You Had to Be There

I was reflecting yesterday on an old story. Yesterday was the thirty-six-year anniversary of the genesis of my high school nickname. I once made the mistake of trying to tell that story to someone who had only known me in the years following high school. I made that mistake only once. The reason it was a story-telling train wreck (actually, if it had included a train wreck it would have been a far better tale) is hard to say. In fact, the story itself is hard to relate because it was one of those spontaneous, silly, juvenile moments of life that is lost on those not present as witnesses. And that is, I suppose, why the re-telling was such a whimpering failure.

Dig into your memory bank. Recall the last time you experienced something take-your-breath-away hilarious, but because of the context and/or the complexity of the details, attempting to convey the hilarity of the moment only bored to death the poor saps to whom you later told it. Remember that experience that was so mind-blowing or so life-changing that it was nearly impossible to describe with the same pungency of the original experience.

Some experiences are so imprisoned to the moment that only witnessing them firsthand allows them to be truly “known.” This is not only true of some experiences, but of most relationships. If I suppose I can know someone else to any meaningful depth without being with them, I am a fool. To grasp the contrast, compare the depth of the relationship you had with your eventual spouse when you first passed him/her that note in study hall to your “knowing” of them now (assuming you are no longer in study hall). What makes the two levels of knowing so drastic? The amount of time being with them through a variety of experiences.

The same principle elevates genuine Christian faith above and beyond all other religious experiments. Faith in Christ is a walk. It transcends mental assent, verbal decree, or ritual behavior. It is encounter and experience. You have to be with Jesus to know Jesus.

Bill Hull has developed an effective tool for making disciples in churches by modeling the ministry of Jesus. This tool happens to also illustrate the relational nature of Christian faith. From beginning to end, Jesus called people to Himself (not to a religion). At every stage of His ministry His beckoning language was an invitation to relationship. At the start Jesus enticed potential followers with the words, “Come and see.” The invitation was not to attend a class entitled “Jesus: Liar, Lunatic or Lord,” or to meditate alongside Him on the Mount of Olives. Those first few curiosity seekers were challenged to tag along for a few months and get a feel for who this man was.

Later the urging of Jesus would pry a bit deeper when he said “Follow me.” The Rabbi sought an intentional attachment of life to life as disciples traveled with Him, watched Him teach, witnessed the miracles, and sat front row for His wrestling matches with the opposition. Slowly they were peeling their way deeper into the core of this man.

After a night in prayer, Jesus decided upon twelve men into whom He would pour His purpose and power. In essence, He said to them, “Be with me.” Jesus was opening Himself to share His presence with the Twelve, slowly engaging them in His ministry through delegation of responsibilities and investment of power.

The final phase of His discipling came from His words in John 15: “Remain/Abide in me.” The relationship became a union of soul to Spirit. Christ offered Himself as a home in which the disciple was to dwell. No greater intimacy may be experienced.

The beautiful and staggering thing about life in Jesus is how invasive it is intended to be. Faith in Christ means an encounter with the Living God through the Incarnate Son. All other religious expression fails as either a sterile adherence to doctrinal tenets, or a treading in waters of spiritual vagueness. Faith in Christ defies both errors: calling disciples to a personal encounter that is relational and quite tangible.

Because of this, the Jesus life cannot be understood apart from trusting Him to enter into it. Seeing comes after believing. We have to be there to get it. As much as we may want to relate to the skeptic the experience of walking with Jesus, it cannot be adequately done. All other religions can be passed along by the textbook. In Christ alone an actual life is bestowed.

So, Jesus invites us to encounter and experience Him. He provides no courses at satellite campuses. You must come to Him to know Him. And we, His disciples, must be diligent to go beyond an insipid retelling of the Jesus story. We must live it and allow those around us to encounter and experience Jesus through His body (that body is you and me, the Church).

        Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! – Psalm 34:8

Remembering Forward

In a chapter entitled “Remember” in his book, For All God’s Worth, N. T. Wright is recalling the sensitivity of God to the misery of His people in ancient Egypt. The Scripture says that as God heard the mournful moans of His children, He “remembered” the covenant that He had made with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Wright writes:

Our remembering often turns into nostalgia or recrimination; God’s remembering turns into action.

This is illustrated in the days following the Exodus. God is passionate to move His people out of slavery and into a new land of their own, rich in blessing. When tough faith is needed, Israel retreats to the refuge of nostalgia – the good old days syndrome. They are quick to remember the days of plenty and leisure as slaves in Egypt. I should say misremember. Most nostalgia is skewed, but their nostalgia was straight fiction.

Here we have a stark contrast between humanity’s bent and God’s nature. I am prone to remember backward. God remembers forward.

When I am tested, tried, pressed, in some moment of anxiety, my tendency is to look over my shoulder to what used to be.

        “If only I could be there again.”

The past seems like such sure footing in the unstable now. Never mind that nostalgia is a ship which has sailed, never to return. My heart won’t let go of the possibility that it could return, or I could somehow transport myself back to its warm embrace.

My agony could be appeased so much more easily if I would remember forward. There is a God – my Father, my Savior, my Almighty Peace – who has promised for me His best. His covenant is etched in diamond in heaven and will not be forgotten. This God is acting, moving ever-forward to the completion of His perfect designs because He never ceases to remember forward.

Imagine how all of life would be transformed if I would consistently remember forward.

There is a beautifully simple word for remembering forward. Hope.

Holes in the Hedges

When I was a kid, throughout our neighborhood, most yards were divided by rows of hedges consisting of shrubs or briars. These were property markers, but they were more. They were privacy fences.

The old adage, “Good fences make good neighbors” was considered gospel. What underlies the logic of the adage is that strong barriers between neighbors isolates them to the point that they never interact. “Good” neighbors are defined as households that never cross paths, and so, never have reason to develop hostilities. Good fences keep my dog out of your yard and your kids out of my yard. We aren’t on each other’s turf and so get along fine.

And we don’t know one another, either.

I can remember the stereotypical reaction of “old people” when they saw us, the youths of the day, in their yards without permission.

        “You kids, get off my lawn!!!”

The hedges were there for a reason. But kids will be kids and we were impatient. We thought it was ludicrous to have to cross the neighborhood by circumventing entire lots, like the ancient Jews traveling completely around Samaria when heading from south to north or vice versa. Instead, we found/made/enlarged holes in the hedges. This was no minor task, especially when dealing with briar hedges. At the risk of pain and blood, we would delicately move, bend and bind the spiny foliage into openings just large enough for our supple bodies to slither from one property to the next. The trick was to establish lasting passageways which were subtle enough to remain unnoticed by the landowner. In time, we had an extensive collection of hedge holes which enabled neighborhood navigation to be maximized.

Our motivation for this guerrilla topiary was only partially selfish. We were driven by simply wanting to have easier access to one another. We wanted the neighborhood to be an interconnected community. We wanted the “old people” to welcome us into their yards.

Okay, maybe our juvenile hearts weren’t that pure, but certainly nothing sinister was at work in us. We just couldn’t comprehend why barriers and neatly manicured lawns were more important than neighbors sharing space.

Today hedges and fences still exist, but perhaps they are not the primary barriers we use to isolate ourselves from one another. Perhaps our hedgerows are our carefully manicured careers, our obsession with entertainment, or our all-consuming maintenance of the stuff we’ve accumulated. As we plant and nurture these hedgerows, are we paying attention to the kids who are creating holes? Are we noticing the kids who are acting out in ways that annoy us, but do so because our careers, entertainment and stuff have kept us from knowing who lives next door (or in the next room)? Do we notice the kids who may be trying to tell us that the things that divide us are keeping our neighborhoods cold and sterile?

Kids still make holes in the hedges, just in different ways. They are trying to tell us something.

QUESTIONS TO PONDER:

1. What “hedges” have isolated you from your neighbors?
2. Have you noticed anyone (kids or other) who has acted out in ways which point out the destructive power of those hedges?
3. How can you begin to prune or eliminate those isolating hedges?

Shared Spaces

The English town of Poynton has implemented a strategy for managing pedestrian and automotive traffic which is radical, organic and, in my opinion, a stroke of genius. The article posted recently illustrates Poynton’s use of the principle of shared space. The shared space concept seeks a safer and more efficient environment not by isolating the parties involved, but by providing them common ground. Instead of establishing a complex system of traffic rules, lights, signs, and barriers, Poynton officials have chosen to eliminate the system and allow drivers, cyclists and pedestrians to jointly develop a cautious patience. This risky philosophy insists that, In time, the previously segmented and law-laden public will become a respectful, smooth-flowing community as they are forced to interact in a new way.

Sounds crazy, right? Granted, to plop this new philosophy into the heart of Manhattan on a Wednesday afternoon would be chaotic. And few would advocate this same philosophy be used to mingle patrons with lions, tigers and bears at the zoo. Still, certain realms of humanity could benefit from focusing on changing levels of awareness – developing a new culture, as it were – rather than burdening the masses with more rules and barriers. Sometimes laws and systems are nothing more than lazy ways to cure societal ills, while the potential of community to reform itself lies dormant.

Former player and coach, Mike Ditka, posited a controversial solution to the increasing problem of concussions in college and professional football: eliminate face masks from football helmets. Both Ditka and the late coach Joe Paterno, reasoned that football helmet innovations through the last five decades have caused players to develop a false sense of invincibility. The helmet ceases to be a protective device, and becomes a weapon. Thus the rise of “spearing,” or using the head-first dive as a way to render a hit on opponents. The result has been a drastic increase in head injuries.

Few have come alongside Ditka, but the principle is simple. Eliminate the false sense of security, and players will be much more conscious (literally) to use their shoulders or arms for impact rather than their heads. Consider the comparably minimal rate of concussions in soccer and rugby, sports with a fair amount of body contact, but with no head protection. Players have developed a culture of respect for their heads. Consequently their sports, while still posing a number of dangers, are not as plagued by spiraling concussion statistics. Again, an intensified awareness of one’s environment can often provide better solutions that simply building a tougher helmet.

The same principle might be considered in communities that right now are scrambling to save their homes from flood waters. Through the years, those who reside in areas of the country which are flood prone have tried to beat the odds by pouring billions into dams, canals and levees. What seems to inevitably happen is the bursting of those expensive barriers. The stubbornness of man to choose to live where flooding in the spring is a natural, even an ecologically beneficial, occurrence, has caused more human and economic misery than is necessary. Why not build and live in places where the flood waters will rarely go and allow swollen rivers a greater buffer zone? Develop a culture which respects how things most naturally should be.

These seemingly random thoughts illuminate the genius of Jesus and life in the Kingdom of God. For as long as a need for salvation has been acknowledged, the solution from man has involved rules, barriers, systems, rituals, etc. to build a way to relationship with God/gods. Every attempt by man ends in futility. Our strategy is flawed because we change everything surrounding the culture of man and man’s heart, while leaving culture and the heart untouched. Man works hard to create an artificial and alternate reality, rather than transform the way in which we interact with the existing reality.

Christ came to radicalize the soul and to develop in us a new culture. This new culture can be understood in multiple ways. It is both individual – a revolution of souls, one by one – and communal – the birth of a new people, the Church. It would be great if we could assume that by gathering Christ followers in a common building a couple of times a week that a mystical transformation would take place, that a culture of patience, joy, peace, love and grace would emerge (super)naturally. Reality paints a different picture. The failure of this idealized hope, however, is not the fault of God. The transformed/transforming culture exists in partial bloom due to a lack of awareness. Ours. The key to change has been planted within the Christian soul and community.

Whether it is managing traffic, lessening concussive injuries, or minimizing loss from flood waters, awareness is key. When people become attuned to their surroundings and fellow citizens, rather than rely solely on rules and man-made mechanisms for progress, all of society/community gains. Similarly, intense awareness of God, of one’s soul, and of others is an excellent incubator for newborn hearts and communities. The Church is often content to be formed by programs, liturgies, rituals and disciplines that are deaf to the Spirit’s voice. Like people in traffic, we assume that all will be well if we just know the rules and behave accordingly, instead we are robbed of potential peace which comes from an awareness of our space and those inhabiting it. When we seek to grow together into a different society, we have nurtured the seed of God’s Spirit within us.

True and lasting change in the disciple’s soul and the disciple community comes by being submissive to the Spirit’s work, and being intentional about ruthless forgiveness and fanatical service. A culture that honors God and reflects the Kingdom requires paying attention. The Church cannot expect rules, barriers and instruction manuals to do the trick.

An excellent message that I heard this last Sunday emphasized the radical notion of loving our neighbors as ourselves. I know. Sunday School stuff. So elementary that Jesus made it #2 on the list of greatest commands. But how well do we do it? How often do we prefer checking off religious duties, expecting that everyone else will do the same and somehow, magically, we will see the world changed. Has anyone ever changed a life by perfect Sunday School attendance or memorizing the Ten Commandments? (Please don’t send me messages accusing me of opposition to Sunday School and Scripture memory.) Here is Jesus’ prime ministry strategy:

        “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Be aware of those with whom we share space. Notice them. Care for them. Love them. The potential for change is enormous.

One more thing. Number One on that greatest command list is a challenge to be aware of the God above, around and in us. Until we make that our primary pursuit, all the rest becomes legislated behavior.

I’m not suggesting rules barriers, authoritative structures and man-made mechanisms serve no purpose. I’m insisting they are, at best, secondary to substantive change of any kind. When Jesus began His ministry, Mark records His first words as these:

        “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.” (Mark 1:15)

God in flesh shared our space and pointed to Himself as the new way. HE is the change. HE brings the change. Allow Him to connect you to the isolated and fractured spaces around you.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER:

1. What are the evidences of my failure to share space well with God and others? In what ways do I rely on rules and rituals, rather than relationship?
2. How can I slow down in some way so that I become more aware of the space I share with God? With others?
3. With whom can I discuss this concept in the next 48 hours?

Holy Week #7

Read Mark 16

Each layer of darkness peeled away as though an unseen hand worked to the center of an onion. Dawn emerged from night. Gloom gave way to light. Hope grew warm as the cold of despair melted away.

Three of the women who had followed Jesus, who had watched Him die, and who had seen the tomb sealed on Friday, made their way in the cool of the breaking day. As if to distract their sorrow, discussion centered on the logistics of gaining entrance to the tomb. They sought to honor the corpse of the Teacher with a fresh anointing.

A fresh anointing, indeed. They had been beaten to the punch.

Gradually coming into focus, the facade of the tomb seemed. . . wrong. The wall of grey they anticipated was interrupted by a dark void. The stone. . . the stone. . . has been moved. Their feet raced nearly as furiously as their minds.

        “What happened?”

        “Who did this?”

        “Is the body undisturbed?”

        “Why?”

The women entered the tomb in a mental fog, trembling with fear and confusion. Eyes darted to every corner of the cold crypt. There was no body, but their was a being. A young man in white spoke and his words only heightened their bewilderment.

Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified, He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.

This first announcement of the good news clearly explained everything, but it is likely the same questions swirled in their heads. Though Jesus had told them repeatedly that He would rise from death, confronting the fulfillment was incomprehensible.

The most reliable manuscript evidence tells us that Mark’s account ends with Mark 16:8. The closing twelve verses, included as a footnote in most English versions, were probably added by an editor to provide a more “natural” conclusion. Some are uncomfortable with Mark closing out his gospel with a tone of fear.

But how would you react on a sleepy Sunday morning when a resurrection had taken place? The narrative is well-worn to us. It is the stuff of paintings, plays and poems. Consider, how does it feel to step into territory no human foot has inhabited? What was the reaction of the first human being who stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon? How did the roar, the mist and the majesty of Niagara Falls affect the first one to behold it (especially if they discovered it while adrift in the current of the river)?

Holy fear is wholly justified. It’s expected. Mark will candy-coat nothing. He supposed that others would round out the rest of the story. He probably knew that, as he wrote, several others were writing more complete histories of Jesus and the infant Church. Some of Paul’s letters were likely already in circulation. And so, for the sake of raw honesty, Mark allows us to “feel” the moment that the light of life and hope slashed through the icy grip of despair.

        “He has risen.”

Let that announcement shake you to the core. He is alive, not for a moment, but forever. The praise that had rumbled through the city at His entry one week previous had since fallen like dust and been buried in silence. But the shout rises with Him. The “Hosanna!” of Easter will never fade. Despite the attempts of Satan to muffle the shout, every moment of history is undergirded by the present power and the promised renewal of resurrection. It is incorrect to say He was risen. He IS risen! And this changes everything!

Celebrate today! Celebrate tomorrow! Celebrate on dreaded Mondays! Celebrate through the tears of grief! Celebrate despite the sweat of stress! Celebrate amid the blood of pain! Nothing can quench the joy emerging from the empty tomb.

CHRIST IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN, INDEED!

Let’s shout it and live it, Church!

Holy Week #6

Read Mark 15:40-47

There are different kinds of darkness. Some darknesses are loud and violent. Others are quiet, destructive by way of a cold, unrelenting despair.

The darkness following Jesus’ final breath was almost a relief at first. The torturous spectacle was over. But as the reality of what had transpired settled into the souls of Jesus’ followers, the cold dark threatened to smother them. The jubilation of Jesus’ entry into the city mere days ago is now an ancient, dusty memory. The thrill of miracles and new teachings seems misremembered. This itinerant ministry which began with electric verve lays dead. Cold. Lifeless. Lost. Forever.

        “Why did He not even put up a fight?”

        “What could drive His enemies to such an extreme sentence?”

        “How could this thing of God become so quickly extinguished?”

        “What do we do now?”

Wait.

Wait

Wait.

They unpin the flaccid body from the tree. They wash the mutilated body as best they can. They anoint Him one last time, wrap Him in the burial shroud, and place Him in a donated tomb. The stone door is set in place. Sealed. Guarded. Done.

Sometimes God allows His people to wait and wonder. It might seem as though Plan A failed, so a Plan B must be coming sometime. But when? And how will we know it when we see it?

It is Saturday. Sabbath. Time for resting and waiting. Sabbath is a recognition that man, in the grand scheme of things, really does little. God is Creator, Sustainer and Provider. Sabbath reminds us that ceasing to labor does not mean God’s work ceases. We stop to appreciate the unceasing governance of God. Even when it appears as time is being wasted, in realms unseen, God is working. In the cold, quiet hours, the hidden seed germinates, preparing to burst forth.

It is Saturday. It is Sabbath. Rest. Wait. Trust. All is quiet, but God is not dead.

Holy Week #5

Read Mark 14:27- 15:39

The chill of darkness birthed by the talk of death and betrayal has barely begun. The ferocity of the coming hours would test the mettle of both Master and disciple. At times, Peter and his friends exhibit the spirit that Dylan Thomas would pen centuries later:

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Perhaps this is why the perceived passiveness of Jesus was so heart-breaking. He, who by His own admission, had the ability to access the military prowess of heaven, submitted to unthinkable suffering. Confounding as it seems, this was as it should be.

The work of Jesus in those pain-wracked hours are beyond human comprehension, for His submission to the Father’s will was not simply a matter of surrender. It was, in one sense, a full scale rebellion against His being. It was also in perfect keeping with His being. Paul’s hymn captures the colossal tension:

Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

- Philippians 2:5b-8

The “emptying” of God the Son was a laying aside of divine privilege. Creator, Almighty Sovereign, Lord of the armies of heaven descended the steps from the palace and waded into the swill of humanity. He came as no simple tourist, but as a citizen. He engaged the world as it was, allowing its barbs to tear His flesh. He came only partially armed in regard to knowledge and power. The only barrier He erected was between sin and His will. All else engulfed His being.

At the same time, Christ participated in this descent in keeping with His nature. The language that Paul uses in the Philippian hymn can be understood in two ways. Either:

Christ Jesus, who, in spite of the fact that he was in the form of God. . .

Or:

Christ Jesus, who, precisely because he was in the form of God. . .

The first understanding assumes that the submission of Christ was wholly against His being. The second understanding suggests that something within the nature of God the Son was quite compatible with His incarnation and ultimate suffering. I believe the second understanding gives us the fuller picture of God’s nature and the beauty of Christ’s work.

God, though He is above all and subject to none, possesses a servant-heart. His nature is to nurture, love and rescue His creation and His creatures. Christ, from His obscure birth to the horrors of the Cross, submits to the tension of being fully God while walking the gauntlet of suffering for the souls of the world. That path none will ever experience or comprehend but He alone.

As you read the passion of Jesus, watch as He steps deeper into the darkness created by our sin. Watch as He steps farther from the protective hand of the Father. Watch as every friend fades, every hope evaporates, every pain intensifies, and every moment grows more isolating. We can’t begin to imagine. . .

Hallelujah! What a Savior!