to shape dies with it. Our inner treasure lives on. God houses His perfection in our mortal jars to prove what’s in us comes from Him, not us. That defines your beauty. It defines mine. We don’t need to look like anyone. It’s unnecessary to model our appearance on human ideals. We just have to shine.

We’re terrible idolmakers. We can’t stop tampering with ourselves until we’ve gone from beautiful to berserk.

(Tomorrow: Mud in Your Eye)

Following Peace

Let us therefore follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another.

                        Romans 14.19 (KJV)

Stirring the Pot

I’m a marketing creative director and writer by trade, which privileges me to work with tremendously bright, inventive, and passionate people. Friends whose professions are more tightly structured and predictable than mine often comment on how lucky am I by comparison, and I can’t argue with them. Yet they also miss its downside, since creative people can be extremely sensitive and imaginative in their relationships with one another. Personality clashes and shortsighted expectations can lead to silly rifts or hurt feelings. Particularly for those of us in “communications,” the first impulse is to talk about it—though not always with those who frustrate or disappoint us. In fact, some of us avoid that and seek consolation by including people outside “the circle” in our conflicts. Thankfully, in my present situation, this happens so rarely as to be anomalous. But past teams I’ve worked with called this “stirring the pot,” and I’ve witnessed colleagues stir things up so quickly and carelessly that nearly everyone in range wound up scalded in one way or another, none worse than the stirrers themselves.

Following Jesus is an extraordinarily creative venture that requires constant collaboration with our Savior and one another. Passion for our faith and determination to remain true can easily fuel misunderstandings or letdowns that nag at us. Instead of approaching those with whom we differ, asking their forgiveness or seeking clearer understanding, we sometimes widen the circle of conflict in hopes of including others who agree with us. We stir the pot without considering how many more brothers and sisters we place at risk of getting scalded. In Romans 14.19, we’re advised to “follow after the things which make for peace and edify one another.” Thinking we can end confusion by spreading it or believing we can help ourselves by tearing someone else down is silly and delusional. The moment we try to “win” an argument is the moment that ensures everyone—we more than anyone else—loses.

Resembling Our Father

Current culture celebrates pot-stirrers. The media glut constructs platforms for anyone predisposed to cry “Foul!” and we’re so fascinated with disagreements we forget arguing doesn’t fix anything. Why should someone care where you or I or anyone else “stands” on an issue if all we’re doing is standing? As believers, we’re not charged with condemning others or defending us. We’ve been given a much harder, more meaningful task: fostering peace. Our identity depends on this. In Matthew 5.9, Jesus stresses this in black-and-white: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” And even if we tried to breeze by this, virtually every point in its wake confirms He means exactly what He says. “Be happy when people attack you and tell lies about you” (v11); “let others see your goodness and glorify God because of it” (v16); “whoever breaks my commandments and encourages others to do the same is the least in the kingdom of heaven” (v20); “anyone who gets angry with his brother/sister faces judgment similar to a murderer” (v22); “say ‘yes’ when you mean ‘yes,’ ‘no’ when you mean ‘no,’ because hedging and prevaricating comes from the Tempter” (v37); “instead of seeking revenge when you’re slapped around, turn the other cheek; go the extra mile; give more than you’re expected to give” (v39-42). And then He finishes with the topper: “Love your enemies. What’s the point of loving only those who love and agree with you? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (v44-48). He ends where He started. To be known as God’s children, we do our best to reflect His perfection in every facet of our behavior and lives. Resembling our Father isn’t about where we stand or what we say. It’s only obvious by how we’re seen.

A God of Peace

Paul urges us to remember, “God is not a God of disorder but of peace.” Hebrews 12.14 makes the same point, enjoining us to “make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord.” (The King James Version reads, “Follow peace with all men…”) Permitting our passions and rectitude to overwhelm our concern of how well we project a God of peace defeats our cause and displeases Him. He doesn’t need us to defend Him, nor for that matter, should we feel any need to defend ourselves. In Exodus 14.14, we read, “The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” When we engage in defensive arguments and proving our positions, we usurp God’s leadership in our lives. “The battle is the LORD’s,” according to 1 Samuel 17.47. It’s impertinent to assume our strategy and defenses are superior to God’s.

How shrewd of the Hebrews writer to connect living peacefully with being holy. And how silly of us to attempt proving righteousness by stirring pots. Any time we try to validate our holiness—drawing attention to us rather than focusing attention on our perfect Father, the God of peace—we invariably create one big, old, unholy mess. Without holiness, Hebrew reminds us, no one will see the Lord. Following peace leads to holiness. Where holiness reigns peace abides. When passions and frustrations have us grabbing at spoons and firing up cauldrons, it’s wise to step back, lower the heat, and simmer down. Jesus never asked us to prove we’re right. He commanded us to be perfect.

Stirring the pot proves nothing; it only creates confusion, risks scalding us and others, and leaves us to clean up an unholy mess. The results are never as tasty as we hope, either.

(Tomorrow: Active Faith, Full Understanding)

Be Sharp

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.

                        Proverbs 27.17

Something to Consider

The Hebrews letter is written for two main purposes: to instruct Jewish converts how to live by faith instead of conforming to code and inspire them to stay confident in their belief. God’s unmerited favor and the meaning of grace go beyond their religious experience and understanding. They live in a culture governed by Law, making them vulnerable to relapse into what they’ve always known. Because of this, the writer underscores why it’s unwise for any believer to go it alone. Discouragement comes too quickly and stays too long when there’s no one to help lift you out. The writer says, “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another.” (Hebrews 10.24-25)

Although we live in nominally Christian communities, our situation closely compares with that of Hebrews’ original readers. The majority of our family, friends, and neighbors are content with being cultural Christians—i.e., accepting Jesus’s principles without practicing them. They’re governed by Christianity’s concept of a personal relationship with God, which many misconstrue as placating Him with lip service while living on their own terms. Our decision to follow Jesus in earnest puts us in the minority and often isolates us. It’s unwise to go it alone, which makes spurring one another’s commitment to Christ and reaching out to each other for encouragement something to consider seriously.

Mutual Benefit

An enormous spectrum of knowledge and experience exists between us—along with a bounty of gifts, talents, and life skills. It simply makes good sense to avail ourselves to what each of us can offer and make what we have available to others. Regardless where we are in our walk with Christ, we know believers further ahead of us and others not yet where we are. We look for advice and inspiration from those out front; we offer the same to those behind us. In either case, both parties gain mutual benefit by seeking one another out. As Proverbs teaches us, we sharpen each other in the same way that iron bars hone their edges. We approach sharper, stronger Christians for help with smoothing our contours to reflect God’s love and Jesus’s example more perfectly. We also improve substantially when less seasoned and confident believers look to us for help. Upholding one another in the faith always results in profit to either side, just as two pieces of metal end up sharper and cleaner after they’re rubbed together.

Monitoring Damages

When we’re apart, we can’t escape harmful exposure to corrosive elements and influences. Unattended, they eat away our substance, blunt our effectiveness, and discolor our appearance. It’s our responsibility to monitor damages we undergo very closely and reunite quickly with other believers to rub them out. This asks tremendous humility to identify the flaws and failures we need help with. James 5.16 exhorts us to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.” The longer we keep to ourselves, putting off coming clean so we can become clean, the higher our probability of growing duller, weaker, and less pleasing to God.

Very rarely does someone abruptly decide to quit following Jesus and revert to his/her old ways. Such a dramatic break constitutes utter craziness, as Solomon explains in Proverbs 26.11: “As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly.” Far more frequently, once-fervent Christians grow indifferent by gradual neglect and withdrawal from fellow believers. Fear of exposing their failure turns into a self-fulfilling prophecy, as concealing it ultimately leads to doing it and there’s no hiding failure after it happens. No scripture I know counsels us to be aloof, afraid, or ashamed with one another. Time and again we’re told to be incisive, fearless, and bold. We can’t be sharp and stay sharp on our own. For that we need to spur one another to love and good deeds, to encourage one another, to pray for and with each other.

Whether we need sharpening or we’re asked to help sharpen another, we come out cleaner, stronger, and more incisive in the end.

(Tomorrow: Pure Religion)

Postscript: Weekend Gospel

Thou Art a Shield for Me: Psalm 3 – Byron Cage & Purpose

Gospel aficionados around the world know Byron Cage as “the prince of praise.” Backed by his nine-member group, Purpose, he has carved his own niche as a superb singer and songwriter focused completely on drawing listeners into a spirit of worship. While most other leading gospel artists are inimitable, Byron’s calling requires him to be widely imitated by less accomplished musicians. Dozens of his songs are now praise-and-worship standards in churches of every size and spirit. Here he sets Psalm 3 from the King James Version in a lilting, pop-infused melody that resolves with a genuinely moving coda: “Thank You for lifting my head.” And evidence of Byron’s global impact becomes obvious by this video being originally broadcast in Brazil (ergo the Portuguese subtitles). Slightly mellower than normal, yet too marvelously rich to be missed. Enjoy!

Search Me

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

                        Psalm 139.23-24

An Unfinished Manuscript

Psalm 139 reads like an intimate letter from a gifted author to the beloved editor who patiently, attentively shaped his sensibilities. David begins by confessing total trust in God’s close scrutiny of his story: “O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.” (v1) He marvels at God’s awareness of every move he makes, how he thinks, and what he wants to say. Without hesitation, David credits his Maker as the Source and Force driving his creativity. “You created my inmost being… I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful… All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (vv13-14,16) Over their longstanding collaboration, David has learned to cherish God’s insights and guidance. In verse 17, he exclaims, “How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!”

But recent developments are frustrating David. Critics, perhaps reacting to his shortfalls, now attack God’s name and methods. Angst over this infects David’s work. His first-person protagonist has got away from him. He’s written himself into a corner and can’t find his way out. He ends presenting his life as an open book—an unfinished manuscript—for God to examine page-by-page, line-by-line, for character flaws, illogical plot twists, and thematic lurches steering his story toward a pessimistic resolution. “Give what I’ve written a look,” he asks, “to see where anxieties and prejudices pop up and throw me off-track.”

Course Correction

Whether we’ve ever been bitten by the creative writing bug or not, we can relate to David’s dilemma because life operates very similarly to fiction. We make it up as we go. Often we lose control of our narratives. Unexpected curves come our way. Characters enter our stories, not always for our best. Critics deride our work and our reliance on God’s guidance, stirring doubt, frustration, bitterness, and anger that filter into our words and plans. We wind up feeling cornered, unable to extricate ourselves from dead-end situations. Every possible strategy we conceive seems to lead us away from the happy, meaningful way we want the story to end. Instead of writing and writing and getting nowhere, it’s time to fire off a note to God, asking Him to look at what we’ve done so far and provide much needed course correction. “Search me,” is how our letter begins.

God’s Business

Flannery O’Connor, the great Southern writer, once said, “When a book leaves your hands, it belongs to God. He may use it to save a few souls or to try a few others, but I think that for a writer to worry is to take over God’s business.” By submitting the book of our lives to God for His scrutiny and revision, our story—its glorious passages, as well as its problematic parts—becomes His business. In prayer, meditation, and study, we listen closely for His comments and direction. He highlights habits of self-indulgence, places we need to tighten our focus, pointless repetitions, characters and plot lines we should cut, and others requiring added attention. He underscores moments we allow personal anxieties and prejudices to infect our story, mar its clarity, and impact its final outcome.

“The Spirit searches all things,” Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 2. “We have not the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us.” It’s our story. But the gift to write it comes from God. He made us. He knows us. He can read us like a book. When we find we’re losing our way, we seek His Spirit’s guidance and make the necessary corrections. Knowing what to do with our story requires us to know what to do with our gift.

Our lives are like unfinished manuscripts—works in progress that we submit to God for scrutiny and revision.

(Tomorrow: No Regret)

Getting Past the Past

Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

                        Philippians 3.13-14

Press On

Paul’s history with the Philippians is quite interesting. It literally gets off to a rocky start. When he and another evangelist, Silas, go to Philippi, they inadvertently cross a few local businessmen, who then accuse them of disturbing the peace. The entire city turns on them. This isn’t unusual, however. Philippi is a mining town whose people are hardworking and honest, but also extremely wary of outsiders. Paul and Silas don’t stand a chance. The city fathers have them whipped and jailed. During their first night there, a huge earthquake shakes the doors open, freeing the prisoners. When the jailer arrives, Paul assures him everyone is present and accounted for—a miracle if there ever was. The jailer converts to Christianity on the spot. Paul becomes an overnight hero. Many follow the jailer’s lead and the first church in Europe is born.

The Philippians aren’t nearly as complicated as the Corinthians, say, or the Romans. They’re less concerned about the whys than the hows. As they put Christ’s principles into practice, they start to see results. Newfound integrity wins them greater prosperity and respect, which they attribute to Paul. This worries him, though, because their admiration verges on worship, which only belongs to Christ. When an occasion arises to write to them about an upcoming visit, he uses it as a reality check. “I’m just like you,” he tells them. “I too am striving for perfection. But I’m not there yet. That’s why I press on.” (Philippians 3.12)

Remember to Forget

“Here’s what I do,” Paul writes. “I forget what’s behind me and keep moving toward my goal of becoming perfect in Christ.” And Paul had plenty to forget. In his former life as Saul of Tarsus, he was the poster child for religious legalism. He was steeped in the Law and so compelled to enforce it, he determined to destroy the Early Church. In Acts 26, he says he wanted “to do all that was possible to oppose the name of Jesus,” admitting he imprisoned many Christians and endorsed their executions. He traveled far and wide to have them punished, trying to force them to deny Christ to escape suffering. He confesses, “In my obsession against them, I even went to foreign cities to persecute them.” (v11) Paul’s troubled past didn’t end with his conversion, either. The persecutor became the persecuted. By the time he writes to the Philippians, he’s endured repeated imprisonment, beatings, hunger, and innumerable personal attacks, many of them generated by fellow believers. Past trauma and turmoil are fastened so tightly to Paul he constantly has to remember to forget.

The Philippians have plenty to forget, too. Although they’re a major source of the world’s gold supply, they’re dismissed as provincials—negligible blue-collar rubes. After faith and integrity improve their standing, merchants and officials who once snubbed them now embrace them. Surely this angers them and stirs feelings of resentment. Furthermore, as a congregation they’ve seen more than their share of trouble. They’ve been abused by legalistic teachers, who seek to undermine their faith by insisting only Jews can be Christians, demanding all Gentile male believers be circumcised to claim Calvary’s inheritance. Paul is greatly concerned that all of these crosscurrents from the past—disrespect, prejudice, false religion, etc.—will continue to haunt the Philippians, causing them to lose sight of their main objective: conforming to the image of Christ. His message is forcefully clear: remember to forget. Press on.

Lose the Weight

Hebrews 12.1 strikes the same note: “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” Every one of us, to some degree or another, carries burdens from the past. Many of them are no different than those that troubled Paul and the Philippians. We carry guilt and shame, resentment and fear. We’ve been falsely accused, pushed aside, beat down, severely abused, locked up, and deprived. Our integrity and faith have been challenged, even ridiculed. We’ve been mislabeled, mishandled, and misunderstood. What tremendous loads we bear!

While the past may grow more distant by the day, it will never completely vanish over the horizon. It’s up to us to take the Hebrews writer’s advice and lose the weight—strip the memories of their meaning. Getting past the past is perhaps the greatest task we’ll ever undertake. But we can’t allow the enormity of this challenge to warp our sense of scale. Losing the weight is by far less punishing and exhausting than constantly carrying it. “I have lost all things,” Paul tells the Philippians. “I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ.” Let it go—remember to forget—and press on.

 

The creator of this Wordle calls it "Focus on the Future". Yet it's dominated by the past, a poignant depiction of someone unwilling or unable to lose the weight, remember to forget, and press on.

(Tomorrow: Arriving on Pieces)  

Hallowed Be Your Name

This, then, is how you should pray: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.”

                        Matthew 6.9

The One True God

The main difference between ancient Israel and other nations was monotheism. While other peoples worshipped many gods, Jews served “the One True God.” Their awestruck reverence for Him extended to unworthiness to call His name. In order to write about Him, they struck the vowels: “Yahweh” became “YHWH.” This is why Old Testament translations render His name in all-caps (“LORD”), while some English-speaking Jewish sects spell it “G-d.”

Although they dared not speak it, God’s name was their greatest treasure. As heirs of His covenant to redeem them, they collectively identified with His name. He constantly reminded them through prophets that Israel was “called by My name,” assuring His commitment to its longevity and success. Unlike other cultures, whose gods reflected human frailties and temperaments, Israel’s God was unique unto Himself—all-powerful, all wise, and impervious to temptation or failure. He alone was holy, wholly without fault. As His people, it was essential for the Jews to prove this by living up to His name.

Holiness

Thus, when Jesus instructs us to pray, “Hallowed be your name,” He’s teaching us to recognize two things at once: God is holy and we must be holy. Paul writes in Ephesians 4.24: “Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.” Being holy, then, comes by perfecting God’s image and expression in us, emulating His qualities and characteristics, seeking His desires and pleasure above our own. This radically alters our approach to being holy from what we shouldn’t do to what must be done. Yes, holiness focuses on abstaining from unhealthy, unacceptable behavior. But it’s a means, not an end; it allows God to shine through us—that’s its purpose. The Hebrews writer says, “Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord.” (Hebrews 12.14) If we want others to see God in us, we can’t permit controversy and self-indulgence to block their view.

What’s in a Name?

So Juliet famously asked. It’s a compelling question coming from one so young. Yet Shakespeare devoted the rest of Romeo and Juliet to exposing its naivety. Juliet’s mistaking identification for identity precipitated enormous confusion and tragic outcomes. She was correct up to a point. Names don’t define us. But she missed this part: names distinguish us. They specifically identify us, setting us apart from everyone else. Then, once people become better acquainted with us, our names and identities merge, becoming associated with certain behaviors and expectations. When we fall short, they say, “That’s so unlike Mary/Michael!”

Isaiah 62.12 says, “They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted.” The Lord’s Prayer reminds us God’s name is holy and worthy of reverence. But let’s remember His name also says much about us. Once deserted, He sought after us. He distinguished us as Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD. In praying, “Hallowed be your name,” we pledge our all to build lives worthy of His name.

Our identification with God's name requires us to live worthy of its calling.

(Tomorrow: Your Kingdom Come)

Personal Postscript: New Life

Last week, I shared with you our grief over the loss of our beloved 14-year-old cat, Felix. The love you showered on Walt and me was amazing and your prayers for our comfort were most definitely answered. There's new life in our house. With great joy, I'm delighted to introduce Cody, our seven-week-old, peerlessly feisty, endlessly curious and affectionate kitten.

The Closer

Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

                        Philippians 1.6

Our Life Partner

God isn’t a quitter. When He creates each of us, He begins with a unique design to achieve certain intentions. He sends us into the world as beings made to His exact specifications and He places us exactly where He needs us. Then He lets us decide whether we want to follow His Will or live by our wits.

When we gather the gumption to admit our way leaves much to be desired, we wisely yield to His original plan. We take Him as our Life Partner. We study His Word to increase our insights about how He works and what pleases Him. We maintain constant contact with Him through prayer and meditation. We trust His judgment in all things, relying on faith to shore up our confidence when things start to look dicey. Maybe we can’t see what He’s up to, but we refuse to doubt that He’s up to something. And we’re sure what that is will eventually become obvious, because our God always finishes what He starts.

The Potter’s House

He’s a Master Craftsman with all the time in the world to complete His projects. He sets His own deadlines and works on His own schedule. He builds enough time into His plan to avoid compromising shortcuts. He assembles the tools and materials He needs to guarantee the quality of His work meets His highest standards. Once we hand Him the raw makings of our lives, He gets busy.

This analogy gives rise to numerous metaphors—sculptor, architect, metalworker, and so on. In Jeremiah 18, we find a marvelous parallel in the potter’s house. At God’s urging, Jeremiah went to observe the potter in action. “But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands,” Jeremiah reports. “So he formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.”

Shaped for Things to Come

God begins a good work in us first by undoing what we’ve done. We shape our lives according to what Carly Simon called “the way I always heard it should be”—in other words, expectations based on what we’re taught and human precedent. All of that is irrelevant to God. When we place ourselves in His hands, rather than patch the cracks in our logic and smooth out the flaws in our character, He remolds us into vessels He can use. We’re shaped for things to come. The process can sometimes be uncomfortable, even painful. But He never casts us aside as too unwieldy or inferior for His purpose. When God began His work in us, He fully meant to complete it. He’s more than The Big Idea Guy. He’s The Closer.

 

What we'll become may not be apparent as God reshapes our lives, but He has a unique design for each of us and He always finishes what He starts.

(Tomorrow: Laugh All You Like)