Another time he guided me as I build too houses for our cats to live in outside. He helped me draw my diagram and then helped me purchase the wood, hardware, and paint. He gave me guidance as I built the things, and I was successful.

Grandpa was a brilliant man who could have been an astrophysicist. He used to sit around with my brother and I discussing philosophy and physics. Grandpa was a good man who took care of his family and friends. His death certainly hurt, but through it God has been alive. For God does not ordain death and suffering, but he enters it to redeem it.

The following is a poem I wrote over the course of the month after he died. It took me a while to resolve it, but I finally did. I forgot about this poem until today when I was flipping through my journal from the last year. Anyhow, here you go:

Today Death reigns
   in our hearts
   in our souls
   in our bodies
         killing all
           hope
           joy
       stealing all
           love
           mercy

Today we long for the Dawn
   a dawn not seen
   a dawn not known
         to dispel night
       and force on us light
   as if longing will bring it
   as if believing will enact it

Today we impose meaning on hurt
   on suffering
   on pain
       God will redeem
       God will make new
   as if our imposition made it true

     * * *

Life begins outside of us
   from the trees
       dancing leaves
       floating in the wind
           lifting the breath of our voices
           billowing our hair behind us
   sung from our lips
       stories
           in our minds
           and upon our hearts
   hands grab each other
   and together we walk

Yet he doesn’t bark at the wind caressing his back or at the bird flying against the firmament, nor even the sun staring intently at his domain, which ignores the dog as a trifle.

He shouts at me. Perceiving me as a threat. And he’s right, you know. Unlike the sun, the wind, or the bird, I have the power to kill him if I choose, and he knows it. The shout is a shout of fear, and the growl is defensive. He is scared witless of me, and he should be.

I am a human being. My power, my might, is unparalleled in the history of the world. No natural phenomenon can seriously challenge my intellect. Mountains, impassable, are blown through with dynamite. Oceans, unswimmable, are traversed by great ships of steel. The moon, distant, a goddess to my ancestors, has the flag of my country embedded in its soil.

I am mighty, and the dog knows it. He does right to fear me. For what can I not do? What place can I not go? What creature can I not kill?

And then I remember: “Let us make man in our own image.” There is another. One who made me. My memory returns, haltingly. Long ago I challenged his power. He was weak. So weak. He said I would die, but I didn’t. He may have made me, but he underestimated my potential. You see, I killed him. I watched him die. He died. Weep ye all with me, for by my power even the gods are cast down!

But he rose, too. He didn’t stay dead, and that is a curious fact. Perhaps I underestimated him. I pay it no mind. The force of my will is stronger than ever.

As I build. As I destroy. As I exercise my power and my dominion a growing doubt grabs my attention. It is whispered in my ear, “where were you when I formed the stars from nothing? Where were you when I took the world, white-hot from the forge, and shaped it as a suitable habitation? Where were you, o man, when another like you in intent, but much greater in power, ascended my throne and I cast him from Heaven?”

As I begin to waver feeling fear for the first time, he whispers, “you were in my arms as I shaped you” a catch in his voice “and gave you breath and thought. Return to me, my child, return to me. Walk with me through death into life. The power game you play can only end in your defeat. Come to me.” As I prepare myself to bark in fear, to back myself into a corner, to fight to the death, strong arms grab me, large calloused hands begin to stroke my head, a deep murmuring litany is recited over me. The only words that I can pick out are, “Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you.” Repeated over and over again. I collapse, surrender my struggle, and fall asleep.

This feeling of emptiness combined with the advent of the New Year produces a flurry of activity: New Year’s resolutions. We resolve to do a number of things in the coming year that will increase our quality of life so that, perhaps, our lives won’t feel as empty. So, we’ll promise to eat less, to exercise more, to lose weight, to spend more time with our kids, to spend less money, to save more, or to do more of that hobby we really like. Perhaps, even, we’ll promise to go to church more often, because that’s where God is.

Of course, this way of doing things can actually be helpful for personal reflection. I just wish that, instead of resolving to do the things that we think will give us more personal happiness, we would resolve to follow Christ more than we did the year before—that we would resolve to bear our crosses with greater and greater joy. Pete Enns who blogs here shared this letter to self the other day:

Dear Self,

Here are things you can’t control:

• God
• other people

Here is something you can control:

• yourself

There’s more, but this should be enough to keep you occupied in 2012.

Sincerely,

Self

I’m with Dr. Enns. To that end, I have made some changes starting two days ago for the new year.

First, I am deleting my Twitter account. I have occasionally blogged about how I spend too much time engaged to social media and, even when—time wise—I am using it responsibly, I still get caught up in image perception. I care way too much about the way people perceive me. Additionally, social media allows me to zero in on specific issues that do not affect me, the people around me, or anyone I know. While knowledge of what is going on the world is important, it is also vital that I do not inundate myself with information that will draw from me emotion and time that I can ill afford. It is a curse of our digital age that I can customize my news. It’s possible to read only that which I care about and is written from a perspective that I share. Twitter was particularly bad about that, though Facebook also had its issues.

Second, I am modifying the way that I use Facebook. Facebook should be about staying connected with friends and family. Since that is what I want it to be, I will no longer inundate people’s news feeds with every article I read. I will post things on Facebook that aid in sharing my life with my friends and family, rather than as an internet rag onto which to scrawl every belief and opinion which I hold. For instance, I’m interested in treating Facebook the way I did over Christmas—very consciously updating it with pictures about how Christmas was progressing with my family. In so doing, I want to deepen existing relationships.

In any case, I want 2012 to be more about the people around me, not the people thousands of miles away also on the internet. I want 2012 to be more about hearing God and doing what he says. I think I’m starting to internalize that this whole Jesus thing demands my entire life—it demands all that I am.

Happy New Year! Be safe tonight.

While on Mount Bonnell and afterwards during dinner, Amanda and I had an amazing conversation about a great many things. Being an external processor, I realized a few things about myself. I suppose I have known these things about myself for awhile, but this is the first time I have put them in sequence. I don’t think what follows has always been true of me, but only more recently as the Holy Spirit has continued to sanctify me.

* * *

A fundamentalist—whatever she believes—holds her beliefs tightly. All the things she believes, or at least a lot of them, are given the same privileged status and are held with a tight fist.

Let us take, for example, this statement: “The Bible says it, I believe it, and that settles it.” Anyone heard that? I have. A lot. And it drives me up a wall.

Guess what? The Bible says a lot of things, and we don’t privilege all of them equally. The Bible says that women should cover their heads in worship. It also says that men should raise their hands when they pray. Neither of those rules are strictly enforced. We privilege some commands over others. We say that some things are more important than others. We have even developed a rather sophisticated hermeneutical grid for dealing with the Old Testament as valuable for history and for ethics but invaluable for day to day practice.

But, you know what, a fundamentalist doesn’t limit herself to the Bible and, in fact, tends to hold tightly to a number of extra-biblical or unbiblical notions which, to complete the picture, tend to be apparently supported by the Bible. Examples abound, the best of which come from my own tradition in the Churches of Christ. Kitchens/fellowship halls are not mentioned in the New Testament. Therefore, if you must have one, it has to be in a building “separate and apart” from the sanctuary. Of course, church buildings are not mentioned in the New Testament, but I won’t quibble. Another example, and the most common, is that the New Testament only authorizes acappella worship, and that the use of instruments is out.

Hear me. The problem is not that these beliefs are held. I honestly don’t care what you believe about instruments or kitchens. The problem is that these beliefs are privileged right next to doctrines like the bodily resurrection. The argument being, of course, that if you give an inch, then they’ll take a mile. What I propose, and what many people have proposed before me, is having some sort of hierarchy of belief. My specific model is having concentric circles. The farther from the center, the less the belief ultimately matters. I do have a difference, however. In the past, this has tended to look like Christians trying to figure out what the lowest common denominator of shared belief is and, and that point, setting down the fences of “orthodoxy.” I, to my shame, have even participated in this “setting the borders thing” with a previous blog post long since deleted. My point, then, is that I don’t think what you believe is half as important as what you do. And what you do isn’t half as important as why you do it. And the why is because the Spirit is controlling your life.

* * *

I hold tight and fast to the following three statements:

1. God is love and God is not in a box.

2. Jesus incarnated that love and made it effective through death on a cross and bodily resurrection.

3. I am a child of God—part of his family—and am called to live the way of the cross in this world.

Everything I think, do, and say I try to work outward from those three statements. Of course I hold beliefs on a wide range of issues, but I could be wrong about any of them, and I am, to varying degrees (depending on how close they are to my central beliefs) willing to concede or modify all of them, if I am given good reason to do so. At the end of the day though, when I put my head to pillow, I must confess that I could have been wrong about everything I did and said during the day. I must, daily, throw myself on grace and trust God to cover me. I believe I am indwelt by the Holy Spirit and that he guides my actions and thoughts and helps me conform to the cruciform life, but I concede that I make mistakes in what I believe, what I say, and, especially, what I do.

Jesus says after the sermon on the mount when he tells the parable of the wise and foolish builders that the wise man is he who “hears the commands of my father and puts them into practice.” Love covers a multitude of sins (and heresy). Paul says it is more important to love than to know everything, which I have blogged about here.

Of course, God isn’t standing there with a ruler measuring you on the “love ‘o meter.” He wants hearts. What you believe matters only insofar as it colors your actions. Your actions matter only insofar as they reflect the nature of your heart. The prophets are clear that God prefers mercy to sacrifice. He prefers love of the poor to praise songs in the temple. But Psalm 50 indicates that God wants your heart. He does not say “Repleace your ritualized temple actions with your do-gooder actions towards the poor” even though he prefers the latter to the former. He says “Do your actions in the temple and your actions towards the poor from a heart of perfect contrition and gratitude toward God.” God isn’t interested so much in the result—though it will follow. He is interested in renewed spirits and minds which will, by nature, manifest themselves in right action. You see, he’s on about making us new creations. New creations which, I suspect, care far more about loving God and loving neighbor than about being right.

That’s a really hard concept for me to understand, but it is true.

Love matters more than proper theology. It matters even more than a proper theology of love. Paul said in First Corinthians 13 that love matters more than speaking in tongues, more than knowing EVERYTHING, and more than suffering for the Gospel. In fact, those things are worthless without love.

* * *

I wrote this poem the other day:

My heart pulsates, alight in the wind,

beats in my chest, pumping life to limb,

floating on tendrils of air, it skims

the surface of waters, ancient and dim.

Grasping at truths, forever contained

in boxes forgotten, in pictures framed,

seeking out passions forever chained

to a life of good works; empty, drained.

Grabbing my heart from dank musty air—

the tendrils were lies, the waters despair—

you unboxed Truth, the passions repaired;

rekindled love, breathed in me care

for neighbors ’round me—all people to love

for family near me—lives from above

for foes against me—the cross is enough

May I be chained to the cross and filled with the Spirit.

It is not I who live but Christ who lives in me.

* * *

Love isn’t some silly emotion. It isn’t some sentimental feeling of goodwill. Love is rigorous and demanding.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” -Paul

You see, our model for love isn’t. . .

. . .the love of a boyfriend for his girlfriend

. . .or the love of a fat American for hot dogs

. . .or the way I love Lord of the Rings

. . .or even the way that I love Shiner Black Lager

Our model for love is. . .

. . .Jesus Christ, on the cross, absorbing the pain and suffering dished out to him by the rulers, powers, and principalities of this world.

. . .Jesus Christ, nails in his hands and feet and a crown of thorns on his head, offering forgiveness to those who were killing him, spitting on him, and urinating on him.

. . .Jesus Christ, healing those who arrested him, washing Judas’ feet knowing that Judas would betray him, and dying so that he could be reconciled to those who were killing him.

This way of life has been called the cruciform life. Bonhoeffer said it best, “When Christ calla a man, he bids him come and die.”

The cross reaches in both vertical directions forever, thereby uniting Heaven with earth. The cross also stretches forever in both horizontal directions, thereby uniting “In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth” with “Behold, I am making all things new”. As Matt Chandler has said, “From the moment the godhead said ‘let us make man in our own image’ the shadow of the cross has stretched across eternity.” The cross takes all of our sins, both personal sins like lust or greed and corporate sins like racism and sexism, and kills them. We are personally reconciled to God and reconciled to each other. The breaking of Shalom that occurred in the Fall is reversed in Christ.

The cross does not offer a behavior modification plan, a system of belief, a program, an event, or a mission statement. The cross offers a way of life, and that way of life is lived out through real gritty relationships with other people.

* * *

I’ve been thinking about my life lately. I’ve been thinking about places in my life where the cross needs to have a bigger say—where I can die to myself in real and tangible ways.

I’ve come up with two places, though there are probably thousands more.

First, since I spend so much of my time interacting with thinkers—writers, philosophers, and scholars—and because I will spend the rest of my life in Academia—reading, writing, and researching—it seems that now, in this moment, I should begin imposing a loving way of reading on my studies. Here is what I mean. I tend to interact with the stuff I read with preconceived notions. I evaluate the merits of what I read based on my previously arrived at conclusions. To a certain extent, we all do this, and that is necessary. However, I am not letting the texts speak for themselves. I am not letting them approach me on their terms. I am not allowing myself to be shaped and changed by them and am, instead, imposing myself on them. I should have a hermeneutic of love rather than a hermeneutic of suspicion. It is true enough that this is how we should interact with people. This, too, is how I should interact with the products of people’s minds.

Second, and more importantly, I should grant the same surrender—the same vulnerability—that I grant to friends and texts, as mentioned above, to a wider church body, including the leadership. Paul urges people to obey their leaders. So does the writer of Hebrews. It is high time that I recognize that the buck should not stop with me, that I am not my own best counselor. A community of faith and true relationships matter more than theology. So long as the cross is taught and love is practiced, who am I to impose my way of thinking, my understandings, on people? I am to come to this community open and willing to learn, because that is the way of love. It is the way of the cross. It lacks the pride that asserts itself and claims to be better than others. It assumes the confidence that comes with the gift of God’s Spirit—that God is in control and that love will win.

I hear His voice strongly now:

“Turn aside from your critical spirit and worship with my people.

No one is asking you to adopt everything taught and done for yourself, but you must live at peace with your brothers and sisters and live confident in me.

Trust me as you once did. I guide my Church.

Worship with my people. Sing salvation songs.”

* * *

Amen.

It is usually something like, “I haven’t written in a while” or “I’ve been very busy lately” or “I’m sorry, but this post is going to be more complicated/longer than you probably want it to be.”

So, this time, you aren’t going to get that. Instead, oh reader, you will get an assertion of rightness.

I have been keeping up with my blog amazingly well given the busy-ness of my life. That work?

Anyhow, this post is going to take on a different flavor from most of my blog posts. Most of the time I muse about my community, the nature of the Gospel, or something theological. This time, though, I am going to be relatively personal.

You see, this post is about me and a woman named Amanda Pavlik, a woman whom I have come to care deeply about.

* * *

Amanda and I started dating about three weeks ago. Well, we were sort of dating for a couple of weeks before that. Well, actually, about five weeks ago we recognized that we had a fairly special relationship. But, as with most good stories, this story begins in the mists of the distant past. Or not so distant past, but certainly in the past.

This story began on October 9th 2010. (I suppose it technically begins at my birth, but that would be a very long story indeed. For our purposes, then, the story began October 9th 2010). October 9th 2010 was the date of last year’s Fall Party. The party consisted of a group of friends getting together, eating Fall food, carving pumpkins, making music, and hanging out.

That’s where I met Amanda. I first discovered Amanda outside in the front yard. I had actually arrived slightly late to the Fall Party because I had prepared my contribution to the Fall food: pineapple casserole (known by my family as scalloped pineapple, which sounds fancier). I walked into the Man Castle bearing my gift and noticed, as I entered, a group of people in the front yard making music and singing. They were, in fact, singing Shane and Shane songs. One of these people was Eric and one was, I came to discover, Amanda.

Amanda came to Fall Party because Morgan invited her. Fall Party mostly consisted of my Jesus community and some hanger-ons, and so Morgan was, herself, relatively new to this group of people.

In any case, I sat down with the music makers. Soon, though, we ate food. After eating food we carved pumpkins. After carving pumpkins, people began to go home. However, I heard piano music coming from Drew’s room, and Drew wasn’t in there. Curious, and delighted by the music, I made my way to his room. Upon entering, I discovered Amanda sitting at Drew’s keyboard. I also discovered Morgan sitting in the room singing. They played and sang many ditties. I sat down and wrote this poem. Asked what I was doing, I announced to the music-makers (I think Drew was present by now) that I had written a poem, inspired by their marvelous music. We ended up staying late, hanging out, and clearly determining to become best friends.

Drew and I had, actually, been praying for girls. Not girlfriends, but girl friends. The Lord provided with Morgan and Amanda, and the middle of last Fall became the start of one of my favorite periods of life.

* * *

Friendship developed in organic ways which I will not begin to try to explain, but I will say that the four of us began to hang out a lot.

In December, Drew and Morgan began dating. Basically everyone and their mom saw this coming, and all were delighted. Christmas break began and I spent the five weeks of it in Sugar Land. Something I discovered while in Sugar Land, though, was that I was both talking about and texting Amanda a lot. In fact, my sister asked me once, “Who is this Amanda girl anyway?”

That is when the thought first crossed my mind: “umph. I think I like this girl.”

Sometime in early January before the Spring semester started I confessed to Eric that I thought I liked Amanda. He said, “Well, duh”, as if it was obvious. The thing to do, of course, was to brave fear, muster courage, and tell Amanda that I liked her. Since she provided a timeline in her blog post from her perspective, I figured I could provide one as well. Now, the following is a record of my inner thoughts. In this I’m being fairly vulnerable with whoever reads this post. I hope it proves edifying.

* * *

February: I like you, but I doubt you like me. No one really ever has. I want you to know about my feelings, though, so when you inevitably find out about them you don’t think I was manipulating you. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.

March: Now I really like you. A lot. We can’t keep spending all this time together; it’s not good for my heart.

May: I still really like you, but I’m sorry that it makes you feel awkward. There is nothing I can do about that. I have come to peace with the fact that we will never happen. My satisfaction is in God.

June: I’m 400 miles away from everyone, including you. This suits me fine. I can focus on myself and God, but I’m coming back in the Fall. I hope you will have sorted yourself out by then.

July: That was fun. See? See how well we interact? Oh well, this was clearly never meant to be.

August: WHAT? What do you mean “I can’t tell you ‘yes’ and I can’t tell you ‘no’?” You have seriously screwed up my equilibrium. I was freaking okay with us never happening. I need you to give me an answer soon. Until you do, I am going to be in turmoil.

Sept 2: Look, you’re just holding out because you’re afraid. That is NOT a good reason.

Sept 3: Yes!

Sept 6: What on earth does it mean to ‘pursue’ someone? Is that sort of like hunting. . . ?

 Sept 8: What an excellent date! This is surreal. Who would have imagined, six months ago, that I would be out here with you by the lake watching the stars?

Sept 14: So you finally admit it, huh? You. Like. Me. God is so kind. So so kind.

Sept 17: Arm around you. On the Ferris Wheel. So cliché. So good.

Sept 24: Today was a really good day. I sat outside and read all day, but you weren’t here. And I missed you. I wasn’t expecting that, for some reason.

Sept 25: I want to hold your hand, but I’m going to wait for you. I want share experiences with you. I want to talk to you about you. I want to share life with you.

Sept 30: Date tonight was even better. Dinner together. More stars. A different lake. Holding your hand. I know you’re here. I know. So am I.

* * *

I stop there because that’s where Amanda stopped in her timeline. And, really, what’s the point of continuing it? I certainly haven’t been able to adequately express in those short, generalizing statements what has actually gone on. I think I would do worse if I were to continue.

In any case, this relationship has taught me a few things. It has taught me. . .

. . .that what Luther said was true. The life of the Christian is one of repentance. Saying “I’m sorry. Please forgive me” has been one of the refrain’s of this relationship. I’m beginning to suspect that it should be the refrain of every relationship of any kind.

. . .that I am broken and full of pride. I’m having to learn to think outside of me. I’m not used to that. I’m used to doing/saying/getting what I want when I want. Dating Amanda is making that pretty difficult. I suspect that this only gets more pronounced. In this way, this relationship is a means by which the Holy Spirit is sanctifying me.

. . .that life done in the context of a community of people who love Jesus might be the most important aspect of the Christian life outside of knowing one’s identity in God. Our relationship isn’t a secret, it’s not done in secret, and it is open to the immediate scrutiny of a dozen or more of our closest friends. In this way, they help bear our burdens. Our brothers and sisters rebuke or encourage us as the situation requires. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

. . .and, finally, that there is tremendous joy to be had in a relationship with a woman. Amanda encourages me, lends me her strength, and lends me her ear. She does goofy things with me. She has serious and deep conversations with me. She shares her nerdy-ness with me, and allows me the same freedom. But, best of all, she prays and worships with me. Coming before God as team mates and Jesus as team captain—worshipping and praying together—dangerously brings the Kingdom to bear on our relationship and on the people immediately around us. By praying and worshipping I mean far more than singing songs and talking to God. I mean that we are committed to prayer: the entirety of our lives is submitted to God’s control. I mean, also, that we are committed to worship: the entirety of our lives is about extolling God’s glory.

* * *

And, so, today is the anniversary of the day we met. Yesterday we celebrated the second annual Fall party. Amanda still makes beautiful music. I still write poetry. And we still love Jesus. But, as Amanda tweeted earlier today, “A lot can happen in a year.”

May God continue to use us as a conduit of grace and an instrument of his Kingdom.

First, I want to apologize to anyone who has been hurt or confused or upset by something I have said on Twitter or posted on Facebook. It has never been my intent to tear down people, to impede the creative process, or to shout loudly from my own soapbox. Speaking poetically doesn’t just apply to face to face interaction, it also applies to anything I text, tweet, or facebook. It doesn’t merely apply to content, but also to the ways that content is disseminated. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to post out-of-context and derogatory remarks about people, places, or things. Paul tells us to be at peace with everyone. I am to go out of my way to avoid conflict. I am certainly not supposed to go looking for an argument. It turns out, you see, that I am my sister’s keeper.1 Her wellbeing IS my responsibility.

Second, I am no less opinionated than I was this morning when I woke up, but I want to try channeling that energy in the direction of creation rather than destruction. There is a way of building that involves a wrecking ball in order to clear the way for something else and there is a way of building which seeks to improve, maybe even significantly, something already in existence. I think both kinds are necessary, but that I have become too content with using the wrecking ball method. I have not been very good about being committed to making something that actually exists better. I want to be committed to Beltway Park Baptist Church and to the College ministry associated therewith—committed in encouraging, helpful, and edifying ways. I want to be committed to a group of people with no conditions regarding what they think or what they do. This doesn’t mean that my questions go away. By no means! But it does mean that the location of those questions is in life-building relationships with others rather than in impersonal social media or in complaints to others with whom I instinctively agree.

Third, I want to spend less of my time far away in the virtual world reading blogs, obsessing over Twitter, and getting into arguments with people I’ve never met, and I want to spend more of my time with the people immediately in my life. I want to take the emotional energy directed far away and direct it, instead, at the people in front of me. When I am in class, I want to be in class, not on Facebook. When I am with people, I want my phone to be in my pocket and not in my hand. When I am with God I want my computer to be shut and my knees on the ground. I’m not saying I will be any less informed about what goes on in the world, though I might be, but I am saying that I will not be controlled by the “out there” when there is so much life “right here.”

May God conform me to the image of his son.

In Christ.

———————————–

1“Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” -Ephesians 4:1-6

If you are sick of hearing about it, then there is something wrong with your heart. I know there is something wrong with mine. Somehow I have contracted “justice fatigue.” I’m tired of hearing about injustice.

Nevertheless, it is imperative that we continue to fight for justice. Injustice will not disappear if we ignore it.

* * *

Troy Davis was legally murdered last night by orders of the government of the State of Georgia. He was slotted to be executed as recompense for a murder he was convicted of committing. Since his conviction and sentencing, the majority of the witnesses have come forward and recanted their testimony. There is serious doubt about his guilt. More than a reasonable doubt which is the standard, supposedly, that the American justice system is held to.

His murder sparked an international media firestorm. Americans generally, and Georgians specifically, have been the target of attack by groups all over the world decrying this barbaric behavior. They say, you see, that it is unconscionable for a civilized nation to kill anyone, least of all an innocent man. I think it just proves that there are no civilized nations.

You see, injustice reigns on the earth.

Abortion.

Poverty.

Lack of health care.

Rape.

Child abuse.

Sex slavery.

Wars.

Conscripted military service.

American economic and military imperialism around the world.

Laws that aid the rich and harm the poor.

Unsustainable farming practices.

Environmentally unsustainable business practices.

* * *

This morning, like every morning, my Jesus community gathered at six to pray. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I ended up leading prayer this morning even though I usually lead on Sundays.

After last night. After going to bed more furious than I have felt in a long long time. After writing off America as an empire and her way as a sword. After all that, I awoke.

I awoke to God’s love. His furious burning love.

I awoke to God’s holiness. His consuming holiness.

I awoke to God’s justice. His enraged justice.

I began to pray. I began to pray like I have not prayed in a long time.

I demanded justice.

I demanded that he return and FIX THIS.

I demanded that Heaven crash into earth.

I demanded that all things be made new.

I cried. I wept.

and I was stilled.

You see, injustice starts in my heart. We will never successfully fight injustice in this world if the blood of Christ does not cover us. If we are not reconciled in our hearts to God, then we cannot do Kingdom work effectively.

* * *

I then began to plan how I would lead us in prayer this morning. We ended up doing three movements.

The first movement focused on the cries of the prophets to destroy evil. We read the following passages of scripture:

Amos 5:7-25

Micah 3

Micah 6:1-8

Isaiah 66:1-6

We then prayed that God would destroy the systems of oppression in the world. We prayed that he would move in the hearts of those in power to give justice to the afflicted. We prayed that the Georgia pardon board would be made a mockery and that the Georgia State Attorney General would feel the wrath of God burning against him. We prayed the same for countries which make sex trafficking easy as well as for those in power who pass laws which harm the poor.

* * *

The second movement focused on the Gospel—God’s answer to our cries for justice. We read the following scriptures:

Isaiah 61

Luke 4:14-30

Of course, Jesus is quoting Isaiah 61 here. We prayed that we would be empowered by the Gospel to live justly. We prayed that the Spirit of the Lord would be upon us to proclaim the good news to the poor, the oppressed, the captive, and to declare the year of the Lord’s favor. We want to be agents of redemption. We also prayed that the Church would unite around proclaiming a full Gospel—not the truncated one of fire insurance after death—but a Gospel of life abundant in Christ. We prayed that the Church would use all the resources at her disposal to fight injustice.

* * *

The third movement was a prayer of hope for Christ’s return and a declaration of what the fully arrived Kingdom of God looks like. We read the following scriptures:

Micah 4

Isaiah 35

Revelation 21

Our hope is that one day Jesus will return to make all things new. We can’t fix all of the world’s problems by ourselves. While we strive for mercy, peace, and justice while here on this earth, we know that it will always be inadequate until Christ returns. This gives us hope because we know it is Christ who actually shoulders the world’s burdens, and not us. We prayed fervently: Marantha! Come, Lord Jesus!

* * *

Name injustice; resist injustice; pray against injustice.

]]> http://gcjeffers.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/539/feed/ 0 gcjeffers http://gcjeffers.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/right-belief-matters/ http://gcjeffers.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/right-belief-matters/#comments Fri, 16 Sep 2011 18:27:32 +0000 Greg Jeffers http://gcjeffers.wordpress.com/?p=532 ]]> The following is an excerpt from a paper I wrote for my  Story of Christian Spirituality class. I figured I would share this portion because it informs the way I engage my Faith:

Raised in the churches of Christ, I definitely participated in LTC and Bible Bowl. That taught me to value proof-texting and taking things out of context. I believed, basically, that the churches of Christ had sprouted up out of the Bible with little or no history behind it. People one day just started reading their Bibles and, POOF, orthodoxy AND orthopraxy just sort of fell into place. We needed to make sure we got doctrine right (not theology—theology wasn’t a Biblical word—we needed doctrine). Particular beliefs included the five steps to salvation, baptismal regeneration (though regeneration isn’t actually a Biblical word, nor did they actually use the term), and Biblical innerancy (also not Biblical). We also needed to make sure we got practice right which, honestly, was probably even more important than doctrine. In particular, there were no instruments in worship, communion every Sunday, a small group of men as elders, autonomy of the local congregation, and others.

Actually, though, the church I grew up in didn’t seem to hold too tightly to any of those distinctives (as evidenced by the fact that they now use instruments and have women on staff), but the culture of getting things right certainly pervaded my growing up. At some point toward the end of high school I decided that I was a Calvinist. This was mostly because a group of vocal Reformed pastors (Mark Driscoll, Matt Chandler, and John Piper in particular) were the only people I heard taking the Faith seriously. I discovered toward the end of high school that most Christians I knew really didn’t want to live lives of radical surrender to Christ, and so when I first heard a Chandler sermon, I was instantly refreshed. Calvinism has the advantage of answering just about every question, and if Calvin himself didn’t get around to answering the question, then both Piper and Driscoll are more than willing to take a shot at it with their respective Q and A video sessions. This time period in my life had the advantage of curing me from thinking that I had a monopoly on Orthopraxy because, as Driscoll describes, we need a living orthodoxy that is, we need to hold fast to doctrine but we can change method according to culture and context. I stopped being a Calvinist after taking a few Bible classes at ACU.

As I transitioned away from knowing all of the contents of Orthodoxy and Orthopraxy, I realized that right belief isn’t really the point and doing the right things on Sunday morning isn’t really the point either. Mining the Bible for a list of doctrines or practices is silly. It forces the Bible to fulfill a set of expectations which it was never meant to fulfill. Treating the Bible like an answer book is also a silly thing to do. Imposing our 21st century expectations or questions or theological constructs on scripture is also problematic because we then assume the Bible parrots back to us everything we already believe. As I become less certain about a number of traditional teachings—Hell, the Trinity, Original Sin—and consider a number “heresies”—Universalism, Open-Theism, Biblical fallibility, Acceptance of Homosexuality, Evolution—I realize that the thing that truly matters is what Scot McKnight has called the Jesus Creed: Love God; love others.

I think right belief about scripture, about Jesus, about God, about the Church, etc is really important; I just happen to have a different set of beliefs about that than the Fundamentalists—and, more importantly, I am ok with those beliefs being fluid. For instance, I believe that the Bible is best understood narratively. It unfolds the Heilgeschichte. More than that, however, is the fact that we are invited to participate in the sacred story. Acts 28 is a clear invitation to join the Theo-drama.

I follow N.T. Wright’s characterization of the authority of scripture. Essentially, he argues that scripture functions much like a Shakespeare play. Suppose that we find the fist four acts of an uncompleted Shakespeare play. How might we complete it? We would, perhaps, get some Shakespeare scholars, some Renaissance historians, and some trained Shakespearean actors together and ask them to write and perform the fifth act. The fifth act couldn’t merely be a product of their imagination, nor could it merely be a replication of the fourth act or even a conglomeration of all of the first four acts. It would have to be something new but, at the same time, it would need to derive plot, characterization, cast, etc from the first four acts.

In this sense, then, I value right thinking because it leads to right action. Just like the fundamentalists who value right belief about the atonement so that individuals will live morally, I value right belief about the coming Kingdom so that people will act justly and call the world to act justly as well. I understand that the Kingdom is here and yet coming. When the Kingdom is fully realized—when the story is resolved (something else for the fifth act to do)—then there will be no more war, violence, hate, racism, poverty, lust, oppression, predation, etc. And, therefore, anything in this present age that helps bring the Kingdom of mercy, peace, and justice is good. The cries of the prophets resonate in my soul. God is on about restoring the whole earth—an earth that groans for redemption. Those who fight for social justice, who combat sex-trafficking, who hold the government responsible for passing a moral budget, who protest war—those who are controlled by Kingdom values and fight for Kingdom things—have my utmost respect.

The answer is because words matter. Words embody meaning. While written language, in the grand scope of human evolution, is a relatively recent invention, spoken language is, perhaps, the distinctive that separates people from animals.

We think in language. Language is, essentially, a set of arbitrary phonemes (the smallest denominator of sound units that have meaning) combined in various ways to convey meaning. Language is, at its core, a set of symbols that stand in for other things. Language summons meaning present in ineffable places and gives it shape—it can describe what otherwise cannot be apprehended–morality, justice, mercy.

But language does more than represent some sort of external reality. Language, to some degree, calls reality into existence. I can describe things that are not “real” using language, such as dragons and wizards. I can reduce a person from dignity to shame merely by cracking the whip of unmerited diatribe “you piece of shit!”.

With risk of sounding cliché, I will point out that God spoke the universe into being. His words ordered chaos and established dominion. The act of creation is an act of speech. The corollary is also true. Speech can destroy. In one sense, then, the life of the Christian is devoted to choosing words of creation over words of destruction so as to enact the Jesus Creed: love God; love the Other.

* * *

I am not that big of a fan of taking the Bible, quoting it as a bludgeon, and leaving people bleeding and dazed, but sometimes the Bible does that without anyone’s help at all.

Take Ephesians 4:29: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.”

If you are like me, then you are constantly sarcastic. You constantly make comments that tear at other people for the sake of a laugh. And then, suppose, you stumble across this passage in your daily readings. How might you react?

Throwing the Bible across the room seems like a pretty decent response—which is why I did it. Now, I’m not saying that there isn’t room for satire, for appropriate use of diatribe, or for taking horrible ideas, or even people, and naming them as horrible—if we can’t do that, then we have to throw out the Hebrew prophets and Jesus himself, for Christ’s sake!

What I am affirming, however, is that our default position should be to speak creatively rather than to speak destructively, and, when it is appropriate to destroy (or deconstruct) we do so with the purpose of tearing down so as to create.

As Kyle Lake said before he died, “The critic’s chair is and has always been the safest seat in the house because the critic defines himself by what he is not. It is an entirely different way to live when you seek to create and re-create, affirm and reaffirm.”

You see, it’s really a heart problem.

As Donald Miller points out, we live as if we are in a lifeboat that is sinking. We have got to convince everyone else to not throw us into the shark infested waters and to, instead, throw someone else in. Rather than expound on that myself, I will let stand-up comedian and, in my estimation, prophet Brian Regan speak.

You might be thinking to yourself, “Self, that is all fine and dandy, but what does this specifically have to do with words?”

Here is your answer:

“I’d be willing to bet that a good number of the hateful and destructive sentences that still ring in our heads were followed by some variation of a grossly ineffective, “I was just joking.” Our words go on and on, with consequences we can’t measure, with reverberations beyond our control. Making our words do the right things, making them into a means for caring for one another, often involves stopping before we start or confessing we didn’t know what we were saying, that our words outran our limited wisdom.” -David Dark (from his book The Sacredness of Questioning Everything)

Or, to put it even more bluntly:

“I often use sarcasm as the justification to cover my true feelings. This is not okay.” -Amanda Pavlik

* * *

So what do we do about it?

My answer: creatively re-imagine the way we use language. Build up instead of tear down.

Or, as David Dark puts it:

“Language, after all, isn’t just a tool for communication. Our language is, to put it strangely, our “lifeworld.” And the limits of out language are, in some sense, the limits of our lifeworld. When out language is added to with a better way of putting things, we are expanding our lifeworld. We call this better way poetry. The poetic isn’t the fancy stuff or the words the pretentious depend on to sound deep. Poetry is how our lifeworlds are made new. Poetry frees our speech and loosens our lips and our strangled imaginations. Poetry is called poetry because people decided to testify concerning the power of certain arrangements of words. They testified by calling these words, these testimonies, poetry.”

Speak poetically.

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