Tagged: Christianity
Enough About Change, Enough!
Daily, so-called experts advise us to change our perspective, change our job, change our life. They believe we should change our world. It’s sickening. Like you, I’ve followed that message too many times to count and for what? It is a false hope. Change? No thank you.
As the year wraps up I’m happy to report I like life the way it is. And I know you do too. Here’s how I know.
Forgiveness – You forgive me daily. I struggle with why, but am sure you’re the better person for it. It is at once free and invaluable.
Friendship – Again, you give it freely. I cannot imagine a world without the ability to make friends. I don’t want to either.
Peace – The world is close. Real close. Some want to keep the focus on the unrest. The rest of us know to keep peace the focus, and rightly so. Focus on the peace and see what unfolds, I say.
Compassion – Everyone I have ever met understands compassion. While not always possible to act on, their feelings of compassion are always real. I cannot imagine this world before it was filled with compassion. Like most good things, once conceived, the concept of compassion cannot be forgotten. And it never will be.
Love – There is no greater source of strength than the fact that the lowest of the low, the meanest of the mean, I’m talking about the most wretched wretch, this man or woman is still loved by at least one person if they’ll only let themselves feel it.
Change that? Never.
Setback
Church-going Christians: Probably want to skip this one. Or maybe you are my target audience. It’s difficult to say.
Because the topic is endlessly fascinating to me, I have read John P. Meier’s A Marginal Jew series–the first four volumes–and I am anxiously awaiting the concluding fifth volume. I am also one book in to N.T. Wright’s New Testament and the People of God five volume series. These books center themselves on the question “What does the historical record say about Jesus of Nazareth?” I believe them to be intellectually honest, and I have found great comfort and value in them. As an added bonus, I am fairly confident that I understand who Jesus of Nazareth was and thought he was much better than before. So much so that I have recently begun to hunt for a church which I think I could stomach attending week to week.
You should see the looks on the generally elder crowd’s faces when I tell them I’ve been away for a decade. They are so thankful that I’ve returned. It’s a little hokey but feels good nonetheless. My biggest complaint about modern churches is their music selection. It’s horrible, just horrible. I have never sat next to a person who didn’t agree, either. Because I’m older and can only attempt this adventure with authenticity, I let a guy know that I missed the Baptist Hymnal of my youth. He tells me, “You’re in luck!” It seems there is a Sunday School type class that sings the old hymns because there are others like me. Another vote for opening my big mouth, I think.
Yesterday, however, I discovered I should just sit quiet from now on. While the packed room did sing one (1) traditional hymn, I was sure that before the hour’s end I would be the only one not grasping St. Peter’s welcoming hand at the pearly gates.
Social decorum demanding obedience as it does, I remained in the room.
Skipping to the end, what did the well-meaning old timers want to debate for the hour we had together? Whether there is such a thing as unpardonable sin–a sin which is so awful that even Jesus’ saving power can’t redeem the perpetrator’s soul. (Consensus – There might be one, but don’t worry you can’t commit it inadvertently.)
The only thought that occupied my mind for that hour was, “Who gives a shit?”
The sermon was pretty good at least.
Block Two
The preacher, the only one in the room wearing a suit, leaned forward, dramatically closing in on the microphone. His hands grasped each side of the worn, wooden pulpit, a relic which never failed to support his weight in moments like these. A professional, he drew energy from the room’s silence like Superman would the sun’s rays. Attendance had been dwindling, but this morning there were more people than he expected. He took that as a sign. During this pause, he made eye contact with nearly everyone, and as he scanned the room, he found one unfamiliar face, a young man. Unlike most past guests, the young man did not look away.
The preacher, at last, continued.
“To be able to forget,” he concluded. “Sometimes I just want to be able to forget,” he said, repeating his desire, this time without pausing for effect. “You know me well enough to know first-hand that I sin as much as you,” he said gravely. “I know me well enough to argue that I probably sin more,” he said, the corners of his mouth rising as he shook his head. A lone chuckle evidenced that he hadn’t lost his knack for timing.
Unlike recent Sundays, he had something to say this morning. And while he needed to transport the audience to a place where they felt the weight of the world, he also knew they needed slight relief every so often if they were to feel him lift it completely off at the end. Picking up the pace, the preacher proceeded.
“I want to be able to forget big things, sure. Like hate, meanness, selfishness. But that’s not all. I want to be able to forget specific things. I want to be able to forget when I was mean to my best friend. I want to be able to forget when I yelled, ‘I hate you!’ to my parents. I want to be able to forget the time that I didn’t share my ice cream with my son,” he claimed, feeling his heart pound like it always did right before he pulled it out for all to see. “More than that-” he stopped, and re-directed, “I can be honest here, right? Is that okay with you?” he asked. A majority of heads nodded in response, and a practiced, deep “preach it!” could be heard.
“More than that,” the preacher resumed, “I want to be able to forget that in each of those circumstances I wanted to do those things. Those actions were desirable to me. I wanted to be mean; I wanted to hate; I wanted to be selfish. If the Lord was standing here right now, and we all got to ask one question, mine would be, ‘Isn’t it enough that we do these things? Can’t you at least relieve us of our memory of them?'” he paused, nearly choked up. “But the Lord isn’t here right now,” he said, regaining his composure. “He isn’t going to intervene and answer my question. And why not? Is it because he doesn’t care? Is it because he doesn’t exist? No. It’s because he’s done everything necessary already. The onus is on us now. Remember?” he asked.
With a look that betrayed that he didn’t even realize that he had come down from the stage as he spoke, he turned his back on the crowd and walked up the two creaky stairs, returning to the pulpit. This signaled that he was near the end.
“Remember,” he said, the word somewhere between a command, a statement, and a question.
“Certainly everyone here is aware of the current stress put on living a balanced life. Eastern religions have the yin-yang concept. Likewise, when I think of all the things I want to forget, I can’t help but be grateful for one thing that we can’t ever forget–Jesus of Nazareth. He came. He spoke the truth. He gave us hope. But he also convicted us. So we killed him for it. Did it have to happen that way? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it did. And if we ever forget that, I’m not sure we won’t forget hope altogether.”
Another Vote For Living In The Moment
“But!” he said, finger in the air, ready to make a point, “If Jesus and his message were so important, and God knew we’d invent video cameras eventually, why did God send him in a time period before technology could capture his life? Heck, not only did he never write anything himself, he probably couldn’t write. Isn’t that a strike against the whole thing?” he said, not wanting to offend him, but seriously wanting to discuss the issue. “I mean, all of this could be settled by a single video of him, right?”
“You know, I thought things like that for a long time myself. I would even go further than you just did and point out that precisely because there is no recording, the story’s fantastic nature was able to gain traction. I really wanted to believe that Jesus was followed by people and gained notoriety because the people of that time were ignorant and looking for answers etc., etc.,” the man replied. “But then a thought hit me–what if the timing of his life contained a truth in itself? What if God purposefully sent Jesus to reveal the gospel at a time before wide-spread literacy, much less technology?
“Starting there, I found something striking. If the general population Jesus lived among was illiterate and didn’t have TV, movies, or screens upon screens that prevented actual relationship from occurring, surely they had a more grounded existence. Whether they did or not, Jesus would have had to actually meet and greet people. Without sound amplification, his audiences would have been smaller. Without DVR, his speech would have had to be simple and clear. Without YouTube’s ‘I’ll record myself once and then put it out there for the world to see’, he would have been required to live with perfect integrity daily.
“For all technology’s benefit, we are clearly not reaching our potential as a group.
“Who would argue that talking on the phone is the same as in person? Who would rather skype than eat a meal together? And that isn’t even opening the door to the world of nothingness that is tweeting and texting.
“So, that’s what I tell myself to explain why God sent Jesus before things that would have helped ‘prove’ his divinity. Maybe a video would have helped with the miracles, but I think a lot of his message would have been lost in the process. As I understand this world and Jesus’ message to it, he was a man who wouldn’t want anything to come between him and us–including time and space.”
Review of Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis
The back cover C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity has the word “Religion” printed in the upper left corner. This should be the first clue as to who the publishers thought Lewis’ audience would be. Mere Christianity, which is mostly the printed version of several radio talks Lewis gave, does little more than preach to the choir. Granted, every writer or speaker must choose a target audience. And in this book, Lewis chooses Christians. Throughout the 192-page book, concepts familiar to Christians and lay-theologians abound. Lewis’ voice is clear and his intent, noble. When it comes to religion, though, results seem to be more important than intent, and here is where we begin to question Lewis’ work.
At every turn Lewis remarks, “If this is useful, use it. If not, skip it.” It’s all very heart-warming until we stop and consider the repercussions of failure. As a Christian, Lewis relentlessly forces the reader to acknowledge the unpleasant parts of Christianity, most notably–though he never addresses it outright–an afterlife in hell. We find it disconcerting that a book would be geared towards those who have already avoided this hell. We can’t but think of Sunday school stories of Jesus seeking out the sinners, not the saints. Instead of mirroring this trend, Mere Christianity decides to tackle such high-brow concepts as the nature of God, the Trinity, Jesus, predestination, usury and more. In fact, he offers commentary on such a breadth of topics that it would be impossible for him to come out squeaky clean. Take the following example. At one point Lewis tries his hand at explaining why Christianity hasn’t fared better throughout history, assuming it is true. He writes:
You will find this again and again about anything that is really Christian: everyone is attracted by bits of it and wants to pick out those bits and leave the rest. That is why we do not get much further: and that is why people who are fighting for quite opposite things can both say they are fighting for Christianity (81).
With this assessment Lewis opens the door to debating why Christianity hasn’t/doesn’t/isn’t (fill in the blank). Our own unending curiosity already led us to an answer that even Lewis can’t top. To be specific, in his own attempt at clarity Tolstoy infects his readers with idea that Christianity has continually missed the mark because, as a religion, it harmonizes that which was never intended to be harmonized.
And herein lies our most pointed criticism of Lewis’ “beloved” classic. Our problem with his enterprise comes after reading many of his eloquent metaphors which do kind of make sense. A man of his skill should have recognized his limitations. A man of his skill should have recognized the problem as it stood in front of him, and stands in front of us today.
C. S. Lewis can’t offer us salvation.
Christianity can’t offer us salvation.
There is only one man who can offer salvation–and his name is Jesus.
In the end, Mere Christianity is nothing more than another misguided, divisive attempt to unite a religion seemingly set on a path of unending fragmentation.
****
Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity: Comprising The Case for Christianity, Christian Behaviour, and Beyond Personality. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Print.
The Building Block
Greetings! How’s everyone doing this morning? It is great to see you today. Let me say that I know you’re taking a risk by attending the first-ever sermon of this church. Thank you. Before we get started, I want to take stock and simply remind you that I love you and I’m glad you decided to show up this morning. What’s that? Yes sir, even you.
I love you because you are.
Alright, I feel pretty good today. How’d you like the music? Pretty great, no? I love those songs we sang today. I love that we always sing four songs. Did you notice how the first three songs crescendo’d and then we ended on a slow one? Yep, that’s on purpose. The music director put a lot of effort coming up with that formula. Oh, I suppose that’s not entirely true. He’s just doing what he grew up doing. The point is, it works. Who isn’t in the mood for a message of hope?
Okay then. How much time do I have? By my guess you’re expecting about 30-minutes in your seats, you’ll be happy if I wrap-up in 20, and you’ll give me a 10-minute grace period if I’m on a roll. Sound about right? Okay, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get to it.
Jesus. The reason for the season as they say. History tells us he existed. At least as much as any person of history existed. The truth is, though, there’s not much support for his existence outside of the bible; John the Baptist actually receives more pointed attention. Oddly enough, this strengthens his message in a way. That’s the beauty of it.
Okay, before we can go anywhere, the inescapable question each of us must answer is this, “Can I trust another person?” Like all of you, I was born a trusting human. Then one day I was hurt. One day someone broke my trust. I don’t remember who did it or any specific moment that it happened, but I’d put money on it having been one of my parents. Or maybe both of them; it’s really just a numbers game. People hurt each other. The people we’re around most will likely be the people who hurt us the most. In either case, for many years afterwards, I unconsciously, then consciously, chose to not trust anyone else.
“Can I trust another person?” Like any great question, the best part about this question is that you are the only one who can answer it. No one can answer it for you.
So I’m going to continue talking for a bit up here, and I’m hoping you don’t think it is a waste of time. More than that, I’m hoping that you find that you’re glad you came. I say this to emphasize that in the end you determine you’re level of involvement. These are big questions; questions that are not to be taken lightly. You’re an adult. No one can make up your mind for you.
Do you know that I’m not even going to say anything new today? That’s right. There’s nothing new to say. You’ve heard the message many times before. I just happen to be part of a group of people who think it is worth repeating. And by your being here this morning, I take it you don’t mind hearing the good news again either.
So what do you think? Can you trust another person?
I’m going to take a risk and tell you that I believe that if we’re all human, if we’re all made of the same parts, then the way I feel must be similar to the way you feel. And if you’re like me, that means that you are silently screaming out in answer, “Yes! There’s nothing I want more than to be able to trust other people again!” That’s what goes through my head most of the time. The remaining time is spent longing to be able to trust myself again.
Today, to start this relationship off right I simply want to share with you that I believe there is hope for us. I believe there is hope for us, but like a fire, this hope needs fuel. This hope-fire won’t start unless each of us deliberately carry some wood to it. Any boy scout will tell you that a fire needs three things. Fuel, oxygen and spark. We need to bring the fuel. Now, nobody needs to do any heavy lifting; instead like any fire, this fire must begin with tinder. Tinder is the smallest of fuels: twigs, leaves, lint, paper, mostly twigs. And the metaphorical twig that you need to carry is making the decision to trust a certain someone.
I know. I know, I know, I know. Believe me I know. 2000 years is a lot of time. The people who have professed Jesus to be trustworthy have really mucked things up. I also know that today, there are still beliefs circulating in His name that strain an educated mind. That’s not what I’m talking about right now. Right now I’m talking about sifting through the entirety of history until only Jesus of Nazareth remains. What did he say? What did he teach?
He taught that people, each of us, make mistakes.
There are a whole lot of synonyms for “mistakes”, like “sin”, that carry a lot of baggage. Maybe in the end it will prove valuable to keep the word and the baggage. Today, I’m asking you to let go of the baggage.
We make mistakes. And we’re going to keep making mistakes. But Jesus taught that if we simply acknowledge our imperfect status, we will inherit what he called “the kingdom of heaven.” Stay with me for a minute. Remember, this is a man who really walked the earth. He lived in a context. The people he preached to understood what that phrase meant. Today, it is not so simple. Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Fun questions, but not appropriate to today. Today, I am concerned with another part of this “kingdom of heaven” that he talked about. He taught that it exists both in the future and right now. Right now, here in the present, the kingdom of heaven is attainable.
So what is the kingdom of heaven? I have no idea. I don’t. Jesus had a hard time defining it. He’d use parables. He’d use metaphors. Here’s my favorite. “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.” I love it because I can’t figure out why the man would hide the treasure after finding it. Every once in a while I get glimpses of why he would do that, but I’m sure that I would have just taken it and ran.
Speaking plainly, I think of achieving the kingdom of heaven as being able to transcend this life. Transcend meaning to go-beyond this life, to rise above the petty problems and realize the situation with a full awareness. But I don’t really know. All I can offer is that there is a certain peace that I have only ever felt when I trust that Jesus was right.
That’s it folks. That’s all for today. In a moment we’ll sing a couple more songs.
If there’s one thing I want to be clear about it is that this church is going to be based on action. We’re going to have these weekly services which will follow the format you’ve seen this morning: music, preaching, music. They’ll always be that format. Different perhaps than other churches is the fact that there will always be a meal afterwards. Jesus seemed to almost always be eating when he was teaching, so we’re going to mimic that. Also, to emphasize that while sharing the good news is our mission, almost equally important to me, because it appears to have been to Him, is fellowship–so I’m capping this particular church at 200 members. That’s plenty of people to fellowship with. If we get bigger than that, the way we’ll know it’s for the right reasons is because one of us else will step up to lead another version/branch. Jesus told his followers to share the message, but if people reject it, move on. If we never have more than the 30 of us here this morning, that’s fine with me and I’m not going to fret about it. This isn’t about numbers, it isn’t about buildings. It is about people.
Lastly, it won’t always be me up here. Anytime you want to share, just let me know and we’ll get you on the calendar.
This is real life folks. The only one we get. I think it’ll be more fulfilling to live it with each other. If you agree, stick around for the meal and maybe come back next week.
Music Director – lead us in something that’ll immerse us in an introspective mood.
Tomorrow’s Post
I’ve seen this technique used by other bloggers. Writing in italics let’s you know that it’s me speaking and not…me. Either way, I like it. It’s just a short post today, as I want to get to work on tomorrow’s post now. Tomorrow is for me. If I succeed, it may be for you too. I’m going to challenge myself to be vulnerable in a way that I have never been. It is my version of ‘be the solution, not the problem.’
As some of you can tell, recently I have been attending church. It’s the first time in nearly a decade. I never stopped reading and thinking about the whole concept while I was away, and now that I’m back, I’ve discovered that there are some tenets that are difficult to accept. In voicing my criticisms, I feel like a whiner, a critic. That’s got to stop. Tomorrow’s post then, will be my ideal sermon. The trouble is that it isn’t coming as easy as I’d like it to. I have realized this is a very, very personal business. How does one reveal to others one’s most intimate beliefs? I don’t know but it sounds like fun, so I’m going to try. Hope you enjoy.
(Normal posts (ha) will resume Thursday if this isn’t your thing).
Did Jesus of Nazareth Pass Notes?
“If you open your bulletin, you’ll find a communication card. If you’re new to the church or have questions or would like to sign up for a class, just fill out the card and drop it in the offering plate when it’s passed around later in the service.”
He cringed. He wanted to get more involved, he really did. He wanted to be a part of the group. He would love to spread the message that he knew to be valuable, yet he couldn’t complete this simple step. He had been burned so many times in in his life. He wondered, “Does the preacher actually think there is anyone in the congregation who hasn’t been bombarded-to-death with contact after they signaled interest to Gold’s Gym, or Subway, or a Time-share, or a Credit Card?” The list goes on and on. Yet, here he was in a place that offered…well, it offered hope; and he was being asked to formally display interest yet again. How could he not feel once bitten, twice shy? He knew he couldn’t be that different than others.
The contents of the offering plate seemed to prove he wasn’t.
The challenge then: Jesus of Nazareth was different. He was surely recruiting, but he was not starting a business. And he was surely not starting an organization. The picture painted by historical critical scholarship is that the man was intimate. He didn’t pull punches. He didn’t waste time.
“Being the more difficult course of action,” he thought, “this intimacy requirement only adds to the strength of his, Jesus’, argument.”
Standing in front of a crowd and asking them to perform the same ritual they’re asked to perform countless times throughout each day should be shameful. He wondered, “Would Jesus of Nazareth have ever passed notes?”
I Confess! I Want To Reset Christianity
Now that I actually see those words, I don’t feel so bad. What do you think?
I want, not just a revival, but a full-on reset. Well, almost. We’d need to keep the most essential element in order to press forward.
That we are no longer “WOWed!” by the amount of data at our fingertips informs us that the information age is almost over. Its effects have been far reaching. Concepts like evolution, doctrine, hidden gospels, church abuses, and many questionable traditions have been thrust into the spotlight. Everyone interested can learn all about these things. From a near-outsider perspective, the result seems to be a palpable lack of focus. Should the Church cater to the people? Should the Church cling to tradition? Should the Church do this? Should the Church do that?
Last Sunday I heard a sermon that covered a verse from the Bible that mentioned the words “predestine” and “foreknow”. The preacher preambled much longer than normal before beginning to teach what these words mean. Why did he need to preamble? Because nearly 2000 years have muddied the waters. Within the Church, “predestine” and “foreknow” are now hot button issues. That means that some of you may already be put-off that I included them here.
To me, they are nothing more than stumbling blocks.
Here’s the question that can’t be avoided: How far would Jesus go to save a person? Remember, we’re talking about reality. Life, death, heaven, hell, love, separation, light, darkness–the real. The simple fact is that we know more about the Bible and it’s authors today, than many believers did for the last 2000 years. Some of the new information is difficult to reconcile. Most of the new information is difficult to ignore. Would Jesus ask us to reconcile it? Would He ask us to ignore it? Would He sweepingly reject it as clearly the work of the devil?
What’s the first step to this reset? Forget everything you know about Christianity except Jesus. Study him. If other books of the Bible need to be referenced to figure out Him out, reference them. Reference them insofar as they help us understand Him, but no farther. For example, take again the words “predestine” and “foreknow.” Did He reference those ideas? If not, ignore them. I want to ignore what we know about the formation of the church, the early church leaders, the saints, church history, everything (even Paul). Whether definitely confusing or likely helpful, I want to ignore it. For now. A deliberate act. A purposeful act. An act with the end in mind.
I believe I know what grace feels like. I also believe that despite my sincerest efforts I have contributed to others not knowing what grace feels like. I’m okay with that. But I won’t do it anymore. One option staring me in the face is resetting Christianity and beginning anew. I can’t picture the result of a unified focus on Jesus without having delusions of grandeur. It probably won’t happen. I’d sure like to try. How about you?
Are You Singing?
How can He hear us, if I can’t?
You should understand that I believe that in this world that God created, everything that happens is part of God’s plan. Everything. The good, the bad — everything. How could it not be? The catch is we, the humans, are always able to change what is happening, to improve it or maybe to take a step back and say, “Hmm, maybe this was a mistake.” It is an enormous amount of responsibility.
Anyone who knows me knows I love Metallica. Their music demands to be performed on electric guitars and amplified drums. I think most would agree that all heavy metal should be amplified. It’s kind of the nature of the beast.
Anyone who knows me knows I also love classical music. Classical music (classical meaning ‘the best’) is written for acoustic instruments, and rightly so. Something magical happens when music is acoustic. Something so magical, that over the years many have remarked that classical music is surely the voice of God. I have always liked this metaphor if only because it highlights that music is a universal language.
I’d like to take the metaphor a bit further. If mankind was created in God’s own image, and music can have the effect of sounding like the voice of God, what about when we sing? Wouldn’t our “made in God’s image” voices actually sound closer to how God’s voice sounds? (Assuming of course, that He has a voice.)
I point this out because, again, in my recent visits to a church, I have been perplexed by the changes. There is an amplified band singing, words are displayed on the screen, no written music is anywhere to be found, and I can hardly hear anyone over the band, save the person standing next to me. (Great voice, btw.) It most certainly is not music to my ears.
Worship via music is one of the main reasons I see for going to church. I have always liked singing in a large group. I liked it as a kid at church, I liked it in the Air Force on those special occasions, and I like the idea of it now. I think singing, especially large groups of men singing, is just great. Doesn’t everyone?
I think I know what is going on. I bet that over the years, like in all other areas of life, people’s enthusiasm has been waning. Who wants other people to hear that they can’t sing a note? It does take some energy to sing, too, and we’re inherently lazy. So at first the music leader’s volume gets turned up, the thinking being that it might encourage more people to sing if they aren’t afraid of being heard. Then a band is introduced instead of a piano or organ. Now we can all pretend that we’re singing, and no one will ever know the difference. At least that’s how I see it.
As for me, I want people to sing out loud. I want to sing out loud. I want to feel the power in the music. I want to hear the voice of God. I want guests to visit and feel the inescapable love that is expressed when a group of like-minded people worship with music.
The easy answer is to find another church. Should this be about easy though? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
If I was a pastor, I’d want to hear the congregation sing. I’d use it like a thermometer. I think even the most accurate digital thermometer would tell a pastor of churches like I described above, “Meh. Lukewarm.”
But that’s just me. What do you think?
Captain’s Log 