Top Ten Books of the Year 2016

Over the course of the last year, I've read a lot of books.  These are, in order, the top 10 books I read in 2016 - a list that spans multiple genres.

10. Red Moon Rising - Pete Grieg

This is the second or third time that I've read this book, and it never fails to inspire me.  Grieg is one of the founders of the 24/7 prayer movement and its offshoots, which have spread like wildfire around the world (especially Europe).  If you ever feel like your prayers are futile or wonder if prayer actually changes anything, you need to read this book.  It will motivate you and drive you.  It will change the way you think about prayer.  I can't say enough about this book.  The only reason it's not much higher on this list is that this not my first time reading it.

9. Hillbilly Elegy - J.D. Vance

Vance tells his story of growing up in a mining town in the Midwest United States.  It is hard to describe that story - at times, Vance's story is exhilarating; at others it is heartrending.  Overall, there is a reason why this book has been billed as a key book for understanding why Donald Trump was able to win the presidency.  This is an important book for understanding life in what is often dismissed as "flyover country."

8. Desert Solitaire - Edward Abbey

This book is an account of time spent in the back country areas of Arches National Park in Utah in the days before visitor centers, paved roads, and other modern conveniences.  Abbey's memoir is filled with breathtaking descriptions of beauty and poignant cries against the declivitous destruction of places like Arches.  Abbey makes you want to visit the Arches he describes...and he also makes you realize that the Arches he describes is already gone forever.

7. Destiny of the Republic - Candice Millard

The election and subsequent assassination of President James Garfield is a fascinating story.  Millard tells it beautifully, switching between the story of Garfield's meteoric rise and the psychotic descent of his assassin, Charles Guiteau.  Shining light on a surprisingly little known moment in our national history, Millard's book was adapted for an episode of PBS' American Experience.  As with most film adaptations, the book was better.

6. Galileo's Daughter - Dava Sobel

Galileo's daughter was a nun.  She went by the name of Suor Maria Celeste.  She also exchanged a significant number of letters with her father throughout his life.  Using these letters as a starting point, Sobel explores the life of Galileo, from his first forays into making telescopes to his relationships with the Medici family to the writings that would eventually see him condemned as a heretic.  Through it all, Suor Maria Celeste stayed firmly in her father's corner.  Their story makes for good reading.

5. The Oregon Trail - Rinker Buck

Imagine if someone decided, in the 21st century, to retrace the path of the original Oregon Trail.  Not in a car, not by hiking, not by train, but in an actual covered wagon.  This is the basis of Rinker Buck's book.  At times, it reads like a buddy comedy, as Buck and his friend/co-traveler narrowly avoid hilarious missteps.  At other times, it reads like an adventure novel.  Along the way, Buck meets a cast of characters that is hard to describe in a single paragraph.  You'll have to read it for yourself.

4. Barkskins - Annie Proulx

I'm a sucker for well-written historical fiction, and Proulx's latest fits that bill to a tee.  In a tale that stretches from colonial New England to almost the present day, the lives and fates of Rene Sel and Charles Duquet and their families weave into a narrative tapestry that is richly imagined and lovingly detailed.  But that's not what makes this one of the best books I've read this year.  The forest is what elevates Barkskins to that level.  Proulx manages to make trees into a major character in this book, and to do it beautifully.  Read it and see for yourself.

3. Brilliant Beacons - Eric Jay Dolin

Lighthouses are romantic places, places of serene beauty during the calm and places of violent beauty during the storm.  Eric Jay Dolin tells the story of these romanticized sentinels which stand to keep safe the many mariners who travel to and from our nation's shores.  This book is filled with tales of the construction of lighthouses, and their destruction; of the role lighthouses played in war and conflict; of the heroics of lighthouse keepers who, as a matter of course, would risk their lives to maintain the light or save shipwrecked sailors.  A book on the history of lighthouses might not sound thrilling, but Dolin makes it so.

2. Jungle of Stone - William Carlsen

Without the journals of John Lloyd Stephens and the drawings of Frederick Catherwood, we would know a great deal less about the ancient civilizations of Central America.  These two men traveled throughout all of Central America in search of Mayan ruins, in effect "discovering" them as places of historical importance and bringing them to the rest of the world.  Carlsen has told the story of these two real life Indiana Jones-es so well that the reader wishes he or she could be along for the journey.  This book is not only beautifully written, it is beautifully designed and laid out.  If you want the full experience, make sure you pick up the hardcover.

1. The Invention of Nature - Andrea Wulf

There was never any question which book would be at the top of the list.  The Invention of Nature is the only book I read this year that I would put in the category of best books I have ever read.  I bought this book because I thought the cover was beautiful and because I had never really heard of its subject, Baron Alexander Von Humboldt.  I am so glad that I did.  Wulf writes this biography of Humboldt - an explorer, author, scientist, all around polymath who, for all intents and purposes, invented the modern science of ecology - so well that it is hard to put into words.  The mark of a good biography, in my opinion, is when the author can make you feel a genuine sense of loss at the death of the subject, even though you knew when you started that his death was coming.  Wulf does that.  She makes you feel a real tinge of grief when Humboldt dies.  If you are inclined to take this top ten list as a recommendation and can only read one, read this one.  You won't be disappointed.

#__________livesmatter – Reflections on a Catchphrase

This coming Wednesday, July 13, will mark the third anniversary of the founding of the international activist movement known as Black Lives Matter.  Most of us probably became familiar with this movement just shy of two years ago, when the shooting death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri gave rise to civil unrest that spread to other locations where other black men were killed.  

Rather quickly, the movement became identified by its twitter hashtag, #blacklivesmatter, which became the slogan of the groups protesting violence against the black community.  Importantly, though, #blacklivesmatter is not merely protesting police involved shootings of black men and women.  They are protesting an entire system that is unjustly biased against the black community.  They are agitating for change.

Over the course of the last two years, I have seen many “counter” protests to #blacklivesmatter as a movement and, in particular, as a slogan.  The most popular of these is to transform the slogan into the more benign and inclusive #alllivesmatter.  Well-meaning people have repeatedly asked me why it is necessary to emphasize that it is black lives that matter, as opposed to all lives.  Other well-meaning people have suggested that the intent of #blacklivesmatter is to communicate that black lives matter more than other lives – say, those of police and other law enforcement officers.

From reflection on the issue and from conversations with friends, I have come to believe two things to be true.

1. #alllivesmatter is a copout, a way of ignoring the pressing issue of systemic and institutionalized injustice.

2. We need slogans like #blacklivesmatter.

Let me explain.

#Blacklivesmatter, as a slogan, is not a statement about the superiority of one life over another.  Every person I have ever known who is involved with the Black Lives Matter movement would easily and completely affirm that no one life matters more than another.  With their slogan, they are not attempting to stir up violence against law enforcement, against white people, or against any other race.  Rather, their slogan is intended to force us who live in the white majority to ask ourselves some difficult questions.

When we say or write #alllivesmatter in response to the killing of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile or in response to the unthinkable murders of five law enforcement officers in Dallas this week, we are affirming a core truth.  All lives do matter.  Black lives, white lives, male lives, female lives, gay lives, straight lives, law enforcement lives, even criminal lives – they all matter.  It is unquestionably a good thing to affirm that we believe that all lives matter.

When we make that affirmation, though, #blacklivesmatter is there with a question: “Do they really?”  What I see and hear when I read #blacklivesmatter is a challenging question – are black lives really included when I say that I believe that all lives matter?  That’s a question we all need to hear, because too often we resort to #alllivesmatter as a way of distracting and distancing ourselves from the very real problem of systemic injustice in America.

Of course, most of us in the white majority are quick to respond to the question presented by #blacklivesmatter with an indignant insistence that OF COURSE black lives really matter.  We feel insulted and perhaps even personally attacked by the insinuation that we are racist or prejudiced, that we value one life over another.

To which #blacklivesmatter replies with another question – do our actions match our words?  Do the things we do affirm that black lives are included when we say that all lives matter, or is it just words that we say to make ourselves feel good?  And to be clear, it’s not really about what I do in my day to day life, though that matters.  It’s about what I do to combat and change systemic injustice.  Do I exercise my vote in line with my insistence that all lives matter?  Do I spend my money in line with my insistence that all lives matter?  Do I insist that my legislators and my government stop offering only “thoughts and prayers” and instead begin to work to change the broken and unjust systems?!

These are uncomfortable questions for anyone who, like me, is a part of the white majority in our country; for anyone who, like me, benefits in ways that I do not choose, but have not opposed, from the very real thing called white privilege; for anyone, who like me, who struggles to find a way to respond both to the injustice of the Philando Castile and Alton Sterling deaths and to the senseless murders in Dallas.  This discomfort that #blacklivesmatter makes us feel is, I suspect, why so many of us respond viscerally against the slogan.  It is also why we desperately need to see it and hear it and read it again and again.  Without that discomfort, nothing will change.

Of course, there are other slogans we need, other hashtags that ask pressing and uncomfortable question of us.  We need them too.

If we are angrier (or feel a deeper sadness) today at the deaths of five police officers than we were yesterday at the deaths of two black men in police custody, we need to hear the message that #blacklivesmatter.

If, on the other hand, we are angrier about the two black men who were killed in police custody than about the five officers who were murdered in Dallas, perhaps we need to hear the message that #policelivesmatter.

If we, collectively, care more deeply about the 7 lives in the news the last two or three days than the 200+ lives that were lost in Iraq this week, perhaps we need to hear the message that #iraqilivesmatter.

If our fear of attack and wariness of the other drive us to demonize women and children who are seeking safety in our midst, perhaps the message we need to hear is that #refugeelivesmatter.

If our opposition – however justified it may be - to a way of life means that we feel differently about the Orlando night club massacre than about other attacks, perhaps we should heed the questions raised by #gayandlesbianlivesmatter.

It is true that all lives matter, and we should never stop affirming our belief in that truth that is fundamental to our human identity and to our American identity.  It is also true that, once we strip away the rhetoric, we have systems in place that do not affirm that truth; we have systems in place that say that some lives matter more than others.  And until we – all of us – get angry enough at the injustice that we demand (with actions more than words) that it stop, we will continue to hear from our black brothers and sisters the questions posed by #blacklivesmatter.

Palestine and Israel: A Pastor's Reflections

The news the last couple of weeks has been littered with accounts of what is going on in the Middle East.  It appears to be the same story that has played itself out many times in recent decades – Israel feels provoked by Palestinians living in the West Bank or in Gaza and, seeking to defend itself, launches retaliatory attacks.  Unfortunately, this is neither a new nor an infrequent tale.  As a pastor, I find myself increasingly troubled by these events and wondering what my response as a follower of Jesus Christ should be.  How can I faithfully seek God's Kingdom in the midst of this conflict?

The fact of the matter is that the events in Israel and Palestine present a special problem for Christians.  There is, it seems, a greater tension within Christianity about these issues than about many others.  My belief is that much of this tension derives from assumptions we have made about the Bible, about theology, and about both the Israeli population and the Palestinian population.  At the root of these assumptions is the concept of Christian Zionism.

Popular in many conservative denominations, Christian Zionism is loosely defined as the belief that Christians in the 21^st Century have a moral and biblical obligation to support Israel in every circumstance.  Israel is seen as God’s Land and its people as God’s People.  To fail to support Israel, then, is to betray God.

Added to Christian Zionism are assumptions made by well-meaning Christians about the Palestinian people.  As one friend commented on Facebook recently, the Palestinians are “infidels” (another word for Muslim, it seems) who want to “wipe Israel off the map.”  When set in these terms, it is not difficult to arrive at the conclusion that Israel is indeed God’s chosen nation.

What if I told you, though, that those assumptions might not be correct?  Or that, at the very least, that they fail to tell the whole story?  What if I told you that, while it is true that a significant majority (somewhere between 80 and 85 percent) of Palestinians are Muslim, there are in the West Bank and Gaza somewhere around 85,000 Palestinian Christians and 500,000 Palestinian Jews?  It is not so easy to dismiss our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ as “infidels” hell bent on Israel’s destruction, is it?

More insidious than the assumptions we make about the Palestinian people is the idea put forth by Christian Zionists that Christians have no choice but to support Israel.  The remainder of this post is intended to demonstrate that, though a case might be made for supporting Israel in everything it does, the Bible does not demand such support and might even caution against such support.  We’ll begin with a look at the Bible itself.

The Nation-State of Israel and the Bible

Right off the bat, I have to be clear about one thing: the nation-state of Israel is never mentioned in the Bible.  Not once.  Never.  In any book.  In fact, the very idea of a nation-state is foreign to the Bible.  When the Bible uses terms like “nation,” it is more helpful to think in terms of the First Peoples of the Americas (i.e. the Navajo “Nation” or the Cheyenne “Nation”) than to think in terms of today’s nation-state.  The age of the idea of the nation-state is disputed by scholars, but it seems safe to say that the modern nation-state did not come into existence until at least 1400-1600 years after Christ lived, died, was resurrected, and ascended.  If you want to get more specific with the modern nation of Israel, it post-dates Jesus by more than 1900 years, having only been around since November 29, 1947. 

The Bible does not speak about the modern nation-state of Israel.  The Bible does, however, speak about the people of God.  In fact, in the book of Ezekiel, God says this: “I will take the people of Israel from the nations among which they have gone….  Then they shall be my people, and I will be their God” (Ezekiel 37:21, 23).

You might say that these are semantic differences – word games.  You might be right, but I would suggest that these semantics are far from trivial.  It is important when talking about issues like this to be clear in our terms.

The people of Israel in the Hebrew Scriptures are indeed God’s people.  But they are more than that – they are God’s covenant people.  That word covenant is so important.  If you read Deuteronomy, you will begin to understand what it means to be a covenant people.  Covenant people have obligations.  If covenant people fail to live up to their end of the covenant, then God has no obligation to them.  A cursory reading of Deuteronomy 28 makes clear the rewards and punishments associated with covenantal obedience (or lack thereof).

To sum up: to be one of God’s people, according to the Hebrew Scriptures, was to abide by the covenant.  If a person or a group of people (such as all of the Israelites) failed to do so, they no longer had the right to consider God bound by the covenant.  This is, in fact, the story of the Hebrew Scriptures – disobedience that leads to exile.  The question, then, becomes not whether the Bible refers to the modern nation-state of Israel (it doesn’t), but whether Modern Israel can be considered as the “People of God.”

Modern Israel as the “People of God”

The main question of whether or not Modern Israel can be considered the “People of God” breaks down into two sub-questions.  The first is this: are the actions of Modern Israel consistent with the obligations entailed in being God’s people?  That is, is the nation-state of Israel acting in ways that are consistent with the covenant?

Take a look at the picture below.  It depicts the change in land “ownership” over the course of the nation-state of Israel’s history.  The legend is a bit small, so I'll tell you that the green represents land controlled by Palestinians and white represents land controlled by Israel.

The second picture from the left portrays what it is supposed to look like.  According to the UN, that is how the land is supposed to be divided between the Israeli and Palestinian populations.  Clearly, though, things haven’t stayed that way.  Using a variety of provocations (some legitimate, others less-so) as excuses, Israel has systematically (and illegally) taken land from the Palestinian people.  Israel continues to do this.  It does not take much to look at that picture and find the nation-state of Israel in violation of the covenant commands to not covet, to not steal, and to not bear false witness.  Perhaps the nation-state of Israel is not acting in concert with its covenant.

It is not just land, though.  The breaking of covenant extends to the treatment of the Palestinian people in what little land that remains to them.  Bluntly, Israel is practicing apartheid against the Palestinians.  I used to think that word too extreme, but then I looked up its literal definition: “a policy or system of segregation or discrimination on grounds of race” (via Google).  That is exactly what the Israelis are doing to the Palestinians, and it is a clear violation of the covenant described by the Hebrew Scriptures and by which the "People of God" are supposed to live.

Leviticus 19:33-34 say this: “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien.  The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you….”  If you question whether Israel’s treatment of the Palestinian people rises to the level of oppression, I invite you to consider the information at http://www.ifamericansknew.org/cur_sit/water.html in light of Google’s definition of oppression – “prolonged cruel or unjust treatment or control.” 

Israel has illegally taken land from the Palestinians and continues to oppress the Palestinians, both of which constitute violations of the covenant by which the people of Israel are named the “People of God.”  It is not wrong, therefore, to suggest that the modern nation-state of Israel has by its actions in violation of the covenant has forfeited its right to that title.

There is a second question at play here, though, one that cuts through even the illegal and oppressive actions of Israel.  Namely this: Does ethnicity have anything at all to do with being God’s people?  That is, even if Israel’s actions were in perfect concert with the covenant described in the Hebrew Scriptures, does ethnic or genetic Jewishness equate to special favor in the eyes of God?

This question is spoken to in the Gospels and by Paul.  In Matthew 3, John the Baptist is baptizing when some Pharisees come out to see him.  Listen to what he says to them:  “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”  It seems clear that John is telling them that their bloodlines, their family trees, are not enough – that being a “child of Abraham” entails far more than ethnic identity.

Paul makes the case even more strongly in Romans 9:6-8: “For not all Israelites truly belong to Israel, and not all of Abraham’s children are his true descendants….  This means that it is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise are counted as descendants.”  It cannot get any clearer than that.

Identity as the people of God no longer has anything to do with race: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).  To be one of the people of God means to worship God, to seek God’s Kingdom, and to follow Jesus Christ.  It is to recognize that God is just and to seek true justice in not just our own doings but in all the world.  Those who do these things are the “People of God,” regardless of their genetics.

When one looks again at the earlier question, “Can the modern nation-state of Israel be understood as the ‘People of God?’”, the answer does not have to be yes.  In fact, as I’ve tried to make clear, a very strong argument can be made that the answer to that question is a resounding NO!  Regardless, however, my hope is that this has at least made clear that Christian Zionism is a dangerous house of cards built on assumptions that, if not outright faulty, warrant a great deal of scrutiny.

Concluding Thoughts

This has been a ridiculously long post, to be sure, and one with a lot of information.  There are, however, some things I hope the hardy reader who has made it this far might take away from this:

•  We need to get over Christian Zionism.  Israel can and should be held as accountable by Christians for its unjust and oppressive actions as any other nation.
• There is no moral high ground on this issue.  This post centers on what Israel has done wrong, but I am not naïve enough to believe the Palestinian population entirely innocent.
•   Being pro-Palestine does not make one either an inferior Christian or an anti-Semite.
• Thoughtful Christians can disagree on causes and initiators of injustice, but we should be able to unite in prayers that justice will reign.

I close with a challenge.  Be informed!  Do not simply settle for what you see on the news – American media has historically ignored the Palestinian side of the conflict.  Take the time to read Amira Hass’ excellent book Drinking the Sea at Gaza or Muna Hamzeh’s Refugees in Our Own Land.  Both tell the story of the Palestinian people from inside the camps and settlements.  If books aren’t your things, hop on Netflix and spend a couple hours watching Five Broken Cameras or With God on Our Side.  Take a peek at www.ifamericansknew.org.

Whatever you do and however you go about it, please be informed – don’t simply repeat someone else’s thoughts or ideas.  Because when we are better informed, we will know better how to pray and how to actively seek God’s justice in Israel and Palestine.

Amen.

A Religious Experience at the Symphony

It’s no secret that I am an aficionado of violin music, particularly the music of today’s most well-known violin savant, Joshua Bell.

Last night, for my birthday, the wife took me to see Bell perform live with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields orchestra.  It was an all Beethoven program, and it was amazing.  More than amazing, it was a religious experience.

Being particularly interested in the violins, I spent most of the evening watching the violinists – especially Bell, of course – as they performed the music.  As I watched, I noticed that the different violinists appeared to take different approaches to their instruments and to the music.

For some, it was as though musician and instrument were the best of friends, the musician gently tucking her instrument under her chin and whispering to it with a quiet intensity – sitting quite still and smoothly drawing the bow across the strings as.  Musician and instrument – engaged, as it were, in a delicate conversation.  Together, these  two closest of friends created the music, music of beautiful tone and elegant beauty.  One could tell that these musicians and their instruments belonged together.

For others, though, it seemed as if the concert was a form of gladiatorial combat between musician and instrument – a musical death match.  No gentility here.  Instead, the musician grabs his instrument and wrestles it into submission, pinning it to his shoulder and raking the bow on its strings.  Concertgoers watch them exchange blows, as the musician jerks his body back one moment as if struck and forward the next as if dealing a retaliatory blow.  Yet somehow the force of the combat called forth the best from both musician and instrument, resulting in a music no less beautiful and all the more poignant for the battle that produced it.

Then there was Joshua Bell.  Bell is one of those unique individuals for whom the violin is neither friend nor foe – it is part of him.  The distinction between Bell and his Stradivarius is more than just blurred in the performance, it is removed altogether.  Instrument becomes an extension of the man’s life, and he pours his heart into it.  One might say it is like lovers, but even that does not adequately capture the intensity of the union between Bell and his instrument.

And the music!  Oh, the music.  It is almost too much to take.  Words fail in describing its beauty, its eloquence, the passion of its sound.  One watches Bell and quickly understands that making music is more than just a way to make money.  It is more than a hobby.  It is something he must do.  The music is there inside of him and one gets the impression from watching him perform that releasing that music is a catharsis, a necessary self-emptying without which he would go mad.

It struck me as I was watching that Bell was the living portrayal of something the prophet Jeremiah once said when people told him to stop preaching:

“But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.  I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.” (Jeremiah 20.9)

I have always enjoyed this verse but, until last night, I have not completely understood it.  It seemed like something cute to say about being a pastor and my calling to preach.  But when I watched Bell in the throes of ecstatic revelation while playing, I recognized that he not only got this verse (even if he’s never heard it), he lives this verse every time he performs.

And as I watched and listened in silent awe last night, I felt the question arise unbidden in the deepest part of my own being – is that how I feel about my calling?  It is not music but gospel that wells up inside of me – am I so passionately desperate to get that message out, to share it with whomever might be listening that the very thought of not doing so drives me mad?

Or is gospel something I just offer up each Sunday because that’s my job and it’s a way to make money to pay the bills?

Joshua Bell is a prophet with a violin.  All of us who claim to have something to share with the world would do well to catch a performance of this modern day Jeremiah.

I'm All Talk

Okay, maybe not ALL talk...but mostly talk.  At the very least, I think anyone who knows me can agree that I talk a lot.

I realized that this week as I prepared for worship and as I began to prepare for a challenging series of lessons this summer.  I realized it even more just a few moments ago as I perused the last few entries on this blog.  I seem to have a lot to say - about what it means to follow Jesus and what the church should look like and that sort of thing.

I talk a lot.

But I don't do so much.

For example, I talk a lot about the poor and how we have a sacred responsibility and calling to care for them.  But I stop at McDonald's or the gas station several times a week to buy myself food that I don't really need.  I don't give my resources to actually do something about the poor.  Instead I buy the latest new release for my Kindle.  And I'm not just talking about money.  Instead of giving my time to advocate for the poor or get involved, I sit in my recliner and read about other people who do those things.

For a second example, I talk about being an "ally," about standing up for those in the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transexual community who are regularly abused by those both inside and outside the church.  But I don't actively do anything to stop that abuse.  I haven't even built up the courage to speak about it publicly (though that's coming soon...).

I could go on, but I think that I've made my point.  Part of it.

Because I'm not entirely talk.  I can list some things that I have done, some ways that I have been active.  I could applaud myself for those steps.  But the steps I take aren't radical.  They don't speak to a deep commitment or passion for these issues.  They speak instead of a life that is willing to give at the margins of my comfort zone.

I don't think it's entirely intentional.  Often I simply don't think about the ways that I perpetuate the very systems that cause poverty and hatred and abuse.  Other times I settle for the excuse that I don't know how to get involved on a larger level.  But that's just an excuse, a cover up for the real problem.

Which is that I'm a lazy Christian...or a cowardly Christian.  I don't know how to get involved because I choose to not know.  I could if I wanted it bad enough.

But do I?

Right now, I'm not even sure I want to skip my morning trip for caffeine before church in the morning.  I "need" that caffeine...

...so I can talk some more.

As You Were With Moses? Yippee.

I've been doing a bit of reading in the book of Joshua recently.  I love his story, the way that God worked through him to achieve great things for God's people.  I find Joshua to be one of the best examples of leadership.

I was struck by something new this week as I read through the first chapter - particularly the second part of verse 5, where God makes the following promise to Joshua:

As I was with Moses, so will I be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you.


I've read this verse before - many times.  It's a great verse - full of promise and encouragement.  It would make for a very positive, life-building sermon text.

All that said, though, I found myself this week wondering what Joshua's reaction to it might have been.  After all, Joshua had been with Moses for some time as Moses' assistant and helper.  He was there for many of the challenging times and he certainly would have known about the titanic struggle that pitted God (through Moses) against Pharaoh with the Israelites' freedom at stake.

He would have known about the mountain top and experienced the golden calf.  Moses might even have told him about God's suggestion that everything be destroyed again and started over with Moses and the subsequent prayer "discussion" between God and Moses.

In short, the picture that would have come to Joshua's mind when God promised to be with him "as God was with Moses" might not have been the peaceful, easy portrait of encouragement and companionship that we often expect.

In fact, Joshua might have thought something like, "God was with Moses and Moses went through all of that.  Now God is promising to be with me as he was with Moses.  Does that mean that I have to go through all of that?  Oh boy."

I could completely understand it if Joshua's reaction to the first part of God's promise was tempered and not wild enthusiasm.  After all, who really wants to go through the kinds of situations Moses faced?

This is why I find the second part of this promise to be so enthralling - God says, "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you" and then says, "I will never leave you or forsake you."  Now that had to have been soothing and encouraging to Joshua.  Because no matter what situations he might face - and if you read through the book of Joshua, you'll discover that he faced his fair share of challenges - God had promised to never leave or forsake him.  Ever.

So even if God called Joshua through the same hardships as Moses, it would be okay.  I have this mental image of Joshua's facial expression going from concern when hearing the first part ("As I was with Moses...) to peace when hearing the second part (I will never...).

This matters to me - and to all Christians - because I think we have been conditioned to hear promises like the one that God makes to Joshua in this verse as promises of peace and calm.  So when life's challenges arise and we are going through our own titanic struggles or facing our own temptations, our reaction often becomes, "God, where are you?  You promised that you would be with me like you were with Moses.  Why have you abandoned me?"

But when we remember just what Moses' life looked like even as God was with him, it should serve to remind us that God didn't keep Moses from hardship and his promise to Joshua (and us) is not to keep us from hardship or challenge.  God promises two things - to be with us and to never leave us.

I don't know about you, but just knowing this has helped me better deal with even the minor challenges and difficulties in my life this week.

Think about it.

Rejoice Always? (What I learned about life from a Green Bay Packers fan...)

Hanging in the sanctuary of our church is a decorative quilt that was made by one of the ladies in the congregation.  It is a beautiful quilt that has verses from Scripture stitched all over it in large, easy to read print.

As I was spending some quiet time in the sanctuary earlier this week, I noticed one particular set of verses on the quilt – 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, which say:

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.”

I confess that, when I noticed those verses on Tuesday morning, it was not with a sense of joy.  In fact, I was greatly frustrated by them.  You see, there’s another member of our church that was recently diagnosed with cancer.  Other church members are going through intense financial struggles.  Every Sunday another church member informs us all of the  number of soldiers who have been killed in service of their country.  

And so it goes – on and on, more and more struggles.

As I sat there Tuesday morning, staring at that verse, the question slid unbidden into my mind:

“How on earth can I rejoice in the face of all this bad news?”

Don’t get me wrong, I recognize the wisdom of Paul’s words here.  They sound good, and I would love to practice them on a day to day basis.  But I just don’t know how to do it – and that frustrated me on Tuesday morning, and it continued to frustrate me throughout the day.

Fast forward to right around lunch time.  I stopped by a local business, where several of our church members work.  While there, I ended up having a conversation with a guy in the church who happens to be a Green Bay Packers fan.  Moreover, this guy and his wife were in Lambeau last Sunday for the Packers’ playoff loss.

As you might expect, our conversation turned to that Packers’ loss.  I asked him if he had gotten over it yet.  His response, though he couldn’t have known it at the time, would go a long way toward transforming my worldview.

He said something like this: “It was disappointing, but I would rather have watched the Packers lose while sitting in Lambeau than sitting at home on my couch.”

The power of those words didn’t hit me until later in the day.  Talk about perspective!  Talk about taking a bad circumstance and finding a way to rejoice and give thanks!

You see, I’m a Saints fan.  I was crushed by the Saints loss.  And though it shames me to admit this, if I had been in San Francisco to watch the game, I don’t think my reaction would have been so healthy.  Yet this Packers fan member of my church found reason to rejoice even as his favorite team suffered a defeat to end their season.

Now I’m not foolish or naive enough to equate a football game with cancer or financial struggles or the sacrifice of soldiers – but I can’t help but wonder if there is not a lesson for all of us in the words of that church member.

When Paul writes, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances…”, he is not saying that we have to deny that the circumstances are bad or pretend that everything is okay.  However, like my friend the Packers fan, we can find ways to acknowledge our pain and struggle and disappointment and still rejoice and pray and give thanks.

Incidentally, that’s what the last part of verse 18 is all about.  God’s will in Christ for each and every one of us is not that we would be crushed and overwhelmed by the circumstances of our lives, but that by rejoicing, praying and giving thanks, we would overcome them.

That’s what I learned about life from a Green Bay Packers fan.

A Growing Sense of Helplessness

Over the course of the last week or so, I have been following the news of the various "Occupy" protests.  Not real closely, but I have been following.  I have done some reading about what these protesters are upset about and have seen some pretty jarring statistics.  All of this following has led to a mini-crisis in my mind.

To a great extent, I agree with the protesters.  The growing gap between the haves and have nots in our country is untenable.  That the United States is ranked 93rd in the world in income equality (behind China and Iran, among others); that CEO's make, on average, 350 times the salary of a regular employee; that 1% of the population owns 42% of the financial wealth of our nation while 80% share a meager 7% of that wealth; that the bottom 80% of the population control only 15% of our net worth, while the top 5% control 60% - all of these are signs that something is dreadfully wrong.

What makes it even worse in my mind is that so many of those top 5% would likely claim to be "Christian" in their religious views and practice.

But there is nothing Christian about greed, nothing Christian about profiteering, nothing Christian about refusing to pay employees a living wage.  All of these things are, to put it bluntly, immoral.  The Bible clearly speaks about paying men and women a wage that allows them to live.  It also clearly speaks against those who would withhold from others the things necessary for life.  There is even a portion of the Bible that says that the people of God cannot hold someone's cloak as a pledge for debt!  Exodus 22:26-28:

If you take your neighbor's cloak as a pledge, return it by sunset, because that cloak is the only covering your neighbor has.  When they cry out to me, I will hear, for I am compassionate.


Everything takes second place to care of the neighbor.  This is a consistent thread through Scripture.

So why do we feel that we can call ourselves Christians and knowingly take advantage of our neighbor?  How can I continue to support a system that allows some people to go hungry while others are making BILLIONS of dollars?

The simple answer is that I can't.  Which is why I support the protesters.  Call this post my "Occupy Blogger" stand.

The thing is, even as I write those words - that I support the protesters - I realize how impotent and trite they sound.  The poor don't need my words, they need food.  They don't need symbolic stands, they need jobs.  They don't need a blog post that they won't read, they need a living wage.

And in the face of all those needs, I feel helpless.  What good will it do for me to say that the system is broken?  I participate in that system every single day.  Realistically, what can I accomplish?

I don't know...and it is frustrating.  I keep praying that God would show me a way that I can get involved, that I can use my gifts to make a difference and have an impact.  Until he does, I am left to do the only thing I can: offer words of warning and encouragement.

To those who are at the mercy of the system, who are jobless, homeless, hungry and (seemingly) powerless:

But now thus says the Lord,
He who created you, O Jacob,
He who formed you, O Israel,
Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name;
You are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and through the rivers,
the waters shall not overwhelm you.
When you walk through the fire,
you shall not be burned,
the flame shall not consume you.
(Isaiah 43:1-2)


And for those who are a part of the system, who willingly tread on the backs of the poor to make their millions, who ignore the need, who pretend it is no big deal:

When the poor and needy seek water
and there is none;
when their tongue is parched with thirst,
I the LORD will answer them,
I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
(Isaiah 41:17)


jB

My Son & Communion

One of the things that has become apparent in my transition into the United Methodist Church is that there are some areas of theology and church practice on which I will have to develop a new perspective.  The service of Communion is one of those things.

The denomination in which I grew up placed a great deal of emphasis on being an appropriate age to receive communion - one needed to be fully aware of the symbolism of the event and what it all meant.  Of course, I had adopted the same point of view.  It made sense to me.

In the UMC, though, things are done a bit differently.  Children of all ages are encouraged to receive communion...even down to Hannah (almost 6) and Ike (almost 4).  At first, I wasn't sure I wanted my own kids to participate.  I even went so far as to ask Melissa to stop them from receiving...but my wife replied by saying that she wasn't sure she could stop them without causing a scene.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when we served communion.  My son and daughter were sitting in the back of the sanctuary with one of the older couples in the church.  As the stewards were handing out the bread and juice, I just happened to glance back in time to see my son take the bread.  This seems like an appropriate place to mention that on this particular Sunday we were all receiving the elements together - each was to hold on to the bread and juice until all had been served.

Ike was having none of that.  He grabbed a piece of that bread and popped it straight into his mouth.  In a flash, I went through two different reactions - frustration that he would do that and a realization from God that there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he did.  Moreover, I have come to realize that I need to be more like my son.  While I was somewhat impatiently waiting for the stewards to finish, Ike just couldn't wait to participate.  Even though he doesn't know the symbolism and all the theology of Communion, he instinctively knew the most important part - "This is for me, and I want it...now."

What a difference in attitude!  While we "grown-ups" often spend our time before communion looking around the sanctuary at our fellow worshipers or, if we are really holy, somberly meditating for a few minutes...the children just take what is given to them and cram it in their mouths as fast as they can.  They don't need to think about it, they don't need to know all the details...they just want it.

My prayer is that God would help me to learn to take communion like my son - with less concern for theology and more of an attitude that I just want whatever it is that God is willing to give to me.

I Blame my Sister (or how Henri Nouwen saved my soul)

I realized recently that I write and talk a lot about Henri Nouwen and his books.  I have read somewhere between 20 and 30 of his books, and there is no doubt that he has been one of the key influences on my development as a person and as a pastor.

But I've never told the story of how I came to discover this great man, this saint of the church.  Here it is:

It's all my sister's fault.  Well, sort of.  The story begins a bit before that.

When I was in my first ministry class at Olivet Nazarene University, our professor - Dr. Ron Dalton - recommended that we all read a book called The Wounded Healer by a guy I'd never heard of, Henri Nouwen.  Being a good student (and wanting a good grade), I got my hands on the book and read it.  At the time, I thought it was a good read but didn't see it as anything special.

Fast forward a bit...to the part about my sister.

By the time I was midway through college, my sister and I had started to develop the kind of relationship where we could talk - really talk - about almost anything.  We weren't where we are now, but we were on the way.  Occasionally, she would tell me about some book she was reading and sometimes she would even ask what I thought, since she knows that I am a compulsive reader.  I remember feeling so happy that someone thought my opinion on books was worth hearing.

I also recall one memorable conversation about Deepak Chopra and the things he had to say about faith.  It was that conversation that, as a protective brother and future pastor, got me a bit concerned about my sis.  After all, Chopra is not exactly an orthodox Christian by any stretch of the imagination.  So I resolved - without telling my sister - to pay a bit more attention and devote more time to the books she mentioned to me.

Fast forward a bit again.  Some time later, my sister started talking about this book Return of the Prodigal Son, by that guy Henri Nouwen.  Wanting to be sure that I could converse with my sister about the book from a theological perspective, I bought it and read it.  And I was a goner.  

Soon I started reading everything I could get my hands on by Nouwen.  I was obsessed with the message of this unassuming priest.  I even remember feeling a bit deflated when I realized that Nouwen had died in 1996 and that I would never have the chance to write to him or see him, and even more deflated when I realized that this great man of God had spent years of his life in South Bend, IN - a scant 2 hour drive from my home.

One year for Christmas (or maybe it was my birthday), my wife let me order every book by Nouwen that Amazon had in stock.  It was around 30 books.  I have since donated many of those, but the best ones - Return of the Prodigal Son, A Cry for Mercy, The Inner Voice of Love and his Spiritual Journeys still sit on my shelf just a few feet from where I sit writing.

Why did I become so obsessed with Nouwen.  The simplest way to put it is that, from that first reading of Return of the Prodigal Son, I found in Nouwen a voice that was missing in my life.  Missing and much needed.

I spent (and still spend, unfortunately) way too much of my time beating myself up for my failures and telling myself that God and others would not, could not truly love me until I fixed my flaws, until all the faults and failures had been overcome and I achieved the unachievable - becoming perfect.  I was locked in an unwinnable battle, but it was a battle that I thought I had to fight, a battle that everyone had to fight.

Nouwen was the first voice in my life that made clear to me that my wounds, faults and failures are just as much gifts from God as my victories and gifts.  He was the first voice that I was able to hear that convinced me that God's love for me is not dependent on anything and that God is not waiting and watching for me to fail so that God can punish me.  In particular, the following quote from The Inner Voice of Love sums up the message of Nouwen to me:

"Avoid all forms of self-rejection.  Acknowledge your limitations, but claim your unique gifts and thereby live as an equal among equals."

Many times in my life, when I have been on the precipice of total despair in my calling and ministry, those words have been able to, by the grace of God, pull me back to my center, to the God who loves me and will continue to love me even if I fail at every church I ever pastor.

That's how Henri Nouwen saved my soul - even after he died.

And like I said, it's all my sister's fault.

Thanks, E.

Five Questions

Since my sister (who writes this blog) did this, and because I'm feeling somewhat less than theological today, I thought I'd tackle this five questions thing.  The task is to answer five particular questions.  So here goes.

What are you really good at?  What are you really bad at?


I'd like to think that I am quite good at reading books and assimilating/integrating what I learn into my worldview.

I know that I am bad at paying attention to small details, especially in relationships.  I can come across as insensitive and uncaring because I simply don't think of those little things most of the time.

Have you ever been in a car accident?


I once looked down for about 2 seconds to turn up the volume on the radio and, when I looked up, I didn't have enough time to stop before rear-ending a little old lady's car, which was stopped to turn left.  No one was hurt, but I remember the bills for repairs...

Why did you attend your college?

Which one?  Including grad school, I've attended five.  Here goes.

Purdue University - because I wanted to major in Physics/Mathematics and Purdue was 1/3 the cost of Rose Hulman Institute of Technology.

Olivet Nazarene University - because I was going to major in religion...and there was this really pretty girl who was going to be there.

Nazarene Theological Seminary (grad school) - because everyone told me that's what Nazarene pastors did, go to NTS and get an M.Div.

Indiana Wesleyan University (grad school) - because their program was tremendously practical and close to home.

Northwest Nazarene University (grad school) - because the program was online.

How did your parents' relationship affect you?

The tough one.  Fair warning, there might be some surprising stuff here.

First, I don't remember much of what life was like with my parents before they divorced when I was 8.  Looking back, the fact that they divorced affected me in one key way: it made me absolutely determined - fanatically so - that the divorce trend in our family would end with me if it kille me.

Second, there was a time when I moved custody from my mom to my dad.  It was a volatile situation for awhile, and I felt like I had somehow single handedly ruined the civil relationship my parents still had with each other.  Let me say, to be clear, that neither of my parents ever did anything specific to make me feel that way - I just did.  From that experience, it took me awhile to realize that I didn't have to choose sides.  I didn't have to hate one parent to love the other.

Mostly, what I have learned from my parents' relationships - with each other and with their new significan others - is that I have to be true to who I am and trust that God will bring the right people into my life who will accept me for that person, not for some mask I put on or something I can do with them.

What are the three happiest moments of your life?


1. The day I found out Melissa loved me, too.  I had sent her an e-mail after church and spent an hour listening to sappy love songs, worrying about whether I had blown it, and generally being very nervous...until I got a response.  Then all was right in the world.  Best day of my life.

2. Tie.  11/19/05 & 1/23/08 - I thought I knew was love really meant.  Until Hannah and Ike were born.  Life was irrevocably changed for the better on both of those days.

3. This one is somewhat abstract - when I discovered Henri Nouwen and his books.  More than anyone else - living or dead - Nouwen taught me how to accept who I am and to learn to not just accept my woundedness but to use that woundedness as a base for life and ministry.

There.

The Call to Cognitive Dissonance

Several years ago, during a period of clinical depression in my life, I discovered the concept of cognitive dissonance.  Cognitive dissonance is the psychological term for what happens in your mind when it is presented with two conflicting ideas or constructs.  As an example, if I am convinced that people on welfare are only on welfare because they are too lazy to get a job, when I meet someone on welfare who is not lazy but who cannot find a job, I will experience cognitive dissonance.  The dissonance only resolves when the tension between the conflicting ideals/constructs is resolved - I must either adjust my assumption about people on welfare or somehow convince myself that the person in question really is too lazy to get a job.

While I was talking with my therapist about some of the depression issues I had, the concept of cognitive dissonance came up.  He suggested that many of my symptoms were a result of unresolved cognitive dissonance in my life - dissonance between what I had always believed to be true about the world and about God and what I was beginning to discover as I entered young adulthood.  Since I had not been able to resolve the dissonance, it was growing stronger and causing problems.

The solution, then, was to systematically rid myself of the cognitive dissonance.  So that is what I began to attempt to do - ruthlessly rooting out cognitive dissonance in order to make myself "healthy"...because cognitive dissonance is evil.  Or so I thought.

What I have come to realize since is that the problem was not the existence of cognitive dissonance or even that cognitive dissonance itself was evil.  Rather, the problem was that I was unprepared to deal with cognitive dissonance when it presented itself.  The systems in which I grew up - at home, at school and at church - all tended to ignore cognitive dissonance by offering unsatisfying or simplistic answers to tough questions or by going to extreme lengths to mitigate or eliminate tension between ideas/constructs. So when I reached my twenties and was faced with real cognitive dissonance, I was caught off guard.  My depression was not a direct result of the cognitive dissonance, but an indirect result - caused by my inability to accept the reality of cognitive dissonance and even befriend that dissonance.

So why is all of this important?

First, cognitive dissonance itself is not evil.  In fact, the more I think about it, the more I come to realize that cognitive dissonance is the root of transformation and, therefore, the root of Christian faith.  If it were not for the tension between what I say I believe and the reality of my actions, where would I find the impetus for change?  If there is no dissonance between sin and grace, where do we find and how do we proclaim the gospel?

Second, we cannot hope to eliminate cognitive dissonance.  This is quickly becoming a core truth for me - cognitive dissonance simply is.  There is no avoiding it - unless we choose to live in a world completely detached from reality (which, unfortunately, many of us do).  Cognitive dissonance, as I have already said, is the source of transformation.

Moreover, cognitive dissonance is found in the very core tenets of Christian faith.  What is the cross but an exercise in cognitive dissonance?  Love meets hate.  Death meets life.  Grace for life comes through the horror of the crucifixion.  The resurrection is also a source of cognitive dissonance - we "know" that people do not come back from the dead...yet we are convinced and believe that Jesus did exactly that.  This leads to my third, and most important, realization.  The very idea of God creates cognitive dissonance - the God who is simultaneously distant from us and close to us.

Third, because cognitive dissonance is always around us and forms the source of transformation, the task of the church and of the Christian community is not to eliminate cognitive dissonance in faith by offering simplistic answers to resolve the tension(s) presented by life.  Rather, our task is to model and teach what it looks like to live a life that is, if not comfortable with, at least accepting of cognitive dissonance.  As Peter Rollins puts it, in a sentence that is simply profound:

That which we cannot speak of is the one thing about whom and to whom we must never stop speaking.

I spent way too much time following those therapy sessions trying to eliminate cognitive dissonance from my life only to discover that every time I get rid of one form of it, another pops up in its place.  I am gradually coming to the place where I understand that, while I do not always like the cognitive dissonance in my life, it serves a purpose.

Ultimately, I believe that the call of Christ in the gospel is for people to embrace the call to cognitive dissonance.

A New Tribe

It's time for me to return from my summer blog sabbatical.  Since I wasn't in class, I spent my summer reading, relaxing and, oh yeah, I found a new tribe.

Several months ago, I wrote about severing my relationship with the denominational family I had called home for my entire life (you can read it Here).  It was a challenging time and I confess that I was both  hurt and disconcerted by the experience.

So I embarked on a search for a new tribe - a new denominational family in which I could fulfill the call of God in my life.  I didn't know where I would find one or even if I would find one.  All I knew as I started the journey is that I could not go back, that the place that once was home was no longer.

Now, if I'm honest, I fully expected this search to take some time longer than it did.  Because I sit here today writing about my new denominational home, the United Methodist Church.

I have been a long distance admirer of the UMC for some time now, and had even flirted with joining their tribe in the past.  The fear of change, though, kept me where I was.  It was not until I had no choice that I took the plunge.  I began serving as the pastor of Bringhurst United Methodist Church in Bringhurst, Indiana on July 3 of this year.

And you know what?  I find myself asking on a regular basis asking myself what took so long.  The UMC appears to be exactly what I needed in worship and ministry.  Whereas I felt in my old denominational family that I had to work hard just to be accepted and fit in, and I felt afraid to be myself in many circumstances, I have felt welcome from the first moment.  It has been refreshing.

There are two key lessons I learned in my surprisingly brief sojourn in the wilderness of tribe-lessness.

The first is this: My old denomination family was not bad.  I fear that I have given that impression in the way that I have spoken and written about the experience.  It was different.  I have good friends there and I still pray for the work of that denominational family to be blessed by God.  It simply was not the place where I fit.  And that's okay.  One of the reasons different denominational families exist is so that God can place people where they will fit best.

The second lesson is this: no denominational family is perfect.  When you spend 30 years in one denominational family, it is easy to unreasonably expect that it will be perfect.  I fell into that trap, and no denominational family could live up to that.  Consequently, I am bringing a new level of awareness to my joining with the UMC.  I know that I will not like or agree with everything in the UMC.  And that's okay.  In fact, I told the district superintendent of the UMC that I did not want to make the ultimate decision about long term, career ministry in the UMC until after a year just so that I could take time to evaluate some of those areas.  Imagine my shock when the response was, "That's a great idea."

The crazy thing is that I don't need a year.  I know.  This is the place I belong.  I finally found a home where I don't have to pretend to be something less (or more) than I am.

I have found my new tribe.

Suffering as the Way to God

Last night I started, or  restarted, a discipline I have done before and had let slide - the prayerful reading of Scripture (aka lectio divina).

I chose as my starting point the book of Hebrews.  I'm not entirely sure why I chose Hebrews, but choose it I did and over the course of the last 24 hours or so, I've found myself wrestling with one verse in the second chapter:

"In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered." (Heb. 2:10)


Those two bold words are the ones that leapt off the page and lodged themselves in my brain, the ones I can't seem to dislodge.  Fitting and suffered.  What this verse is saying is that Jesus' suffering - the mocking, the beating, the scourging, the cross, the dying - was all appropriate, that it was the way it should be.

It is fitting that Jesus suffered?  Really?

I have always had a bit of a hard time with the idea that Jesus "had" to die on a cross.  Maybe it's just me, but I suspect I'm not the only Christian to be troubled in such a way.  "Couldn't the God who is all-powerful have come up with another way?" That's the question that comes to mind.

If I'm honest, I've never been able to answer that question adequately.  I have always had to resort to my confidence that God is greater than anything I can ever comprehend and that I am simply not meant to comprehend the necessity of the cross.

Until last night.  As I prayed over this verse, God granted to me the beginnings of an insight into the cross and why it is indeed "fitting" that Jesus "suffered."

Suffering is, you see, the ultimate equalizer.  It respects no one's power and no one's money.  The powerful and wealthy can suffer just as much as the weak and the poor.  That is why we have to say that Jesus's suffering was fitting.  Because any other way would have left the old divides and structures still standing.

Sure, Jesus theoretically could have come to reign in a political way and overthrown Rome as so many of his disciples expected.  In doing so, though, Jesus would have demonstrated a path to God available only to the powerful or those with influence.  Surely the poor have no recourse or resource to overthrow governments.

But again, the poor can suffer.  That they can do, it is often a daily occurrence in the life of the poor, of the oppressed, of the weak.  Left without any ability to look out for themselves, they are forced to ride the wave of the strong and hope and pray for the best, for a break from their suffering.

By pioneering, by demonstrating a path to God through suffering, Jesus opens the path to all and flips the usual way of doing things on its head.  Whereas in the everyday world of Rome strength and money and power prevail, in the Kingdom of God weakness and poverty prevail.  Everything is upside down.

Instead of being at a loss, the poor lead the way.  It is the rich and powerful who must face difficulty on the path to God described by the Jesus whose sufferings were "fitting" - difficulties raised by the very things that set them "above" the poor and the weak.

It has never made sense to me before and it still doesn't completely make sense, but I am beginning to see that the God who transcends everything I know and am is, shockingly, better at laying out the path of salvation than we are.

Jesus' sufferings may make us uncomfortable, and rightfully so - but there is no longer any doubt in my mind that they are indeed "fitting."

The Power of Confession

For a long time now I have been fascinated with the practice of confession - specifically the practice of confessing one's shortcomings and failures to a trusted friend or pastor.  Some denominations consider confession to be a sacrament (such as Roman Catholics), while others ignore it altogether (such as Nazarenes, Wesleyans, and others).  And of course, there is a spectrum of views in between.

Growing up in a non-confession church, I have always been told that confession to another person is unnecessary because I only need to confess to God.  Since God is the one who forgives, the argument goes, God should be the one to whom I confess.  If I desire to do so, I may confess to another friend, but it is by no means considered a sacramental act and is often not even encouraged.

As I've been reading about spiritual direction and guidance over the last several days, though, one particular thing has stood out to me.  In more than one religious tradition, confession is seen as an integral part of spiritual direction.  Sharing with a spiritual director the struggles that one has is seen as crucial to experiencing full awareness of God's presence in one's life.

Initially, that idea made me uncomfortable.  After I thought about it, though, I began to wonder if my discomfort is rooted in a misunderstanding of the power and purpose of confession.

For many Christians, confession is seen as a punitive and preventative act.  The shame associated with telling another person our sin becomes a driving force to keep us from doing it again and can even be used as a deterrent for others.

As a case in point, let me share a story.  There is a young couple I am friends with who, before they got married, found themselves expecting their first child.  The man attended a large baptist church and was quite involved in ministry.  When the couple confessed their "sin" to the pastor of this large baptist church, the pastor insisted that the man needed to confess his sin in front of the entire 3000 person congregation.  Without going into how wrong and offensive the pastor's actions were, it is clear that in this situation confession used as a tool for punishment.

No wonder so many Christians fail to practice the discipline of confession.

What if, though, confession was not a punitive thing?  What if instead it should be seen as an act of healing?  This is the view of confession that I ran across in my reading.  In Gary Moon & David Benner's Spiritual Direction and the Care of Souls, Father Gregory Rogers describes it like this:

Confession is seen as an indispensable means for making new the grace of forgiveness, providing an opportunity for the penitent to find direction in order to overcome the passions and sins that easily beset the believer.  The emphasis is not on the legal aspects of sin but on the healing of the heart that has been damaged by sin.


We have all experienced the relief that comes from "getting something off our chest."  There is something powerful about baring our souls to another that is apparent to all of us.  It is why we seek out close friends and confidants when we are going through a tough period in our lives.  We know - deep in the recesses of our soul - the value of talking to another.

Yet for too many of us there is a line in those conversations that we seem unwilling to cross even with our closest of friends.  We would rather struggle alone with our sins and shortcomings than allow another to come alongside and offer us assistance on the road to healing.

I am absolutely convinced that the church needs to recapture the discipline, the sacrament of confession if it is to be effective in living out God's Kingdom in the world today.  That will only happen, though, when we begin to recognize that the purpose and power of confession lie not in punishment but in healing.

My Life Has Become a Poem

One of my favorite poems is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken.  There is something poignant about the image of standing at a fork in the path and having to choose which direction to take.  That image is probably why The Road Not Taken has achieved the status as an iconic American poem.

These days, I feel as though my life has reached the point of mirroring the poem - or at least its first lines:

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood..."

Right at this moment I see myself standing in that yellow wood; listening to the breeze blow through the trees; considering the two paths that lay ahead of me and wondering what lies down each; wishing that I could see just a little bit farther down each, just around the next bend or over the next hill.

But alas, I can't.  I have not the time to travel down one a ways and then return to take the other.  I must choose one or the other.

Which is why I say that my life has become a poem.

The parallel is not exact, though, because the two roads I face do not mirror those described by Frost.  He describes a road well traveled and a road not so well traveled.  By contrast, I see two paths that appear equally worn.

On the left is a path that looks for all intents and purposes like it ends in a dead end about 100 yards down the road.  But there might be a narrow path at the cul-de-sac at the end of the path.  It's a little foggy and I think I see something, but can I risk choosing a path without knowing that it actually leads somewhere?

On the right, though, is a path that bends sharply at about 100 yards.  It clearly goes somewhere, I just have no idea where.

And so here I stand.

The frustrating part is that this time I can't fall back on the "God wants one and not the other" position.  Because of what I believe about God and the future and free will, I am forced to admit that both are viable options.  To be sure, one path may be God's "best" for me, but that does not mean that God will not bless me on the other path.  There is no "right" answer in terms of one path leading to happiness and one leading to destruction.

It would help if the two paths were a bit more like Frost's, if there were some obvious distinguishing characteristic that makes one clearly preferable over the other.  But again, there is no such mark - they both look equally worn and equally attractive.  There are pros and cons associated with each.

None of which helps make the decision easier.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood..."

And I have have no idea which one I'm taking.