Day 1: Genesis 1-30

My first observation in beginning this quest to read the whole Bible in 40 days is that it is going to be somewhat more challenging than I thought to keep up with the amount of reading each day. Because I'm reading so much - and reading relatively quickly - I won't be able to take notes or comment on every little thing that strikes me. Instead, I will have to focus on the "big" things - the things that stick in my mind after I'm done reading 30 chapters.

Today's thoughts:

Like Father, Like Son

A couple different times in the first 30 chapters of Genesis, Abraham gets himself in trouble by trying to pass his wife off as his sister. In each case, his wife ends up being taken into the royal palace. Both times, it is discovered that Sarah is really not Abraham's sister and the people involved are pretty incensed at Abraham. You would think that these stories would represent lessons passed down to Abraham's son, Isaac, right?

Apparently not, because shortly after marrying Rebekah, we find Isaac trying to pass her off as his sister - in one of the same places and to one of the same kings that Abraham had done with Sarah. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work...Isaac gets caught kissing on Rebekah and the king is mad once again. Thankfully, though, the stupidity didn't seem to carry past the second generation...

Hagar gets it right (Genesis 16:11-16)

The whole story of Hagar is somewhat distressing to me - Abraham's wife gets frustrated at being unable to have kids, so she "makes" (If Abraham was anything like a typical man, I'm guessing there wasn't much persuasion needed...) Abraham sleep with her servant in order to have a son, Ishmael. After Ishmael is born, though, Abraham's wife begins to treat both Hagar and Ishmael like crap. So Hagar runs away. And in Chapter 16, God encounters Hagar and encourages her to return to Abraham. Following this encounter, Hagar uses a new name - el-Roi - to refer to God. The New Living Translation translates this name as "The God who sees me." What an awesome name - Hagar knew that God had not just seen her run away, but that he had seen her distress. God was - and is - "the God who sees me." Of all the names of God - YHWH, elohim, el-shaddai, adonai, etc. - I think el-Roi is the one I like best.

God cares for the unloved (Genesis 29:31)

The assumption is sometimes made that the Old Testament represents and reveals the militant God - the God who fights and who commands his people to go to war and utterly annihilate their enemies - while the New Testament represents and reveals the God of love. Read the first 30 chapters of Genesis, though, and you'll find yourself encountering a God who shows great concern for the unloved. I have already mentioned Hagar, who was abused and mistreated by Sarah and Abraham, but comforted, encouraged and blessed by God - who promises to provide for her needs and to bless her son Ishmael.

Then, in Jacob's story, we meet Leah. Leah, whose father tricks Jacob into marrying her even though Jacob neither loves Leah nor wants her as his wife. Leah, who is second to her younger sister Rachel in nearly every department. Leah, who is described in 29:31 as "unloved." God sees that Leah is unloved and does something about it - he makes Leah fertile and Rachel barren. Leah will bear Jacob children (eventually, so will Rachel, but Leah would bear sooner and also bear more) and that ability to bear children will be a reason for Jacob to love Leah.

It doesn't say how well it worked - in fact, if you read on, it doesn't seem to accomplish anything other than to spark one of the strangest and most absurd examples of sibling rivalry I've ever seen. Regardless of the outcome, though - in the stories of Hagar & Leah - we discover a God who passionately cares about the outcast and the unloved.

More tomorrow...

A Lenten Project

For the last several years, I have been an active participant in the season of Lent (the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday). Briefly, since this post isn't about the theological underpinnings of Lent, the traditional practice during Lent is to fast - to give up something one values in order to devote the resources (time, money, etc.) you spend on the thing given up to a spiritual purpose.

My own personal Lenten fast has, over the last several years, involved a 40 day fast from caffeine and a 40 day fast from purchasing books. I confess, though, that last year I realized that what I was doing for Lent was all about me - there wasn't so much a spiritual dimension to the fasts as there was a "prove to myself that I can do it" dimension...and that is not what Lent is all about.

This year, then, I am trying something different. Rather than merely subtracting caffeine and book purchases from my day-to-day life (which I still plan on doing, by the way), I feel like I need to add something of spiritual value and import to my day-to-day life. So starting tomorrow, I am embarking on a 40-day schedule to read through the entire Bible - Genesis - Revelation. Between now and Easter, I will get a birds eye view of the whole of God's work on behalf of His people. I am rather excited.

In an effort to maintain my excitement and to further the impact of this 40-day addition to my life, I have further decided to take this Lenten Project into my own blogosphere. At some point each day - after I finish the reading - I will be posting some brief thoughts on what I have read. No promises that I will be extremely profound or that my musings will be life-changing. But I can promise that they will be honest and open reflections from my heart and soul as I take on God's Word.

I suppose you could say that this will be a 40 day unfast. And it begins tomorrow - with Genesis 1-30.

My Biggest Fear...

I downloaded a song by Matthew West today - just a few minutes ago actually. It's a song that's been around for a while, but it's just now reaching me. The lyric that is causing a swirling torrent of emotion and angst in me is this:

"I don't want to go through the motions. I don't want to go one more day without your all-consuming passion inside of me. I don't want to spend my whole life asking, 'What if I had given everything instead of going through the motions?'"

Every time I hear those words from the chorus of West's appropriately titled The Motions, I am filled with fear. Because West courageously puts into lyrical form my single greatest fear. I am afraid - terrified - that I will reach the end of my life and realize that I was just "playing" at this thing called faith, that I was just "going through the motions" with Jesus, that I wasn't really following Him. The worry that I am doing just that sometimes keeps me up at night.

And it's not that I am afraid that God will judge me more harshly that way or that I feel like I'm being insincere or not trying. I'm not afraid of "going through the motions" because I'm afraid of Hell. It goes deeper than that, because I have no doubt that God's grace will be sufficient even in that circumstance. I am afraid because I don't want to end up in a place where I recognize that I could have done more, that I could have helped someone else or ministered to another need or grown deeper or been more passionate. I don't want to have regrets about the life I live with God - and it makes me anxious to realize that I will always be able to do more or be more passionate and devoted to Christ.

On my computer I have a sermon preached by Louie Giglio at a Passion conference some years ago. In it, he talks about the deep sadness that will affect those who meet God face to face and haven't been in the right places, saying, "Oh, that's what YOU were doing, God? Well, I was over here doing this. That's what moved YOU? Well, this is what moved me..."

It makes me want to keep praying, "God show me more. Take me through whatever I have to go through to make me more like Christ. If it hurts, if it is uncomfortable, if it breaks me, if it kills me - teach me how to deal with it. Never let me be satisfied with who I am in You. Don't let me settle in - don't let me rest. Keep pushing me, God. I'll go through hell itself if it will bring me closer to You."

On being "OK"

In exactly three weeks from this morning, I will be ushered into a room full of pastors and lay men and women - collectively known by the somewhat ominous name "District Board of Ministerial Development" (DBMD). Their job, in the time we are together, will be to interview me and ascertain whether or not I am qualified for ordination in the Wesleyan Church, ordination being a fancy word that means that the church - as represented by the men and women of the DBMD - sees in my the necessary knowledge, skills and (most importantly) the call of God necessary to be a minister.

Now, I should confess that I have spent the last ten years - more than 1/3 - of my life preparing for and looking forward to the moment of my ordination. It is supposed to be the crowning moment of my ministerial career - a cairn stone that marks the official launching of my ministry. I am excited about it, as I consider it to be deeply significant - far more so than the completion of either of my degrees.

That said, my ordination is not here yet. It is not a certainty. The aforementioned interview represents the last bridge to cross, the final step in a long, long process. So it is appropriate to say that the interview is a big deal. And for the last ten years, since I accepted God's call and began traveling down this long path of preparation, I have dreaded this upcoming interview. The questions abound: What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don't like me? What if I missed something somewhere along the way? Will the last ten years of my life have been for naught? If I fail to get ordained, does that mean I was wrong in thinking God had called me to ministry? On and on they go, running nonstop through my mind every time the thought of ordination occurred to me.

Until recently. As I spent several hours in the last couple of weeks completing the "Ordination and Commissioning Questionnaire," answering question about my family, about the Bible, about theology and about social issues like poverty and homosexuality, it occurred to me that the path on which I have been traveling has been incredibly important to me. The path itself has changed me in ways I could never have imagined.

I've met people that gave me perspective on life and altered forever the way I see God and the church - people named Craig and Tim and Mike and Dr. Thompson and Heather and a whole host of others whom I can't mention without extending this post to many, many pages. I have attended and ministered in a variety of forms at churches that have helped to form my ideas about ministry - churches like Faith Journey Church of the Nazarene, South Lake Church of the Nazarene and Lafayette First Church of the Nazarene. Along the way I've been forced to confront my own biases and prejudices, to search out on my own answers to the hardest theological questions. I've faced some of my weaknesses and come away stronger. In short, the man I am today has been shaped irrevocably by the experiences of the last ten years. And to tell the truth, I wouldn't trade the friends, churches, challenges and growth of the last ten years for anything.

Which means that, no matter what happens three weeks from today, I'll be okay. If the interview goes well and the DBMD chooses to ordain me, it will be awesome and the fulfillment of a ten year dream. If, on the other hand, the DBMD chooses - for whatever reason - to NOT ordain me, it will be disappointing, but not the end of the world. I will be okay no matter what happens at that meeting - and no matter what happens, it will not and cannot invalidate the transformation wrought by ten years on this path. Sure, they could say no, but that doesn't mean that I'm not called...it may mean that ministry looks different for me than I ever thought, but that may be a good thing.

In short - after ten years of nervously anticipating the big interview and being terrified of some verbal misstep, I am choosing to let that go. My future - including my ordination - is God's to shape, not mine. All I can do is show up at the interview and answer the questions honestly and without pretense.

That much I can do.

A Reflection on the (Possible) Predecessors of the "Emerging" Church

I recently began reading yet another book on the history of monasticism (monks and nuns and canons, oh my) - C.H. Lawrence's Medieval Monasticism. The book begins, as do most histories of monasticism with the first Christians who withdrew from the world in order to seek a deeper understanding of and walk with Christ. Lawrence, though, makes one thing clear that the other books I have read often seem to pass over - these earliest of monks, the "Desert Fathers" as they are known - were lay men and women. The earliest hermits who withdrew to the deserts of Egypt - men such as Antony and Pachomius - were simply lay people who sought more of God.

Perhaps it doesn't for you, but for me that came as a little bit of a surprise. After all, often monks and nuns and others who are seeking the monastic life are lumped together under the term "religious." That title would seem to link them with the established church. The fact that by the Middle Ages, most were connected through doctrine and organization to the Roman Catholic church only adds to the idea that these men and women were "super-Christians." They weren't priests, they were better and holier than priests. They have even garnered the reputation of a kind of Christian holy-man or holy-woman hero - as though their prayers were somehow more effective than the prayers of an average person.

But in the beginning, it wasn't like that. Antony didn't set out to create a movement - he went to the desert seeking Christ in solitude. Yet others were drawn to him in an effort to find that very same thing. Similarly, Pachomius - considered by many to be the founder of the "communal" monaster - never intended to create such. It happened when others were drawn to his desire to know Christ. Though neither intended to do so, when faced with groups of other Christians seeking to find Christ through solitude, neither could deny them and so a movement began that led to the formation of literally hundreds of monasteries and convents across Europe and in England.

As I was thinking on this, it occurred to me that, in many ways, people like Antony and Pachomius belong in the same category as many of those who are a part of today's phenomenon frequently called "the emerging church." This movement did not start out seeking to become a movement - it started out as individuals and groups seeking to know Christ better and deeper through shared experience and community life, through sensory worship and a welcoming spirit. I doubt that the earliest members of the movement were thinking to themselves, "In 10-15 years, we'll have all kinds of groups and publish all kinds of books." Rather, a movement grew up around them like a movement grew up around Antony and Pachomius.

People were drawn to Antony and Pachomius and their sisters and brothers in the desert not because these Desert Fathers and Mothers were somehow calling them, but because the people saw in them something lacking in themselves. A piety, a holiness, a strength, a courage - whatever it was, people saw it in Antony and in Pachomius and began to ask them, "How can I get this kind of faith?" Faced with such questions, the Desert Fathers and Mothers could hardly fail to respond.

Similarly, people are not drawn to the "emerging" church necessarily because the emerging church is calling out to them. Rather, they are drawn to a group of Christians who have something that other incarnations of the church seem to lack. A sense of community, a healthy understanding of the environment or the like. And people came (and continue to come) to the emerging church and ask, "How can I experience this kind of faith?"

While it would be a stretch to call the emerging church a "new kind of monasticism," there is no doubt in my mind that it stands in a grand tradition of those who step out of the popular church simply to seek Christ...and I am glad for that.

A Reflection on Business Cards

When Melissa and I first moved to Oklahoma City to pastor at May Avenue Wesleyan Church, I remember very clearly one of the first things I did as "pastor." It was something I was quite excited about - something I had always looked forward to being able to do for the first time...I ordered business cards. Not just ordered, I even designed business cards. They are super-cool cards that have a celtic cross in the background and have the name of the church, my name, and all the contact information for our church on them.

I had finally arrived - I was officially a pastor now that I had business cards. From the day that these business cards arrived (with, of course, the snazzy little metal business card carrying case), I was prepared to spread the word about our church by slipping my card into the hands of whoever I might meet - the pastor of a neighboring church, my neighbor, the mayor, Bob Stoops, whoever. This is what pastors do, and I am going to be great at it because I have professional looking business cards. Or so I thought.

My initial order was for 250 business cards. I figured that would be good to start with and, after a few months of liberally spreading them around Oklahoma City, I could order more to replenish my supply. Well, as I sit here typing this, almost exactly one year later, I have hardly made a dent in the 250. All those opportunities to slip a card into someone's hand or pocket didn't quite materialize like I thought they would. And the few that I did give away weren't to Bob Stoops or the mayor, but to people like Sheree and Lynette - people who came looking for help and who left with my card and a hearty, "Call us if there's anything else we can do for you." Certainly not what I had been expecting when I placed that order.

Truth be told, though, I am glad that I haven't given away all those cards and, to be even more brutally honest, I'm kind of ashamed of my fascination with them to begin with. Business cards, it seems to me, are often used as signs of power and influence. They are designed to be tools of self aggrandizement, of self promotion. That's why people design business cards with flashy colors and ornate designs and with celtic crosses in the background.

It is also why the biggest thing on most business cards is the name of the person, as is certainly the case with mine. Right in the center, in bigger letters than almost everything else on the card, you will see the words, "Rev. Joseph E. Boggs." And those words are where the problems begin - as if this thing called May Avenue Wesleyan Church has anything at all to do with me. Or, perhaps it would be better to say, as if "Rev. Joseph E. Boggs" played any significant role in creating the church in Oklahoma City.

It was not my birth that made angels sing. No one has dropped everything to follow me. I did not go willingly to my death so that the people of Oklahoma City could experience love and grace and freedom like no other. The same is true of any pastor of any church. It's not us. No matter how good the preaching or how effective the leadership, it is not the pastor that is the driving force behind the church. It is not the pastor's name that belongs on the front of the business card.

Of course, I'm not trying to say that business cards for pastors are inherently evil or that they are not useful tools in ministry. Neither am I saying that we pastors should create business cards with the name of Jesus on them instead of our own - just imagine the confusion that would ensue if, in the place of "Rev. Joseph E. Boggs," my business card simply said, "Jesus, Son of God." No thanks - my messiah complex isn't quite that developed.

What I AM saying, though, is that business cards can be a symptom and a symbol of pride. Every pastor faces the temptation to place himself or herself in the place of priority, to succumb to the thought that it is he or she that makes the church what it is and to lose sight of the fundamental truth that the church is only what it is meant to be when Christ and Christ alone is its head. I don't need to advertise me, I need only to point to Christ. Who cares what my name is or whether or not I carry the title of "Reverend." All that matters is the one who constantly breathes life into the dead bones of sinful people and through that breath creates life and animates HIS church.

Note: I wrote this after spending some time thinking about Jonah and Nineveh, as well as the idea of being a reluctant preacher, a reluctant messenger of God. I'm not completely sure, but I think this conveys pretty well the way I feel about the church - not about my "specific" church - but about the whole group of people who seek to follow Christ...

CON-

-FLICTED

She is beautiful...

...yet she is ugly.

She is flawed...

...yet she is perfect.

She is whole...

...yet she is broken.

She is worldly...

...yet she is holy.

She is hopeful...

...yet she is hopeless.

She is lost...

...yet she is found

She is healing...

...yet she is hurtful.

I loathe her...

...yet I love her.

I can’t leave her...

...yet I don’t want to stay.

She is God’s...

...and she is good.