“I am the good shepherd.” (John 10:11).
Not too long ago I read something that bothered me. I’m not sure it should have – but it did.
The author, a highly regarded pastor-teacher, is someone whom I greatly respect. I listen often to his podcast. So when he said in an interview that the word “shepherd” was irrelevant, he got my attention. Here’s the quote, admittedly removed from context:
“That word [shepherd] needs to go away. Jesus talked about shepherds because there was one over there in a pasture he could point to . . . I’ve never seen a flock. I’ve never spent five minutes with a shepherd. It was culturally relevant in the time of Jesus but it’s not culturally relevant anymore.” (Leadership Journal, May 28, 2007).
Ok . . . I think I get that. I claim little to no experience with shepherds or flocks of livestock of any kind. In my first church in Oklahoma I knew that several of my members owned cows, but I never actually had interaction with their cattle. Shepherds are not easily found in metro-Atlanta. But while I acknowledge the truth of what this fellow-pastor says, I just can’t reach his conclusion. Bottom line: I think he’s wrong.
For one thing, his position elevates (his) personal experience to an unworthy height while it sells people short. Meaningful knowledge cannot be tethered to what I myself have seen and done. And it is also possible that intelligent people are capable of comprehending the meaning of a metaphor that is foreign to their own time and culture.
Jesus didn’t use the word “shepherd” because there was one in a field that he could see and point to. Jesus used “shepherd” because he had read Isaiah and the Psalms. The concept came to him from Israel’s history, not a Judean hillside.
But beyond that there is this practical matter. If you jettison the biblical image of a “shepherd” what will you use in its place? Is there anything that we can see or identify that offers an adequate substitute for the Biblical image? What speaks most powerfully to the deepest needs of our life?
The Lord is . . . my adviser? We need far more than advice. The Lord is . . . my boss or CEO? That hardly stirs our affections. The Lord is my . . . coach? That might get at what we need. Personal coaching is big these days. The Lord is my . . . counselor? Maybe – but good counselors pay close attention to boundaries. The shepherd risks his life the sheep. Counselor is close, but not quite there.
Maybe what we need is exactly what Jesus said he was in John 10:11. We need a shepherd.
How do you see it? Why does it matter that Jesus is a “good shepherd?” Could he meet you in the details of your life or at your point of deepest need as something else?
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, you called yourself a good shepherd. While the image is strange to us, we know you in what you do with us – the way you guide us and seek us out when lost and lead us to what will sustain us and give us life. We will not fight over words. We only seek to follow you as you do your work among us by your Holy Spirit. Do that work today, we pray. Amen.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Exclusive Claims, Inclusive Aims
“And I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also . . .” (John 10:16).
Exclusive claims. Inclusive aims.
The minute you begin the Christian life, the moment you take a step on the Jesus way and begin living his life, you’ll find yourself in this tension. There are some things that simply do not work properly without tension. Relieve the tension on guitar strings and you’ll get no music. The Christian life is not too different from this.
Jesus made exclusive claims. He said he was the gate for the sheep; he said no one came to Father except through him; he said that if you have seen him you have seen the Father; he told very devout people in his day that they were blind because they couldn’t accept his words; he told top-flight Bible scholars that they were ignorant because they refused to see that scripture pointed to him. Time and time again in John’s gospel Jesus speaks of his own identity with variations on “I am.”
But Jesus also had radically inclusive aims. For Jews, Samaria was a very bad neighborhood – but Jesus gladly went there. Lepers were to be avoided and quarantined – but Jesus willingly touched them. Tax collectors were thieves – but Jesus had a good time at their parties. No decent Rabbi would be caught dead in the presence of a prostitute – but Jesus allowed one such woman to weep at his feet. Jesus had “other sheep” and he was intent on bringing them into the fold.
This tension can be uncomfortable, even tiresome. But we need to be careful about hastily seeking to resolve what makes us uneasy.
Holding deep convictions about Jesus’ exclusive claims should never produce a heart that is stingy and small, or a reach to the world that is stunted in its scope. And embracing the world with a generous heart, inclusive and broad, should never produce thinking about Jesus that has morphed into something generic and benign.
Some of us are very clear about what we believe about Jesus, but we’re ensconced in a small world that looks like we look and thinks like we think. Others of us are intent on making the tent wide, vaulting over the ethnic or ideological walls that so easily divide us, but discovering in mid-air that we’ve left a clear and compelling word of ‘good news’ about Jesus.
Exclusive claims. Inclusive aims. They must be held together, no matter how uneasy it makes us.
Ever tempted to ease this tension? How are you most likely to do so?
Prayer:
Help us, Lord Jesus, to love and to treasure both your claims and your aims. Grant us the boldness of deep convictions firmly held. Grant us compassionate hearts intent on bringing all people into the care of the good shepherd. We pray this in your powerful and merciful name. Amen.
Exclusive claims. Inclusive aims.
The minute you begin the Christian life, the moment you take a step on the Jesus way and begin living his life, you’ll find yourself in this tension. There are some things that simply do not work properly without tension. Relieve the tension on guitar strings and you’ll get no music. The Christian life is not too different from this.
Jesus made exclusive claims. He said he was the gate for the sheep; he said no one came to Father except through him; he said that if you have seen him you have seen the Father; he told very devout people in his day that they were blind because they couldn’t accept his words; he told top-flight Bible scholars that they were ignorant because they refused to see that scripture pointed to him. Time and time again in John’s gospel Jesus speaks of his own identity with variations on “I am.”
But Jesus also had radically inclusive aims. For Jews, Samaria was a very bad neighborhood – but Jesus gladly went there. Lepers were to be avoided and quarantined – but Jesus willingly touched them. Tax collectors were thieves – but Jesus had a good time at their parties. No decent Rabbi would be caught dead in the presence of a prostitute – but Jesus allowed one such woman to weep at his feet. Jesus had “other sheep” and he was intent on bringing them into the fold.
This tension can be uncomfortable, even tiresome. But we need to be careful about hastily seeking to resolve what makes us uneasy.
Holding deep convictions about Jesus’ exclusive claims should never produce a heart that is stingy and small, or a reach to the world that is stunted in its scope. And embracing the world with a generous heart, inclusive and broad, should never produce thinking about Jesus that has morphed into something generic and benign.
Some of us are very clear about what we believe about Jesus, but we’re ensconced in a small world that looks like we look and thinks like we think. Others of us are intent on making the tent wide, vaulting over the ethnic or ideological walls that so easily divide us, but discovering in mid-air that we’ve left a clear and compelling word of ‘good news’ about Jesus.
Exclusive claims. Inclusive aims. They must be held together, no matter how uneasy it makes us.
Ever tempted to ease this tension? How are you most likely to do so?
Prayer:
Help us, Lord Jesus, to love and to treasure both your claims and your aims. Grant us the boldness of deep convictions firmly held. Grant us compassionate hearts intent on bringing all people into the care of the good shepherd. We pray this in your powerful and merciful name. Amen.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Unmet Expectations
The reason why the crowd went to meet him was that they head he had done this sign (John 12:18)
Few places are harder to live than in the gap between what we expect and what we get, that barren stretch that separates what we think we deserve and what our lives have actually delivered to us. We can barely tolerate being there and we’ll do anything to find a way out.
Sometimes that means we adjust our expectations. The pain of disappointment is alleviated by lowering our sights. But with every downward adjustment hope is diminished, and eventually we find we’ve stopped dreaming altogether.
Another strategy moves in the opposite direction. Sometimes the tension between what we expect and what we get pushes us to do whatever we need to do to secure our own happiness. We lash out at whoever or whatever gets in the way of what should have been.
Of course, we often ricochet back and forth between both of those responses: resignation or anger, passive acceptance or violent force. What we find most difficult is what the Psalmist urged. “Wait on the Lord” (Psalm 27:14).
Holy Week is bracketed by shouting crowds. On the front end of Holy Week we remember the day Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem. Luke tells us that the crowd that welcomed him that day “praised God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen” (19:37). Their shouts were grounded in past events, but those past events had shaped their expectations of what would soon be.
Holy Week is the story of what it means to walk with Jesus in the midst of unmet expectations.
This kind of disappointment isn’t unique to the godless or the wicked. Even Jesus’ closest followers struggled during those final days of his life. And they failed. Some of them failed big.
And as for us – plenty of us live every day with unmet expectations. Some of them are minor. Others go to the core of who we are. The long-awaited retirement brings a deadening boredom and feelings of uselessness. The new purchase becomes a draining burden rather than the status symbol it was supposed to be. The promotion proves to be a wrong fit for your best skills. In short, things are not working out like you had hoped they would.
That gap between what we expected and what we actually experience is the place where faith wanes. During this week – or for that matter during any week – when the tension between what you hoped for and what you’ve received feel unbearable, hear the invitation of Jesus. Stay with him. Don’t get swept up the noisy demands and expectations of the culture. God is at work. Such hardly seems to be the case, and you may not see it now. But God is at work.
To all who feel the ache of something that hasn’t worked out according to plan, welcome to Jerusalem.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, keep us close to you in the final days of this Lenten journey. Our expectations so easily become demands. We stop praying and start giving direction. Keep us attentive to what you are doing, especially when life unfolds in ways we didn’t expect or ask for. Teach us trust, even in the shadow of the cross. Amen.
Few places are harder to live than in the gap between what we expect and what we get, that barren stretch that separates what we think we deserve and what our lives have actually delivered to us. We can barely tolerate being there and we’ll do anything to find a way out.
Sometimes that means we adjust our expectations. The pain of disappointment is alleviated by lowering our sights. But with every downward adjustment hope is diminished, and eventually we find we’ve stopped dreaming altogether.
Another strategy moves in the opposite direction. Sometimes the tension between what we expect and what we get pushes us to do whatever we need to do to secure our own happiness. We lash out at whoever or whatever gets in the way of what should have been.
Of course, we often ricochet back and forth between both of those responses: resignation or anger, passive acceptance or violent force. What we find most difficult is what the Psalmist urged. “Wait on the Lord” (Psalm 27:14).
Holy Week is bracketed by shouting crowds. On the front end of Holy Week we remember the day Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem. Luke tells us that the crowd that welcomed him that day “praised God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen” (19:37). Their shouts were grounded in past events, but those past events had shaped their expectations of what would soon be.
Holy Week is the story of what it means to walk with Jesus in the midst of unmet expectations.
This kind of disappointment isn’t unique to the godless or the wicked. Even Jesus’ closest followers struggled during those final days of his life. And they failed. Some of them failed big.
And as for us – plenty of us live every day with unmet expectations. Some of them are minor. Others go to the core of who we are. The long-awaited retirement brings a deadening boredom and feelings of uselessness. The new purchase becomes a draining burden rather than the status symbol it was supposed to be. The promotion proves to be a wrong fit for your best skills. In short, things are not working out like you had hoped they would.
That gap between what we expected and what we actually experience is the place where faith wanes. During this week – or for that matter during any week – when the tension between what you hoped for and what you’ve received feel unbearable, hear the invitation of Jesus. Stay with him. Don’t get swept up the noisy demands and expectations of the culture. God is at work. Such hardly seems to be the case, and you may not see it now. But God is at work.
To all who feel the ache of something that hasn’t worked out according to plan, welcome to Jerusalem.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, keep us close to you in the final days of this Lenten journey. Our expectations so easily become demands. We stop praying and start giving direction. Keep us attentive to what you are doing, especially when life unfolds in ways we didn’t expect or ask for. Teach us trust, even in the shadow of the cross. Amen.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Could be Worse
Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you (John 5:14).
We’re all preachers. Every single one of us.
It doesn’t matter how you earn your living or what you believe about God. Everyone preaches – and usually to a congregation of one. We all preach to ourselves. Sometimes our sermons comfort. Sometimes they condemn.
In the world of psychology we call our preaching ‘self-talk.’ All of us have ways of exhorting and encouraging ourselves. We have messages that we speak to ourselves to get us through something or guide us in a mess. Yes, we are all preachers.
And this is a standard sermon: “Could be worse.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard someone say those words. Having done three years of hospital ministry I can say with confidence that this is standard doctrine among the afflicted. Even those who are actually experiencing the ‘worst’ will remind themselves that it could be worse. It is a universal exhortation.
We’re all preachers. Every single one of us.
It doesn’t matter how you earn your living or what you believe about God. Everyone preaches – and usually to a congregation of one. We all preach to ourselves. Sometimes our sermons comfort. Sometimes they condemn.
In the world of psychology we call our preaching ‘self-talk.’ All of us have ways of exhorting and encouraging ourselves. We have messages that we speak to ourselves to get us through something or guide us in a mess. Yes, we are all preachers.
And this is a standard sermon: “Could be worse.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard someone say those words. Having done three years of hospital ministry I can say with confidence that this is standard doctrine among the afflicted. Even those who are actually experiencing the ‘worst’ will remind themselves that it could be worse. It is a universal exhortation.
**********
At the pool of Bethesda in Jerusalem Jesus had healed a man, relieving him of some nondescript affliction that had had a chokehold on his life for 38 years.
This man had not sought Jesus. He had not asked Jesus for healing. He appears not to have known who Jesus was or to have had any kind of faith in Jesus. As far as this man knew, he was simply answering a question about his illness, explaining his hopeless plight. Jesus’ act of healing was pure gift. It was all grace.
But in the aftermath of this grace and mercy there is a strange line at the end of the story. Jesus finds the man in the temple crowd (again – notice who does the finding) and tells him, “See, you are well. Sin no more that nothing worse may happen to you.”
This sounds odd, even a bit harsh. Is this a threat? What does Jesus mean? Having shown so much mercy is Jesus now saying “You better be good or God will strike you with something worse?” If the man was crippled, is Jesus now threatening him with crippled legs and blindness, or blindness with leprosy? Probably not.
This is no threat. This healed man would not be afflicted by God with more severe pain. He would not be ravaged by a more vicious disease. He would not be sent back to the pool.
What Jesus knows is this: There is something worse than 38 years of affliction. What’s worse is a pain-free life void of God. A life centered entirely on self. A life given to advancing a self agenda and basking in self indulgence. What we sow in this life we reap in the next. And that is indeed the worse that could happen.
What’s worse than suffering with an awareness of God’s presence and grace? Living at ease with no knowledge of the same. Sure, things could be worse – but worse is not always what we think it is.
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the way your grace finds us in the worst of circumstances. We thank for the way you take what is hard and use it to bless us. Guard us from the worst that could happen – a life lived without you, centered on self. We turn to you today in constant reliance on your mercy, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.
This man had not sought Jesus. He had not asked Jesus for healing. He appears not to have known who Jesus was or to have had any kind of faith in Jesus. As far as this man knew, he was simply answering a question about his illness, explaining his hopeless plight. Jesus’ act of healing was pure gift. It was all grace.
But in the aftermath of this grace and mercy there is a strange line at the end of the story. Jesus finds the man in the temple crowd (again – notice who does the finding) and tells him, “See, you are well. Sin no more that nothing worse may happen to you.”
This sounds odd, even a bit harsh. Is this a threat? What does Jesus mean? Having shown so much mercy is Jesus now saying “You better be good or God will strike you with something worse?” If the man was crippled, is Jesus now threatening him with crippled legs and blindness, or blindness with leprosy? Probably not.
This is no threat. This healed man would not be afflicted by God with more severe pain. He would not be ravaged by a more vicious disease. He would not be sent back to the pool.
What Jesus knows is this: There is something worse than 38 years of affliction. What’s worse is a pain-free life void of God. A life centered entirely on self. A life given to advancing a self agenda and basking in self indulgence. What we sow in this life we reap in the next. And that is indeed the worse that could happen.
What’s worse than suffering with an awareness of God’s presence and grace? Living at ease with no knowledge of the same. Sure, things could be worse – but worse is not always what we think it is.
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the way your grace finds us in the worst of circumstances. We thank for the way you take what is hard and use it to bless us. Guard us from the worst that could happen – a life lived without you, centered on self. We turn to you today in constant reliance on your mercy, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.
Friday, January 27, 2012
As Then . . . So Again
“The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion . . . will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine” (1 Samuel 17:37).
We imagine David as vulnerable and poorly armed for battle. We are wrong.
He had been offered the King’s armor. He had even tried to wear the “helmet of bronze and the coat of mail.” He had strapped on the King’s sword – and the weight of all that strength was paralyzing to David. He could barely move. He laid all of that aside and took up the weapon he knew best – a sling.
This is God’s way. What looks to us like pathetic weakness is actually power in God’s hand.
But David stepped into the valley that day armed with something that no one there could see, certainly not Goliath and not even Saul. It was not weapon that could be held in the hand or placed on the head or draped over the body.
Perhaps David’s most formidable weapons that day were stories and memories: stories and memories of God’s help, God’s deliverance, God’s presence in trouble, God’s power in the face of threat. David had lived this. David had seen this. And it made him confident. These stories had made a giant killer of a shepherd boy.
This is no mere belief in God. When it’s time to face a giant it simply will not do to say “I believe in God.” Killing giants requires more than the kind of agreeable mental assent we often label as ‘belief.’ Those who kill giants have stories to tell. They have seen God at work. They know what Go can do. They are utterly convinced that God is able. And for this reason they are dangerous.
David had field experience . . . literally. In the remote regions where shepherds dwell David had faced enemies. When beasts came to prey on the flock under his care, David had gone at them aggressively. And time and time again God had delivered. Every such story was a weapon in David’s soul.
As then . . . so again. What God did once God will do now. David knew this. Do you?
Throughout the Bible this is God’s way with us. When Joshua was called upon to take the place of Moses God encouraged him with this promise: “As I was with Moses so I will be with you” (Joshua 1:5). As then . . . so again.
When the disciples were in a boat with Jesus and worried about the fact that they had forgotten to bring bread, Jesus reminded them of how he had fed thousands with meager provisions and how they had gathered days worth of leftovers (Mark 8:14-21). Why worry about bread? As then . . . so again.
So what stories do you tell? When and how have you seen God unmistakably at work in your life? When have you known his presence as close to you as your own breath? When have you sensed his peace taking up residence deep in your chest? Be specific – and remember. Tell yourself and others this story. Rehearse it. It will make you dangerous today against whatever you face.
Psalm 143 is a Psalm “of David.” In it the Psalmist cries out to God about threats coming from an enemy – an enemy who “has crushed my life to the ground.” The Psalmist responds to this threat with memory: “I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done” (Psalm 143:3-5).
As then . . . so again. What work of God will you remember today?
Prayer:
“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the works of your hands . . . my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. For your name’s sake, O Lord, preserve my life . . . destroy all the adversaries of my soul, for I am your servant.” Amen. (from Psalm 143)
We imagine David as vulnerable and poorly armed for battle. We are wrong.
He had been offered the King’s armor. He had even tried to wear the “helmet of bronze and the coat of mail.” He had strapped on the King’s sword – and the weight of all that strength was paralyzing to David. He could barely move. He laid all of that aside and took up the weapon he knew best – a sling.
This is God’s way. What looks to us like pathetic weakness is actually power in God’s hand.
But David stepped into the valley that day armed with something that no one there could see, certainly not Goliath and not even Saul. It was not weapon that could be held in the hand or placed on the head or draped over the body.
Perhaps David’s most formidable weapons that day were stories and memories: stories and memories of God’s help, God’s deliverance, God’s presence in trouble, God’s power in the face of threat. David had lived this. David had seen this. And it made him confident. These stories had made a giant killer of a shepherd boy.
This is no mere belief in God. When it’s time to face a giant it simply will not do to say “I believe in God.” Killing giants requires more than the kind of agreeable mental assent we often label as ‘belief.’ Those who kill giants have stories to tell. They have seen God at work. They know what Go can do. They are utterly convinced that God is able. And for this reason they are dangerous.
David had field experience . . . literally. In the remote regions where shepherds dwell David had faced enemies. When beasts came to prey on the flock under his care, David had gone at them aggressively. And time and time again God had delivered. Every such story was a weapon in David’s soul.
As then . . . so again. What God did once God will do now. David knew this. Do you?
Throughout the Bible this is God’s way with us. When Joshua was called upon to take the place of Moses God encouraged him with this promise: “As I was with Moses so I will be with you” (Joshua 1:5). As then . . . so again.
When the disciples were in a boat with Jesus and worried about the fact that they had forgotten to bring bread, Jesus reminded them of how he had fed thousands with meager provisions and how they had gathered days worth of leftovers (Mark 8:14-21). Why worry about bread? As then . . . so again.
So what stories do you tell? When and how have you seen God unmistakably at work in your life? When have you known his presence as close to you as your own breath? When have you sensed his peace taking up residence deep in your chest? Be specific – and remember. Tell yourself and others this story. Rehearse it. It will make you dangerous today against whatever you face.
Psalm 143 is a Psalm “of David.” In it the Psalmist cries out to God about threats coming from an enemy – an enemy who “has crushed my life to the ground.” The Psalmist responds to this threat with memory: “I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done” (Psalm 143:3-5).
As then . . . so again. What work of God will you remember today?
Prayer:
“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the works of your hands . . . my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. For your name’s sake, O Lord, preserve my life . . . destroy all the adversaries of my soul, for I am your servant.” Amen. (from Psalm 143)
Monday, January 23, 2012
Thursday Book Club: A Praying Life
I want to let you know about something that’s starting this week. I know . . . short notice.
Anyway, I’m trying to gather any and all interested persons in a five week book club to read through and discuss Paul Miller’s book A Praying Life: Connecting With God in a Distracting World. The format is very simple: you read the book week by week and we gather and talk about what we’re learning. You are welcomed to bring a lunch with you . . . or not. This will be a very relaxed kind of thing, not a “class.” We’ll open each week with “what did you read that you liked or learned from, etc” and then we’ll see where things go.
The Book: A Praying Life by Paul Miller (in the Peachtree Bookstore now)
The Day: Thursdays beginning January 26 – ending Feb. 23 (a good read just as Lent begins)
The Time: 12:05 – 12:55 pm
The Place: The Lodge @ Peachtree Presbyterian Church (one of the classrooms upstairs)
Call 404-842-3172 for more information
Anyway, I’m trying to gather any and all interested persons in a five week book club to read through and discuss Paul Miller’s book A Praying Life: Connecting With God in a Distracting World. The format is very simple: you read the book week by week and we gather and talk about what we’re learning. You are welcomed to bring a lunch with you . . . or not. This will be a very relaxed kind of thing, not a “class.” We’ll open each week with “what did you read that you liked or learned from, etc” and then we’ll see where things go.
The Book: A Praying Life by Paul Miller (in the Peachtree Bookstore now)
The Day: Thursdays beginning January 26 – ending Feb. 23 (a good read just as Lent begins)
The Time: 12:05 – 12:55 pm
The Place: The Lodge @ Peachtree Presbyterian Church (one of the classrooms upstairs)
Call 404-842-3172 for more information
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Circle Maker: Praying "For" and "Through"
Seems to me that Mark Batterson may be the E. M. Bounds of our age. Bounds wrote almost 100 years before Batterson, but the voices are similar. Both of these men talk about prayer like it really does something. Both urge the kind of praying that expects something - a confident coming before the throne of grace, a persistent knocking like a widow demanding justice.
When was the last time you found yourself flat on your face before the Almighty? When was the last time you cut off your circulation kneeling before the Lord? when was the last time you pulled and all-nighter in prayer?
There are higher heights and deeper depths in prayer, and God wants to take you there . . . But if you want God to do something new, you can't do the same old thing. It will involve more sacrifice, but if you are willing to go there you'll realize that you didn't sacrifice anything at all. It will involve more risk, but if you are willing to go there you'll realize that you didn't risk anything at all.
Make the sacrifice . Take the risk. Draw the circle. (Circle Maker, 34)
Batterson calls this "praying through." Praying through is different than "praying for." It is marked by a particular intensity and consistency.
So what are you praying "for?" What are you praying "through?"
When was the last time you found yourself flat on your face before the Almighty? When was the last time you cut off your circulation kneeling before the Lord? when was the last time you pulled and all-nighter in prayer?
There are higher heights and deeper depths in prayer, and God wants to take you there . . . But if you want God to do something new, you can't do the same old thing. It will involve more sacrifice, but if you are willing to go there you'll realize that you didn't sacrifice anything at all. It will involve more risk, but if you are willing to go there you'll realize that you didn't risk anything at all.
Make the sacrifice . Take the risk. Draw the circle. (Circle Maker, 34)
Batterson calls this "praying through." Praying through is different than "praying for." It is marked by a particular intensity and consistency.
So what are you praying "for?" What are you praying "through?"
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Vague Prayers: Reflections on Mark Batterson's "The Circle Maker"
Over the past several weeks I’ve been making my way through Mark Batterson’s latest book, The Circle Maker: Praying Circles Around Your Biggest Dreams and Greatest Fears.
The way Batterson approaches prayer reminds me of a statement I heard from the late Elizabeth Achtemeier. Achtemeier taught Bible at Union Seminary in Richmond, Va. for many years. In this particular sermon she was talking about the prophets and how they viewed and spoke about God. Without recalling the exact context, I remember her observation that “many people in our churches believe in God . . . they just don’t think he does anything.”
The Circle Maker has challenged me because it raises my suspicions that my own prayer life proves Professor Achtemeier’s point.
In my own defense, I do believe there is a variety of streams or schools of prayer. Richard Foster’s Prayer covers them quite well.
Most of my reading has dealt with a more contemplative approach to prayer - and that has naturally shaped the way I pray. Contemplative prayer seems to be a way of giving attention to God in the midst of what is actually there – the circumstances that exist now, the people I encounter. The act of paying attention is at the heart of this kind of praying.
But Batterson’s book is about a way of praying that visualizes what isn’t actually there – at least not yet. It goes beyond paying attention to visioning a desired reality. This is how Batterson prayed as he went to plant a church in Washington, D.C. His book is full of examples and stories of how he has seen God work through prayer.
My discomfort comes from the sense that I’ve never really prayed this way. But I want to. At least I think I do.
To be specific, I want to pray circles around my ministry and my family.
From time to time I’ll post a quote from the book. I might offer some commentary along with it. Batterson is an engaging writer – pithy in the style of Rick Warren. I’ll begin today with this statement about vague prayers.
A few years ago I read one sentence that changed the way I pray. The author, pastor of one of the largest churches in Seoul, Korea, wrote, “God does not answer vague prayers.” (p. 25)
If our prayers aren’t specific . . . God gets robbed of the glory that He deserves because we second-guess whether or not he actually answered them. We never know if the answers were the result of specific prayer or general coincidences that would have happened anyway. (p. 26)
Questions: Does God answer vague prayers? How do you know? And what specific prayers are you bringing before God these days?
The way Batterson approaches prayer reminds me of a statement I heard from the late Elizabeth Achtemeier. Achtemeier taught Bible at Union Seminary in Richmond, Va. for many years. In this particular sermon she was talking about the prophets and how they viewed and spoke about God. Without recalling the exact context, I remember her observation that “many people in our churches believe in God . . . they just don’t think he does anything.”
The Circle Maker has challenged me because it raises my suspicions that my own prayer life proves Professor Achtemeier’s point.
In my own defense, I do believe there is a variety of streams or schools of prayer. Richard Foster’s Prayer covers them quite well.
Most of my reading has dealt with a more contemplative approach to prayer - and that has naturally shaped the way I pray. Contemplative prayer seems to be a way of giving attention to God in the midst of what is actually there – the circumstances that exist now, the people I encounter. The act of paying attention is at the heart of this kind of praying.
But Batterson’s book is about a way of praying that visualizes what isn’t actually there – at least not yet. It goes beyond paying attention to visioning a desired reality. This is how Batterson prayed as he went to plant a church in Washington, D.C. His book is full of examples and stories of how he has seen God work through prayer.
My discomfort comes from the sense that I’ve never really prayed this way. But I want to. At least I think I do.
To be specific, I want to pray circles around my ministry and my family.
From time to time I’ll post a quote from the book. I might offer some commentary along with it. Batterson is an engaging writer – pithy in the style of Rick Warren. I’ll begin today with this statement about vague prayers.
A few years ago I read one sentence that changed the way I pray. The author, pastor of one of the largest churches in Seoul, Korea, wrote, “God does not answer vague prayers.” (p. 25)
If our prayers aren’t specific . . . God gets robbed of the glory that He deserves because we second-guess whether or not he actually answered them. We never know if the answers were the result of specific prayer or general coincidences that would have happened anyway. (p. 26)
Questions: Does God answer vague prayers? How do you know? And what specific prayers are you bringing before God these days?
Monday, January 09, 2012
Winter - Spring 2012 Bible Studies Begin this Week
"MIDWEEK" starts this Wednesday, January 11 @ 6:00 p.m.
Wisdom . . . what exactly is it, and how do we get it? We learn early on that we will be rewarded for being smart (good grades). And ewe eventaully learnd that we will be admired for our wealth (status). But wisdom is rarely applauded. We recognize it, but how do we pursue it? This semestrer in "Midweek" we'll be looking at the books of Proverbs and James and thinking about what it means to live with wisdom. Not a bad pursuit for a New Year.
"SOLA SCRIPTURA" starts on Sunday, January 15 @ 9:00 a.m.
Making use of Eugene Peterson's book Run with the Horses: The Quest for Life at its Best, we'll spend some time with the prophet Jeremiah. Jeremiah had a prophetic ministry that lasted about 50 years . . . a half century of being ignored. How did he stay at it? And how do we walk faithfully with our God when it seems to be doing little "good?"
Wisdom . . . what exactly is it, and how do we get it? We learn early on that we will be rewarded for being smart (good grades). And ewe eventaully learnd that we will be admired for our wealth (status). But wisdom is rarely applauded. We recognize it, but how do we pursue it? This semestrer in "Midweek" we'll be looking at the books of Proverbs and James and thinking about what it means to live with wisdom. Not a bad pursuit for a New Year.
"SOLA SCRIPTURA" starts on Sunday, January 15 @ 9:00 a.m.
Making use of Eugene Peterson's book Run with the Horses: The Quest for Life at its Best, we'll spend some time with the prophet Jeremiah. Jeremiah had a prophetic ministry that lasted about 50 years . . . a half century of being ignored. How did he stay at it? And how do we walk faithfully with our God when it seems to be doing little "good?"
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Wrestling and Christmas
But as he considered these things . . . an angel appeared to him in a dream (Matt. 1:20)
In our house last week the focus was getting through exams. In fact, the focus was not merely on getting through, but doing well. That’s why I didn’t give much thought to the email that came from my son’s wrestling coach: the email that explained the practice schedule over the Christmas break.
I shared the content of the email with my son on Sunday night. He was not enthusiastic.
School’s out and Christmas is coming. That combination makes for one of the best times of the year. Wrestling practice doesn’t fit in to that very well. Enough wrestling. It’s Christmas. It’s time for a break.
He’ll end up going to the practices, but I understand how he feels. Sooner or later we all feel like we’re tired of wrestling, tired of grappling with the lives we live in order to get things pinned down and figured out: schedules, payments, deadlines, needs to be met and appointments to be kept. A relentless wrangling of moving parts. Who doesn’t get tired of that?
And then there’s the life of faith. We had thought that following Jesus might make things better, more manageable, less exhausting. Thus our surprise when we discover that following Jesus also involves some struggle. Once again, we’re wrestling. We’re like Jacob. Jacob wrestled with God and lived – but he walked for the rest of his life with a limp (Genesis 32:22-28). Maybe you’re limping too. Christmas is a tough time for wrestling. But we are hardly the first to know this.
The story of Joseph’s discovery of Mary’s pregnancy is a wrestling story. Matthew gives it to us in spare language. Mary is pledged to Joseph, the marital commitment in place without the full benefits and living arrangements of the marital relationship. This is when Joseph discovers that Mary is pregnant. And this is when the wrestling begins, unseen and yet strenuous. Joseph grappling with God, grappling with his own heart and mind.
Again, Matthew shows us none of this except to say that Joseph “considered” how he could divorce Mary quietly and thus protect her from public disgrace. But can such “considering” be anything less than anguish and pain? How long did he “consider?” How many sleepless nights, how many bitter questions hurled at heaven? How many tense conversations with his beloved? How many fake smiles at neighbors as if all was well?
And even once the Angel has appeared and Joseph has taken Mary as is wife, the difficulties are hardly over. Craig Keener notes that Joseph’s decision to go ahead with his marriage was a decision to sacrifice his own reputation. The wrestling surely didn’t stop. Wrestling mingled with waiting until the birth in the Bethlehem stable.
Many of us come to Advent wrestling and waiting; life has us in a head-lock and we’re trying desperately to find the right move that will loosen its grip. With the Psalmist we ask “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?” (Ps. 13:2). Christmas doesn’t change the fact that we’re wrestling with decisions that need to be made, decisions we wish could make over again, afflicted bodies, conflicted relationships and competing expectations. We wrestle through one challenge only to face another.
But in the midst of the wrestling, Joseph’s and ours, there is this assurance: the Holy Spirit is at work. To see it may require waiting, long waiting and still more wrestling. But God is active in your wrestling story, even – perhaps especially – at Christmas.
What opponent will you wrestle today?
Prayer:
Grant to us, O God, the patience to trust you in all things and the strength to wrestle long until we see your hand at work: show your hand in the difficult situations, the perplexing questions, the stubborn circumstances that refuse to budge. Be present with us in the struggles of this day, making us confident as we wrestle and wait in Jesus’ name. Amen.
In our house last week the focus was getting through exams. In fact, the focus was not merely on getting through, but doing well. That’s why I didn’t give much thought to the email that came from my son’s wrestling coach: the email that explained the practice schedule over the Christmas break.
I shared the content of the email with my son on Sunday night. He was not enthusiastic.
School’s out and Christmas is coming. That combination makes for one of the best times of the year. Wrestling practice doesn’t fit in to that very well. Enough wrestling. It’s Christmas. It’s time for a break.
He’ll end up going to the practices, but I understand how he feels. Sooner or later we all feel like we’re tired of wrestling, tired of grappling with the lives we live in order to get things pinned down and figured out: schedules, payments, deadlines, needs to be met and appointments to be kept. A relentless wrangling of moving parts. Who doesn’t get tired of that?
And then there’s the life of faith. We had thought that following Jesus might make things better, more manageable, less exhausting. Thus our surprise when we discover that following Jesus also involves some struggle. Once again, we’re wrestling. We’re like Jacob. Jacob wrestled with God and lived – but he walked for the rest of his life with a limp (Genesis 32:22-28). Maybe you’re limping too. Christmas is a tough time for wrestling. But we are hardly the first to know this.
The story of Joseph’s discovery of Mary’s pregnancy is a wrestling story. Matthew gives it to us in spare language. Mary is pledged to Joseph, the marital commitment in place without the full benefits and living arrangements of the marital relationship. This is when Joseph discovers that Mary is pregnant. And this is when the wrestling begins, unseen and yet strenuous. Joseph grappling with God, grappling with his own heart and mind.
Again, Matthew shows us none of this except to say that Joseph “considered” how he could divorce Mary quietly and thus protect her from public disgrace. But can such “considering” be anything less than anguish and pain? How long did he “consider?” How many sleepless nights, how many bitter questions hurled at heaven? How many tense conversations with his beloved? How many fake smiles at neighbors as if all was well?
And even once the Angel has appeared and Joseph has taken Mary as is wife, the difficulties are hardly over. Craig Keener notes that Joseph’s decision to go ahead with his marriage was a decision to sacrifice his own reputation. The wrestling surely didn’t stop. Wrestling mingled with waiting until the birth in the Bethlehem stable.
Many of us come to Advent wrestling and waiting; life has us in a head-lock and we’re trying desperately to find the right move that will loosen its grip. With the Psalmist we ask “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?” (Ps. 13:2). Christmas doesn’t change the fact that we’re wrestling with decisions that need to be made, decisions we wish could make over again, afflicted bodies, conflicted relationships and competing expectations. We wrestle through one challenge only to face another.
But in the midst of the wrestling, Joseph’s and ours, there is this assurance: the Holy Spirit is at work. To see it may require waiting, long waiting and still more wrestling. But God is active in your wrestling story, even – perhaps especially – at Christmas.
What opponent will you wrestle today?
Prayer:
Grant to us, O God, the patience to trust you in all things and the strength to wrestle long until we see your hand at work: show your hand in the difficult situations, the perplexing questions, the stubborn circumstances that refuse to budge. Be present with us in the struggles of this day, making us confident as we wrestle and wait in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Mt. Ararat
At the end of 150 days the water had abated . . . the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat (Genesis 8:3-4 ESV).
A few years ago I had the privilege of doing some teaching with a small community of Christians in Armenia. Armenia is a tiny sliver of a country that borders Turkey, and the relationship between those two nations is very tense. One might be right in saying that Armenia and Turkey really don’t relate to each other at all.
My time there included a free day in which we saw the sights around the capital city of Yerevan. The one sight that has stayed with me was a view of Mt. Ararat. On a rocky ledge a kind of open-air shrine had been constructed that faced the distant mountain. On one of the walls was inscribed a poem that spoke of Ararat as being in captivity. These days Ararat is within the borders of Turkey. Armenians maintain that the mountain is theirs.
What struck me at the time was the massive presence of Ararat. We were looking at it from far off, gazing across the border of another country, but even miles away the mountain stood as an imposing feature of the landscape. I found myself wondering what it would be like to approach and ascend Ararat. And I found myself thinking about Noah and the ark. What kind of flood could have possibly submerged something as enormous as Mt. Ararat? And where on that sprawling mountain did the ark finally come to rest?
Last year a group of Chinese and Turkish explorers claimed they had found the ark, or remains of it. The veracity of that claim has been challenged, but I’m not as interested in the boat as I am in the mountain.
What the story tells us is important to keep in mind when storms rage. Eventually the rains will stop. It may take a long while, but once the downpour lets up the waters that engulfed you will begin to recede. And one day dry land will appear again and you’ll discover that you’ve found a solid place to stand. There’s a massive mountain under your feet, holding you up. It was there all the time.
Do we know where the ark came to rest? Not exactly.
Have we found the remains of Noah’s ark? Scholars are debating the matter as they are prone to do.
But this much is certain: Mt. Ararat is real and it is formidable. And when the storms end and the floods evaporate there is a place to find rest. Solid ground.
Even if you’ve never seen Mt. Ararat you can still get a vision for it. Allow your imagination to enter into Noah’s story. God’s purposes for you will not allow you to drift or be endlessly blown about. Maybe the rains are falling hard today. They will cease. Maybe, like Noah, you’ve sent out a dove of some kind – some effort to see if there’s a future for you, a place to stand, a place to start over.
It is there. The waters will one day recede and make their complete exit, leaving you in the hands of a merciful and powerful God. Mt. Ararat is beneath your feet even if you can’t see it now.
Once you find that place, build an altar. Worship God.
Prayer:
“His oath, his covenant, his blood, support me in the whelming flood; When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay. On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand.” (My Hope is Built on Nothing Less, Edward Mote, c. 1834).
A few years ago I had the privilege of doing some teaching with a small community of Christians in Armenia. Armenia is a tiny sliver of a country that borders Turkey, and the relationship between those two nations is very tense. One might be right in saying that Armenia and Turkey really don’t relate to each other at all.
My time there included a free day in which we saw the sights around the capital city of Yerevan. The one sight that has stayed with me was a view of Mt. Ararat. On a rocky ledge a kind of open-air shrine had been constructed that faced the distant mountain. On one of the walls was inscribed a poem that spoke of Ararat as being in captivity. These days Ararat is within the borders of Turkey. Armenians maintain that the mountain is theirs.
What struck me at the time was the massive presence of Ararat. We were looking at it from far off, gazing across the border of another country, but even miles away the mountain stood as an imposing feature of the landscape. I found myself wondering what it would be like to approach and ascend Ararat. And I found myself thinking about Noah and the ark. What kind of flood could have possibly submerged something as enormous as Mt. Ararat? And where on that sprawling mountain did the ark finally come to rest?
Last year a group of Chinese and Turkish explorers claimed they had found the ark, or remains of it. The veracity of that claim has been challenged, but I’m not as interested in the boat as I am in the mountain.
What the story tells us is important to keep in mind when storms rage. Eventually the rains will stop. It may take a long while, but once the downpour lets up the waters that engulfed you will begin to recede. And one day dry land will appear again and you’ll discover that you’ve found a solid place to stand. There’s a massive mountain under your feet, holding you up. It was there all the time.
Do we know where the ark came to rest? Not exactly.
Have we found the remains of Noah’s ark? Scholars are debating the matter as they are prone to do.
But this much is certain: Mt. Ararat is real and it is formidable. And when the storms end and the floods evaporate there is a place to find rest. Solid ground.
Even if you’ve never seen Mt. Ararat you can still get a vision for it. Allow your imagination to enter into Noah’s story. God’s purposes for you will not allow you to drift or be endlessly blown about. Maybe the rains are falling hard today. They will cease. Maybe, like Noah, you’ve sent out a dove of some kind – some effort to see if there’s a future for you, a place to stand, a place to start over.
It is there. The waters will one day recede and make their complete exit, leaving you in the hands of a merciful and powerful God. Mt. Ararat is beneath your feet even if you can’t see it now.
Once you find that place, build an altar. Worship God.
Prayer:
“His oath, his covenant, his blood, support me in the whelming flood; When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay. On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand.” (My Hope is Built on Nothing Less, Edward Mote, c. 1834).
Friday, April 22, 2011
Cross Prayers
Two other men, both criminals, were also led out with him to be executed (Luke 23:32).
When read together, the gospels render seven utterances of Jesus from the cross. These “seven last words” have been the focus of much study and reflection. They have been expounded from pulpits and lecterns; sung from choir lofts and concert halls. Much of what Jesus speaks from the cross is prayer. He asks God to forgive his executioners. He also cries out in his dark moments of God-forsakenness. Merciful prayers, anguished prayers, and some in between.
But Jesus isn’t the only one praying. Jesus was crucified with two criminals. They too speak from the cross, and if we listen to their words we hear prayer laced throughout. Both criminals address Jesus directly; both make requests of him. But these two convicts pray very different prayers.
One of those prayers is demanding and angry. Spoken from the place of threat and trouble, this prayer seeks escape and little more. The one praying is not interested in God. This prayer is about getting results, getting rescued, getting out, getting away. The caustic words of the petition reflect the words of the surrounding crowd and the prevailing culture. Let Jesus prove himself. The essence of the prayer is simple: “Get me out of this mess.”
The other prayer comes from a different place, from a different man. This prayer comes from a man who recognizes the truth about himself. What’s more, he recognizes the truth about Jesus. Jesus’ innocence exposes the criminal’s guilt. This prayer isn’t seeking to escape. Rather, it seeks to enter into the reality over which Jesus is King. The essence of this prayer is also simple: “Remember me.”
On any given day we pray from one side of the cross or the other.
There are days – usually hard days - when we want to say that if God were truly good and truly powerful, then our circumstances would change. Things would be different. God could fix the problem and bring order to the mess of our lives if only he would. We sometimes pray through clenched teeth. Do something God! Make it right!
And sometimes we pray from a far more humble place. We gather the courage to face what is rather than insisting on what we want. We know the truth about our lives and we own what’s worthy as well as what is shameful. And we ask for grace because we know that in the end only grace can save us.
From which side of the cross are you praying today?
Prayer:
Once again we ask you, Lord Jesus, teach us to pray. Our prayers flip-flop, moving from one side of your cross to the other. We make demands; we humbly ask for mercy. Help us to pray from the foot of your cross, covered by your grace, placing our concerns and our lives into your hands. Amen.
When read together, the gospels render seven utterances of Jesus from the cross. These “seven last words” have been the focus of much study and reflection. They have been expounded from pulpits and lecterns; sung from choir lofts and concert halls. Much of what Jesus speaks from the cross is prayer. He asks God to forgive his executioners. He also cries out in his dark moments of God-forsakenness. Merciful prayers, anguished prayers, and some in between.
But Jesus isn’t the only one praying. Jesus was crucified with two criminals. They too speak from the cross, and if we listen to their words we hear prayer laced throughout. Both criminals address Jesus directly; both make requests of him. But these two convicts pray very different prayers.
One of those prayers is demanding and angry. Spoken from the place of threat and trouble, this prayer seeks escape and little more. The one praying is not interested in God. This prayer is about getting results, getting rescued, getting out, getting away. The caustic words of the petition reflect the words of the surrounding crowd and the prevailing culture. Let Jesus prove himself. The essence of the prayer is simple: “Get me out of this mess.”
The other prayer comes from a different place, from a different man. This prayer comes from a man who recognizes the truth about himself. What’s more, he recognizes the truth about Jesus. Jesus’ innocence exposes the criminal’s guilt. This prayer isn’t seeking to escape. Rather, it seeks to enter into the reality over which Jesus is King. The essence of this prayer is also simple: “Remember me.”
On any given day we pray from one side of the cross or the other.
There are days – usually hard days - when we want to say that if God were truly good and truly powerful, then our circumstances would change. Things would be different. God could fix the problem and bring order to the mess of our lives if only he would. We sometimes pray through clenched teeth. Do something God! Make it right!
And sometimes we pray from a far more humble place. We gather the courage to face what is rather than insisting on what we want. We know the truth about our lives and we own what’s worthy as well as what is shameful. And we ask for grace because we know that in the end only grace can save us.
From which side of the cross are you praying today?
Prayer:
Once again we ask you, Lord Jesus, teach us to pray. Our prayers flip-flop, moving from one side of your cross to the other. We make demands; we humbly ask for mercy. Help us to pray from the foot of your cross, covered by your grace, placing our concerns and our lives into your hands. Amen.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
"He Descended into Hell"
He was . . . made alive by the Spirit, through whom also he went and preached to the spirits in bondage (1 Peter 3:19).
A couple of weeks ago my wife was searching the internet for videos that we could use in our worship service. We were coming up on the Sunday that would launch us back into the Apostles’ Creed series. Perhaps a good video might be effective in getting the content of the creed back in the minds of the congregation.
As she searched she came across a video montage of ordinary looking people saying the Apostles’ Creed. The camera shot switched from one person to the next as each spoke a different line of the creed - simple but on target, just what we needed. But there was one problem.
The focal phrase for the week was to be “He descended into hell.” The video montage skipped that line. They didn’t say it. One person said something about Jesus being crucified, dead and buried. The next person said “on the third day he arose from the dead.” No descent to hell.
We’re not going to skip it. However, the line is perplexing and it merits some explaining.
Without getting bogged down in history or the finer points of biblical exegesis, here are some things you might keep in mind. First of all, there’s a substantial representation of Christians who do not say “he descended into hell.” Part of the reason for that might be that only one version of the creed prior to AD 640 has this line. Many other early versions don’t have it, so some omit the line given the lack of textual support.
Nevertheless, for 1300 years much of the Christian church has said these words, so we need to wrestle with what they might mean. Three options have emerged: (1) some understand the descent to hell as a reference to the grave. It is another way of saying that Jesus truly died. (2) Others say it really does mean that Jesus went to the region of the condemned. They cite 1 Peter 3:19 for support of this position. (3) Others say that the descent to hell was the spiritual separation from God the Father that Jesus experienced in his death on the cross (See Kevin DeYoung, The Good News We Almost Forgot, 87-91).
A decent case can be made for each of these understandings of what it means to say “he descended into hell.” But there is another reason – not as scholarly – for saying these words when we say the creed. Maybe we say this because we know that descent in our own lives. We know what it is to endure some form of hell as we live with the brokenness of this world.
Sometimes that descent carries us to a deep darkness in our family life, in our physical bodies, or maybe in our emotions and thoughts. Sometimes the decent carries us into the poverty and wreckage of the inner cities or places where destruction is rampant like Japan or Haiti. There is no shortage of people who can testify that hell is real and you don’t have to go too far to find it.
So this is what we believe: Whatever your hell might be, Jesus already knows it. He has been there, done that. There is no hell you can live through that he hasn’t already been through. There is no descent deep enough to exceed is reach or his knowledge.
However you understand it, it’s worth saying with confidence. “He descended into hell.” The good news (and we’ll get to this later) is that he didn’t stay there – and he doesn’t intend for you to stay there either.
Prayer:
We give you thanks, Lord Jesus, for your descent to us in all of our brokenness. In mercy you embraced all that it means to live in this world. Thank you for being faithful to us in the deepest darkness. Teach us to trust you in those places, patiently waiting for the day when you will make all things new and whole. Amen.
A couple of weeks ago my wife was searching the internet for videos that we could use in our worship service. We were coming up on the Sunday that would launch us back into the Apostles’ Creed series. Perhaps a good video might be effective in getting the content of the creed back in the minds of the congregation.
As she searched she came across a video montage of ordinary looking people saying the Apostles’ Creed. The camera shot switched from one person to the next as each spoke a different line of the creed - simple but on target, just what we needed. But there was one problem.
The focal phrase for the week was to be “He descended into hell.” The video montage skipped that line. They didn’t say it. One person said something about Jesus being crucified, dead and buried. The next person said “on the third day he arose from the dead.” No descent to hell.
We’re not going to skip it. However, the line is perplexing and it merits some explaining.
Without getting bogged down in history or the finer points of biblical exegesis, here are some things you might keep in mind. First of all, there’s a substantial representation of Christians who do not say “he descended into hell.” Part of the reason for that might be that only one version of the creed prior to AD 640 has this line. Many other early versions don’t have it, so some omit the line given the lack of textual support.
Nevertheless, for 1300 years much of the Christian church has said these words, so we need to wrestle with what they might mean. Three options have emerged: (1) some understand the descent to hell as a reference to the grave. It is another way of saying that Jesus truly died. (2) Others say it really does mean that Jesus went to the region of the condemned. They cite 1 Peter 3:19 for support of this position. (3) Others say that the descent to hell was the spiritual separation from God the Father that Jesus experienced in his death on the cross (See Kevin DeYoung, The Good News We Almost Forgot, 87-91).
A decent case can be made for each of these understandings of what it means to say “he descended into hell.” But there is another reason – not as scholarly – for saying these words when we say the creed. Maybe we say this because we know that descent in our own lives. We know what it is to endure some form of hell as we live with the brokenness of this world.
Sometimes that descent carries us to a deep darkness in our family life, in our physical bodies, or maybe in our emotions and thoughts. Sometimes the decent carries us into the poverty and wreckage of the inner cities or places where destruction is rampant like Japan or Haiti. There is no shortage of people who can testify that hell is real and you don’t have to go too far to find it.
So this is what we believe: Whatever your hell might be, Jesus already knows it. He has been there, done that. There is no hell you can live through that he hasn’t already been through. There is no descent deep enough to exceed is reach or his knowledge.
However you understand it, it’s worth saying with confidence. “He descended into hell.” The good news (and we’ll get to this later) is that he didn’t stay there – and he doesn’t intend for you to stay there either.
Prayer:
We give you thanks, Lord Jesus, for your descent to us in all of our brokenness. In mercy you embraced all that it means to live in this world. Thank you for being faithful to us in the deepest darkness. Teach us to trust you in those places, patiently waiting for the day when you will make all things new and whole. Amen.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
We Need the Creed
These things are written that you might believe (John 20:31).
Nine years is long enough. I should have it down by now.
I’ve been a Presbyterian long enough to have the Apostles’ Creed committed to memory. But whenever I’m in a worship service and the congregation is asked to “stand and say together what we believe,” I reach for the print version. I guess when it comes to the creed I still need a crutch.
The faith tradition grew up in did not say the Apostles’ Creed. In fact, the oft repeated boast in my tradition was that “The Bible is our Creed.” That’s all well and good, but it pretty much rules out any kind of congregational “recitation.” I was probably in seminary before I knew that there was an Apostles’ Creed. I’m sure I was 30 years old before I attended a church that used those words in worship.
But now I know what it is and what it says. And I like repeating those words even if I do self-consciously reach for the bulletin or the hymnal for some help. I like that we can actually say what we believe. And I like very much that when we say it we’re saying something that others before us have said for centuries. I am increasingly at home with the creed, with the rhythm of its language, the orderly movement from God the Father to Jesus the Son to the Holy Spirit and finally the church.
I have found my way to the creed rather late in life, but I’m learning to like it. More than that, I’m learning that I need it.
Ours is an age when everybody has an opinion and plenty of people are willing to tell you what they think. We also live in a time when emotions are highly regarded and all of us are regularly urged to explore and give expression to what we feel. But it’s a different matter to say what you believe.
I need the Apostles’ Creed. I need to stand with other believers and say together with them what we believe. I need it because sometimes, quite honestly, I need to be reminded. Maybe you do too.
Some months ago we began a series of reflections on the words of the Apostles’ Creed. In the weeks ahead we will pick up where we left off. We’ll take our beliefs bite-sized and linger with what they say and ponder what they mean – not as an exercise in theological posturing but as prayer.
My basic premise is that we need the Creed.
Some of us need it because we know what we believe but we take it for granted. We haven’t given serious thought to our beliefs in quite a while. They’ve collected dust or they’ve mildewed slightly in some dark corner of the mind. We know where they are; we just never pull them out and look at them very often.
Others of us need the creed because we’re not sure what we believe. We’re not sure if we believe. It’s time to get honest – not just with ourselves but with our tradition. We need to hear what it claims and then deal with what it claims of us.
Hopefully, in the weeks to come, you’ll realize that you also need the creed, even if you can’t say it from memory.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, to believe with both humility and confidence. Make us bold in what we believe, not in order to win arguments but to bring others to you. Bless these weeks so that what believe may be clarified and strengthened by the power of your Spirit. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Nine years is long enough. I should have it down by now.
I’ve been a Presbyterian long enough to have the Apostles’ Creed committed to memory. But whenever I’m in a worship service and the congregation is asked to “stand and say together what we believe,” I reach for the print version. I guess when it comes to the creed I still need a crutch.
The faith tradition grew up in did not say the Apostles’ Creed. In fact, the oft repeated boast in my tradition was that “The Bible is our Creed.” That’s all well and good, but it pretty much rules out any kind of congregational “recitation.” I was probably in seminary before I knew that there was an Apostles’ Creed. I’m sure I was 30 years old before I attended a church that used those words in worship.
But now I know what it is and what it says. And I like repeating those words even if I do self-consciously reach for the bulletin or the hymnal for some help. I like that we can actually say what we believe. And I like very much that when we say it we’re saying something that others before us have said for centuries. I am increasingly at home with the creed, with the rhythm of its language, the orderly movement from God the Father to Jesus the Son to the Holy Spirit and finally the church.
I have found my way to the creed rather late in life, but I’m learning to like it. More than that, I’m learning that I need it.
Ours is an age when everybody has an opinion and plenty of people are willing to tell you what they think. We also live in a time when emotions are highly regarded and all of us are regularly urged to explore and give expression to what we feel. But it’s a different matter to say what you believe.
I need the Apostles’ Creed. I need to stand with other believers and say together with them what we believe. I need it because sometimes, quite honestly, I need to be reminded. Maybe you do too.
Some months ago we began a series of reflections on the words of the Apostles’ Creed. In the weeks ahead we will pick up where we left off. We’ll take our beliefs bite-sized and linger with what they say and ponder what they mean – not as an exercise in theological posturing but as prayer.
My basic premise is that we need the Creed.
Some of us need it because we know what we believe but we take it for granted. We haven’t given serious thought to our beliefs in quite a while. They’ve collected dust or they’ve mildewed slightly in some dark corner of the mind. We know where they are; we just never pull them out and look at them very often.
Others of us need the creed because we’re not sure what we believe. We’re not sure if we believe. It’s time to get honest – not just with ourselves but with our tradition. We need to hear what it claims and then deal with what it claims of us.
Hopefully, in the weeks to come, you’ll realize that you also need the creed, even if you can’t say it from memory.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, to believe with both humility and confidence. Make us bold in what we believe, not in order to win arguments but to bring others to you. Bless these weeks so that what believe may be clarified and strengthened by the power of your Spirit. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Monday, February 14, 2011
For My Wife on Valentine's Day: "The Cookie Cake"
Last night after the kids had gone to bed, I watched you press cookie dough into a heart shaped pan. You were planning to surprise them with a cookie cake for Valentine’s Day. As is typically the case, I was done for the day, ready to do nothing. You were just getting started.
That initial effort at a cookie cake didn’t work out too well. I don’t know what happened. I don’t think you know what happened. On the counter by the oven I saw a plate with a mound of gnarled and gooey not-quite-baked cookie on it. It didn’t matter. You cleaned the failed experiment from the heart-shaped pan and started over.
Success.
This morning our kids found what you had made for them while they slept. Perfectly formed, gently scooped out of the pan and placed on a red plate. After taking a picture of it, you let them eat some for breakfast and placed the rest of it in a zip-lock bag for after school. I warned them that it might not be there if I got to it first. But that won’t happen. They know that. I know it too.
The well-baked cookie that they had for breakfast speaks of your (our) love for them. It is theirs to enjoy.
But it’s the other cookie that I cherish. The one that didn’t come out right. The first try that taught you what needed to be done on the second try. The one that kept you up a little later than you might have wanted to be up.
I cherish the gnarled mound of cookie dough because you didn’t give up, you didn’t get frustrated, you didn’t complain or berate yourself or resent the task in any way. Yes, the cookie cake was a labor of love for our kids. But it speaks to me of why I love you.
You bring to me, Marnie, what I do not possess on my own. I love your conviction that something will work, especially when I can’t see how it will. I love your courage and your determination to figure it out and your confidence that you can. I need more of those things in my life. I’m so thankful for the way you bring those things to me, to our home and our children.
God loved the world so much that he gave his son. And in a particular act of grace, God loved me enough to give me you. My Valentine.
That initial effort at a cookie cake didn’t work out too well. I don’t know what happened. I don’t think you know what happened. On the counter by the oven I saw a plate with a mound of gnarled and gooey not-quite-baked cookie on it. It didn’t matter. You cleaned the failed experiment from the heart-shaped pan and started over.
Success.
This morning our kids found what you had made for them while they slept. Perfectly formed, gently scooped out of the pan and placed on a red plate. After taking a picture of it, you let them eat some for breakfast and placed the rest of it in a zip-lock bag for after school. I warned them that it might not be there if I got to it first. But that won’t happen. They know that. I know it too.
The well-baked cookie that they had for breakfast speaks of your (our) love for them. It is theirs to enjoy.
But it’s the other cookie that I cherish. The one that didn’t come out right. The first try that taught you what needed to be done on the second try. The one that kept you up a little later than you might have wanted to be up.
I cherish the gnarled mound of cookie dough because you didn’t give up, you didn’t get frustrated, you didn’t complain or berate yourself or resent the task in any way. Yes, the cookie cake was a labor of love for our kids. But it speaks to me of why I love you.
You bring to me, Marnie, what I do not possess on my own. I love your conviction that something will work, especially when I can’t see how it will. I love your courage and your determination to figure it out and your confidence that you can. I need more of those things in my life. I’m so thankful for the way you bring those things to me, to our home and our children.
God loved the world so much that he gave his son. And in a particular act of grace, God loved me enough to give me you. My Valentine.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Know the Story
. . . and they will call him Immanuel – which means, “God with us.” (Matt. 1:23).
Pat Conroy’s latest release, My Reading Life, is an engaging blend of biography and bibliography. In it Conroy narrates how books have shaped his life. Words had worked their way deep into his soul long before they started emerging again in his work as a writer.
One of the most poignantly amusing chapters is about his first days as a new student at Beaufort High School. He didn’t know anyone and not a single person bothered to say as much as “hello” on his first day there. He had no idea what to do with himself during the lunch period until he stumbled across the school library – totally empty at that time of day. The books were a refuge for him. He found a copy of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables and started reading.
The focal character of this chapter is the school librarian – Miss Hunter. She was mean, dour, inhospitable, and feared by both students and faculty at Beaufort High. When she discovered Conroy in the library during the lunch period she scolded him and accused him of looking for books that had “dirty parts.” When she saw that he was reading Les Miserables she spoke disparagingly of “French authors.” And then she suggested an alternative book by Hugo.
She said to Conroy, “Do you like football?”
“Yes ma’am,” he answered.
At this Miss Hunter went to a shelf and pulled down another volume. She handed Conroy Victor Hugo’s ‘football book’ – The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Here was a woman who worked in a library. She knew where to find the book. And yet she didn’t have a clue as to what the story was really about.
*********
During Advent and Christmas it is possible to sit in a sanctuary and hear a familiar story. We can show up at church and sing songs about that story and listen to sermons on the story. We may even pick up the book and read the story for ourselves.
We can do all of those things and yet miss the real meaning of the story, never clue-in as to what this story is really all about.
Christmas is not about our benevolent disposition to our fellow human beings, as important as that is. It is not about “the children,” as delightful as they may be. It is not about high ideals like peace and joy and giving, although they figure prominently in the drama.
Christmas is about God. This is God’s story. God is the author and God’s glory is the point of what is happening. Christmas is about God entering history – both then and now. At Christmas we affirm the truth of the name Immanuel. God is with us.
When we sing the familiar hymn that invites Christ to “be born in us today,” we’re not singing a mere metaphor. We are declaring what’s real. Jesus lives and is made manifest in this world through his people. God comes near by the power of the Spirit dwelling in us. This means God works through you. It also means that God comes to you.
This Christmas don’t miss the story. In the words “God with us” you find both your calling and your comfort. And the glory goes to God – just as the angels sang.
Prayer:
All glory to you, Almighty God. You are present with us to sustain and comfort; you are working through us to bring good news to all people. May your name be honored and held high today as we worship and gather and celebrate your presence among us – the gift of Immanuel, Jesus our Lord through whom we pray. Amen.
Pat Conroy’s latest release, My Reading Life, is an engaging blend of biography and bibliography. In it Conroy narrates how books have shaped his life. Words had worked their way deep into his soul long before they started emerging again in his work as a writer.
One of the most poignantly amusing chapters is about his first days as a new student at Beaufort High School. He didn’t know anyone and not a single person bothered to say as much as “hello” on his first day there. He had no idea what to do with himself during the lunch period until he stumbled across the school library – totally empty at that time of day. The books were a refuge for him. He found a copy of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables and started reading.
The focal character of this chapter is the school librarian – Miss Hunter. She was mean, dour, inhospitable, and feared by both students and faculty at Beaufort High. When she discovered Conroy in the library during the lunch period she scolded him and accused him of looking for books that had “dirty parts.” When she saw that he was reading Les Miserables she spoke disparagingly of “French authors.” And then she suggested an alternative book by Hugo.
She said to Conroy, “Do you like football?”
“Yes ma’am,” he answered.
At this Miss Hunter went to a shelf and pulled down another volume. She handed Conroy Victor Hugo’s ‘football book’ – The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Here was a woman who worked in a library. She knew where to find the book. And yet she didn’t have a clue as to what the story was really about.
*********
We can do all of those things and yet miss the real meaning of the story, never clue-in as to what this story is really all about.
Christmas is not about our benevolent disposition to our fellow human beings, as important as that is. It is not about “the children,” as delightful as they may be. It is not about high ideals like peace and joy and giving, although they figure prominently in the drama.
Christmas is about God. This is God’s story. God is the author and God’s glory is the point of what is happening. Christmas is about God entering history – both then and now. At Christmas we affirm the truth of the name Immanuel. God is with us.
When we sing the familiar hymn that invites Christ to “be born in us today,” we’re not singing a mere metaphor. We are declaring what’s real. Jesus lives and is made manifest in this world through his people. God comes near by the power of the Spirit dwelling in us. This means God works through you. It also means that God comes to you.
This Christmas don’t miss the story. In the words “God with us” you find both your calling and your comfort. And the glory goes to God – just as the angels sang.
Prayer:
All glory to you, Almighty God. You are present with us to sustain and comfort; you are working through us to bring good news to all people. May your name be honored and held high today as we worship and gather and celebrate your presence among us – the gift of Immanuel, Jesus our Lord through whom we pray. Amen.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Who Needs a Savior?
“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins” (Matt. 1:21).
The good news was that the Atlanta Police car made the left turn from Habersham onto Valley Rd. within minutes after my call.
The bad news was that the Atlanta Police car made the left turn from Habersham onto Valley Rd. within minutes after my call.
I would have preferred not to call at all. A fender-bender collision at Habersham and Valley made it necessary. As it turned out the damage was so slight that there was really nothing for the APD to do. Still, I’m thankful for the timely response. And I’m also aware that what comes to us as good news often points to something gone wrong.
A tumor is benign . . . but it still needs to come out. You are told you will not be laid off . . . but the company is in trouble and others still have to be let go. To us a savior is born . . . which means we need saving. We are not well. And what isn’t well is beyond our own capacity to make right.
********
The angel’s message to Joseph was very clear about two things: where Mary’s baby had come from and what that baby was to be named. As to origin, the angel made it perfectly clear that “what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” And as to the child’s name, he was to be named Jesus “because he will save his people from their sins” (Matt. 1:20-21).
Jesus is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua which means “the Lord saves.” At Christmas time we hear this as a “glad tiding.” The angel’s announcement is good news; it reason for great joy and thanksgiving and glory to God for his favor to us.
But these glad tidings carry with them a quiet implication – a verdict on the condition of the human race. The announcement of a savior being born is only good news to those who need saving.
If I’m sitting in my house watching TV and eating Oreos and an ambulance pulls into my driveway I will not be relieved. I might be confused or annoyed – but not relieved and thankful. But after too many years of watching TV and eating Oreos a day may come when I am not well. Something goes wrong. Maybe, by God’s grace, someone can call 911 and the ambulance will come. And when it does there will be relief and gratitude and hope placed in the paramedics.
At Christmas, spiritually speaking, there are plenty of us eating Oreos and watching TV, feeding on the goodies and taking in the sights of the season. Many have no idea that something is wrong. They might hear about the birth of a savior but it has nothing to do with them, or so they think.
Christmas is not truly good news unless we are convinced that there’s bad news. That message doesn’t get too much press in December. Too negative perhaps. But it’s definitely there, plain as day, in the words of the angel. Jesus came to save us from our sins. We couldn’t save ourselves, so God did it for us in sending his son.
So the real question is this: An ambulance has pulled up into your driveway in the form of God’s infant son. What is your response?
Prayer:
Before the season ends, O God, we would get honest and make our confession to you. This world is not well. We are not well. We need a savior. Thank you for sending your son. Thank you for loving the world so much that you sent Jesus to save us – to do what we could not do by our own efforts. May this Christmas bring us news that is truly good, because we have faced the truth about ourselves and turned to your grace through Christ our Lord. Amen.
The good news was that the Atlanta Police car made the left turn from Habersham onto Valley Rd. within minutes after my call.
The bad news was that the Atlanta Police car made the left turn from Habersham onto Valley Rd. within minutes after my call.
I would have preferred not to call at all. A fender-bender collision at Habersham and Valley made it necessary. As it turned out the damage was so slight that there was really nothing for the APD to do. Still, I’m thankful for the timely response. And I’m also aware that what comes to us as good news often points to something gone wrong.
A tumor is benign . . . but it still needs to come out. You are told you will not be laid off . . . but the company is in trouble and others still have to be let go. To us a savior is born . . . which means we need saving. We are not well. And what isn’t well is beyond our own capacity to make right.
********
Jesus is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua which means “the Lord saves.” At Christmas time we hear this as a “glad tiding.” The angel’s announcement is good news; it reason for great joy and thanksgiving and glory to God for his favor to us.
But these glad tidings carry with them a quiet implication – a verdict on the condition of the human race. The announcement of a savior being born is only good news to those who need saving.
If I’m sitting in my house watching TV and eating Oreos and an ambulance pulls into my driveway I will not be relieved. I might be confused or annoyed – but not relieved and thankful. But after too many years of watching TV and eating Oreos a day may come when I am not well. Something goes wrong. Maybe, by God’s grace, someone can call 911 and the ambulance will come. And when it does there will be relief and gratitude and hope placed in the paramedics.
At Christmas, spiritually speaking, there are plenty of us eating Oreos and watching TV, feeding on the goodies and taking in the sights of the season. Many have no idea that something is wrong. They might hear about the birth of a savior but it has nothing to do with them, or so they think.
Christmas is not truly good news unless we are convinced that there’s bad news. That message doesn’t get too much press in December. Too negative perhaps. But it’s definitely there, plain as day, in the words of the angel. Jesus came to save us from our sins. We couldn’t save ourselves, so God did it for us in sending his son.
So the real question is this: An ambulance has pulled up into your driveway in the form of God’s infant son. What is your response?
Prayer:
Before the season ends, O God, we would get honest and make our confession to you. This world is not well. We are not well. We need a savior. Thank you for sending your son. Thank you for loving the world so much that you sent Jesus to save us – to do what we could not do by our own efforts. May this Christmas bring us news that is truly good, because we have faced the truth about ourselves and turned to your grace through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Big Deal
And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” (Luke 1:46 ESV)
According to my children I tend to make a big deal over things that really aren’t a big deal.
I disagree.
What time they go to bed and how much sleep they get on a school night is a big deal. How much screen time they get – video games, G-chat, TV – that is a big deal. Whether or not they put off a homework assignment until the last minute is big deal. Words they use, clothes they wear, all of that is a big deal.
At the same time I know they are not entirely wrong. I’ve been guilty of making too much over small things. Usually this happens when something isn’t right with me: I’m tired or preoccupied. They may be laughing and raucous as kids sometimes are and I’ll put an end to it because it bothers me. They might drop something or spill something and I’ll launch into some parental lecture. Maybe they just need my attention and I take what should be theirs and give it to something else that seems more urgent, more pressing. I make a big deal of the wrong things.
Cars are fitted with side-view mirrors that make things look distant and smaller. God designed the human soul to do the exact opposite. The soul was made to resonate with things in such a way that those things are made to look large and significant. This resonance of the soul has a way of giving weight and honor to what we truly cherish.
The biblical word for this capacity of the soul is “glorify” or “magnify.” To borrow language from my kids, the inclinations and resonances of the soul are how we make a big deal over something. Whether we know it or not, and often we do not, our souls are continually magnifying something. The question is “what?”
********
Sometime after the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she was pregnant with the one who would “reign over the house of Jacob forever,” Mary gathered up all that she was thinking and feeling in a prayer. This prayer comes to us through Luke’s pen in the form of a poem or song known to us as “The Magnificat.”
The opening line of Mary’s song / prayer will occupy our attention for the remainder of the week. “And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord’.” (Luke 1:46).
What does this mean? More importantly, how do we do it? If our souls are designed in such a way to magnify something, what do we magnify or make a big deal over in the course of a typical week? And if we want to say with Mary that our souls magnify the Lord, what will that look like?
The question is worth pondering because in scripture glorifying or magnifying God is given to us as a command. Consider Psalm 34:3. “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.” Magnifying the Lord isn’t a feeling or a passive experience; glorify and magnify are verbs that we are commanded to do.
For today, begin with the big deal that dominates the landscape of your mind and heart right now. What occupies your thoughts? What stirs your excitement? What’s the big deal? Maybe as we magnify the Lord what seems so big won’t stay that way.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, to magnify your name: to see you as great and mighty, and to see the rest our life in the light of your glory and strength. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
According to my children I tend to make a big deal over things that really aren’t a big deal.
I disagree.
What time they go to bed and how much sleep they get on a school night is a big deal. How much screen time they get – video games, G-chat, TV – that is a big deal. Whether or not they put off a homework assignment until the last minute is big deal. Words they use, clothes they wear, all of that is a big deal.
At the same time I know they are not entirely wrong. I’ve been guilty of making too much over small things. Usually this happens when something isn’t right with me: I’m tired or preoccupied. They may be laughing and raucous as kids sometimes are and I’ll put an end to it because it bothers me. They might drop something or spill something and I’ll launch into some parental lecture. Maybe they just need my attention and I take what should be theirs and give it to something else that seems more urgent, more pressing. I make a big deal of the wrong things.
Cars are fitted with side-view mirrors that make things look distant and smaller. God designed the human soul to do the exact opposite. The soul was made to resonate with things in such a way that those things are made to look large and significant. This resonance of the soul has a way of giving weight and honor to what we truly cherish.
The biblical word for this capacity of the soul is “glorify” or “magnify.” To borrow language from my kids, the inclinations and resonances of the soul are how we make a big deal over something. Whether we know it or not, and often we do not, our souls are continually magnifying something. The question is “what?”
********
The opening line of Mary’s song / prayer will occupy our attention for the remainder of the week. “And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord’.” (Luke 1:46).
What does this mean? More importantly, how do we do it? If our souls are designed in such a way to magnify something, what do we magnify or make a big deal over in the course of a typical week? And if we want to say with Mary that our souls magnify the Lord, what will that look like?
The question is worth pondering because in scripture glorifying or magnifying God is given to us as a command. Consider Psalm 34:3. “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.” Magnifying the Lord isn’t a feeling or a passive experience; glorify and magnify are verbs that we are commanded to do.
For today, begin with the big deal that dominates the landscape of your mind and heart right now. What occupies your thoughts? What stirs your excitement? What’s the big deal? Maybe as we magnify the Lord what seems so big won’t stay that way.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, to magnify your name: to see you as great and mighty, and to see the rest our life in the light of your glory and strength. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Questions and Prayers
And Mary said, “Behold I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).
As Luke introduces us to Mary he tells us a story in which Mary has very little to say.
Most of the talking is done by Gabriel. Gabriel has figured prominently in Luke’s gospel, having already appeared to Elizabeth in much the same way as he appears to Mary. Mary only speaks twice. She asks a question (“How can this be?”) and she speaks a prayer (“Let it be to me according to your word”).
Our questions and prayers belong together. Somehow we forget this. We assume that people who have questions about God’s will and God’s ways don’t pray, or that those who pray don’t have questions about God’s will and God’s ways. We are wrong to think this way. Good questions make the stuff of good honest prayers.
“How can it be” and “let it be done” make good neighbors.
********
Roughly thirty-three years after her son was born Mary attended a wedding at Cana of Galilee. Jesus was there too. An awkward social circumstance arose with regard to party provisions. The host (for reasons we do not know) had run out of wine.
Mary took the matter to her son. “They have no wine,” she said. Jesus’ answer sounds curt, especially since he is addressing his mother. “Woman, why do you involve me?”
Scholars work hard to explain Jesus’ words to Mary. What we do well to notice is that Mary doesn’t answer her son directly. No rebuke to his remark, no justification of her request. Having shared the problem with her son, she turns to the servants with a brief word of instruction. “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:1-11)
********
Mary is for us a model of prayerfulness. In Nazareth, told of the birth of her son, she prayed a prayer of trust. In Cana with her grown son, she takes a problem to him and leaves it for him to do as he will.
In both instances we see the essence of prayer. We bring our lives before God and know that he will act. God will do his will. His purposes will be accomplished. Mary did not fully understand all that Gabriel told her. She had no promises from her grown son as to what would be done about the lack of wine. But what joins these two stories is the letting go, letting go of the need for explanations and answers. Questions and prayers make good neighbors.
And so Mary teaches us to pray. She teaches us what Jesus would later teach his disciples. When we pray we are to say “Thy will be done.” Not “Thy will be known” or “Thy will be explained.”
We may not know exactly what God’s will is. We do not always receive assurances as to what will happen and explanations as to how. We lay the matter before Jesus and we leave it there, knowing that he will do what is good, even if we don’t understand it.
Now it’s your turn. What matter do you bring before Jesus today? What will you leave with him trusting that whatever he does will be good? What are you facing that eludes figuring out, refusing a clear answer or resolution. Listen carefully to Mary and borrow her prayer, confident that God will do what is good.
Prayer:
Do what you will to do, Lord God. In the midst of what we cannot understand or figure out, teach us to trust you, knowing that “You are good and what you do is good” (Psalm 119:68). Amen.
As Luke introduces us to Mary he tells us a story in which Mary has very little to say.
Most of the talking is done by Gabriel. Gabriel has figured prominently in Luke’s gospel, having already appeared to Elizabeth in much the same way as he appears to Mary. Mary only speaks twice. She asks a question (“How can this be?”) and she speaks a prayer (“Let it be to me according to your word”).
Our questions and prayers belong together. Somehow we forget this. We assume that people who have questions about God’s will and God’s ways don’t pray, or that those who pray don’t have questions about God’s will and God’s ways. We are wrong to think this way. Good questions make the stuff of good honest prayers.
“How can it be” and “let it be done” make good neighbors.
********
Mary took the matter to her son. “They have no wine,” she said. Jesus’ answer sounds curt, especially since he is addressing his mother. “Woman, why do you involve me?”
Scholars work hard to explain Jesus’ words to Mary. What we do well to notice is that Mary doesn’t answer her son directly. No rebuke to his remark, no justification of her request. Having shared the problem with her son, she turns to the servants with a brief word of instruction. “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:1-11)
********
In both instances we see the essence of prayer. We bring our lives before God and know that he will act. God will do his will. His purposes will be accomplished. Mary did not fully understand all that Gabriel told her. She had no promises from her grown son as to what would be done about the lack of wine. But what joins these two stories is the letting go, letting go of the need for explanations and answers. Questions and prayers make good neighbors.
And so Mary teaches us to pray. She teaches us what Jesus would later teach his disciples. When we pray we are to say “Thy will be done.” Not “Thy will be known” or “Thy will be explained.”
We may not know exactly what God’s will is. We do not always receive assurances as to what will happen and explanations as to how. We lay the matter before Jesus and we leave it there, knowing that he will do what is good, even if we don’t understand it.
Now it’s your turn. What matter do you bring before Jesus today? What will you leave with him trusting that whatever he does will be good? What are you facing that eludes figuring out, refusing a clear answer or resolution. Listen carefully to Mary and borrow her prayer, confident that God will do what is good.
Prayer:
Do what you will to do, Lord God. In the midst of what we cannot understand or figure out, teach us to trust you, knowing that “You are good and what you do is good” (Psalm 119:68). Amen.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Spirit, Power, Life
“The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the most high will overshadow you .” (Luke 1:35).
By the time you read this your day will likely be well under way. If you’re like me you woke up this morning knowing what that would look like. I’m looking at a morning office appointment, a lunch appointment, an afternoon office appointment, and family plans for the evening. In between those things I’ve got some tasks to complete and some writing to do, along with some teaching material to prepare for Sunday morning. Not a bad day.
Occasionally surprises crop up here and there, but for now this day is looking fairly “typical.” I’ve done these things before. Some of them, in fact all of them, are things I do regularly. Pastoral visits, writing, studying – this is standard fare in my line of work. I can do these things without trying too hard.
And that’s the problem.
Far too often and far too easily we develop the skills we need to get through the day or the week. But getting through the day is not the same thing as living the day. An inner crisis often develops when we realize that somewhere along the way getting through became our objective. Without realizing it we stopped living.
Of course, getting through the day is not an unworthy goal. There are seasons and circumstances in which getting through a day is all we hope for. Maybe today you’re facing something so daunting that just getting through it would be a blessing. God hears and answers prayers for getting through.
But Jesus told us that he wanted us to have life – and in abundance (John 10:10). The question is where does life come from and what does it mean for us to live our days and not merely get through them?
********
The story of Mary is the story of a literal conception. Cells divided. An embryo took shape in her womb and a heart began to beat. Fingers and toes, chin and nose, the body of a boy. This was Jesus. This was the body of the one whose mouth would speak God’s thoughts and whose touch would heal. This was the body that would one day be crucified.
We ask Mary’s question: “How can this be?” The answer we receive in scripture ignores cellular biology. This happens by the Spirit and Power of God. It’s sad that this event has morphed into a topic of theological debate and speculation. For what’s worth, I assume the truth of the virgin birth. I affirm the reality of the incarnation – God “in-fleshed” among us.
But the gift of life by the power of the Spirit isn’t something for us to merely think about. It is something we can experience. God still comes to us by the Spirit and infuses our days with power. Jesus promised that God would give the Spirit when we ask (Luke 11:13). Jesus told us that we could live our days with power (Luke 24:49).
God still does this. He has from the beginning. At the creation of the world, the Spirit hovered over chaos and brought forth life. In Mary’s womb the Spirit came with power and created life. After the resurrection the Spirit came on a small group of Jesus’ followers and the church was born. This is God’s way: the Spirit gives life.
The Spirit and Power are yours today. This will not necessarily change what you’ve got on your calendar: Same appointments, same job, same chores and errands – but truly lived and not simply accomplished or endured. There is more for you today than getting through.
We listen to the word, we trust God’s promises, we ask for the Spirit, and by God’s grace we truly live what we are doing. It’s not too late today to start.
Prayer:
Come Holy Spirit and grant life to us as we go through this day. Save us from empty motions and habitual patterns. Work within us to bring forth life that we might do ordinary and familiar things as people called, blessed, and sent into this world in Jesus’ name. Amen.
By the time you read this your day will likely be well under way. If you’re like me you woke up this morning knowing what that would look like. I’m looking at a morning office appointment, a lunch appointment, an afternoon office appointment, and family plans for the evening. In between those things I’ve got some tasks to complete and some writing to do, along with some teaching material to prepare for Sunday morning. Not a bad day.
Occasionally surprises crop up here and there, but for now this day is looking fairly “typical.” I’ve done these things before. Some of them, in fact all of them, are things I do regularly. Pastoral visits, writing, studying – this is standard fare in my line of work. I can do these things without trying too hard.
And that’s the problem.
Far too often and far too easily we develop the skills we need to get through the day or the week. But getting through the day is not the same thing as living the day. An inner crisis often develops when we realize that somewhere along the way getting through became our objective. Without realizing it we stopped living.
Of course, getting through the day is not an unworthy goal. There are seasons and circumstances in which getting through a day is all we hope for. Maybe today you’re facing something so daunting that just getting through it would be a blessing. God hears and answers prayers for getting through.
But Jesus told us that he wanted us to have life – and in abundance (John 10:10). The question is where does life come from and what does it mean for us to live our days and not merely get through them?
********
We ask Mary’s question: “How can this be?” The answer we receive in scripture ignores cellular biology. This happens by the Spirit and Power of God. It’s sad that this event has morphed into a topic of theological debate and speculation. For what’s worth, I assume the truth of the virgin birth. I affirm the reality of the incarnation – God “in-fleshed” among us.
But the gift of life by the power of the Spirit isn’t something for us to merely think about. It is something we can experience. God still comes to us by the Spirit and infuses our days with power. Jesus promised that God would give the Spirit when we ask (Luke 11:13). Jesus told us that we could live our days with power (Luke 24:49).
God still does this. He has from the beginning. At the creation of the world, the Spirit hovered over chaos and brought forth life. In Mary’s womb the Spirit came with power and created life. After the resurrection the Spirit came on a small group of Jesus’ followers and the church was born. This is God’s way: the Spirit gives life.
The Spirit and Power are yours today. This will not necessarily change what you’ve got on your calendar: Same appointments, same job, same chores and errands – but truly lived and not simply accomplished or endured. There is more for you today than getting through.
We listen to the word, we trust God’s promises, we ask for the Spirit, and by God’s grace we truly live what we are doing. It’s not too late today to start.
Prayer:
Come Holy Spirit and grant life to us as we go through this day. Save us from empty motions and habitual patterns. Work within us to bring forth life that we might do ordinary and familiar things as people called, blessed, and sent into this world in Jesus’ name. Amen.
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