Q & A

Q: Is it possible to "grow thicker skin" and maintain a healthy amount of sensitivity?

A: ??? (Anyone?!)

Or maybe the bumps and bruises along the way are a part of the way of the cross - not to be avoided (though perhaps not to be sought after either) but rather accepted as an integral part of Christian discipleship. (It's just hard to take knocks from the devout person sitting next to me in the pew.) I have this gut feeling that this is only the beginning, and that these little blows can teach me to endure opposition without losing hope for the church or failing in love for my well-meaning brother or sister.

Over the last year, our church has had a cycle of guest preachers. Sometimes this has been refreshing, at other times frustrating. One of our frequent guest preachers is a minister at another local congregation, and he seems to speak only in hyperbole. At first, this made me cringe – I desire a certain level of conscientious nuance in religious speech (a rigorous criterion that I myself rarely meet – maybe I should loosen up a bit!). However, my friend Kadie framed this for me in a different way as we were sitting together in church this Sunday. Kadie wouldn’t have said it this way, but her perspective was a God-sent, “Get over yourself.”

Kadie explained that our speaker’s exaggerated speech made her ask herself what she believed about his statement. For example, when the preacher explained that the most important question for a seeker shouldn’t be, “How can I get to heaven,” but “How can I be a part of this group of people (i.e. the church),” it was clearly an overstatement. Two poles are established, neither of which is rich enough to describe what it means to follow Christ. (But the first one is a primary fixation of Western Christianity.) The speaker was trying to emphasize the importance of community for spiritual formation over against the interests of the individual, so he overstated the case for it. This hyperbolic statement is not meant to be swallowed without question; it’s meant to make the hearers ask themselves and one another, “What do we believe about this?”

Kadie’s reflections have got me thinking too. While I feel a little antsy when a speaker overstates the case, it occurs to me that his preaching does what it sets out to do. That is, it is meant to evoke dialogue and reflection. This is speech that does not claim the final word, however over-confident such claims seem on the surface. The speaker doesn’t do all the thinking for the congregation, but delivers purposely provoking thoughts and gives the community the responsibility to critically sort it out.

So, “hyperbolic” is still not my favorite style of preaching. But because my friend Kadie shared her insight into the function of that style, I appreciate it much more. Her comments were redemptive and convicting for me – once again, I see God beckoning me back into the midst of the church instead of looking on, arms folded, in a critical manner. And suddenly, I feel as if I'm straightening up after spending hours slouched down - a feeling of release and reorientation, of freedom. Praise be to you, O God.

living Hebrews 11

While at a conference this week, I saw Donna Hester perform her Iron Apron Strings, an original theatrical piece written in reflection on the women listed in Jesus' genealogy in Matthew 1 (plus Eve). Hester's work centers in on each of these women in times of uncertainty, when they are struggling to make sense of the twists and turns of life. They're barely getting by, unable to discern their significance in the story of God which is breaking into the world.

Hester's interpretation of Rahab is especially captivating, not because of the monologue (which is well-written and well-performed), but because of the blocking (i.e. actions and props). Rahab describes her descent into prostitution - an occupation which morphes from "what you do" to "who you are." The monologue is gut-wrenching and heart-breaking. Yet, as Rahab unravels her tale of one hard knock after another, she irons a long cord of scarlet fabric. No mention is made of the destiny of that famous length of cloth - its presence is enough to evoke that fateful moment when it would dangle in her window as trumpets blew and Jericho's once sturdy walls shook (Joshua 2-6).

This image strikes a cord with me, as my graduation dates rapidly approaches. I'd like to think that maybe I'm ironing my own scarlet cord - holding in my hands, metaphorically speaking, something seemingly innocuous but that could be a tiny prop in the grand story of God which is unfolding in the life of the church. That may smack a bit of self-aggrandisement, but that's not my intention. The story in Joshua isn't centered around Rahab and her scrap of scarlet cord. It's about the action of God. Rahab happens to be in the right place at the right time, with an eye for the unusual, an imagination that can foresee an altered state of reality, and a willingness to dive in with whatever she has at her disposal even if it doesn't seem like much. She's an unlikely player... and an exemplary one - maybe that's why she also shows up in that long list of heroes of the faith in Hebrews 11.

Perhaps Rahab was also asked, "What are you going to do with that?!" Maybe, like me, sometimes her only response was a shrugging, "I don't know." But walking by faith, if Rahab is indeed an example of this, means carrying on in the midst of uncertainty and preparing for what currently seems unlikely or impossible.

To this end, I think I'm going to commit myself to a new discipline - a discipline that I will probably just allude to from time to time here. It's an unlikely one, one that will probably seem pointless and fruitless to many: I think I'll start writing sermons and practicing delivering them as a spiritual discipline.* Do I dare compare that to "ironing a scarlet cord" or building an ark?


* I think spiritual disciplines are best practiced in the context of community. Are there any of my female seminary friends out there who would like to participate?

Follow your heart...

Actually heard during the closing announcements at church on Sunday:

Announcer: "We'd like to remind everyone of the upcoming bridal shower for So-'n'-So and Such-'n'-Such at Joe and Jane Doe's house on this particular date. In case you don't know where they live, the address is on screen behind me." [The announcement flashes up on screen with the address.]

Joe Doe pipes up from the amidst the congregation, "That's not the right house number."

Announcer: "Well, you know what the road is - just follow your hearts to the right house."

Wow. New Age meets technology - Our hearts are now internal GPS units. I definitely didn't see that one coming.

* This post is dedicated to Tera. Hang on, girl - just a couple more weeks. ;)

"Nada te turbe"

It's been a pretty encouraging week. Aside from my Comprehensive Exam prep class - which drains and stresses me so much that I have to go take a nap once I'm out of class - everything this week has been going my way. When I read these words by Teresa of Avila this afternoon, they went down sweet and sugary, like a savory dessert:

Let nothing disturb you;
nothing dismay you;
all things pass,
but God never changes.
Whoever has God lacks nothing:
if you only have God, you have more than enough.

Dr. Childers (a.k.a. "J. Chill", thanks to Xander) repeats words from Teresa* to soothe our nervous spasms in Comps: "All will be well and all manner of things will be well." (I remember being the obnoxious one of the summer mission team who kept repeating that phrase over and over as we were each dragging three over-sized suitcases from one airport in London to the other. My teammates were models of forbearance.) Yes, aside from when you're being painfully upbeat while everyone else pulls their hair out (in reference to me, not "J. Chill"!), these words are comforting like a nice warm cup of tea.

But it turns out that those words were not only meant to be my afternoon verbal tea.* I needed them desperately tonight... and I think I'll need them more over the coming days. After all, these words of consolation are just that - they bring reorientation in a time of dismay. They are not written for sun-drenched afternoons alone; Teresa's speaking to moments of desolation, big and small. My "desolation" tonight was comparatively small. I was so eerily quiet and serious while on the phone that Amber thought someone had died. But it's not as serious as that.

After a time of latent pessimism about the church, I was feeling some fresh hope. It was like a lamp turned on to illumine a dark room, leaving a few shadowy corners, but hinting that even they might be transformed at the flick of a switch. I was thinking, "It's just as we've been hoping all along. God might actually be at work here!" I'm usually bubbly - this week I've been bubbling over.

Tonight the lamp is flickering a bit. I'm reminded that lights can be turned off as easily as turned on. There's nothing like a little discouragement riding on the coattails of newborn excitement to take the wind out of your sails. At first I tasted the acidity of feeling personally slighted. The acidic taste is gone now. If I really believe the story of Jesus, I can't get bent out of shape every time things don't go the way I'd like them to. But I'm still a bit uneasy. What next?

It isn't that God is not at work in the church. God's just not working that fast. God likes to work in conjunction with the people of God... and we're a bit slower, less certain. We're not a "flick of the switch" bunch. We're more like, "Rub the sticks together until they start to smoke and then blow softly for a little while. Add some tinder. Blow some more. (You might have to start over a few times.)" So what I really need is some patience. And, again, these words:

Let nothing disturb you;
nothing dismay you;
all things pass,
but God never changes.
Whoever has God lacks nothing:
if you only have God, you have more than enough.

They aren't warm and fuzzy anymore. (They're definitely not "annoy your teammates with unabated optimism.") But they are consoling. They're something like Gospel.


*Verbal tea?! Wow, how lame can ya get?

* Jared very gently and indirectly pointed out that J. Chill's favorite quote is actually from Julian of Norwich. And he's right of course. I tend to get my female mystics confused. Julian's an English hermit from before the Reformation. Teresa's the founder of the Discalced ('Shoeless') Carmelites - a part of the Catholic Counter Reformation. One of these days it'll all sink in!

This week I took a January short course on worship with Jack Reese. The class was long, but the content was great! It really has me thinking more deeply about the way churches worship and how that worship impacts their formation into the image of Christ. I also found myself thinking about all the arguments, and sometimes church splits, we have over worship and worship styles. For a long time, I’ve thought that choices about worship styles were indifferent, but I’ve grown to believe that the way we settle “worship wars” has great significance for our lives as a community shaped by the Gospel.

It’s not about whether a church decides for contemporary songs or hymns or a mix of both (a compromise which may end up pleasing no one). One group prefers “the way we’ve always done it.” The other seeks “gospel” freedom to worship more expressively with upbeat contemporary songs. For both, the key factor in decisions about worship is personal preference: “Because I like ____.” Both have reasons to dislike the preference of the other.

But should the content of worship be decided in a similar manner to ordering a Big Mac? With pickles or without, depending on one’s preference or current appetite? So long as worship is oriented to please personal preference, we may use the name of Jesus all we want, but he will not be the one we are worshipping. We are then dancing to the tune of a consumerist culture with its focus on the wants of the individual “customer.”

Of course, Christians in every age have reflected the spirit of their times – it’s not surprising that we do too. But we come together to worship on Sunday to be reminded that we are supposed to be a people shaped by the ethic of the Kingdom of God. In this Kingdom, it’s not about me getting my way or you getting yours. There is no “us” and “them,” but all are one in Christ Jesus. The ethic of the Kingdom of God is that of renouncing privilege, not asserting it (Phil. 2). It may be immaterial whether a church chooses hymns or contemporary songs, but the way we treat one another in the process of making that choice matters a great deal. We have the opportunity to reconcile our differences in a way that demonstrates the unique story that we live by: one of love, mercy, sacrifice, resurrection.

New Year's Eve - what better time for a reflection on planning for the future?

Going back to the church where I grew up means a bundle of mixed emotions to me. I love the Northlake Church of Christ - these folks modeled the way of Christ for me in such a compelling manner that I knew I wanted to throw myself into it too. Still, there's nothing like the distance of a 1,000 miles and seven and a half years to hamper our reunion. As graduation quickly (and yet slowly) approaches, there is a significant increase in the number of people who ask that question I don't know how to answer yet: "So, after you graduate, what's next?" I respond with a goofy grin and flashy, hope-the-parachute-works-cause- I'm-jumping-anyway eyes and say, "I don't know yet." Like most major life changes, this one fills me with excitement and dread all at the same time. Ever the optimist, I try to let the excitement triumph over the dread.

This was a somewhat more difficult to pull off this morning because I was feeling a little discouraged. Our service was centered around the communion table. In so many ways it was refreshing. The seats were arranged so that you could see most people in the room. We read the whole book of Ruth in lieu of a sermon, highlighting the way that the Lord provided abundantly for Naomi and showed steadfast love through Ruth and Boaz. The repeated references to grain and Bethlehem made the connection with the Lord's Supper natural. We participated together in our Great Story of God's faithfulness in Jesus Christ. I'm still thinking about it... and yet, it was discouraging too.

Like every other worship service at Northlake, this one was led exclusively by men. (And Northlake has always been a moderately progressive congregation.) A few years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. This time it stood out like a brightly festooned, strutting peacock in the middle of a multi-laned highway. It strikes me, nearly every time I'm in church, that the most important criterion in whether a person can play an active role in the worship service is not age, spiritual maturity, competence, or thoughtful preparation. It's gender. Maleness is the common denominator. What seems to me to be the most arbitrary consideration of them all is the deciding factor.

The table is a crucial moment in worship, one which is, among other things, an expression of our unity in Jesus Christ. And yet, we do not approach the table as equals. Well, we do in theory, but our practice suggests otherwise. In Matthew, Jesus says, "Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." Usually we proof-text this passage when we're discussing holy speech. But it further suggests that our concrete actions correlate to the inner reality. Jesus' teaching conflates mind, body, and soul over against the faulty distinctions we make between them. What we do outwardly matters as a tangible expression of who we really are, what we really believe. Regardless of what we might say we believe about gender equality, our practice at the Lord's Supper, indeed at anytime in worship, reveals that as a corporate body we believe that men are inherently spiritually superior.

Anyway, this renewed realization gave me pause as my graduation date approaches. "What's next?" they ask with genuine interest. Giving my normal response aloud, I silently wonder to myself, "What indeed?" Maybe the best answer is to rely on the same loving-kindness that the Lord showed to Naomi (without renaming myself "bitter" in the meantime!). Thus, a single worship service delivers discouragement while also giving significant impetus to press on with hope and trust. I'd like to hold to the latter without being smothered by the former, but for that task, my anamcharas, I will need you!

You know what I hate? It seems like every time I start to write something about my future plans, it ends up being a complaint about my battle with the suffocatingly low glass ceiling. I'm sure my friends and family are as weary of this topic as I am. This isn't the post I thought I was sitting down to write. Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow. After all, if there's any day for reflecting on future plans, it's New Year's Day, right?

quick soap box: unity and diversity

As normally happens when I'm supposed to be writing a lengthy paper on some scholarly topic, my mind is wandering. So, I'll share my thoughts quickly:

Today I moderated a reflection group for some undergrad students who have been working on a spiritual covenant/service project together. The topics mentioned included the dynamics of diverse teams working with one another to serve Christ and others. Tonight at the Simpson-Clancy-Taylor abode, our rambling conversation stumbled again onto topics of diversity. Essentially, wonderful John the Noble noted that people always tend to gravitate to others who are just like them. When asked about who the best sorts of people are, folks tend to footnote people who look an awful lot like themselves.

And this, I think, is bad news for the church. That is, it's bad news if we fit the trend described by John. In fact, if our churches look like homogenous conglomerations of people (let's face it - too often they do!), I think we've probably missed the point of that whole Good News of Jesus Christ thing. We are not a body united by political affiliation, social class, mother tongue, marital status, educational level, skin color, or any other arbitrary boundary that human beings erect to distinguish the in-crowd from the outsiders. We are united by one thing: the confession that Jesus Christ is Lord. This makes radical communion with the other (the other who is different, perhaps, in nearly every other respect) possible in a way that every other human endeavor fails to accomplish. Democracy won't do it for us - we're currently striving to keep people out rather than welcome them in. Open-mindedness doesn't cut it - sometimes it becomes an excuse to exclude those who just aren't as philosophically flexible. Education, frankly, can be more of a deterent to acceptance and equality than we usually like to admit.

What we have in the catholic Christian faith is unique - an open door for unity of all peoples on the basis of faith in Christ. I know - there are complicated reasons for the ages-old fracture in Christian communion. We've all contributed to the problem, even those of us who seek to keep tests of fellowship minimal. I know - it's probably unfair for me to complain about how Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America. It's complicated, I know. But I also know that it's not in sync with the Gospel. Let's live the message we proclaim. Just a thought.

Now, back to my Restoration History paper...

Unlearning

Most of the time when I think about my graduate school experience, I take note of the many things that I’m learning. (And the plethora of things I’ve yet to learn!) But, there are also attitudes, assumptions, beliefs and behaviors that need unlearning. I think these are probably the hardest lessons for all of us, the lessons of unlearning. It came to my attention this week that one of the areas we struggle with most in this respect is our web of beliefs about gender. This isn’t just a problem that the men have either; my experiences this week have made me realize how often I also enable sexist systems and beliefs in my own communities.

Let me share a little bit about my experiences this week. I started a similar post earlier, but my description of these events was angry and demonizing (and very funny, which is how I justified it to myself). But that’s not really helpful, other than being an outlet for my own frustration. Both instances involve sexist jokes in the context of a Christian setting. Sunday night, an elder at our church was praying a blessing over a couple who are expecting a child, and he made a sexist joke in the middle of the prayer. Muffled chuckles were heard throughout the room; they were loud enough to drown out my shocked gasp. I left church that night thinking, “Why am I even a member of this church? Of this denomination?” The other incident happened in a seminary classroom. A peer of mine made a crack about women being excessively emotional. When he realized I was in the room (the only female present), he said a quick, insincere, “I was just kidding. No offense.” I gave him a tight-lipped smile, muttered that it was fine (a huge lie), and shoved my books into my bag a little too forcefully. The other boys in the room either smiled sheepishly or didn’t respond at all (either because they didn’t hear the joke or because they wished they hadn’t). I left school wondering if that’s how our male peers talk about us when we’re not in the room.

A quick word about jokes: my mother used to tell me that there’s a little bit of truth to every joke. Before, I’ve doubted that this broad generalization is always true, but in this case, I think it’s dead on. Jokes make a truth claim. This claim is what makes them funny. If a person makes a joke about how women are overly emotional, that person is assuming that the person receiving the joke agrees that women are too emotional. In the seemingly innocuous form of a joke, a sexist stereotype is reinforced. Furthermore, it’s bad form to be mad about a joke. In the statement, “I’m just joking,” the speaker makes a power play. Now if someone gets offended and confronts the other person, he or she is a jerk. “Can’t she take a joke?”

There are several things for us to unlearn as we strive to get along with one another. In our Christian communities, these kinds of sexist jokes have been considered acceptable. Whole generations of people have been brought up to believe that there’s nothing wrong with this. And so, the men, who are the only ones with a public voice, continue to make hurtful statements. And the women continue to take it. Like me, passive-aggressively slamming my books around while saying it’s not a big deal, women have remained silent. Some are genuinely not offended. “Boys will be boys,” they say as they shrug it off. Others seethe on the inside, but rarely say anything about the hurt such comments cause. When they do speak up, their complaints are often disregarded. Or, perhaps they are received cordially, and forgotten over the ensuing weeks. Men aren’t the only ones who make sexist comments; women are also guilty, and that is just as unacceptable.

We all have learned behaviors and attitudes to unlearn here; there are more lessons to draw from this than I intend to include here. But I will highlight one area that I think is crucial. In both cases, the Christian community failed to use speech wisely. We, as a community, need to practice spiritual disciplines that help us learn to manage and reform our thought and speech. (This is why I scrapped my earlier, vindictive post!) Thought comes first; it is out of the overflow of our hearts that our mouths speak. If we are going to speak hospitably and justly to one another, we must learn to think hospitably and justly about one another. In addition to guarding our speech, we need to know when to speak up. Sometimes we remain silent to keep the peace, but our silence often simply enables injustice. This clearly is a communal discipline: we have to practice it together as a people bound by love in Jesus Christ. We are going to make mistakes on this journey, but the solution is not to justify them as acceptable or to sweep them under the rug. (Or to break fellowship and start over.) We must learn to speak honestly and charitably to one another as we grow up together in Christ.

This Week's Best One-Liner

Kudos for the best one-liner of the week goes to... (drum roll)... David Todd! (*raucous cheers, virtual high fives*)

The abridged background: in the past couple of weeks, there has been a lot of talk about singleness, marriage and life in the church in my social circles. We watched a video in church last week about love - it sort of implied that unless you're married (and happily married at that) you're not a whole person. (And I've been thinking all this time that there is something about self-emptying that's central to the Christian story - how foolish of me!) As we were joking around about this topic in my mentor group, Tera quoted David Todd's response:

Jesus Christ: fully divine, half human

(And I've been laughing about it ever since...)

separate and apart

Today I've been reading a few chapters of William Willimon's Pastor: The Theology and Practice of Ordained Ministry. (Summer break's not over yet... but it might as well be. Still, it's a great read so far.) One of the most fascinating parts of the book so far, oddly enough, is a short discussion of place of the weekly offering in worship. I grew up in a church where the offering always closely followed communion, but I often heard these words sandwiched in between them: "Now separate and apart... ." That's the cue for everyone to reach for their checkbooks. This is, to my knowledge at least, a strange turn of phrase unique to churches of Christ; I think it's meant to disassociate the icky "hand in your money" part from the more holy elements of the bread and the cup. I've always wondered what I would say if I had to introduce this part of the service - what's a good transition from celebrating the Eucharist to passing the collection trays?

But maybe a transition isn't what we need here. What if the way we use our finances actually has something to do with Kingdom living? What if it is actually transformed by the cross of Christ, and so it is indeed the most appropriate action to follow our participation in that salvific event? Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Jesus doesn't seem to consider our money to be "separate and apart" from our spiritual lives. What if our contribution is really an expression of our loving, faithful response to God, a testimony that we are citizens of a Kingdom where the property lines are quite a bit different from those of the rest of the world?

Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common. And with great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it at the apostles' feet; and distribution was made to each as any had need. (Acts 4:32-35)

I found Willimon's reflection on this passage inspiring:

"Here is the church's strongest visible evidence of the truth of resurrection - a resurrected community in which old, deadly economic and social arrangements have been overturned. Here is truly "testimony to the resurrection" in this transformed people. Here is the world recreated as God meant it to be, where "there was not a needy person among them," and all things are seen as gifts entrusted to us by God rather than possessions to be tightly grasped. Each Sunday's offering is meant to be a revolutionary, countercultural, and prophetic act for the church. There are few more inflammatory and potentially disruptive acts than when the pastor stands and announces to the congregation that it is now time for the offering. Here embodied before the congregation on Sunday is what the pastor ought to be doing all week - demanding that we give God what is rightly God's, that we show that our money is where our hearts are (Matt. 6:21), and that by God's grace we are able to feel the needs of someone other than ourselves, that we are being transformed from takers into givers, that we give material, visible, monetary testimony to the Resurrection."

Pass the plates! I'm ready!!! But please don't tell me that it's "separate and apart." I don't want anything in my life to be held separate and apart from the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I want that to shape every part, including my pocket book!

Just can't get enough Bonhoeffer!

I love this part! From Bonhoeffer's chapter on ministry in Life Together:

"The first service that one owes to others in the fellowship consists in listening to them. Just as love to God begins with listening to His Word, so the beginning of love to the brethren is learning to listen to them. It is God’s love for us that He not only gives us His Word but also lends us His ear. So it is His work that we do for our brother when we learn to listen to him. Christians, especially ministers, so often think they must always contribute something when they are in the company of others, that this is the one service they have to render. They forget that listening can be a greater service than speaking.

"Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians, because these Christians are talking where they should be listening. But he who can no longer listen to his brother will soon be no longer listening to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too. This is the beginning of the death of the spiritual life, and in the end there is nothing but spiritual chatter and clerical condescension arrayed in pious words. One who cannot listen long and patiently will presently be talking beside the point and never really speaking to others, albeit he be not conscious of it. Anyone who thinks that his time is too valuable to spend keeping quiet will eventually have no time for God and for his brother, but only for himself and his own follies…"

Truly listening to another - what is it that makes this so hard? Why is it that I place more value on the thoughtless words tumbling from my own lips (or the half-formed ones rolling around inside my mind waiting for an opportunity to spill out) than on the intimations of my sister in Christ? If I truly want to know my brother, I must learn to listen attentively to the "overflow of his heart." So often I listen with only half an ear, all the while evaluating what is said and composing my own response. Sometimes it's little more than waiting my turn. Why do I think I have to prepare a witty response or decide whether I agree with what is being said? I think there's more value in receiving whatever another says in a spirit of openness and goodwill without immediately assigning it my own "expert opinion." We share something more than mere words and information when we speak and listen to one another - in a way, we lay bare pieces of our souls. It's delicate and vulnerable, worth more than the sum of the words exchanged and deserving far more than my half-hearted attention.

Lord Jesus, you were ever ready to listen to those who cried out to you. You gave us ears to hear: help us to hear. May we listen to all we meet, and to those who come to us in trouble. Remind us daily that there is a time for silence and a time for speaking, and show us when to speak and when to hold our peace. Never let us miss a cry for help because we are too busy talking about ourselves. Make us ready to listen to others, because we listen each day in silence to you, O Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

- Michael Counsell

More Bonhoeffer

Insights on humility, again from Life Together:

“Only he who lives by the forgiveness of his sin in Jesus Christ will rightly think little of himself. He will know that his own wisdom reached the end of its tether when Jesus forgave him. He remembers the ambition of the first man who wanted to know what is good and evil and perished in his wisdom. The first man who was born on this earth was Cain, the fratricide. His crime is the fruit of man’s wisdom. Because the Christian can no longer fancy that he is wise he will also have no high opinion of his own schemes and plans. He will know that it is good for his own will to be broken in the encounter with his neighbor. He will be ready to consider his neighbor’s will more important and urgent than his own. What does it matter if our own plans are frustrated? Is it not better to serve our neighbor than to have our own way?”

Wow - these words are good news to me today. I tend to have a pretty high opinion about my own schemes and plans. I hate to admit it, but I generally want the Lord to do it my way. That's crazy, really. I know how fickle my plans are: they change according to my whims on a pretty regular basis. My pride and self-importance is sin on two levels: it denies Jesus his place as Lord in my life and it assumes that I know better than everyone else who might will something different. So, it's rebellion toward God and maybe an attempt at tyranny over humankind.

Another thing attracts me to Bonhoeffer's words. Humility is not passive, it's active. It doesn't imply willing nothing - as if being the constant doormat of the world were a virtue. (Lack of will - this seems to be cowardice more than anything else.) No, it's the willing sacrifice of my will, however good it seems to me, for the sake of my brother or sister. And humility is sacramental. Here the passion of Jesus, his great acting out of "not my will but Yours" merges into the gritty reality of my life. Who knew that disappointment of my own dreams and desires might actually be participation with Jesus Christ in a very real sense? It's hard to believe in our "may your dreams come true" world. But to meet Jesus in the dark corners of life where all other hope is extinguished by a broken will and discarded dreams - this is good news.

"'Roses and Lilies' of the Christian Life"

These excerpts from Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer really resonate with me today. Affectionately dedicated to my roommates, old and new!

Between the death of Christ and the Last Day, it is only by a gracious anticipation of the last things that Christians are privileged to live in visible fellowship with other Christians. ...

The physical presence of other Christians is a source of incomparable joy and strength to the believer. ...

The believer feels no shame, as though he were still living too much in the flesh, when he yearns for the physical presence of other Christians. Man was created a body, and the Son of Man appeared on earth in the body, he was raised in the body, in the sacrament the believer receives the Lord Christ in the body, and the resurrection of the dead will bring about the perfected fellowship of God's spiritual-physical creatures. The believer therefore lauds the Creator, the Redeemer, God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, for the bodily presence of a brother. The prisoner, the sick person, the Christian in exile sees in the companionship of a fellow Christian a physical sign of the gracious presence of the triune God. Visitor and visited in loneliness recognize in each other the Christ who is present in the body; they receive and meet each other as one meets the Lord, in reverence, humility, and joy. They receive each other's benedictions as the benediction of the Lord Jesus Christ. But if there is so much blessing and joy even in a single encounter of brother with brother, how inexhaustible are the riches that open up for those who by God's will are privileged to live in the daily fellowship of life with other Christians!

It is true, of course, that what is an unspeakable gift of God for the lonely individual is easily disregarded and trodden under foot by those who have the gift every day. It is easily forgotten that the fellowship of Christian brethren is a gift of grace, a gift of the Kingdom of God that any day may be taken from us, that the time that still separates us from utter loneliness may be brief indeed. Therefore, let him who until now has had the privilege of living a common Christian life with other Christians praise God's grace from the bottom of his heart. Let him thank God on his knees and declare: It is grace, nothing but grace, that we are allowed to live in Christian community.

Deception

On Wednesday nights we've been watching a series of videos put out by Nooma. If you aren't familiar with Nooma, check out their website: http://www.nooma.com. I've really enjoyed some of their video clips this summer - they're worth checking out. Anyway, tonight we talked about how God doesn't always give us what we want when we want it. A typical youth group subject, I know. Isn't it amazing how it's often those things that we've heard over and over that we most need to hear fresh?

I was supposed to lead the discussion after the video tonight. I was tempted just to do the usual thing: look at the suggested questions, pick a few that I liked, and let the kids break into groups to discuss them. Instead, I decided that I ought to "go the distance" and really spend some time thinking about things. (I'm sure this has happened to others out there: when I teach a class, I usually think I'm the one who leaves the room most changed.)

At first, I was quite prideful. Some of the questions asked about things we think we want or need. I thought to myself, "No, I'm quite happy with everything that I have; there aren't any material things that I want!" (Pat, pat on the back for Kelli.) Yes, I was feeling quite self-satisfied. Truthfully, I was dodging the question at first; then I started to consider what things I pray for most often. I realized that I'm desperate for approval, affirmation, and partnership. I don't want to feel like I'm all alone in this life. I also want people to think that I'm absolutely brilliant, and we all know what a joke that is. Most of my deepest desires center around the perception others have of me, with only lip-service to the One who created me.

I started thinking about the opening chapters of Genesis. Why on earth would two people who live in paradise - where God fulfills their every need and walks with them in the cool of the day - why would they feel like something is lacking? The snake deceives them into believing that God was holding back on them, not giving them something that would enhance their existence. Maybe they hadn't heard God proclaim that his crowning act of creation is, "Very good!" Apparently, it wasn't too hard to convince them that "very good" just wasn't good enough.

Their temptation is mine every day: to buy into the lie that God is holding back something that I think ought to be mine now. I'm just as easily deceived as they were. We live in a culture that thrives on convincing people that they need more and more to make them whole and happy. Even though we should be the last to believe such things, the church is often right there alongside the rest of our culture, chasing after things that are fleeting and calling them "blessings." Let's remind each other that God isn't holding back on us; he's the Giver of every perfect gift and his sense of timing is far superior to ours.