Scripture as Pictures

I got into a discussion (read: heated argument) with the minister I worked for several years ago regarding the Bible and how it isn’t where our “evangelism” should start with people. I argued that you can’t use the Bible to bring someone to a relationship with Christ if they don’t care about the Bible. (Just as a side note, I know this is a very, very huge generalization, and I know that some people have come to Christ through Scripture, but it’s my article and for the most part I think it’s a valid argument. If you don’t like it stop reading and write your own.) It doesn’t make sense. If I don’t believe something, i.e., the Bible, is true, nor do I care if it is true, why would you try to use that very something to try and convince me that the Someone in that something wants to have a relationship with me? (Just as another side note, I was an immature douchebox back in my early ministry career and I probably started the argument. He and I remain good friends to this day.)

I was thinking today at work (we’re only running one line, which means my day is dragging and my brain has too much time on its cerebral hands) about this idea and came up with an apt analogy. I have a ridiculously cute nephew and an equally handsome son, both of whom take the cheesiest pictures of anyone you’ll meet under the ages of 2 and 5, respectively. Sometimes I want to show them off to people who don’t know anything about them, have never met them, and have no relational connection whatsoever. You can tell that they only vaguely care how cute they are, not feeling 1/1000th of the feeling I have for them. Why? Because to me they are more than pictures. Behind the pictures are voices, personalities, laughter, memories, and attachment. The pics are a link to them, a vivid reminder of who they are. I used to take pictures of my son on trips with me, because, in a way, it brought him to me whenever I looked at them (One more side note and I’ll stop: re-read that last sentence and then make the connection to the Eucharist we celebrate on Sundays.)

The Bible is a book of pictures, images, metaphor and story, which those of us who grew up with it take for granted. To those who have a living relationship with Christ the Bible serves as a picture frame, full of emotion, voices, personalities, memories, and attachment. In other words, a relationship. For those without that relationship there are none of those things. Not that the Bible is unimportant or useless to everyone like this, but without the relationship the images of Scripture lose context and depth. Evangelism, as I’ve written about before, must begin in genuine relationship. Only when the images of Scripture find fulfillment in your life for others to see will the Bible come alive for them. Humanity’s  initial relationship with Christ begins in the relationship they have with a disciple. We, the Church, with Christ in us, give color, depth, emotion and attachment to humanity’s encounter with Scripture--because they have already seen it come alive in us. 

shalom, matt

The Primacy of Story: Acts

Having worked in churches for a number of years there was one thing that I became increasingly irritated by: the ritualistic abuse of the book of Acts by turning it into a manual for how to do church (not to be confused with how to be the church, which you could actually use Acts for). Our Western minds crave structure and order, so we take an Eastern book, written in symbol, metaphor, and image driven patterns, and we plumb its depths looking for strict patterns, blueprints and three point bulleted sermons. Though the Church has been guilty of this abuse for centuries, it has never been more pronounced than it is right now (or so it seems to me). 

Back a number of years ago, around the time I was in college, Rick Warren, the founding pastor of Saddleback Community Church in So-Cal, wrote a book called The Purpose Driven Church (followed a couple years later by The Purpose Driven Life). In that book he lays out five foundational principles that he found in the book of Acts that the early church “emphasized”: worship, fellowship, discipleship, service, and evangelism. What this did, besides cause every church in America to ape this plan and try to be a megachurch, was turn the book of Acts into a no-fail formula for how to do church here in America. 

News-flash! The book of Acts is about the disciples of the Way learning to be the Church. And they learned to be the Church by following the Way of Jesus, not by formulating a plan, strategy, or catchy vision statement. They simply lived.

Our missing of this point has lead churches to compartmentalize their programs, turning true discipleship into an assembly line process, where a person can move from point A to B to C and so on, finally reaching an imaginary finish line and being a true disciple. 

Horsecrap.

That would work if the church was full of robots. It isn’t. It’s full of messy, broken people who aren’t programmable. I the book of Acts teaches us anything it’s that the Body of Christ is human, prone to beautiful acts of grace and compassion and courage because of the Spirit of Christ moving in us. 

The story of Acts chronicles for us the journey and rise of a confused group of disciples from an upper room huddle to a world changing force for the Kingdom. It is the best of humanity overcoming the worst of humanity by living the Way. It is the enfleshment--an epilogue if you will--of all Jesus lived and taught. Yes, they worshipped, served, etc., but not as a means towards some supposed end. Everything they did was an overflow of who they were in Christ. 

Following Jesus is more than the sum of those five compartments. It’s about a new way of seeing the world; a new way of being human; a de-centering away from the world’s values and a re-centering in God’s values; a new way of seeing yourself; it’s learning to love, forgive, seek justice and mercy, and walk humbly with God. This what we find in Luke’s history of the early church. Let us move on then from formulas, vision statements, and programs to a way of life. 

shalom, matt

The Primacy of Story: Flood

I can’t imagine a more horrible story than this. It is very easy to get caught up in all of the theological theorizing concerning the ethics of God wiping out 99.9% of life on earth. It is every easy to get stuck in a flannel graph world of rainbows, and duos of animals smiling at the big boat and being waved at by the old guy with the white beard. It’s also easy to get stuck in the mode of comparing the Flood with the End Times destruction. This story seems to be saying something revolutionary about God:

God gets sad.

In ancient Middle Eastern cultures gods were part of everyday goings-on. If it rained it was because of the rain god being pleased with you. If it flooded then you had hacked off the rain god and it was time for a sheep to die so as to assuage the angry rain god. People lived in constant fear of their gods, never knowing if they were happy or angry. 

The Bible records this God, Elohim/Yahweh, who is intimately linked with his creation, showing them favor in their disobedience (note that after the Fall God makes Adam and Eve coverings, which by all accounts is an act of grace). He is so linked to them that their corruption tears at his heart. This is a god who is emotionally attached to what he creates. He doesn’t stand aloof, winding up the clock and letting it run, then running off to Tahiti to sip Margaritas on the beach. He is in complete and loving control of his creation, pushing it towards His intended purpose and plan for it. 

A God who is emotionally involved with His creation is a god that can be trusted, because his attachment means that at no point will he “drop the ball” and leave us hanging. Even in his decision to destroy the earth we find intentionality. He takes a right-living man named Noah, tells him to build a huge-freaking boat in the middle of the desert and then to gather two of every animal to put into a boat. Only a God in control, with a distinct plan could make this work. He then uses Noah and family to rebuild and repopulate the world. 

A God who is emotionally attached to his creation will also enter into that creation, take on flesh, subject himself to its laws and forces, and die so that he need never destroy the world again. 

shalom, matt

Televangelist Resolutions

This comes from The Wittenburg Door blog, a satirical religious magazine. Found this on ysmarko.com and thought it worth sharing. Funny stuff. 

shalom, matt

The Primacy of Story: Adam and Eve

Adam and Eve

Two people. One serpent. One tree. One piece of fruit. One deception. One bite. Two bites. One God. One (heart-rending) question (“Where are you?”). Death. Banishment. Promise of grace.

Is there a more human story than this in Scripture?

Whether you believe that Adam and Eve were real people or not doesn’t change the fact that this story is the story of humanity. This story didn’t just happen; it happens, everyday, everywhere. On the surface this is a story of a bad choice, of sin, rebellion against God. But did Adam and Eve really set out to be rebellious? Was it really their intent to know what only God needs to know? Did they even realize the implications of their choice beforehand? I would dare to answer “no” to all three questions. Why? Is it ever our intent to be rebellious (maybe occasionally, but often no)? Is it ever our intent to be like God, to try and take his place (we may try unknowingly, but often no)? Do we ever think about the implications of our choices (occasionally yes, but often no)? 

You see? It’s our story.

This story is about our desire for control. More on that later.

Some may think it unfair (I’m one of them) that God never gives them much of a reason why they shouldn’t eat from the Tree. “Don’t eat it or you will die.” That’s it. (There is a scene in the movie Animal House where John Belushi’s character “Bluto” is giving new pledges their official Delta House frat names. He tells the one fat, doofy kid, “Your Delta Tau Chi name is “Flounder”. “Why ‘Flounder’?” he asks. “Why not!?” responds a very drunk Belushi. Sometimes God’s reasoning seems that banal: “Why God?” we ask. “Why not?” He responds.) To my knowledge Adam and Eve never question the command. But I do know that the pull of the Tree was too much for them. It’s Pandora’s Box: they opened it, satisfying the curiosity, gaining control of your ability to choose, but a whole mess of crap came with it, none of it pleasant. 

One of the great tragedies of this story (and ours) is Adam and Eve’s decision to take control of what God alone should have control of: their lives. God’s control results in provision, care, communion, intimacy, satisfaction and life--real life. Their need for control--our need for control--brings hardship, frustration, toil, isolation, guilt, anxiety despair, and the desire for more control. The beginning of the story of Adam and Eve shows us that everything was supposed to be controlled for us--except our ability to choose love over control and allow God to love us and control us as only He can. 

And we chose poorly. And we choose poorly.

Now we are in a fight with our own fallen nature, grasping tightly our need for control, never realizing that in fighting for control we are actually losing control. In the cross of Christ we find, strangely, a God who so loves the world that he gives up control of his own life to his creation and dies. This is how an all-controlling God shows us his love, by giving up his control and dying, forever freeing us from the curse that we brought on ourselves by seeking the very same control.

May we follow the example of Jesus and die so that we might be free from the curse of trying to control our own lives. 

shalom, matt

Yet...

There is a phrase found in Scripture (Job 13:15) that says, “Yet will I hope.” That word “yet” is pregnant with meaning. Three little letters that carry a world of possibility inside their tiny confines. The word scares us because of what has to come before it. It’s always negative, otherwise there would be no reason for “yet.” “Yet” could mean anything. “Yet” can be the smallest problem or massive disaster. It could be a busted alternator and a barren bank account; it could be a busted heart. It could be lost work or lost loved-one; a barren womb or a barren soul; a scratched cornea or pancreatic cancer; one thing or ten things. As Rob Bell points out in NOOMA: Rain, “It always rains, doesn’t it?” There is a saying in King James English to describe these phenomenon: the crappeth hath hitteth the faneth. It happens and 99% of the time there is little we can do to predict or control it. We stop and stare at what’s going on, unable to move or breathe, speak or think, like a Sasquatch caught by a tourist’s video camera, knowing intuitively that nothing will ever be the same.

Yet…

It isn’t such a bad word after all. Maybe it is fraught with possibility. Maybe, instead of indicating a problem it signifies a new day is dawning, the endless night of Antarctic winter is over, and the sunrise is coming. Maybe “yet” is an assertion of will against the present circumstance, the past mistakes and the future troubles: “I will not be mastered by despair, by anxiety, by guilt.” “Yet is a loving gaze skyward, towards the God who “knows the plans He has for us...plans for a hope…” It is looking out to a barren field and seeing the growth that can come. it is a radical trust in the face of an overwhelming foe. It is seeing the light at the end of the tunnel when you can’t see the end of the tunnel and everything in you says, “There is no end to the tunnel.”

“Yet” is an infant in a feed trough, born into a dark world to set people free from fear of today, tomorrow and yesterday. He is an infant born to give fullest possible meaning to the word “yet.”

shalom, matt