This morning, as is my custom, before I read anything or turned on the computer or spoke with any one, I enjoyed coffee–one cup, lots of milk, no sugar, extra hot–and two cookies. Made them myself.
The first sip melts its way down to my stomach radiating warmth through my entire core. Pause. Rehearse my morning mediation: “Grace and peace. . . . Grace . . . . . . . . and Peace.”
Then the first bite of cookie, dense with whole wheat flour and oatmeal, interrupted with the glorious flavor and texture of a chocolate chip. Chew. . . . Savor. . . . Rehearse . . . . Exhale.
Wait.
Another sip. Flavor on the tongue. Heat in my mouth. Warmth flowing into my gut. Rehearse.
My mind wanders: Life of God received. Heat. Liquid. Flavor. Texture. I give thanks. Savor. Wait. Enjoy.
Bite of cookie. Chew. Savor. Give thanks. Life of God received.
This single bite connects me with a web of thousands, all children of God. All animated by his life-giving spirit. Wheat farmers. Cocoa growers. Sailors. Train engineers. Hourly workers in the factory that made the combine that gathered the wheat. Bankers. Grocery story cashiers. The older sisters who watched their little brothers and sisters while mom and dad worked.
The lingering taste of chocolate connects me with them all and with the God of them all.
It takes half an hour to receive one cup and two cookies.
I finish. Life of God received. Thank you. Eucharist. Coffee and cookie. Communion.
I begin my day. My prayer: make me, too, an agent of divine warmth and holy sustenance.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Hands of Grace; No Fingerprints
Some years ago I gave a presentation at a young adult gathering on Sabbath afternoon. I stayed after my lecture to listen to a vespers sermon by Jon Dybdahl. At the end of his sermon, he talked about God’s power to heal. Then he invited anyone present who needed special healing to stand. A number of people stood, including a young man in the row in front of me.
Next Dr. Dybdahl asked those sitting near someone who had stood to stand also and place our hands on the people needing healing. I stood and put my hand on the shoulder of the young man in front of me. Dr. Dybdalh prayed, and we sat back down.
After the service was over, the young man came over to me. It was his first time hanging around Adventists. The friend who had brought him said I was a preacher. Could we get together and talk sometime that week.
“Sure,” I said and gave him my card.
When we sat down to talk on Wednesday he told me he had felt the power of God flow from my hand all through his body. He had been suffering from severe back pain. He was healed, immediately and completely.
I had felt nothing at all.
I don’t know what would have happened if when Dr. Dybdahl had prayed no one had been standing there with their hands on Mike’s shoulders. I do know Mike felt God’s power and my hands were involved. Apparently God did not need to inform me of what he was up to.
* * * * *
It’s something like that in church. North Hill Adventist Fellowship is an agency of God’s healing. People have experienced release from addictions. They have found solace. They have found new hope. The people of North Hill have been agents of heaven. Through your hands God has touched many with his grace.
You might think, “I’ve never been part of a miracle.” You may never have felt God’s power flow through you as others received healing. Still, even though you may have been completely unaware, you have, indeed, been agents of grace. How? Let me count the ways.
Right now we have fourteen people on our cleaning teams. How likely is it that anyone would hang around here long enough to encounter God if no one cleaned the toilets? If no one vacuumed the lobby, mopped the kitchen floor or emptied the garbage cans?
Every time you’ve pushed a vacuum, every time you’ve washed a window, every time you’ve given attention to some small detail of cleaning here in this building, you have participated in the work of God. You have been an indispensable part of the ministry of God.
A week or two ago a college student sent me a message saying he had appreciated a recent sermon. He lives at college. He hasn’t been here at North Hill for over a month. How did he hear the sermon? On line. Which means that if he got anything out of that sermon God’s power must have passed through the hands of Jeff Keating or Kirsten Dovich at the sound board. Then it passed through the hands of Randy Wiser who posts the sermons to the web.
That student probably did not notice Jeff’s, Kirsten’s or Randy’s finger prints, but they were there.
People occasionally show up here at church talking about the landscape. They have noticed the slow emergence here on this corner of the classiest, most attractive landscaping within many miles either way on Meridian Ave. These people don’t know Wayne. They have no idea of how much time he has invested here. And the hundreds of hours a few others have invested as well. They can’t see the fingerprints of the volunteers who planted and weeded. They do see the handiwork of God in the beauty of the landscaping.
I could tell similar stories about people affected by those of you who are here consistently, touching children with programs and smiles and affection.
Lives have been transformed because some of you have the skills and take the time to make wonderfully good food for our potluck dinners creating an atmosphere of welcome and ease.
Fact is, every part of God’s kingdom depends on invisible hands.
One of the greatest stories in the Old Testament is set up by the words of a young woman whose name is never given. The maid of Naaman’s wife suggests to her mistress that a prophet in Israel could cure Naaman’s leprosy.
Naaman was a VIP. Like Colin Powell or the Secretary of State or the Secretary of Defense. He was SOMEBODY. He goes to Israel for the cure. The prophet Elisha heals him. It is a fantastic story with lots of drama. Great characters–the kings of Israel and Syria, the prophet Elisha, Elisha’s servant Gehazi. The story ends with the conversion of Naaman to the worship of the God of heaven and the end of endless war between Syria and Israel.
It’s all set up by a nameless maid, doing her job, unnoticed, unheralded.
In the New Testament, the fantastic miracle of Jesus feeding 5000 people is set up by a kid with no name who hands over his lunch. I’m sure that kid could see nothing extraordinary about his five pieces of bread and two fish. Sure the food was going to taste good. He was not unhappy about his lunch. But he had no idea that his meager lunch held enough food for thousands to eat and be satisfied.
He just handed over his lunch. God fed the crowd.
Don’t spend too much time trying to spot God’s activity. Don’t be over-concerned how significant your labor is or how powerful your hands are. Just speak up for God when you get a chance. Hand over your lunch when it’s needed. Do what you can where you are. When you know it or not, you're acting as an agent of grace. Your hands are the conduits of miracles. God moves through you while you are busy doing what needs to be done.
So do it.
Next Dr. Dybdahl asked those sitting near someone who had stood to stand also and place our hands on the people needing healing. I stood and put my hand on the shoulder of the young man in front of me. Dr. Dybdalh prayed, and we sat back down.
After the service was over, the young man came over to me. It was his first time hanging around Adventists. The friend who had brought him said I was a preacher. Could we get together and talk sometime that week.
“Sure,” I said and gave him my card.
When we sat down to talk on Wednesday he told me he had felt the power of God flow from my hand all through his body. He had been suffering from severe back pain. He was healed, immediately and completely.
I had felt nothing at all.
I don’t know what would have happened if when Dr. Dybdahl had prayed no one had been standing there with their hands on Mike’s shoulders. I do know Mike felt God’s power and my hands were involved. Apparently God did not need to inform me of what he was up to.
* * * * *
It’s something like that in church. North Hill Adventist Fellowship is an agency of God’s healing. People have experienced release from addictions. They have found solace. They have found new hope. The people of North Hill have been agents of heaven. Through your hands God has touched many with his grace.
You might think, “I’ve never been part of a miracle.” You may never have felt God’s power flow through you as others received healing. Still, even though you may have been completely unaware, you have, indeed, been agents of grace. How? Let me count the ways.
Right now we have fourteen people on our cleaning teams. How likely is it that anyone would hang around here long enough to encounter God if no one cleaned the toilets? If no one vacuumed the lobby, mopped the kitchen floor or emptied the garbage cans?
Every time you’ve pushed a vacuum, every time you’ve washed a window, every time you’ve given attention to some small detail of cleaning here in this building, you have participated in the work of God. You have been an indispensable part of the ministry of God.
A week or two ago a college student sent me a message saying he had appreciated a recent sermon. He lives at college. He hasn’t been here at North Hill for over a month. How did he hear the sermon? On line. Which means that if he got anything out of that sermon God’s power must have passed through the hands of Jeff Keating or Kirsten Dovich at the sound board. Then it passed through the hands of Randy Wiser who posts the sermons to the web.
That student probably did not notice Jeff’s, Kirsten’s or Randy’s finger prints, but they were there.
People occasionally show up here at church talking about the landscape. They have noticed the slow emergence here on this corner of the classiest, most attractive landscaping within many miles either way on Meridian Ave. These people don’t know Wayne. They have no idea of how much time he has invested here. And the hundreds of hours a few others have invested as well. They can’t see the fingerprints of the volunteers who planted and weeded. They do see the handiwork of God in the beauty of the landscaping.
I could tell similar stories about people affected by those of you who are here consistently, touching children with programs and smiles and affection.
Lives have been transformed because some of you have the skills and take the time to make wonderfully good food for our potluck dinners creating an atmosphere of welcome and ease.
Fact is, every part of God’s kingdom depends on invisible hands.
One of the greatest stories in the Old Testament is set up by the words of a young woman whose name is never given. The maid of Naaman’s wife suggests to her mistress that a prophet in Israel could cure Naaman’s leprosy.
Naaman was a VIP. Like Colin Powell or the Secretary of State or the Secretary of Defense. He was SOMEBODY. He goes to Israel for the cure. The prophet Elisha heals him. It is a fantastic story with lots of drama. Great characters–the kings of Israel and Syria, the prophet Elisha, Elisha’s servant Gehazi. The story ends with the conversion of Naaman to the worship of the God of heaven and the end of endless war between Syria and Israel.
It’s all set up by a nameless maid, doing her job, unnoticed, unheralded.
In the New Testament, the fantastic miracle of Jesus feeding 5000 people is set up by a kid with no name who hands over his lunch. I’m sure that kid could see nothing extraordinary about his five pieces of bread and two fish. Sure the food was going to taste good. He was not unhappy about his lunch. But he had no idea that his meager lunch held enough food for thousands to eat and be satisfied.
He just handed over his lunch. God fed the crowd.
Don’t spend too much time trying to spot God’s activity. Don’t be over-concerned how significant your labor is or how powerful your hands are. Just speak up for God when you get a chance. Hand over your lunch when it’s needed. Do what you can where you are. When you know it or not, you're acting as an agent of grace. Your hands are the conduits of miracles. God moves through you while you are busy doing what needs to be done.
So do it.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Saved by the Law
If your concern is being saved from hell, the law won't do you much good.
If your concern is to be saved from avoidable harm and futility here and now, "law" is just what you need.
I read an article not long ago in Forbes magazine that described the dramatic turn around in AIDS infection in that country. What has made the difference? A campaign to get people to change their behavior. Quit having sex outside marriage.
I saw an ad recently on the back page of a magazine. What happened to New Jersey teens when the state decided to delay issuing drivers licenses until they turned 18? A lot more of them arrived alive at 18 years of age.
I don't spend much time thinking about hell. I do spend a lot time thinking about how to help my people live well here and now. And "lawfulness," that is life ordered in harmony with sound principles turns out to be far more effective in saving them from disease, death, relationship failure and poverty than any amount of purely theoretical faith. Miracles sometimes happen. Law happens far more often.
(Sorry for absence of references for the Forbes article and the ad. I'm in a hurry to get out of town. If you want the references, leave a comment and I'll supply them next week when I return.)
If your concern is to be saved from avoidable harm and futility here and now, "law" is just what you need.
I read an article not long ago in Forbes magazine that described the dramatic turn around in AIDS infection in that country. What has made the difference? A campaign to get people to change their behavior. Quit having sex outside marriage.
I saw an ad recently on the back page of a magazine. What happened to New Jersey teens when the state decided to delay issuing drivers licenses until they turned 18? A lot more of them arrived alive at 18 years of age.
I don't spend much time thinking about hell. I do spend a lot time thinking about how to help my people live well here and now. And "lawfulness," that is life ordered in harmony with sound principles turns out to be far more effective in saving them from disease, death, relationship failure and poverty than any amount of purely theoretical faith. Miracles sometimes happen. Law happens far more often.
(Sorry for absence of references for the Forbes article and the ad. I'm in a hurry to get out of town. If you want the references, leave a comment and I'll supply them next week when I return.)
Friday, October 2, 2009
Barnabas the Encourager
(This is a long blog--1200 words. So here is a synopsis: Barnabas, the encourager, was God’s indispensable agent in launching the ministry of Paul. Barnabas lived the grace Paul preached. If your calling is more that of “encourager” than “apostle” blessings on you. Your ministry is no less significant than that of those who are more flamboyant, forceful or famous. Keep encouraging.)
If you want the whole thing, here it is. Or you can check out the audio once we get it posted. See the links to the right.
Barnabas: My Model for Ministry
When a guy named Paul showed up in Jerusalem looking to spend some time with the followers of Jesus there, he needed help. The church would have nothing to do with him. For good reason. Sure, they had heard the stories of his conversion in Damascus. But the people in Jerusalem knew his other side better. It was their relatives and friends Paul had arrested and prosecuted. Their relatives and friends had been subjected to Paul’s enhanced interrogation techniques.
Paul was scary. He was forceful, brilliant, outspoken, domineering, and . . . well scary. If he wanted to believe in Jesus, that was all well and good. But it would be recklessly irresponsible to give him ready access to the social networks of the church. Who knew how long his “conversion” would last. Maybe his “conversion” was a mere ploy, a set up for more dramatic arrests and prosecutions.
Then Barnabas got involved.
Barnabas was rich. Devout. Cultured. Respected. When the early church ran low on cash, Barnabas saved the day (Acts 4:36).
So when Barnabas took Paul around to visit the apostles, the apostles listened. When Barnabas insisted Paul’s conversion was genuine, his opinion mattered. The church doors opened, at least a bit.
This was just Barnabas’ first act in setting up the ministry of Paul.
Some time later word reached Jerusalem that crowds of Gentiles were showing up at church to hear about Jesus. The apostles had already been confronted with the story of Cornelius, the Roman centurion, whose non-Jewish household had been demonstrably filled with the Holy Spirit before they were even baptized. Probably the apostles remembered the words of the Jesus about the gospel going to all nations. But what to do with crowds of Gentiles?
They turned to Barnabas. Would he go and check out the situation?
Barnabas heads off to Antioch. “When he arrived and saw the evidence of the grace of God, he was glad and encouraged them all to remain true to the lord will all their hearts.” There is ample evidence that the early church included people with all sorts of personal, moral and spiritual problems. What did Barnabas see when he met with these new believers? “Evidence of the grace of God.”
When Barnabas arrived, he saw evidence of grace and encouraged them. Not a bad model for us. Maybe the reason Barnabas saw so much grace is that his own life was full of grace. Luke writes about Barnabas: “He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith.” One of the highest commendations given in the Bible.
While Barnabas was helping the believers in Antioch grow in their spiritual life he remembered Paul. Paul had dropped off the radar screen. Barnabas thought he should be involved in public ministry. So Barnabas traveled over a hundred miles to Tarsus, looking for Paul. When he finally found him, Barnabas insisted Paul come help in Antioch.
The two of them spent a year teaching and preaching in Antioch. They had such an impact the people in town began calling the believers “Christians, ” the first time that term was used.
Later that year, a prophet predicted a severe famine. In response to the prophecy, the church started an emergency fund for the believers back in Jerusalem. When they had enough money together, they asked Barnabas to deliver it to Jerusalem.
Who did Barnabas take with him? Paul.
The leaders may not have been impressed with Paul’s scholarship and preaching when Barnabas first introduced Paul. But they could not fail to be impressed if Paul showed up with a large donation. So Barnabas and Paul traveled to Jerusalem carrying the offering from the church in Antioch.
After delivering the aid, Barnabas and Paul returned to Antioch. There, while they were fasting and praying with three other church leaders, the Holy Spirit told the group to consecrate Barnabas and Paul for a special mission. They did so, and Barnabas and Paul took off on a missionary trip.
Paul was in his element. New people. New challenges. He was a fiery preacher. His first Sabbath in the town of Pisidian Antioch, Paul preached in the local synagogue. His sermon was so compelling that the next Sabbath nearly the entire city turned out to hear him preach. Whether or not you agreed with Paul, he was hard to ignore.
Paul was a riveting preacher, a compelling teacher. He had the gift of healing. He performed exorcisms. Paul was a terrific evangelist. He was a lousy pastor. He was skilled at preaching grace. He was lousy at practicing it.
On this missionary trip, Barnabas had invited his relative John Mark to come along. Mark dropped out part way through the trip. He couldn’t handle the pressure. When Barnabas and Paul got ready to go on their next trip, Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance. Paul was adamant. No way! He’s a wimp, a wuss. I won’t have a quitter with me doing evangelism.
When Paul insisted he would not do mission work with John Mark, Barnabas said, “Fine. You don’t have to come.”
For all of Barnabas’ appreciation for Paul’s gifts and calling, Barnabas would not allow Paul to shut down another person whose gifts and weaknesses were different from his own.
Paul went on to the famous ministry we know about. He traveled widely, planting churches through his fiery preaching. He wrote letters that are still studied and quoted today. God clearly used Paul in a mighty way.
I think it is valuable to remember without Barnabas, we would have never heard of Paul. Barnabas could not have done Paul’s work. Paul could have never done his work without Barnabas.
God needs both fiery evangelists and sensitive pastors. Sensitive pastors make lousy evangelists (if you measure by counting). Fiery evangelists make lousy pastors (if you measure by sustainable church life). In the large scheme of things both are vital for the long term health of the church.
Barnabas’ story gives me courage in my work as a pastor. I’m a lousy evangelist (if you evaluate me by the numbers). But I’m pretty good at encouraging.
Congregations also have personalities or gift profiles. Some congregations are rigorous and strict in their teaching and church culture. Other congregations are known for their warmth and openness. Both kinds of congregations are needed to do the whole work of God.
North Hill is unabashedly committed to Barnabas as our model. We are more concerned with warmth and affection than we are with order and structure. We find our greatest joy and effectiveness in encouraging persons and ministries.
Those who use Paul as their “model” Christian are often critical of a Barnabas approach to pastoral work and congregational life. These critics are adamant that the church must ruthlessly proclaim the pure gospel and rid itself of any taint of uncertainty or impurity. I smile at the criticism. It sounds just like Paul talking. And the reason we know what Paul sounded like, the reason we have access to his words is because of a man named Barnabas.
Who knows, maybe our own Barnabas ministry will give birth to a new Paul, full of zeal and fire, impatient with our own patience with those who are less than perfect.
If you want the whole thing, here it is. Or you can check out the audio once we get it posted. See the links to the right.
Barnabas: My Model for Ministry
When a guy named Paul showed up in Jerusalem looking to spend some time with the followers of Jesus there, he needed help. The church would have nothing to do with him. For good reason. Sure, they had heard the stories of his conversion in Damascus. But the people in Jerusalem knew his other side better. It was their relatives and friends Paul had arrested and prosecuted. Their relatives and friends had been subjected to Paul’s enhanced interrogation techniques.
Paul was scary. He was forceful, brilliant, outspoken, domineering, and . . . well scary. If he wanted to believe in Jesus, that was all well and good. But it would be recklessly irresponsible to give him ready access to the social networks of the church. Who knew how long his “conversion” would last. Maybe his “conversion” was a mere ploy, a set up for more dramatic arrests and prosecutions.
Then Barnabas got involved.
Barnabas was rich. Devout. Cultured. Respected. When the early church ran low on cash, Barnabas saved the day (Acts 4:36).
So when Barnabas took Paul around to visit the apostles, the apostles listened. When Barnabas insisted Paul’s conversion was genuine, his opinion mattered. The church doors opened, at least a bit.
This was just Barnabas’ first act in setting up the ministry of Paul.
Some time later word reached Jerusalem that crowds of Gentiles were showing up at church to hear about Jesus. The apostles had already been confronted with the story of Cornelius, the Roman centurion, whose non-Jewish household had been demonstrably filled with the Holy Spirit before they were even baptized. Probably the apostles remembered the words of the Jesus about the gospel going to all nations. But what to do with crowds of Gentiles?
They turned to Barnabas. Would he go and check out the situation?
Barnabas heads off to Antioch. “When he arrived and saw the evidence of the grace of God, he was glad and encouraged them all to remain true to the lord will all their hearts.” There is ample evidence that the early church included people with all sorts of personal, moral and spiritual problems. What did Barnabas see when he met with these new believers? “Evidence of the grace of God.”
When Barnabas arrived, he saw evidence of grace and encouraged them. Not a bad model for us. Maybe the reason Barnabas saw so much grace is that his own life was full of grace. Luke writes about Barnabas: “He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith.” One of the highest commendations given in the Bible.
While Barnabas was helping the believers in Antioch grow in their spiritual life he remembered Paul. Paul had dropped off the radar screen. Barnabas thought he should be involved in public ministry. So Barnabas traveled over a hundred miles to Tarsus, looking for Paul. When he finally found him, Barnabas insisted Paul come help in Antioch.
The two of them spent a year teaching and preaching in Antioch. They had such an impact the people in town began calling the believers “Christians, ” the first time that term was used.
Later that year, a prophet predicted a severe famine. In response to the prophecy, the church started an emergency fund for the believers back in Jerusalem. When they had enough money together, they asked Barnabas to deliver it to Jerusalem.
Who did Barnabas take with him? Paul.
The leaders may not have been impressed with Paul’s scholarship and preaching when Barnabas first introduced Paul. But they could not fail to be impressed if Paul showed up with a large donation. So Barnabas and Paul traveled to Jerusalem carrying the offering from the church in Antioch.
After delivering the aid, Barnabas and Paul returned to Antioch. There, while they were fasting and praying with three other church leaders, the Holy Spirit told the group to consecrate Barnabas and Paul for a special mission. They did so, and Barnabas and Paul took off on a missionary trip.
Paul was in his element. New people. New challenges. He was a fiery preacher. His first Sabbath in the town of Pisidian Antioch, Paul preached in the local synagogue. His sermon was so compelling that the next Sabbath nearly the entire city turned out to hear him preach. Whether or not you agreed with Paul, he was hard to ignore.
Paul was a riveting preacher, a compelling teacher. He had the gift of healing. He performed exorcisms. Paul was a terrific evangelist. He was a lousy pastor. He was skilled at preaching grace. He was lousy at practicing it.
On this missionary trip, Barnabas had invited his relative John Mark to come along. Mark dropped out part way through the trip. He couldn’t handle the pressure. When Barnabas and Paul got ready to go on their next trip, Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance. Paul was adamant. No way! He’s a wimp, a wuss. I won’t have a quitter with me doing evangelism.
When Paul insisted he would not do mission work with John Mark, Barnabas said, “Fine. You don’t have to come.”
For all of Barnabas’ appreciation for Paul’s gifts and calling, Barnabas would not allow Paul to shut down another person whose gifts and weaknesses were different from his own.
Paul went on to the famous ministry we know about. He traveled widely, planting churches through his fiery preaching. He wrote letters that are still studied and quoted today. God clearly used Paul in a mighty way.
I think it is valuable to remember without Barnabas, we would have never heard of Paul. Barnabas could not have done Paul’s work. Paul could have never done his work without Barnabas.
God needs both fiery evangelists and sensitive pastors. Sensitive pastors make lousy evangelists (if you measure by counting). Fiery evangelists make lousy pastors (if you measure by sustainable church life). In the large scheme of things both are vital for the long term health of the church.
Barnabas’ story gives me courage in my work as a pastor. I’m a lousy evangelist (if you evaluate me by the numbers). But I’m pretty good at encouraging.
Congregations also have personalities or gift profiles. Some congregations are rigorous and strict in their teaching and church culture. Other congregations are known for their warmth and openness. Both kinds of congregations are needed to do the whole work of God.
North Hill is unabashedly committed to Barnabas as our model. We are more concerned with warmth and affection than we are with order and structure. We find our greatest joy and effectiveness in encouraging persons and ministries.
Those who use Paul as their “model” Christian are often critical of a Barnabas approach to pastoral work and congregational life. These critics are adamant that the church must ruthlessly proclaim the pure gospel and rid itself of any taint of uncertainty or impurity. I smile at the criticism. It sounds just like Paul talking. And the reason we know what Paul sounded like, the reason we have access to his words is because of a man named Barnabas.
Who knows, maybe our own Barnabas ministry will give birth to a new Paul, full of zeal and fire, impatient with our own patience with those who are less than perfect.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
If Theology Can’t Fix my Car, Why Bother?
Friends of mine are deeply involved in advocating particular theories about the end of time. They preach, write books, publish newsletters. A couple of different times I’ve ask them, If I believed everything you are teaching, what would I do differently? What do you want me to change in the way I live? Their answer: Nothing.
So why should I listen to their sermons or read their books and blogs? One of the most important questions to be asked in theological conversation is So what? What difference does it make? If the answer is “Nothing!” then at minimum we don’t need to excommunicate each for our differences. I'll push it even further, if a person's theology does not have a vital connection to their everyday life, their theology is a mere religious curiosity not really worthy of the label "theology."
Valuable theology does make a difference in our lives. No, it won’t fix my car. It won’t cure Alzheimer’s or wash the dishes. But then that’s not what it is for. Watercolor painting won’t fix my car either, or cure Alzheimer’s or clean the dishes. Still we treasure good painting. And good theology is at least as valuable as good painting. In fact, theology is a lot like art. Theology is someone’s attempt to paint a picture of reality using words.
Theologians tell us what they see, and they hope that in their telling they will enable us to also see. The eyes of our mind see differently after reading a theological work.
It is important to recognize that theology is not reality, just as a painting of a tree is not a tree. No matter how elegant, attractive or “true” the painting is, the painting is not the tree. The Bible is not God. Calvin’s “Institutes” does not contain God. Ellen White’s Conflict of the Ages series does not contain God. These great works point toward God. They evoke in our minds an understanding and appreciation of God. They help us understand the implications of our God theories for the practice of life. But they are not themselves God.
So why do theology?
1. We humans can’t help ourselves. We are incurable theologians. Even Dawkins has to theorize about God–God doesn’t exist;–he can’t help positing a theory of ultimate reality. When we do theology we are doing what all human cultures everywhere at all times have done. We are expressing and revealing our humanity.
2. Theology has implications for how we order our lives. The respect I give those who disagree with me. The limits I impose on people who use their freedom in ways that damage others. My willingness to cooperate with others in community (preserving and limiting personal autonomy). My behavior in support of personal and community health. All of these things interact with my theology.
3. Theology is the art form most suitable for talking about purpose and meaning. Our lives are immeasurably enriched when they are supported by a lively sense of purpose and meaning. If we did away with formal theology, we would immediately replace it with something that functioned in similar manner in our lives–superstition, philosophy, a different theology.
4. Good theology is beautiful and helps us see beauty. Our hunger for this “divine” beauty has inspired the writing and collecting of books for three thousand years at least. The connection between theology and beauty is so strong it justifies our theologizing even though we know theology can be used in wicked ways. (Of course, we are far better served when we use theology to create beauty than when we use it to crack skulls.)
Theology, even the very finest theology, won’t fix my car. It might help me respond righteously if my mechanic fails or my car is irreparable. It points to meaning and purpose that transcend the entire world of cars and mechanics. No matter how precious my car, theology opens a universe beyond it that invites exploration and worship.
So why should I listen to their sermons or read their books and blogs? One of the most important questions to be asked in theological conversation is So what? What difference does it make? If the answer is “Nothing!” then at minimum we don’t need to excommunicate each for our differences. I'll push it even further, if a person's theology does not have a vital connection to their everyday life, their theology is a mere religious curiosity not really worthy of the label "theology."
Valuable theology does make a difference in our lives. No, it won’t fix my car. It won’t cure Alzheimer’s or wash the dishes. But then that’s not what it is for. Watercolor painting won’t fix my car either, or cure Alzheimer’s or clean the dishes. Still we treasure good painting. And good theology is at least as valuable as good painting. In fact, theology is a lot like art. Theology is someone’s attempt to paint a picture of reality using words.
Theologians tell us what they see, and they hope that in their telling they will enable us to also see. The eyes of our mind see differently after reading a theological work.
It is important to recognize that theology is not reality, just as a painting of a tree is not a tree. No matter how elegant, attractive or “true” the painting is, the painting is not the tree. The Bible is not God. Calvin’s “Institutes” does not contain God. Ellen White’s Conflict of the Ages series does not contain God. These great works point toward God. They evoke in our minds an understanding and appreciation of God. They help us understand the implications of our God theories for the practice of life. But they are not themselves God.
So why do theology?
1. We humans can’t help ourselves. We are incurable theologians. Even Dawkins has to theorize about God–God doesn’t exist;–he can’t help positing a theory of ultimate reality. When we do theology we are doing what all human cultures everywhere at all times have done. We are expressing and revealing our humanity.
2. Theology has implications for how we order our lives. The respect I give those who disagree with me. The limits I impose on people who use their freedom in ways that damage others. My willingness to cooperate with others in community (preserving and limiting personal autonomy). My behavior in support of personal and community health. All of these things interact with my theology.
3. Theology is the art form most suitable for talking about purpose and meaning. Our lives are immeasurably enriched when they are supported by a lively sense of purpose and meaning. If we did away with formal theology, we would immediately replace it with something that functioned in similar manner in our lives–superstition, philosophy, a different theology.
4. Good theology is beautiful and helps us see beauty. Our hunger for this “divine” beauty has inspired the writing and collecting of books for three thousand years at least. The connection between theology and beauty is so strong it justifies our theologizing even though we know theology can be used in wicked ways. (Of course, we are far better served when we use theology to create beauty than when we use it to crack skulls.)
Theology, even the very finest theology, won’t fix my car. It might help me respond righteously if my mechanic fails or my car is irreparable. It points to meaning and purpose that transcend the entire world of cars and mechanics. No matter how precious my car, theology opens a universe beyond it that invites exploration and worship.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Believing Less
Growing up as a precociously religious kid who was reasonably bright, I mastered a lot of information.
By the time I finished elementary school, I knew the names of the general-slaying woman with a hammer (Jael) and the first organist (Jubal). I knew the date of Creation and the right day to keep holy. I could tell you the meaning of the “Spirit of Prophecy” and “then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.” I knew the identities of the “little horn,” the “great red dragon” and the “lamb-like beast.” I believed every detail. Fervently.
By the end of high school, I could chart the precise order of last day events–the loud cry, the little time of trouble, the national Sunday law, the close of probation, the great time of trouble, the death decree, etc.
In college and seminary, I added to my repertoire. I became an expert on justification, sanctification and glorification. I could explain legal, relational and psychological theories of the atonement. I could teach people how to “pray through the sanctuary.” I could explain “the covenants.” I could comfortably toss around words like soteriology, pre-lapsarian and post-lapsarian, eschatology, hermeneutics, hamartology, ecclesiology, epistemology. When I began pastoring my first church–the Babylon Adventist Church on Long Island–I believed an enormous number of things and could explain why they were true.
Now, I believe less.
I have not been persuaded by the various efforts to “disprove” Adventism. The evangelical critique of Adventism has a patina of scholarship. However, it appears to me to merely replace slavish Adventist dependence on Ellen White as the primary interpreter of the Bible with a slavish dependence on Paul as the ultimate voice of truth. Not a great leap forward in epistemology, exegesis or human well-being. The unrestrained confidence in the “assured results of scholarship” characteristic of classic liberal theology seems naive to me. History has not been kind to “assured results.”
My believing less arises not from the attraction of another truer (or more sophisticated or more exegetically-precise or more venerable) system. Rather it arises out of thirty years of listening to God’s people–professional theologians and mothers and students and scientists and the home-bound disabled and addicts and care-givers and doctors and truck drivers.
All those prophetic details? The theologians argue endlessly. Some of their arguments are interesting. However, a correct interpretation of Daniel 8 and Revelation 13 offers no help for people who have spent thirty years trying to quit smoking or people who are interacting with adult children who are schizophrenics. Should I really claim to believe something that makes no difference for mothering, bill-paying, physical health or the navigation of old age?
To push it even further, people who REALLY do believe we are at the end of time drop out of school, move to the country and “evangelize” in confrontational, obnoxious ways. In other words their lives are deranged.
The same holds for “justification, sanctification, glorification.” The debates about soteriology (how a person is saved) fill endless volumes. The debate is interesting and irrelevant. In my limited experience there is a strong correlation between having highly developed soteriological schemas and being tragically ineffective in significant relationships. Knowing the precise relation between justification and sanctification appears to offer little help for troubled marriages or dealing with addictions or managing money wisely.
So I believe less.
I believe in God.
I believe in people. God made them. God died for them. I figure salvation (whatever that means) is the default state of things. If God, with classical omniscience and omnipotence, created humanity with the full knowledge that 95 percent of them (cf. Ellen White’s statements about “not one in twenty”) would be incinerated, that would raise ethical questions at least as large as those created by theistic evolution.
I believe “God desires mercy and not sacrifice.” That is, relationships are more important than religious rectitude.
I believe doing good is more important that believing right. (Though, of course, ideas matter. Some ideas have consequences.)
I believe making beauty is better than making ugly.
(Some readers, at this point, might ask, then what do I make of the highly elaborated theology of Adventism? Do I think we should get rid of it? Do I think it is wrong? I’ll address this in a future post under the title, “If theology can’t fix my car, what good is it?” Hint: water coloring painting won’t fix my car either.)
By the time I finished elementary school, I knew the names of the general-slaying woman with a hammer (Jael) and the first organist (Jubal). I knew the date of Creation and the right day to keep holy. I could tell you the meaning of the “Spirit of Prophecy” and “then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.” I knew the identities of the “little horn,” the “great red dragon” and the “lamb-like beast.” I believed every detail. Fervently.
By the end of high school, I could chart the precise order of last day events–the loud cry, the little time of trouble, the national Sunday law, the close of probation, the great time of trouble, the death decree, etc.
In college and seminary, I added to my repertoire. I became an expert on justification, sanctification and glorification. I could explain legal, relational and psychological theories of the atonement. I could teach people how to “pray through the sanctuary.” I could explain “the covenants.” I could comfortably toss around words like soteriology, pre-lapsarian and post-lapsarian, eschatology, hermeneutics, hamartology, ecclesiology, epistemology. When I began pastoring my first church–the Babylon Adventist Church on Long Island–I believed an enormous number of things and could explain why they were true.
Now, I believe less.
I have not been persuaded by the various efforts to “disprove” Adventism. The evangelical critique of Adventism has a patina of scholarship. However, it appears to me to merely replace slavish Adventist dependence on Ellen White as the primary interpreter of the Bible with a slavish dependence on Paul as the ultimate voice of truth. Not a great leap forward in epistemology, exegesis or human well-being. The unrestrained confidence in the “assured results of scholarship” characteristic of classic liberal theology seems naive to me. History has not been kind to “assured results.”
My believing less arises not from the attraction of another truer (or more sophisticated or more exegetically-precise or more venerable) system. Rather it arises out of thirty years of listening to God’s people–professional theologians and mothers and students and scientists and the home-bound disabled and addicts and care-givers and doctors and truck drivers.
All those prophetic details? The theologians argue endlessly. Some of their arguments are interesting. However, a correct interpretation of Daniel 8 and Revelation 13 offers no help for people who have spent thirty years trying to quit smoking or people who are interacting with adult children who are schizophrenics. Should I really claim to believe something that makes no difference for mothering, bill-paying, physical health or the navigation of old age?
To push it even further, people who REALLY do believe we are at the end of time drop out of school, move to the country and “evangelize” in confrontational, obnoxious ways. In other words their lives are deranged.
The same holds for “justification, sanctification, glorification.” The debates about soteriology (how a person is saved) fill endless volumes. The debate is interesting and irrelevant. In my limited experience there is a strong correlation between having highly developed soteriological schemas and being tragically ineffective in significant relationships. Knowing the precise relation between justification and sanctification appears to offer little help for troubled marriages or dealing with addictions or managing money wisely.
So I believe less.
I believe in God.
I believe in people. God made them. God died for them. I figure salvation (whatever that means) is the default state of things. If God, with classical omniscience and omnipotence, created humanity with the full knowledge that 95 percent of them (cf. Ellen White’s statements about “not one in twenty”) would be incinerated, that would raise ethical questions at least as large as those created by theistic evolution.
I believe “God desires mercy and not sacrifice.” That is, relationships are more important than religious rectitude.
I believe doing good is more important that believing right. (Though, of course, ideas matter. Some ideas have consequences.)
I believe making beauty is better than making ugly.
(Some readers, at this point, might ask, then what do I make of the highly elaborated theology of Adventism? Do I think we should get rid of it? Do I think it is wrong? I’ll address this in a future post under the title, “If theology can’t fix my car, what good is it?” Hint: water coloring painting won’t fix my car either.)
Friday, September 4, 2009
Finding God in our Stories
Sermon for North Hill, September 6, 2009
Text: Luke 16:1-15
On the face of it, Jesus’ story about a crooked manager is outrageous. The manager rips off the rancher he works for. The owner congratulates the crook for his cunning. In Jesus’ telling of the story the crook does not apologize or make amends, instead Jesus simply segues from the owner’s congratulation to a spiritual point the story is supposed to illustrate.
More than one church member has insisted I offer some intelligible reason for Jesus’ use of this story. So here is my take on “The Unrighteous Steward.”
First the story as Jesus told it:
Jesus told his disciples: "There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. So he called him in and confronted him, 'What’s this I hear? Give an account of your management, because you cannot be manager any longer.'
"The manager said to himself, 'What shall I do now? My master is taking away my job. I'm not strong enough to dig, and I'm ashamed to beg. I know what I'll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.'
He called in each of his master's debtors. He asked the first, “How much do you owe?”
“Eight hundred gallons of olive oil,” he replied.
The manager told him, “Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it four hundred.”
He asked the second, “How much do you owe?”
"A thousand bushels of wheat,” he replied.
He told him, “Take your bill and make it eight hundred.”
The master commended the dishonest manager on his cunning. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.
Jesus is quite explicit in stating “the moral of the story:” use money to bless people because this kind of money management brings eternal benefits. We might puzzle over exactly how to implement this teaching, but the basic exhortation is clear.
I explored this idea in last week’s sermon. “Spiritual things” like the Bible, prayer and going to church are not the only tools for building a vital spiritual life. Secular things, worldly things–like money–are no less useful as tools for crafting spiritual life. You want to get ready for heaven? Don’t limit yourself to prayer, Bible study and going to church. Understand that money is a spiritual tool. What we do with our money affects others. It makes an eternal difference. The way we manage money expresses and shapes the very core of our being.
This spiritual lesson from the story does not address the question posed to me on the way out of church last week: why Jesus would tell such a story in the first place? Surely he could have come up with a story with more noble protagonists. Why use a story of scandalous money management to make his point about the wise use of money?
First, Jesus’ use of this story highlights the importance of what he was trying to get across. Jesus used a shocking story to introduce his point because he wanted to make sure no one missed it. He wanted to make sure he had EVERYONE’s attention. He wanted to make sure they would not forget it.
They didn’t.
We’re still talking about it.
Second, Jesus’ use of this story offers fantastic hope to all of us. No matter how inglorious our story, God can still use it. In fact, God needs our story to finish telling his story.
The story of Bob Pierce is full of inspiration. In 1947 he traveled to China as a missionary with Youth for Christ. He was fiery evangelist . . . and a highly effective one. Thousands of people crowded his meetings and were baptized.
One morning he was confronted by Miss Tena Hoelkedoer, a local missionary who was the principal of a mission school. It was easy for him to preach about Jesus, she said, but what was he going to do about White Jade? White Jade was a young student who had attended Pierce’s meetings. The night before she had been so inspired she went home and told her father that she was going to become a Christian. Her father beat her severely and threw her out of the house with threats of severe harm if she ever returned. White Jade dragged herself to the mission. The principal was already housing six orphans in her home she could not afford to feed another.
Pierce gave Miss Hoelkedoer, his last five dollars and promised to send her more money every month. It was the first spark of a personal vision that would eventually encompass the world.
After that preaching tour in China, Bob Pierce went to Korea. Starvation was everywhere. Children without fathers. Wives without husbands. Bob bought a movie camera and filmed the desperate need of the people, then came back to the US and toured the country showing his pictures in churches and pleading with American Christians to help those who were less fortunate.
Bob’s solidarity with the hurting of the world was irresistible. When he talked, you felt the pain of the world. That empathy, that deep connection with the hungry and orphaned and widowed, became the foundation of World Vision. From its birth in 1950, World Vision has grown into an international aid agency helping people in over 100 countries with over 30,000 staff. They assist 100 million people a year.
It’s a fantastic story. But to keep it fully inspirational, you have to edit carefully. If you tell all of Bob Pierce’s story, it sounds a lot like the story of the Unrighteous Steward.
Bob, the man with deep empathy for the world’s needy, was possessed by a fierce temper. He got into frequent angry confrontations with his board. He neglected his family, spending as much as ten months at a time away from home traveling. He justified this neglect saying, "I've made an agreement with God that I'll take care of his helpless little lambs overseas if he'll take care of mine at home." It didn’t quite work that way. He was alienated from his daughters. One of his daughters committed suicide after futilely begging him to come home from an extended trip in Asia. He and wife eventually separated.
He reconciled with his family four days before his death. A nice touch. But given his raging temper, his willfulness, and his deeply entrenched pattern of deliberately neglecting his family, I can’t help wondering how long the reconciliation would have lasted if he had stayed alive.
To put it simply, on a global stage Bob Pierce was a grand, larger-than-life humanitarian. On the smaller stages of home and office, he was a jerk.
World Vision would not exist if Bob had not been such a fanatically driven evangelist. His daughter may not have committed suicide if her father had been more appropriately attentive to his family. Bob Pierce’s story is full of glory and venality, nobility and pettiness. Contradictions.
Like your story.
Maybe that’s why Jesus told this story.
He could have used a story with more noble characters in it. He could have explicitly stated his disapproval of the crook’s business methods. Instead, Jesus took the story as it was–the record of a crooked business manager–and made it an integral part of his teaching ministry.
If Jesus could use that crooks’ story, he can use your story.
Here in our congregation, we have experienced failure. Our stories are not neat records of uninterrupted growth in grace.
Some of us have failed in our marriages. Many of us are divorced. Many of us have participated in conflict and estrangement in marriages that have not outwardly disintegrated. Still God includes our stories in his grand story.
Some of us have experienced failure in our relationships with our parents or our children. At times those failures may tempt us to consider ourselves useless for God’s service. Not so. God is still writing in your story. Invite him to use even your failures to accomplish something good.
Some of us have wasted far too many years in addictions. We are positive our stories are worthless. Unbroken records of failure after failure after failure. That’s not the way God sees it.
A friend of mine used to do meth. For years. At one time he filmed part of his life in addiction, thinking maybe the footage could be used in a documentary to help persuade young people not to follow him into the horrific nightmare his life had become.
Some of us have failed in our work. We’ve been fired or downsized.
Some of us have lost our faith.
Some of us have lost our minds.
Some of us cannot seem to escape the pit of self-pity. We know we should be overflowing with gratitude and joy for the privileges that are ours. Instead we whine and moan over the people and circumstances that annoy us as though we had a right to live in a world perfectly aligned with our desires.
Our stories are useless. At least that’s what we’re tempted to think.
The truth is your story is indispensable to Jesus. He cannot say everything he wants to say without telling your story.
Jesus redeems our stories. Even our failures, blunders, acts of rebellion are somehow rewoven into the grand design of God so that they take on a dignity utterly indiscernible when we first wrote them by our decisions and habits. We are crooks, jerks, clumsy blunders. And we are the protagonists, the exemplars, the heroes in the grand story of God.
Text: Luke 16:1-15
On the face of it, Jesus’ story about a crooked manager is outrageous. The manager rips off the rancher he works for. The owner congratulates the crook for his cunning. In Jesus’ telling of the story the crook does not apologize or make amends, instead Jesus simply segues from the owner’s congratulation to a spiritual point the story is supposed to illustrate.
More than one church member has insisted I offer some intelligible reason for Jesus’ use of this story. So here is my take on “The Unrighteous Steward.”
First the story as Jesus told it:
Jesus told his disciples: "There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. So he called him in and confronted him, 'What’s this I hear? Give an account of your management, because you cannot be manager any longer.'
"The manager said to himself, 'What shall I do now? My master is taking away my job. I'm not strong enough to dig, and I'm ashamed to beg. I know what I'll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.'
He called in each of his master's debtors. He asked the first, “How much do you owe?”
“Eight hundred gallons of olive oil,” he replied.
The manager told him, “Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it four hundred.”
He asked the second, “How much do you owe?”
"A thousand bushels of wheat,” he replied.
He told him, “Take your bill and make it eight hundred.”
The master commended the dishonest manager on his cunning. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.
Jesus is quite explicit in stating “the moral of the story:” use money to bless people because this kind of money management brings eternal benefits. We might puzzle over exactly how to implement this teaching, but the basic exhortation is clear.
I explored this idea in last week’s sermon. “Spiritual things” like the Bible, prayer and going to church are not the only tools for building a vital spiritual life. Secular things, worldly things–like money–are no less useful as tools for crafting spiritual life. You want to get ready for heaven? Don’t limit yourself to prayer, Bible study and going to church. Understand that money is a spiritual tool. What we do with our money affects others. It makes an eternal difference. The way we manage money expresses and shapes the very core of our being.
This spiritual lesson from the story does not address the question posed to me on the way out of church last week: why Jesus would tell such a story in the first place? Surely he could have come up with a story with more noble protagonists. Why use a story of scandalous money management to make his point about the wise use of money?
First, Jesus’ use of this story highlights the importance of what he was trying to get across. Jesus used a shocking story to introduce his point because he wanted to make sure no one missed it. He wanted to make sure he had EVERYONE’s attention. He wanted to make sure they would not forget it.
They didn’t.
We’re still talking about it.
Second, Jesus’ use of this story offers fantastic hope to all of us. No matter how inglorious our story, God can still use it. In fact, God needs our story to finish telling his story.
The story of Bob Pierce is full of inspiration. In 1947 he traveled to China as a missionary with Youth for Christ. He was fiery evangelist . . . and a highly effective one. Thousands of people crowded his meetings and were baptized.
One morning he was confronted by Miss Tena Hoelkedoer, a local missionary who was the principal of a mission school. It was easy for him to preach about Jesus, she said, but what was he going to do about White Jade? White Jade was a young student who had attended Pierce’s meetings. The night before she had been so inspired she went home and told her father that she was going to become a Christian. Her father beat her severely and threw her out of the house with threats of severe harm if she ever returned. White Jade dragged herself to the mission. The principal was already housing six orphans in her home she could not afford to feed another.
Pierce gave Miss Hoelkedoer, his last five dollars and promised to send her more money every month. It was the first spark of a personal vision that would eventually encompass the world.
After that preaching tour in China, Bob Pierce went to Korea. Starvation was everywhere. Children without fathers. Wives without husbands. Bob bought a movie camera and filmed the desperate need of the people, then came back to the US and toured the country showing his pictures in churches and pleading with American Christians to help those who were less fortunate.
Bob’s solidarity with the hurting of the world was irresistible. When he talked, you felt the pain of the world. That empathy, that deep connection with the hungry and orphaned and widowed, became the foundation of World Vision. From its birth in 1950, World Vision has grown into an international aid agency helping people in over 100 countries with over 30,000 staff. They assist 100 million people a year.
It’s a fantastic story. But to keep it fully inspirational, you have to edit carefully. If you tell all of Bob Pierce’s story, it sounds a lot like the story of the Unrighteous Steward.
Bob, the man with deep empathy for the world’s needy, was possessed by a fierce temper. He got into frequent angry confrontations with his board. He neglected his family, spending as much as ten months at a time away from home traveling. He justified this neglect saying, "I've made an agreement with God that I'll take care of his helpless little lambs overseas if he'll take care of mine at home." It didn’t quite work that way. He was alienated from his daughters. One of his daughters committed suicide after futilely begging him to come home from an extended trip in Asia. He and wife eventually separated.
He reconciled with his family four days before his death. A nice touch. But given his raging temper, his willfulness, and his deeply entrenched pattern of deliberately neglecting his family, I can’t help wondering how long the reconciliation would have lasted if he had stayed alive.
To put it simply, on a global stage Bob Pierce was a grand, larger-than-life humanitarian. On the smaller stages of home and office, he was a jerk.
World Vision would not exist if Bob had not been such a fanatically driven evangelist. His daughter may not have committed suicide if her father had been more appropriately attentive to his family. Bob Pierce’s story is full of glory and venality, nobility and pettiness. Contradictions.
Like your story.
Maybe that’s why Jesus told this story.
He could have used a story with more noble characters in it. He could have explicitly stated his disapproval of the crook’s business methods. Instead, Jesus took the story as it was–the record of a crooked business manager–and made it an integral part of his teaching ministry.
If Jesus could use that crooks’ story, he can use your story.
Here in our congregation, we have experienced failure. Our stories are not neat records of uninterrupted growth in grace.
Some of us have failed in our marriages. Many of us are divorced. Many of us have participated in conflict and estrangement in marriages that have not outwardly disintegrated. Still God includes our stories in his grand story.
Some of us have experienced failure in our relationships with our parents or our children. At times those failures may tempt us to consider ourselves useless for God’s service. Not so. God is still writing in your story. Invite him to use even your failures to accomplish something good.
Some of us have wasted far too many years in addictions. We are positive our stories are worthless. Unbroken records of failure after failure after failure. That’s not the way God sees it.
A friend of mine used to do meth. For years. At one time he filmed part of his life in addiction, thinking maybe the footage could be used in a documentary to help persuade young people not to follow him into the horrific nightmare his life had become.
Some of us have failed in our work. We’ve been fired or downsized.
Some of us have lost our faith.
Some of us have lost our minds.
Some of us cannot seem to escape the pit of self-pity. We know we should be overflowing with gratitude and joy for the privileges that are ours. Instead we whine and moan over the people and circumstances that annoy us as though we had a right to live in a world perfectly aligned with our desires.
Our stories are useless. At least that’s what we’re tempted to think.
The truth is your story is indispensable to Jesus. He cannot say everything he wants to say without telling your story.
Jesus redeems our stories. Even our failures, blunders, acts of rebellion are somehow rewoven into the grand design of God so that they take on a dignity utterly indiscernible when we first wrote them by our decisions and habits. We are crooks, jerks, clumsy blunders. And we are the protagonists, the exemplars, the heroes in the grand story of God.
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