Revealed in Us

God said, “Now we will make humans, and they will be like us. We will let them rule the fish, the birds, and all other living creatures.” (Genesis 1.26; Contemporary English Version)

Constantly Confounded

No one in our church could have been more delighted than I on discovering this Sunday bulletin insert several weeks back:

FEMINIST THEOLOGY

How does gender/class/race affect the way we think about our faith? This class will be an overview of the large body of writing that has examined, from a feminist perspective, the way we think about God, the interpretation of Scripture, the way we relate to others and practice just/right-relation.

This isn’t a class for women, but a class for anyone who is struggling to be liberated from the patriarchal world view of our Scriptures and tradition. We will also draw on wisdom from the Womanist and Liberation movements. We won’t bash our history, but evolve from it with new understandings that will be helpful for anyone who is trying to be faithful in 2010.

The topic and approach had my name written all over it, as I most definitely am “one who is struggling.” And over the past two-and-a-half years, Straight-Friendly has become the focal point of my struggle. I told my pastor, Joy Douglas Strome, “When writing the blog, I’m constantly confounded by God’s gender. Seeing ‘He’ and ‘Him’ peppered through the posts makes me crazy. Yet indiscriminately changing up genders is confusing and hybrids like ‘He-She’ and ‘S/He’ feel sterile and officious. So I’ve stuck with tradition, even though it nags me that some will misread this as insensitive and sexist—particularly since the blog’s core concerns are inclusion and equality!” Joy replied, “You’ll be challenged to figure that out.” Her smile practically shouted, “Hooray!”

Tuesday night’s discussion on language broke the code when Joy made a point about pronoun usage that rocked me to my foundations. It transcended epiphany. It was a prophetic word given directly to me, to this place. It forever changed how I think, speak, and write about God. And before I detail its impact on me and the Straight-Friendly “style,” I’d like to dash off a few thoughts that bubbled up during and since the study.

The Encompassing “We” and “Us”

We were exploring the competing Creation narratives, Genesis 1 vs. 2-3. Eve’s depiction was the main focus of our inquiry, using the writers’ choice of God’s name as an indicator of their regard for women. In the first version, neither Eve nor Adam is named. Male and female are created simultaneously by the genderless Elohim, Whose Self-references are singular (“I command”) and plural (“Now we will make humans”). The account ends on the sixth day, without the forbidden fruit episode or any intimation the woman is responsible for Original Sin, which the second narrative goes to great lengths to describe.

But the telltale sign of the second version’s masculine skew is evident before the blame-game begins. Its Creator is Yahweh (“LORD”), a male God Who creates a man first and then breaks with His precedent of creating life from inert ground by crafting a woman from the man’s rib. In other words, Eve (“the living one”) lives because Adam (“from the ground”) lives. Yahweh’s creating Eve in this manner exposes the writer’s intention to subjugate her gender to the man’s.

If the Yahweh narrative was our only version of creation, we would be hard-pressed to reconcile belief in an all-loving, accepting God with its image of One Who favors men. Thankfully, the Elohim version discredits this slant by giving us a God Who speaks and acts as the encompassing “We” and “Us.” “Now we will make humans, and they will be like us,” God says. (Genesis 1.26) In this version, male and female are equal, with Elohim’s gender neutrality as the equalizer.

Emmanuel

With Advent around the corner, my mind turns to music. Reflecting on the encompassing “We” and “Us” keeps guiding me back a praise song I grew up with:

Emmanuel, Emmanuel

His name is called Emmanuel

God with us, revealed in us

His name is called Emmanuel

God with us, revealed in us. The relationship is one-to-one: “Us” and “us.” It’s gender-neutral. But more than that, without seeing women and men as equal facsimiles of our Creator, our image of God and perception of God’s presence in the world is incomplete. As a consequence, exclusively idealizing or referring to God as “He” and “Him” (or “She” and “Her”) diminishes God by erasing half of God’s likeness from our language. God is revealed in all of us.

Because we find aspects of God in both sexes, imagining God as a paternal and/or maternal Being can prove beneficial in forging our relationship with God and teaching us to emulate Godlike attributes. That said, however, we must take great caution not to become captivated by confining God to one gender at the expense or to the exclusion of the other. God is revealed in us. We are not revealed in God. Forcing gender on God usurps God’s role, shaping the Creator in our image. With that, we stray from inclusive worship to gender idolatry.

Choosing Not to Choose

So how do we puzzle our way out of this language labyrinth founded on ancient patriarchal attitudes? The answer depends on what we hope to accomplish in our conversations about God and whom we’re talking with. When people of faith unite to celebrate female equality in God, defying male stereotypes by embracing God as “She” is tremendously liberating and affirmative. It brings everyone—most importantly, women—closer to the realization “God is revealed in me.” The same might be said of occasions meant to validate men’s making by referring to God in the masculine. In situations like these, we honor God by transforming gender-prohibitive pronouns into proclamations of gender inclusion.

Yet what of a place like Straight-Friendly, where the mission broadens to include and celebrate all genders—male, female, and every variation in the identity spectrum—as vital to the human mosaic that reveals God? Now two- and three-letter pronouns explode into mountain-sized stumbling blocks. Adhering to precedents set in male-dominated texts is problematic at best, contradictory at worst. Deferring to grammatical conventions that default to the masculine when gender is non-specific only perpetuates confusion by trying to avoid it. As writer-in-residence here, I stand in shame for buckling to both rationalizations. I wasn’t at all happy doing it, but I knew of no better path through the pronoun maze. I’ve pondered and prayed about this for two-and-a-half years.

My prayers were answered Tuesday evening, as Joy said, “When speaking or writing about God, there’s no reason to use pronouns. God is God. ‘God’ and ‘God’s Self’ are all you need. If you’re more worried with your poetry than freeing God from sexist language, then I encourage you to reflect on what you’re trying to say about God. When we refer to God with pronouns, we compromise clarity and conviction of Who God is with language that says Who God isn’t.”

There it was. The solution to my pronoun quandary is choosing not to choose. Hereafter, Straight-Friendly will be pronoun-free when referencing God. This will also apply to Christ and the Holy Spirit. When discussing Jesus, the Man in Whom God is fully revealed, masculine pronouns seem appropriate; as has been the practice from the first, His divinity will be underscored by capitalization.

I fully anticipate the awkward-sentence quotient will increase with this. Yet it’s a miniscule price to pay for liberating the posts from their inadvertent gender bias.

As I close this overly lengthy post, I have to stress this change by no means should be taken as advocacy for adoption elsewhere. Many of us have wrestled with this issue and been led to different resolutions in our blogs and language. They are equally valid, equally just, and equally effective. The diversity of language we use to convey God’s presence among us is just one more way God is revealed in us.

We must take caution against confining God to one gender at the other’s expense. We are not revealed in God. God is revealed in us—all of us.

Amending Our Guest Lists

When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. (Luke 14.13-14)

Making Memories and Wrestling With Them

Feast season is upon us. Here in the States, we’re eight days from Thanksgiving, the big event that ushers in six weeks of parties, dinners, and get-togethers celebrating the birth of Christ, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and the New Year. Similar fêtes are in the planning stages around the world. We’re compiling guest lists, sending invitations, preparing menus, and coordinating dates and tasks to ensure family and friends enjoy longstanding traditions that make this time of year unlike any other. If we’re not already in the throes of these activities, we’re about to get real busy, throwing enormous energy into making memories that will live up to—and, hopefully, surpass—those we’ve accumulated in the past. We’ll submit to high pressure and expense to make these events perfect. Many of us will succeed, or come so close our guests won’t know the difference. At the end of the season, we’ll pack up our decorations, fancy table linens, chafing dishes, punch bowls, and whatnot, and store memories of another perfect holiday.

Meanwhile, there are people we know who will spend this season wrestling with memories. They will remember these feast days before their lives crashed on unforgiving rocks—before losing life partners, parents, or children; before losing jobs or homes; before addiction; before sickness and debt; before families turned them away; before prison; before betrayal; before tragedy; before crossing borders in search of elusive dreams; before… before… before. There will also be many who will wrestle with having no happy memories at all. For them, these days are traumatic anniversaries of family dysfunction, scarred psyches, disappointment, wounded bodies, broken spirits, anger, hatred, and violence that hobble them with harrowing fear. Some of these tender souls will be tended to. Boxes of food, cast-off clothing, and anonymously wrapped gifts will find them. Well-intentioned folks will sacrifice a few hours to cook and carol in nursing homes, hospices, and shelters. In exchange, the dispossessed and dismayed will politely take their leave on the actual feast days—so the more fortunate can frolic with family and friends. With them out of sight, we won’t notice that their absence at our tables, their discrete distance from our touch, mars our celebrations’ perfection.

The Bigger Picture

In Luke 14, Jesus tells a famous parable about a generous man who plans a great banquet and invites a lot of friends. The big day arrives. He sends his servant to tell those he asked, “Dinner is ready!” But everybody’s got a last-minute excuse for not showing up: I just bought land I need to see; I need to try out oxen I recently purchased; I’m a newlywed. The host is so angry, he commands the servant to invite those he excluded from his guest list: the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame—i.e., people outside his social circles whom he’d typically not dine with and who haven’t means to repay his kindness. The servant obeys and after the newly invited guests arrive, there’s more room and food to spare. So the host orders the servant, “Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.” (v23) In his pique, he adds that should any of the original guests trickle in, they’ll find nothing left over for them. (It’s a sort of “serves-‘em-right” tactic.)

The parable is obviously a metaphor for inclusion, contrasting the original guests’ disregard for the host’s graciousness with his boundless generosity for anyone, regardless of social status, who responds to his kindness. Because Jesus offers it after another guest at a dinner He’s at comments on “the feast in the kingdom of God” (v15), there’s no mistaking His message is, “God’s grace is free to all who accept it.” But the parable comes after a straightforward statement Jesus makes that can’t possibly be misconstrued as metaphor. Jesus looks around and sees the seating meticulously arranged by social rank. The most influential guests assume places of honor. The least important hang on the fringes. Although this is customary, it disturbs Him as a breach in etiquette—and a dicey move on the host’s part. Giving honor to those with means to repay his hospitality limits his rewards to returned invitations, Jesus explains. Not a bad thing, necessarily, but it’s not the best he can receive in recompense for his efforts and kindness. “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed,” Jesus says. “Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” (v13-14) The message: “There’s more to hospitality than meets the eye. See the bigger picture.”

Compel Them

The extent of Christ’s compassion for the neglected and ostracized becomes evident in the parable. After the servant sees there are more than enough seats and food for the overlooked, unwelcome—even unwholesome—villagers, the host sends him into the countryside to find more guests. “Compel them to come,” he commands. Such is Christ’s command to us this feast season. This is our opportunity find the financially and familial poor, those hobbled by fear and rejection, those halted by tragedies and transgressions, and those blinded by hatred and despair and compel them to join our banquets. Tending to them prior to our feasts falls short of Jesus’s insistence we invite them. Of course, many will refuse. They’ve been conditioned to get out of the way and cope with their loneliness and deprivation in silence. But we can’t take “no” for an answer. Amending our guest lists to include someone with only gratitude to offer in return witnesses our belief there’s more to hospitality than meets the eye. The bereft and berated—compel them. The abused and abandoned—compel them. The unnoticed and undesirable—compel them. We have plenty of room for them. Though they have no tangible means to repay us, we will be blessed.

Tending to the less fortunate prior to our feasts falls short. Jesus insists we must compel them to join us.

The Prayers of God's People

The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of God’s people, went up before God from the angel’s hand. (Revelation 8.4)

Our Prayers Are Timeless

When I’m privileged to worship in “high churches” (Roman, Eastern, along with some Anglican and Lutheran congregations), their use of incense always moves me. Beyond its aesthetic beauty, watching the incense rise and disperse fills me with reassurance. More than anything, the lingering speaks to me—the sense that what has been offered up remains perceptibly present in fragrance lacing the air, even though the smoke can no longer be seen. Incense, in many ways, is the most fitting metaphor for prayer, as both represent transformation from natural limitation to eternal possibilities. Like incense, our prayers begin as concretely shaped requests. When we ignite them with faith, it’s unnecessary that they be visibly or audibly evident to be perceived. After we pray, all we have to know is now that our prayers have been delivered, God knows our needs.

Incense in worship brings to mind the vision John of Patmos describes in Revelation. He’s transported into a supernal throne room, where the redeemed gather to pay homage to their Creator. After everyone is assembled, they wait in silence for “about half an hour.” (Revelation 8.1) Trumpets are given to seven angels, who will herald judgment against the unrighteous. Before the fireworks commence, however, John writes: “Another angel, who had a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all God’s people, on the golden altar in front of the throne. The smoke of the incense, together with prayers of God’s people, went up before God from the angel’s hand.” (v3-4) The ethereal imagery may cause us to miss what John’s trying to show us. Our prayers are timeless. They carry no expiration date. They can’t be forgot. They won’t be ignored. The prayers of all God’s people—from every era, location, and walk of life—rise up before God, where they linger.

Our Breath Is Eternal

Our prayers are timeless because they rise on our breath, and our breath is eternal. Genesis 2.7 tells us, “God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Two distinctions separate humanity, male and female, from the rest of nature: we are handcrafted to reflect God’s image on Earth and God’s presence in us is manifested in our breath. Every other life form is spoken into existence and brought to life by God’s command. But He breathes His life into us, and we become living beings. Every breath we take expresses God’s divinity. Since human speech is articulated by divine breath, our words and prayers become living things that cannot die. That’s why extreme caution is required in everything we say; once we speak, our words can never be taken back. That’s also why we pray with confidence, knowing our prayers remain forever alive because they’re spoken with the breath of life.

Once we understand this, our faith comes alive. We realize prayer functions exclusively in the realm of the divine, where natural limitations serve no purpose and what appears impossible can be done. We see this exemplified in a rather odd incident reported in Matthew 21. It’s the last week of Jesus’s natural life. He’s under tremendous pressure and divides His time between suburban Bethany, where He stays with friends, and Jerusalem, where His enemies wait to destroy Him. The morning after His triumphal entry, Jesus returns to Jerusalem before breakfast. He spots a fig tree and finding no fruit on it, He curses the tree: “May you never bear fruit again!” (v19) The disciples are flummoxed when the tree shrivels up. “How did that happen?” they ask. Jesus tells them, “If you have faith and do not doubt, not only can you do what was done to the fig tree, but also you can say to this mountain, ‘Go throw yourself into the sea,’ and it will be done. If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” (v21-22)

The passage ends there, without the disciples asking the obvious follow-up question: “If we believe what? We can curse barren trees when we’re hungry? We can topple mountains that impede our progress?” But if we listen carefully to Christ’s statement, we realize He’s stressing belief in the power of our words and the breath that enables them. He speaks to the tree. He tells us, “You can say to this mountain.” And He sums it up: “If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” Faith that ignites prayer is belief in the eternal breath that lifts our prayers. It’s not essential to visualize disappointments withering or obstacles vanishing in front of us. How such things can—and will—happen exceeds imagination. Faith is simply trusting in the power of our prayers to reach God despite all natural evidence opposing what we ask of Him. Because we speak our prayers with His breath, our requests will be heard and answered. That’s what we must believe. Anything beyond that—how He’ll answer, when the answer will come, what it will mean, and so on—is no more than conjecture on our part, and therefore unreliable. Faith in prayer precludes prediction.

Someone Somewhere

By breathing His life into us, God literally inspired us. Our breath is His Spirit. When we believe our requests rise on eternal breath, we pray in the Spirit. This opens a life-changing view not only of prayers we say on our own behalf, but also those we say for others—and those said for us. And it’s essential we uphold one another in prayer, presenting each other’s needs to God. In Ephesians 6.18, Paul says, “Pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.”

I need your prayers always. You need mine always. There will be times when my faith in prayer weakens—when I run out of breath, as it were. There will be times when you do the same. But in our times of struggle we find strength in knowing someone somewhere is praying for us. Someone is breathing eternal life into our requests. Someone is offering up timeless prayers for us that rise before God like incense. Someone is mustering the faith to see that God knows our needs. Paul nailed it. With this in mind, let us be alert and always keep on praying in the Spirit for all the Lord’s people.

We pray for one another, believing the eternal breath that lifts our requests to God transforms them into timeless prayers that linger before Him.

Let Perseverance Finish

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1.2-3)

Virtue Heightens Visibility

The book of Job gets off to a rip-roaring start. There’s a lovely, bucolic prologue, in which we see Job, his wife, and 10 children living prosperous, faithful lives. They celebrate birthdays with great feasts and, on the outside chance someone’s said or done something amiss during the festivities, Job makes a sacrifice on his family’s behalf. Then we cut to Heaven, where angels report their activities. Satan—a former angel who knows the drill—gets in line. God asks, “Where have you been?” Satan answers, “I’ve been roaming around, looking for trouble.” (No surprise there.) Reading between the lines, God hears: “I’ve been bullying your people—picking on easy targets.” With that, He challenges the Adversary to pick on someone stronger. “Have you considered my servant Job?” he asks. (Job 1.8) Satan, like all bullies, makes sarcastic excuses. “Job honors You because You protect him. If You didn’t, he’d be no different than the rest.” (v9-11) So God decides to test Satan. “I’ll lift Job’s protection. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

We’re witnessing the birth of the Job Probability—a correlation between honoring God and being tried. As believers, we remain mindful our commitment and faith will be tested. Once we get that, we can view our tests as tests, not punishments, failures, or indicators of God’s absence. That’s an overarching theme in Job: virtue heightens visibility. Being a humble man, he’s unaware he’s chosen for this test because he’s done no wrong. Yet confidence his troubles aren’t judgments enables him to turn his thoughts from why he’s being tested to what he will gain from it. In chapter 23, he says not finding a reason for his turmoil confirms his faith in God’s goodness: “He knows the way I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.” (v10)

This consummately virtuous man has presence of mind to trust he’ll come through his test all the more virtuous. When he does, his visibility increases to the point the earliest writer to record Scripture tells his story. The man whose friends insist God forgot him is ultimately lionized as the Bible’s epitome of persevering faith. Of course, the story ends just as it should. Job’s trust is honored with all he lost restored to him. He’s privileged to intercede on his friends’ behalf when God condemns their ignorance and doubt. That’s the secret tucked inside the Job Probability. The costs exacted by our tests are always repaid, allowing us to do for others what they wouldn’t do for us.

A Glaring Contradiction

To doubters, the Job Probability sounds completely nuts. If the degree to which we’re tested is directly proportional to our faith and commitment, why believe and persevere at all? What they don’t factor into the equation are the rewards tied to the outcome. David sounds this note repeatedly in Psalm 34: “I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.” (v4) “Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.” (v8) “The lions grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.” (v10) “The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all.” (v19) These truths are embedded in the Job Probability. Blessings, provision, and freedom from fear are joys it promises. They will not fail—provided we do not fail to trust and persevere until they come. God’s purpose for tests is always good. Patience to endure them is what He requires to make His goodness known. And since the whole equation operates on a counterintuitive principle, it should come as no shock to unearth a glaring contradiction in the process.

No one breaks this down better than James: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever your face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance,” he writes in the opening passage of his letter. “Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” The pivotal phrase leaps out: Let perseverance finish its work. Our faith is tested to teach us we outlast crises, topple barriers, and defeat foes by relying on patience we don’t have to build patience we need. How is that even possible? There’s no earthly reason why that would work. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Our trials are designed to liberate us from logic, leading to unnatural conclusions that open our hearts and minds to God’s ways. When, like Job, we can find no rational cause for our struggles, we conclude they’re tests. Questioning why hardships happen to us is moot. We focus on what happens to us in hardship. By faith, we perceive God’s purpose for tests. He knows where we are and how to bring forth our gold. Completing the lesson—letting perseverance finish—is how we pass the test and reap its rewards.

God’s Faith in Us

A central feature of Job’s story many ignore is he isn’t a Jew. He resides in Uz, a region eventually called Edom, homeland of a Semitic tribe that revered God on par with other deities. Religious and cultural clashes caused the Jews to hold Job’s people in contempt. Israel’s first king, Saul, declared war on Edom, and David subjected its citizens to Jewish rule. Yet despite deeply instilled prejudice against his ethnicity, Job becomes the Jewish Bible’s paragon of faith, patience, and virtue. We who are marginalized and rejected possess the same potential. Impatience for hateful, unjust barriers to fall is understandable. But patience in our all of our trials expresses our faith in God’s faith in us. He knows the way we take. When He has tested us, we will shine like gold. Virtue heightens visibility. Let perseverance finish its work.

James teaches us to rely on patience we don’t have to build patience we need. Job teaches us letting perseverance finish its work expresses our faith in God’s faith in us.

Keep Building

“You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why?” declares the LORD Almighty. “Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with your own house.” (Haggai 1.9)

12 Angry Men

Our obsession with organization cheats us sometimes. This is certainly the case with the Minor Prophets—12 short books at the back of the Old Testament. The grouping and placement of these books are unfortunate; brevity and discontinuity make them feel more like appendices than vital components of the canon. All told, these prophets span centuries in Israel’s history. And because each of them speaks to his time, lack of context cripples our interest. How can we relate to what God says through them if the text doesn’t amply identify whom He’s speaking to, what He’s talking about, and why it needs to be said? As a rule, the Minor Prophets require homework.

But our second challenge with them is tougher, as a surface reading of the Minor Prophets depicts 12 angry men. To a one, their messages confront sinful societies—usually Israel, but also other nations and cities—and predict harsh judgment if they don’t repent. Without background research into what they address, their prophecies easily sound like harangues: you’ve messed up and if you don’t straighten up, you’ll be sorry. Although seven of 12 end with pledges of restoration, not knowing the urgency behind their messages plays up the gloom and doom. Haggai is a great example of how a little investigation goes a long way with the Minor Prophets. A handful of context, found in the book of Ezra, harvests a bounty of beauty.

Tough and Tentative Times

Ezra informs us Haggai is given the unenviable task of shepherding the Jews through tough and tentative times. He (and his colleague, Zechariah) shows up after the Babylonian captivity ends. Over 40,000 Jewish hostages—many of them born in exile—stream into a country decimated and shell-shocked from seven decades of foreign occupation. Actually, the land is still occupied, taken over by the Persians, who recently conquered Babylonia and acquired Judah (Israel’s southern counterpart) in the process. The Persians prove far more benevolent, appointing a Jewish governor to oversee Judah’s reconstruction. Rebuilding the Jerusalem Temple the Babylonians destroyed becomes the recovery’s centerpiece. But the endeavor is politically fraught. A faction of leaders dismisses the idea as unfeasible and impractical. Local Samaritans—who consider themselves “the lost Hebrew tribe”—offer to help. When they’re declined, they fuel suspicions the Jews’ solidarity around the Temple project may escalate into an uprising against Persia. New Temple construction is suspended.

This grieves many, particularly the returned hostages who’ve assumed the lion’s share of the work. But fear of a Persian backlash as bad or worse than the Babylonian siege convinces the majority to wait. Meanwhile, there’s more than enough work to get the country up and running. Attending to that makes political and common sense. The problem is it’s not what God wants. Judah enters a period of wheel spinning. It replants its farms; they don’t yield profitable harvests. It rebuilds its cities; they don’t prosper. It restores its homes; their residents don’t flourish. Submitting to fear wrought by attempts to frustrate their unified purpose—building a new house where God can reside among them—leads to frustrations on every front. They don’t see this, though, until God raises Haggai to explain it. “'You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why?' declares the LORD Almighty. 'Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with your own house.'” (Haggai 1.9) Judah heeds the prophet and throws its energy into completing the Temple. Once the foundation is laid, Haggai returns with a new word from God: “From this day on I will bless you.” (Haggai 2.19)

Honoring Our Pledge

We pray a prayer—many of us, daily: “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Each time we say it, whether or not we consciously realize it, we tell God, “What You desire matters most. What You want done is what I want to do.” As long as there are no conflicts and interferences to make us afraid, we have no problem honoring our pledge. But too often, when opposition arises, we fall into the same trap that snared Judah. Past losses cause us to fear future ones. We stop building God’s place in our lives to wait for the controversy to settle. In the meantime, we find plenty to do in other areas of our lives—ground to cultivate, enterprises to pursue, and personal matters to address. When our efforts yield dismal results, we’re even more frustrated and disillusioned.

The work God calls us to do must be done without delay. No matter what or who tries to impede our progress, we keep building. And as we build God’s residence in us, we remember that Jesus tells us to anticipate costs associated with what we’re building. In Luke 14.28-30—after stressing true discipleship requires willingness to lose everything, including our loved ones and our lives—He says: “Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’”

Abandoned, unfinished construction holds no value for anyone. It’s a sad monument to wasted investment and space. When we honor our pledge and build God’s home in us at all costs, we have no cause to fear. What we’re afraid of losing or not achieving will be taken care of. “Seek first [God’s] kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Jesus promises in Matthew 6.33. Once the foundation is laid, God says, “From this day on I will bless you.” Put God’s will first. Don’t delay. Don’t quit. Keep building.

Abandoned, unfinished construction holds no value for anyone. That’s why we keep building God’s residence in us at all costs.

Think Thanks

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God… If anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. (Philippians 4.8,10)

Miners

It’s tempting to visualize Christianity’s formative years the way movies like The Robe (1953) and Ben-Hur (1959) did—as a time when well-mannered, clean-cut idealists were singled out for persecution by a corrupt totalitarian regime. But those pictures were less concerned with Church history than post-WWII mores. (It’s no surprise that audiences easily equated imperialism with fascism or Anglo-American matinee idols like Robert Taylor, Richard Burton, and Charlton Heston played the films’ Jewish and Roman heroes.) A better reflection of the Early Church exists in today’s small-to-midsized churches, where working-class people make up the majority and Christianity’s vast diversity is less evident. Thus, when reading Paul’s letters, a few facts about the churches that receive them are very useful. Beside the Roman and Corinthian epistles’ erudite readers, he (and later disciples signing letters in his name) writes to congregations with fairly limited views and means. Colossians addresses believers in a once-prosperous town fallen on hard times—a place much like today’s dying Rust Belt cities—adding a poignant touch to Paul’s concern about their vulnerability to false teachers. The Ephesian church, based in the second-largest city of its day, compares with urban churches dealing with the same issue: maintaining unity among believers with varying backgrounds and needs.

Based on historical information and the text, there’s little doubt the Philippians are the most homogenous, best-loved congregation Paul writes to—though their lack of diversity and his unabashed admiration aren’t linked. Philippi is a mining town yet to boom. Like those in Appalachia, Wales, and other mineral-rich areas, its miners are industrious but impoverished. Next to none of the gold underfoot falls into their pockets; survival above and below ground demands hard digging. Working for foreign management—in this case, the Romans—generates deep resentment and fear of outsiders that results in clannish insularity. Yet once a foreigner proves him/herself, as Paul does by saving the local jailer from ruin after an earthquake frees his prisoners (Acts 16), the Philippians’ loyalty knows no bounds. Despite poverty and powerlessness, they found Europe’s first church and win Paul’s heart by generously supporting him and many others who spread the Gospel—often to people far better heeled and positioned than they.

Amazing Faith and Fortitude

Keeping these details in mind while reading Philippians brings the letter to life. We envision a faith community that more closely resembles those currently dotting West Virginia’s back roads than Hollywood’s glossed-up first-century Christians. We see care-creased faces, patched clothing, young widows surrounded by children, and men who look twice their age after sacrificing health and happiness to the mines. But our look also reveals people of amazing faith and fortitude whose charity flows freely beyond their walls. Seeing the Philippians in this way heightens our ability to hear and appreciate Paul’s concern for them.

He knows these people, distinguishing this epistle with a sense he pictures faces and recalls names as he writes. “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now,” he says. (Philippians 1.3-5) Being under house arrest in Rome, not resolving doctrinal disputes, prompts his letter. “Don’t worry,” he assures them. “I’ll be fine.” He goes on to magnify the Philippians’ strengths, encouraging them to continue in humility and harmony. Still, he keeps circling back, insisting they mustn’t worry about what may happen to him—even though their experience with Roman injustice gives them every reason to fear. We swell with admiration for these wonderful souls, as every time Paul tells them he’s okay we’re reminded even in their hardships, they find it in themselves to care about him. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” he urges as he brings his letter to a close. (4.4) “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (v6) If you do this, Paul says, “The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” (v7)

A Four-Step Process

Don’t worry? Be thankful for problems that seize our minds and require God’s attention? Then, while waiting for answers, rely on His incomprehensible peace for emotional and psychological safety? That’s a lot to ask—maybe too much, especially for poor, hardworking people without political clout and public support to improve their situation or Paul’s. If we were Philippians, living on very little, laboring for less than we deserve, and faced with possibly losing our leader, what would we think? Paul anticipates this reaction. He immediately follows it with guidelines on how (not what) to think. In verse 8, he counsels his beloved friends to focus their thoughts on what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable, adding, “If anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

It’s impossible to overemphasize the importance of learning to think thanks. It’s a crucial skill every believer should have on call at all times. Displacing personal anxieties to worry about others is a generous gesture. But worry is still worry and its harms are the same whether its motives are selfish or selfless. Paul’s letter to the Philippians teaches us to defeat anxiety before bringing problems to God by training our minds to mine gold from worry’s darkness. When we think thanks, we discard lies for the truth, disgrace for nobility, wrong for right, filth for purity, ugliness for beauty, and shame for honor. Digging out excellence and praise demands great concentration and stamina. It’s hard work. Yet each nugget we retrieve increases our capacity to detect grace and goodness buried in hardship. We come to God with confidence He’ll extract the wealth and wisdom we fail to find in our hardships. Thankfulness He’s there shields us with inexplicable peace. It’s a four-step process: Think thanks. Don’t worry. Give thanks. Find peace.

Being thankful begins with thinking thanks—disciplining our thoughts to mine gold from worry’s darkness.

All Good

For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer. (1 Timothy 4.4-5)

Fear of Blessings

I’m not a regular primetime TV viewer. When I turn on the television, I’m looking for diversion—something to draw my thoughts into a hermetically sealed, neatly programmed world, where mysteries get solved, justice is served, and foibles are funny. Then, about 15 minutes in, the local station runs its 30-second newscast promo. Between the top story and weather, there’s always a scare-your-pants-off squib about an item or habit that, according to “experts,” may lead to disaster: “Your dishwasher is a deathtrap!” “Scientists find a disturbing link between stewed carrots and autism!” “Research reveals showering before dawn reduces lifespan!” The newsbreak’s sponsor is often a prescription drug that couches promises of wellness in a slew of possible side effects nobody would voluntarily suffer. (My favorite: anti-anxiety drugs that list potential nightmares and suicidal urges among its secondary complications.) Many times, I turn off the TV and flee back to my study—stopping, of course, to wash my hands, as new data say the remote control is the filthiest, most germ-ridden object in the house.

For most of us, the constant barrage of warnings amounts to no more than a nuisance. The media’s obsession with hyping dangers, however, constitutes a danger of its own by fomenting a culture of suspicion. If mundane objects and activities can wreak such harm and damage, why trust one another? Worse still, why believe goodness exists at all? There is in many of us a fear of blessings—an inchoate expectation that good things can’t last and may very well lead to greater pain and sorrow. We pray for happy relationships. When we’re blessed with them, suspicions they’re too good to be true provoke us to subvert them. We ask for increase. When it comes, we’re terrified of losing it; we refuse to share what we’re given and the flow of blessings dries up. We long for more faith. When tests arrive to build our confidence, we submit to doubt and cynicism. These self-defeating behaviors are sparked by greeting goodness tentatively, cautiously, even fearfully. Thus, thanksgiving is vital when blessings appear, not only because we should be grateful for God’s goodness, but also because it counteracts fears that arise from mistrusting what we’ve received.

Excessive Freedom

With the Bible and Church largely associated with “Do’s and Don’ts,” it shocks many to learn first-century suspicions of Christianity centered on its excessive freedom. Its Founder—a self-taught, provincial miracle worker—preached freedom and even professed God anointed Him “to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.” (Luke 4.18) After He died (or flew away, depending on who told the story), freedom became His disciples’ hue and cry. Their leader, a fisherman named Simon Peter, and chief theologian, a radicalized Pharisee known as Paul, constantly touted freedom from discriminatory barriers like race, class, and gender, as well as freedom from religious taboos. As they told it, Jesus liberated humanity from sacrificial ritual by opening direct access to God through faith. They flipped the equation common to all traditions of their day—which revolved around rigorously scripted rites to win divine favor—by teaching God’s love and mercy are gifts, not rewards. We freely receive them by believing, not doing, they said. And because they’re given unconditionally, codes and restrictions attached to ritual-oriented, performance-based systems were now obsolete.

Those clinging to time-honored beliefs shrugged off such ideas as nonsense. A New Order? A groundbreaking revelation? Please. Ironically, the struggle to embrace Christ’s freedom resided in the Church. The concept was so alien to them, many first-century Christians feared it. It seemed too easy, too good, too impossible. So they did what we often do when God’s goodness enters our lives. Instead of accepting it thankfully, they fueled suspicions of freedom by reverting to old behaviors. Everywhere the Apostles turned, outdated doctrines popped up forbidding everything from mixed marriages to unrestricted diets. It’s no stretch to say the Early Church’s biggest challenge involved grasping what freedom is, with gratitude for it a close second. In 1 Timothy 4.4-5, Paul explains the fallacy of excessive freedom, saying selectively applied liberty is simply reduced restriction. “Everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer,” he writes. Everything. It’s all good.

Holy Gifts

Fear of freedom—indeed, fear of blessings in general—plagues the Church and millions of believers to this day. The debates and controversies sound more like opinions of outsiders who’ve never experienced the all-encompassing extent of God’s love and acceptance. It’s as though the mere idea is so marvelous it can’t be trusted. So we fix that with conditional amendments. Faith takes a back seat to archaic rituals and performance criteria. “Free to all” gets reframed as “Free to anyone, provided he/she does this or doesn’t do that.” The problem runs deeper than surface contradiction of Christ’s teaching and apostolic doctrine. It wrongfully transfers our responsibility for freedom to those who seek it. “Nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving,” Paul stresses.

It’s our duty to welcome strangers, embrace idiosyncrasies, and respect differences as blessings we freely accept with thanksgiving. Gratitude for what we may not agree with or understand illuminates genuine love for one another. “Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble,” 1 John 2.10 reads. What we find disagreeable between us becomes irrelevant, because we’re thankful for freedom to love one another as equals, all of us handmade by God, cherishing everything He created as good. His Word and prayer consecrate our bond. We are holy gifts to one another, blessings of goodness too precious to ruin with obsolete suspicions and fears. As we enter a new Thanksgiving season, perhaps we should start with gratitude for freedom to embrace who and what we don’t agree with or understand. God made everything. It’s all good.

Thanksgiving opens our eyes to God’s goodness and removes our fears of what we don’t agree with or understand.