Anyone alive and old enough to be conscious of what was happening remembers where they were on September 11, 2001, when they heard that we were being attacked. For Generation X the Millennial Generation (I am a member of both since 1980 is the overlap), 9/11 is what Pearl Harbor was for the Greatest Generation and JFK's assassination was for the Baby Boomers.
I was a junior in college, eating cereal in a bedroom I shared with two other guys in my fraternity house. I was a couple years into my first youth ministry job, so I spent quite a bit of time processing the events with middle and high schoolers as well as my college peers.
Preachers have to come up with ten to fifteen minutes of new material every single week, so how I process and reflect on many issues usually ends up in sermons in one way or another. How I have reflected on 9/11 and the many issues it brings up is no exception, so instead of writing a lengthy post, I will simply share two messages where I share some of these reflections.
The first one, "The Renewed Creation" was part of a series on Romans. The tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks happened to be on a Sunday, and the events were at the forefront of everyone's mind that morning. We reflected how God's sanctifying grace draws us out of being primarily self centered into reflecting on God's other-centered love.
The second message, "Terror and Resurrection", was shared the Sunday following the Boston Marathon bombings. That week also saw the manhunt that killed one of the bombers playing out on live TV, and a huge chemical plant explosion in Texas. The senselessness of violence and death was very much on everyone's minds, much like on 9/11. We reflected on how, in the face of terror and senseless violence, followers of Jesus witness to the God who enters into our suffering and breaks the power of death, claiming "Resurrection" as the last word.
How do you remember the events of twelve years ago today? Where were you that day? How have your memories changed over time?
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Two Invitations
This summer at Arlington, we're reading the New Testament together using a reading plan from the Optina Community in Russia, courtesy of our friends at YouVersion. The plan involves reading one chapter from the gospels every day, then two from the rest of the New Testament, beginning with Acts. At the end of 89 days (which takes us from Memorial Day up to a few days before Labor Day), we'll have read the entire New Testament together.
Click on the links to learn more and participate with us if you're so inclined.
I'm going to occasionally blog about the day's readings if I find something interesting, as I did today.
I'm on day 4 of the plan, which involved reading Matthew 4.
I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, because I love both of these stories and I've preached on them numerous times, but it occurred to me this morning that these two stories are in the same chapter, and their proximity brings out an interesting contrast.
In the first story, Matthew 4:1-11, John has just baptized Jesus in the Jordan, and Jesus heads out for a long retreat in the desert that culminates in a proof-texting joust with ha-Satan. The absolute best meditation on this story I've ever seen is Henri Nouwen's In the Name of Jesus. In the second story, Matthew 4:18-22, Jesus calls some fishermen as his first disciples.
As I was reading the chapter as a whole this morning, it occurred to me that both of these stories involve one person inviting another to do something significant, and the contrast in these invitations spoke to me about the crossroads we find ourselves at in the church today.
Jesus' verbal sparring match with the devil involved three challenges that either implied or outright promised a specific reward: "You've been fasting for 40 days. Hungry? Make some food out of these rocks. Heck, with that kind of power, you could solve the world hunger problem!" "Want people to listen to you? Do a cool trick so they'll know you're for real!" "Swear allegiance to me and I'll give you the keys to this whole place. Think of all the good you can do!"
Jesus' call to those first disciples simply invited them to act. "Follow me, and I will show you how to fish for people".
In a consumer oriented society, where you can't go anywhere without being bombarded by advertisements, one has to do something pretty special to rise above the din and get people's attention. We in the church spend lots of time and money figuring out how to most effectively answer the "what's in it for me?" question. We say things like "we will strengthen your family", "we'll show you how to find true happiness and fulfillment", or "you can punch your ticket to Heaven here".
None of these things are inherently bad, of course, but the message is fundamentally self-centered. "Here is what this will do for YOU."
Setting aside for a moment that the temptations were from the devil, none of the things Jesus were being challenged to were inherently bad, either. They would have allowed him to accomplish his mission in a much more efficient manner. The problem is that he would have been glorifying himself, instead of letting God work and provide the ultimate glory of the Resurrection.
Jesus' invitation to his first followers, on the other hand, has little to do with their own personal gain. He only invites them to follow with some vague metaphor that helps them understand that their new mission will be at least a little bit like what they already do: fish.
Perhaps the correct response to a consumer driven, ME oriented culture is not to make our message a barely Christianized version of an ad for a washing machine, but to offer a real alternative to all these other things that may promise ultimate fulfillment, but ultimately leave us feeling more empty and more alone.
This is a terrible marketing strategy, of course. We won't promise a stronger family, greater financial security, or certainty about anything, really. We can't promise bigger churches with more people in the pews and more dollars in the plates, who pay their full year's apportionments on January 1 (my apologies to Bishops and District Superintendents).
All we really have to offer is the promise of being part of something bigger than ourselves. We have the opportunity to the never-ending ME addiction of our consumer society and make a difference in the world that lasts after machines break down and clothes wear out.
In the process, we just might find a stronger family, more fulfillment, and all that other stuff, but it's one of the perks along the way rather than the end goal.
Maybe we should drop all the ME oriented marketing. Maybe our logos should say, "Let's get over ourselves and go do something meaningful". That's probably a bad marketing strategy, but it did work for Jesus. It's worth a shot.
Click on the links to learn more and participate with us if you're so inclined.
I'm going to occasionally blog about the day's readings if I find something interesting, as I did today.
I'm on day 4 of the plan, which involved reading Matthew 4.
I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, because I love both of these stories and I've preached on them numerous times, but it occurred to me this morning that these two stories are in the same chapter, and their proximity brings out an interesting contrast.
In the first story, Matthew 4:1-11, John has just baptized Jesus in the Jordan, and Jesus heads out for a long retreat in the desert that culminates in a proof-texting joust with ha-Satan. The absolute best meditation on this story I've ever seen is Henri Nouwen's In the Name of Jesus. In the second story, Matthew 4:18-22, Jesus calls some fishermen as his first disciples.
As I was reading the chapter as a whole this morning, it occurred to me that both of these stories involve one person inviting another to do something significant, and the contrast in these invitations spoke to me about the crossroads we find ourselves at in the church today.
Jesus' verbal sparring match with the devil involved three challenges that either implied or outright promised a specific reward: "You've been fasting for 40 days. Hungry? Make some food out of these rocks. Heck, with that kind of power, you could solve the world hunger problem!" "Want people to listen to you? Do a cool trick so they'll know you're for real!" "Swear allegiance to me and I'll give you the keys to this whole place. Think of all the good you can do!"
Jesus' call to those first disciples simply invited them to act. "Follow me, and I will show you how to fish for people".
In a consumer oriented society, where you can't go anywhere without being bombarded by advertisements, one has to do something pretty special to rise above the din and get people's attention. We in the church spend lots of time and money figuring out how to most effectively answer the "what's in it for me?" question. We say things like "we will strengthen your family", "we'll show you how to find true happiness and fulfillment", or "you can punch your ticket to Heaven here".
None of these things are inherently bad, of course, but the message is fundamentally self-centered. "Here is what this will do for YOU."
Setting aside for a moment that the temptations were from the devil, none of the things Jesus were being challenged to were inherently bad, either. They would have allowed him to accomplish his mission in a much more efficient manner. The problem is that he would have been glorifying himself, instead of letting God work and provide the ultimate glory of the Resurrection.
Jesus' invitation to his first followers, on the other hand, has little to do with their own personal gain. He only invites them to follow with some vague metaphor that helps them understand that their new mission will be at least a little bit like what they already do: fish.
Perhaps the correct response to a consumer driven, ME oriented culture is not to make our message a barely Christianized version of an ad for a washing machine, but to offer a real alternative to all these other things that may promise ultimate fulfillment, but ultimately leave us feeling more empty and more alone.
This is a terrible marketing strategy, of course. We won't promise a stronger family, greater financial security, or certainty about anything, really. We can't promise bigger churches with more people in the pews and more dollars in the plates, who pay their full year's apportionments on January 1 (my apologies to Bishops and District Superintendents).
All we really have to offer is the promise of being part of something bigger than ourselves. We have the opportunity to the never-ending ME addiction of our consumer society and make a difference in the world that lasts after machines break down and clothes wear out.
In the process, we just might find a stronger family, more fulfillment, and all that other stuff, but it's one of the perks along the way rather than the end goal.
Maybe we should drop all the ME oriented marketing. Maybe our logos should say, "Let's get over ourselves and go do something meaningful". That's probably a bad marketing strategy, but it did work for Jesus. It's worth a shot.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
9/11, 11 Years Later
There are, of course, no shortage of words on the anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks, and I don't know how much of value I can add to the discourse, but I'll give it a shot by sharing two things.
One is a photo that's making the rounds on Facebook today. Pictures are, indeed, worth 1,000 words, and this painting challenges us with the radical love of Jesus on this day where remembrance and memories of grief might otherwise turn our thoughts to revenge.
One is a photo that's making the rounds on Facebook today. Pictures are, indeed, worth 1,000 words, and this painting challenges us with the radical love of Jesus on this day where remembrance and memories of grief might otherwise turn our thoughts to revenge.
The other is the sermon I preached last year on the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. This also happened to be the sermon I videotaped for my final ordination interviews. I made it through, so obviously it wasn't too bad.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Embarrassing Christians
So when I saw this image today, I had a moment of satisfaction at the thought that Jesus gets as aggravated as I do with other Christians.
But just as quickly, I was reminded (I think it's the Holy Spirit smacking me upside the head) that when I have such moments of self-satisfaction and smug superiority, I'm doing the exact same thing that annoys me when I see other people doing it. I may not be claiming that God is sending a hurricane to punish groups I don't like, but in my heart I'm saying "raca" to my brother, and that's as bad in God's eyes as murdering them.
So if I'm going to think that this is how Jesus reacts to some of my fellow Christians, I have to be open the the possibility that Jesus also gets frustrated with me in my own moments of smug superiority. I make Jesus roll his eyes as much as anyone else. Probably more so, since preachers tend to be the "chiefs of sinners".
The good news, however, is that God seems to be able to use me even with my many, many flaws. So the things that drive me crazy about other people must be a bigger problem for me than they are for God. God works through all of us, and the more willing I am to see that in the people I don't particularly like, the more I get to experience just how amazing grace really is.
I guess that means I have to get off my own pedastal. Darn it...
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Project Israel- Galilee 2
We spent the night in the town of Tiberius, so we woke up to this beautiful view of the Sea of Galilee (also known as Lake Tiberius) from our hotel room.
Our planned boat ride on the Sea of Galilee was pushed back a few hours, so we went to a place called the Wadi Hamman. "Wadi" is the Arabic word for "valley", and in this part of the world it refers specifically to a narrow, steep rift valley between two mountains. Wadi Hamman has long been the most accessible path between Nazareth and Galilee, with a flat, easy path and a stream. So we can be pretty sure that Jesus and the Disciples took this path back and forth many times!
We had planned to have our worship on the boat, but because of the delay we found a quiet spot in the Wadi by the stream. Most of my fellow travelers are clergy, so we all played different parts. I preached, and pastors representing three different traditions: Episcopal, United Church of Christ, and United Methodist, presided at the Communion Table, which was actually a boulder that we could imagine Jesus himself having rested on on his way between the towns. I'm rarely able to truly worship when I'm involved in leading the service, but this turned out to be one of the most meaningful worship experiences I've had in a very long time. Look for a post in the coming weeks on this, once I finish piecing my thoughts together.
We spent some time climbing the hillside and taking in the beauty of the place. All the churches and holy sites have been wonderful, but somehow God's presence has been most real to me on this trip in this quiet, serene place with no markers or shrines of any sort.
Afterward we went on a boat ride around the Sea of Galilee, and our captain gave us a demonstration of the way fishing worked back in the first century, casting a weighted net (although in the first century there wouldn't have been synthetic fibers!).
Next we took a walk in the hills of the Tabgha- a region on the North-West shore of the Sea of Galilee where there are several spots that claim to be the Mount of the Beatitudes- in other words, the place where Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount. We stopped on the spot of the original Church of the Beatitudes (only foundation stones left) and passed around a Bible, reading the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) aloud.
Quick aside- the Sermon on the Mount is probably not a historical event as such, but rather a collection of Jesus' ethical teachings complied into one discourse by the writer of Matthew, similar to Luke's Sermon on the Plain. Like most of the sites commemorating biblical events, it's impossible to know where they actually happened there. But these sites are important because they have been where these stories have come alive for people for centuries. Historicity isn't everything.
At the bottom of the hill we came to the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, the spot where Jesus is said to have told Peter that he would be the "rock on which I (Jesus) will build my church" (Matthew 16:13-20). Our Roman Catholic friends consider this to be Jesus' endorsement of Peter's leadership, and that his successor, the Pope, is the chief pastor for all Christians. This church is on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and several of my fellow travelers decided to bottle some of the water as a momento.
Finally, we were on to Capernaum, the town where Jesus may have had a home, or at the very least a home that he stayed in on a regular basis (it may have belong to Peter or his mother-in-law). There is a site that has been venerated as "Peter's House" since the mid-first century, and is encircled by several other ancient churches. There is a modern chapel built over it now, with glass in the middle of the floor looking down into "Peter's House". There is also a fourth century synagogue right across the street that is remarkably well preserved.
Then we cross the border into Jordan, which was quite easy, but I understand this will not be the case crossing back from Jordan into the West Bank. We're spending the next two nights in Amman and exploring the Christian origins in Jordan, as well as spending time with Jordanian Christians. Look for reports on this tomorrow.
Until then, enjoy the Oscars and be well!
Our planned boat ride on the Sea of Galilee was pushed back a few hours, so we went to a place called the Wadi Hamman. "Wadi" is the Arabic word for "valley", and in this part of the world it refers specifically to a narrow, steep rift valley between two mountains. Wadi Hamman has long been the most accessible path between Nazareth and Galilee, with a flat, easy path and a stream. So we can be pretty sure that Jesus and the Disciples took this path back and forth many times!
We had planned to have our worship on the boat, but because of the delay we found a quiet spot in the Wadi by the stream. Most of my fellow travelers are clergy, so we all played different parts. I preached, and pastors representing three different traditions: Episcopal, United Church of Christ, and United Methodist, presided at the Communion Table, which was actually a boulder that we could imagine Jesus himself having rested on on his way between the towns. I'm rarely able to truly worship when I'm involved in leading the service, but this turned out to be one of the most meaningful worship experiences I've had in a very long time. Look for a post in the coming weeks on this, once I finish piecing my thoughts together.
We spent some time climbing the hillside and taking in the beauty of the place. All the churches and holy sites have been wonderful, but somehow God's presence has been most real to me on this trip in this quiet, serene place with no markers or shrines of any sort.
Afterward we went on a boat ride around the Sea of Galilee, and our captain gave us a demonstration of the way fishing worked back in the first century, casting a weighted net (although in the first century there wouldn't have been synthetic fibers!).
Next we took a walk in the hills of the Tabgha- a region on the North-West shore of the Sea of Galilee where there are several spots that claim to be the Mount of the Beatitudes- in other words, the place where Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount. We stopped on the spot of the original Church of the Beatitudes (only foundation stones left) and passed around a Bible, reading the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) aloud.
Quick aside- the Sermon on the Mount is probably not a historical event as such, but rather a collection of Jesus' ethical teachings complied into one discourse by the writer of Matthew, similar to Luke's Sermon on the Plain. Like most of the sites commemorating biblical events, it's impossible to know where they actually happened there. But these sites are important because they have been where these stories have come alive for people for centuries. Historicity isn't everything.
At the bottom of the hill we came to the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, the spot where Jesus is said to have told Peter that he would be the "rock on which I (Jesus) will build my church" (Matthew 16:13-20). Our Roman Catholic friends consider this to be Jesus' endorsement of Peter's leadership, and that his successor, the Pope, is the chief pastor for all Christians. This church is on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and several of my fellow travelers decided to bottle some of the water as a momento.
Finally, we were on to Capernaum, the town where Jesus may have had a home, or at the very least a home that he stayed in on a regular basis (it may have belong to Peter or his mother-in-law). There is a site that has been venerated as "Peter's House" since the mid-first century, and is encircled by several other ancient churches. There is a modern chapel built over it now, with glass in the middle of the floor looking down into "Peter's House". There is also a fourth century synagogue right across the street that is remarkably well preserved.
Then we cross the border into Jordan, which was quite easy, but I understand this will not be the case crossing back from Jordan into the West Bank. We're spending the next two nights in Amman and exploring the Christian origins in Jordan, as well as spending time with Jordanian Christians. Look for reports on this tomorrow.
Until then, enjoy the Oscars and be well!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Podcast Episode 12- The Jesus Question
A new episode of The Truth As Best I Know It Podcast is now live.
We're continue our journey through Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christianity: Ten Questions that Are Transforming the Faith
with “The Jesus Question”.
We talk about differing conceptions of Jesus, casting Jesus in our own image, the variety of things the New Testament says about Jesus, and how the way we answer the question “who is Jesus” tells us a lot about our theology and about who we are.
You can listen to the episode on Podbean (the gracious hosts of our podcast), or download it on iTunes. If you're an iTunes subscriber, please take a few minutes to rate our show and write a review!
For those that may not have seen it, here is the scene from Talladega Nights we reference in this episode:
We're continue our journey through Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christianity: Ten Questions that Are Transforming the Faith
with “The Jesus Question”.We talk about differing conceptions of Jesus, casting Jesus in our own image, the variety of things the New Testament says about Jesus, and how the way we answer the question “who is Jesus” tells us a lot about our theology and about who we are.
You can listen to the episode on Podbean (the gracious hosts of our podcast), or download it on iTunes. If you're an iTunes subscriber, please take a few minutes to rate our show and write a review!
For those that may not have seen it, here is the scene from Talladega Nights we reference in this episode:
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thoughts on the Eve of Christmas
I haven't blogged in the past few weeks, not because I haven't had any thoughts, but because I'm having such trouble getting them out in a coherent manner. Perhaps it's simply the busyness of this season, but maybe it's something more than that.
Like most pastors, I find the Advent/Christmas season to be simultaneously joyful and frustrating. It's wonderful because of all the traditions, the songs, and the decorations. They remind us of wonderful memories, and since this is my first Christmas as a parent, we are making wonderful new memories that we will cherish for a lifetime.
This season can be frustrating, too. The sheer volume of activity can be tiring. The stress of getting the "right" gift for someone can quickly overshadow the whole purpose of giving gifts in the first place. And, of course, the annual campaign of the "culture-warriors" who crusade against a perceived enemy (that doesn't actually exist) and turn "Merry Christmas" into a political statement.
In my moments of exhaustion and frustration I wonder what any of this actually has to do with Jesus.
But then, at the moment I least expect it, God reminds me that beneath the rather thick layer of crass commercialism and cultural shmaltz, there remains a deep significance to Advent and Christmas. Brian McLaren shared a Jackson Brown song on this blog the other day, called "The Rebel Jesus"
This Christmas, let us look past the lights and the presents for just a moment and remember how God showed up in the least expected of places and became a rebel who challenged the unjust social and religious practices taught by the leaders of his day, and continues to do so today. Let us not forget the Rebel Jesus whose birth we celebrate.
(Note- at the request of my dear friend and excellent New Testament scholar, Maria Mayo Robbins, I'd like to clear up any confusion about my view of Second Temple Judaism. Judaism as a religion has not ever been unjust, but the way it has been practiced by certain individuals has at times been unjust. Such is the case with every religion, especially my own. One need only casually read my blog to see that I am more critical of my own tribe than of any other. What Jesus challenged was not Judaism itself, as he was a very faithful and observant Jew, but certain practices that were enforced by politically powerful religious elites.)
Like most pastors, I find the Advent/Christmas season to be simultaneously joyful and frustrating. It's wonderful because of all the traditions, the songs, and the decorations. They remind us of wonderful memories, and since this is my first Christmas as a parent, we are making wonderful new memories that we will cherish for a lifetime.
This season can be frustrating, too. The sheer volume of activity can be tiring. The stress of getting the "right" gift for someone can quickly overshadow the whole purpose of giving gifts in the first place. And, of course, the annual campaign of the "culture-warriors" who crusade against a perceived enemy (that doesn't actually exist) and turn "Merry Christmas" into a political statement.
In my moments of exhaustion and frustration I wonder what any of this actually has to do with Jesus.
But then, at the moment I least expect it, God reminds me that beneath the rather thick layer of crass commercialism and cultural shmaltz, there remains a deep significance to Advent and Christmas. Brian McLaren shared a Jackson Brown song on this blog the other day, called "The Rebel Jesus"
This Christmas, let us look past the lights and the presents for just a moment and remember how God showed up in the least expected of places and became a rebel who challenged the unjust social and religious practices taught by the leaders of his day, and continues to do so today. Let us not forget the Rebel Jesus whose birth we celebrate.
(Note- at the request of my dear friend and excellent New Testament scholar, Maria Mayo Robbins, I'd like to clear up any confusion about my view of Second Temple Judaism. Judaism as a religion has not ever been unjust, but the way it has been practiced by certain individuals has at times been unjust. Such is the case with every religion, especially my own. One need only casually read my blog to see that I am more critical of my own tribe than of any other. What Jesus challenged was not Judaism itself, as he was a very faithful and observant Jew, but certain practices that were enforced by politically powerful religious elites.)
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Prop 8- The Musical
I'm sure this is going to offend somebody, probably a lot of somebodies. But if we can't laugh at ourselves when we're the most heated in our disagreements, then we're really in trouble.
See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die
Monday, October 06, 2008
The Last Best Hope?
As we enter the home stretch in this year’s election season (which is a strange phrase because “seasons” don’t often describe a period of eighteen months or more!), cable news junkies like me start to grow tired of lots of things. The negative ads are getting boring, as are the talking points. The vast majority of people have all more or less settled on a candidate, so our eyes start to glaze over when we hear the candidates’ standard lines, kind of like when your grandfather starts telling the same story you’ve heard a million times.
One of these standard lines that we hear from all sides is becoming more and more distressing to me. The latest person to use it has been Sarah Palin, although she’s certainly not the first and won’t be the last. It’s a line that comes from people of all parties, but perhaps it sounds so unsettling coming from her because she wears her faith on her sleeve.
The line goes something like this: “America is the last best hope for good in the world”. It’s a line that generates tons of applause because it recalls eighteenth century rhetoric about America being the “new Israel” or the “modern promised land”. It makes the voters feel good because it lets us believe that we are somehow fundamentally better people than all those other countries out there, and because of that superiority we will be able to fix the world’s problems through the exercise of our natural righteousness. This line particularly resonates with those who feel America is somehow a “Christian nation”.
As a follower of Jesus I take great exception to the idea that America, or any other human kingdom, for that matter, can ever be “the last best hope for good in the world”. Human kingdoms, no matter how much good they may do (and I believe that America has and continues to do many great things around the world) can never be the hope of the world.
Jesus Christ himself is the hope of the world.
Jesus is the one who promises us the possibility of a world where injustice, violence, exploitation, and even death itself are no more. Jesus is the one who helps us to believe in a kingdom where no one is superior to another simply by accident of birth, but where all work together for the betterment of the whole world, even for those to whom they owe nothing.
The greatest changes in the world for the better have never come from the grand initiatives of human kingdoms, which ultimately seek only their own glory. The greatest changes in the world for the better have always come from those people who follow in the way of Jesus, perhaps not confessionally but in actual practice. It comes from those who aspire towards the flourishing of all of God’s children: people like Mohammed Unis, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa, and Mahatma Ghandi, to name a few. These are people who have dedicated themselves to making a better life for the poorest and weakest amongst us, and in so doing have inspired the fundamental goodness and decency that resides in each of God’s children. This fundamental goodness comes from the fingerprints of our creator, and it cannot be taken away, even by the stain of Sin.
There is a “last best hope for good in the world”, but it is not the United States of America. It is not any candidate or the platform of any political party, nor is it any church or religious group. The last best hope for good in the world are those people that listen to God’s still, small voice whispering to their hearts, calling them to live in such a way that proclaims that there is more to this life than accumulation and consumption.
The last best hope for good in the world is the Spirit of God working through normal people, maybe even you and I, if we’re only willing to listen to the call and act upon it.
One of these standard lines that we hear from all sides is becoming more and more distressing to me. The latest person to use it has been Sarah Palin, although she’s certainly not the first and won’t be the last. It’s a line that comes from people of all parties, but perhaps it sounds so unsettling coming from her because she wears her faith on her sleeve.
The line goes something like this: “America is the last best hope for good in the world”. It’s a line that generates tons of applause because it recalls eighteenth century rhetoric about America being the “new Israel” or the “modern promised land”. It makes the voters feel good because it lets us believe that we are somehow fundamentally better people than all those other countries out there, and because of that superiority we will be able to fix the world’s problems through the exercise of our natural righteousness. This line particularly resonates with those who feel America is somehow a “Christian nation”.
As a follower of Jesus I take great exception to the idea that America, or any other human kingdom, for that matter, can ever be “the last best hope for good in the world”. Human kingdoms, no matter how much good they may do (and I believe that America has and continues to do many great things around the world) can never be the hope of the world.
Jesus Christ himself is the hope of the world.
Jesus is the one who promises us the possibility of a world where injustice, violence, exploitation, and even death itself are no more. Jesus is the one who helps us to believe in a kingdom where no one is superior to another simply by accident of birth, but where all work together for the betterment of the whole world, even for those to whom they owe nothing.
The greatest changes in the world for the better have never come from the grand initiatives of human kingdoms, which ultimately seek only their own glory. The greatest changes in the world for the better have always come from those people who follow in the way of Jesus, perhaps not confessionally but in actual practice. It comes from those who aspire towards the flourishing of all of God’s children: people like Mohammed Unis, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa, and Mahatma Ghandi, to name a few. These are people who have dedicated themselves to making a better life for the poorest and weakest amongst us, and in so doing have inspired the fundamental goodness and decency that resides in each of God’s children. This fundamental goodness comes from the fingerprints of our creator, and it cannot be taken away, even by the stain of Sin.
There is a “last best hope for good in the world”, but it is not the United States of America. It is not any candidate or the platform of any political party, nor is it any church or religious group. The last best hope for good in the world are those people that listen to God’s still, small voice whispering to their hearts, calling them to live in such a way that proclaims that there is more to this life than accumulation and consumption.
The last best hope for good in the world is the Spirit of God working through normal people, maybe even you and I, if we’re only willing to listen to the call and act upon it.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
A Community Called Atonement- part 3
In the first section of the book McKnight argued quite persuasively that to adequately speak about atonement a plurality of metaphors had to be used, since each of those metaphors points to a reality larger than what they actually encompass. In the next section McKnight continues this strand by pointing out a plurality of atoning moments in the life of Christ. But first McKnight engages in a brief excuses on the nature of metaphorical dialogue itself.
McKnight says that “metaphor” can be understood as “possibility”. The subject points to the possibility of a reality that is far beyond the thing itself. Metaphors help expand our imaginations to consider new realms of possibility that cannot be adequately captured by words alone. Seeing metaphor in terms of possibility helps us see the relation of the symbol and the thing itself in terms of indwelling: the eternal reality actually indwells the symbol that points to it. In this way McKnight demonstrates that the symbol, while not being the thing itself (that would be idolatry), nevertheless participates in the reality of that to which it points.
McKnight applies this concept to atonement theory by discussing the critiques of penal substitution, which is the favorite atonement theory of most evangelicals. Many feminist theologians have been critical of the penal substation theory because it idealizes victims (the “silent suffering” of Christ) and justifies oppression and discourage the oppressed from trying to better their situation. McKnight says that while such critiques are valid and point out the potential for abuse inherent in any metaphor, we should not throw the baby out with the bath-water. If we have a more nuanced view of penal substitution as a metaphor, instead of as an actual blood-contract between humanity and God, the potential for abuse is more adequately mitigated, and dialogue between the different metaphors can actually occur.
Further, McKnight argues that since our metaphors are so thoroughly conditioned by our context, and therefore limited in their universal applicability, we need to exercise great care in imposing our metaphors (and thus our contextual reality) upon others. A great degree of humility is required to realize that our metaphors cannot contain the ultimate reality of God’s salvation, and that Truth is not something we can ourselves posses. These things are God’s and God’s alone. This lack of humility is a major cause of the trouble in which the Western church finds itself after the collapse of Christendom.
McKnight begins his discussion of atoning moments at the most obvious place: the cross. The event of the crucifixion is the sole focus of most atonement theories, but McKnight raises the question: Crux Sola? Is atonement only to be found in the cross? Atonement is certainly found powerfully in the cross, perhaps most powerfully because of the striking nature of the image of crucifixion. He also mentions Luther’s “Theology of the Cross” in which Luther speaks movingly of the cross being the ultimate meeting of God and humanity because of the intensity of Christ’s suffering. Jesus was at his most human on the cross because here he experienced the fullness of our pain: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The power of this atoning moment, however, does not strip other moments in the life of Christ of their atoning power.
McKnight brings a bit of Eastern theology in by asserting that the Incarnation is an atoning moment as well. In the incarnation God shows how much he loves us by becoming one of us. God experiences all of the things that humans experience: joy, laughter, love, fear, temptation, hunger, thirst, exhaustion, loneliness, sadness, pain, and death. But Jesus is more than just your average human being. He is the perfect Eikon- fully embodying the image of God in humanity. Whereas we are cracked and broken Eikons, Jesus shows the fullness of human potential. It would not have been possible for God to have become human had humanity not already been created in the image of God. As much as we have done to fracture that original perfect relationship with God, it cannot be fully broken because we remain, at our core, God’s image bearers.
McKnight also sees Easter and Pentecost as atoning moments. Pentecost is important because the Holy Spirit was poured out on the Apostles and the church was born, signifying the New Covenant in Christ. Although McKnight doesn’t say it explicitly, seeing Pentecost as an atoning moment enables us to see events in our own lives and the lives of our faith communities as atoning. The Holy Spirit still moves among us, reminding us of God’s continual call upon us.
I believe it is incredibly important to see Easter as an atoning moment. Just as Easter has no meaning without Good Friday, the crucifixion has no meaning without the Resurrection. When we focus solely on the suffering of Christ on Good Friday and pay only mere lip service to the Resurrection on Easter Sunday (Mel Gibson, I’m looking in your direction), then we imply that suffering itself is redemptive. Suffering is not redemptive in and of itself. The endurance of suffering is only possible because of the hope of the Resurrection. We endure the trials of life because we know that suffering will end, all tears will be dried, death will be no more, and all wrongs will be righted. Just as death is not the end of existence, the cross is not the endpoint of our faith. The cross points to the Resurrection and gives us hope for the future.
Reflections: If McKnight’s basis thesis is true and our communities truly can live out atonement and actualize the Kingdom of God in the world, then we have to be willing to see atoning moments throughout our communal lives. To begin to see the different ways our experiences can be atoning, a good place to start is to see how different moments in the life of Christ are atoning. McKnight is making a solid case here, and I’m anxious to see how he carries it forward into modern ecclesial contexts.
McKnight says that “metaphor” can be understood as “possibility”. The subject points to the possibility of a reality that is far beyond the thing itself. Metaphors help expand our imaginations to consider new realms of possibility that cannot be adequately captured by words alone. Seeing metaphor in terms of possibility helps us see the relation of the symbol and the thing itself in terms of indwelling: the eternal reality actually indwells the symbol that points to it. In this way McKnight demonstrates that the symbol, while not being the thing itself (that would be idolatry), nevertheless participates in the reality of that to which it points.
McKnight applies this concept to atonement theory by discussing the critiques of penal substitution, which is the favorite atonement theory of most evangelicals. Many feminist theologians have been critical of the penal substation theory because it idealizes victims (the “silent suffering” of Christ) and justifies oppression and discourage the oppressed from trying to better their situation. McKnight says that while such critiques are valid and point out the potential for abuse inherent in any metaphor, we should not throw the baby out with the bath-water. If we have a more nuanced view of penal substitution as a metaphor, instead of as an actual blood-contract between humanity and God, the potential for abuse is more adequately mitigated, and dialogue between the different metaphors can actually occur.
Further, McKnight argues that since our metaphors are so thoroughly conditioned by our context, and therefore limited in their universal applicability, we need to exercise great care in imposing our metaphors (and thus our contextual reality) upon others. A great degree of humility is required to realize that our metaphors cannot contain the ultimate reality of God’s salvation, and that Truth is not something we can ourselves posses. These things are God’s and God’s alone. This lack of humility is a major cause of the trouble in which the Western church finds itself after the collapse of Christendom.
McKnight begins his discussion of atoning moments at the most obvious place: the cross. The event of the crucifixion is the sole focus of most atonement theories, but McKnight raises the question: Crux Sola? Is atonement only to be found in the cross? Atonement is certainly found powerfully in the cross, perhaps most powerfully because of the striking nature of the image of crucifixion. He also mentions Luther’s “Theology of the Cross” in which Luther speaks movingly of the cross being the ultimate meeting of God and humanity because of the intensity of Christ’s suffering. Jesus was at his most human on the cross because here he experienced the fullness of our pain: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The power of this atoning moment, however, does not strip other moments in the life of Christ of their atoning power.
McKnight brings a bit of Eastern theology in by asserting that the Incarnation is an atoning moment as well. In the incarnation God shows how much he loves us by becoming one of us. God experiences all of the things that humans experience: joy, laughter, love, fear, temptation, hunger, thirst, exhaustion, loneliness, sadness, pain, and death. But Jesus is more than just your average human being. He is the perfect Eikon- fully embodying the image of God in humanity. Whereas we are cracked and broken Eikons, Jesus shows the fullness of human potential. It would not have been possible for God to have become human had humanity not already been created in the image of God. As much as we have done to fracture that original perfect relationship with God, it cannot be fully broken because we remain, at our core, God’s image bearers.
McKnight also sees Easter and Pentecost as atoning moments. Pentecost is important because the Holy Spirit was poured out on the Apostles and the church was born, signifying the New Covenant in Christ. Although McKnight doesn’t say it explicitly, seeing Pentecost as an atoning moment enables us to see events in our own lives and the lives of our faith communities as atoning. The Holy Spirit still moves among us, reminding us of God’s continual call upon us.
I believe it is incredibly important to see Easter as an atoning moment. Just as Easter has no meaning without Good Friday, the crucifixion has no meaning without the Resurrection. When we focus solely on the suffering of Christ on Good Friday and pay only mere lip service to the Resurrection on Easter Sunday (Mel Gibson, I’m looking in your direction), then we imply that suffering itself is redemptive. Suffering is not redemptive in and of itself. The endurance of suffering is only possible because of the hope of the Resurrection. We endure the trials of life because we know that suffering will end, all tears will be dried, death will be no more, and all wrongs will be righted. Just as death is not the end of existence, the cross is not the endpoint of our faith. The cross points to the Resurrection and gives us hope for the future.
Reflections: If McKnight’s basis thesis is true and our communities truly can live out atonement and actualize the Kingdom of God in the world, then we have to be willing to see atoning moments throughout our communal lives. To begin to see the different ways our experiences can be atoning, a good place to start is to see how different moments in the life of Christ are atoning. McKnight is making a solid case here, and I’m anxious to see how he carries it forward into modern ecclesial contexts.
Friday, November 02, 2007
A Community Called Atonement- Part 2
Hey everyone. Sorry I haven't posted in so long. It turns out this "Full Time Senior Pastor" thing cuts into blogging time. Who knew?
Picking up where we left off last time, McKnight begins Part 1 of the book by asserting again that when he uses the word atonement he is talking about far more than soteriology (how salvation works), but instead about our understanding of the Kingdom of God itself. That is, McKnight is talking about how we understand the Christian faith itself.
Since atonement theories point to a larger reality than that which they can encompass, therefore being ultimately inadequate to provide a full understanding of the subject in and of themselves, we have to use a plurality of metaphors when talking about atonement. If I may overlay Paul Tillich on McKnight’s text for a moment (something which I think McKnight would not mind terribly), a metaphor is another way of saying “symbolic language”. A symbol participates in the reality of that to which it points, but is not the thing itself. So if we were to absolutize only one atonement theory/metaphor/symbol we would be absolutizing something that is far less than absolute reality, i.e. God. The Bible calls this idolatry, which is a pretty major sin, so McKnight is right on in his insistence on using a plurality of metaphors to talk about atonement.
While McKnight’s list of starting points for talking about atonement is certainly not the end-all be-all list of possibilities (and I don’t see him implying that it is), his list is fairly comprehensive and each item merits some discussion.
Jesus: This may seem like a giant no-brainer, but most discussion of atonement begins with a definition of Sin, only then proceeding to Jesus. McKnight contends that Christian theology must begin with Christ. I tend to see theology as a circular undertaking, where our stance on every issue affects every other issue; hence there is no single starting point. Still, starting with Jesus is probably as good a place as any. McKnight takes Luke’s Jesus (let’s be clear- each gospel writer has his own distinct Jesus) and highlights the constant theme of reversal in Luke’s gospel: the last will be first, etc. This theme of reversal continues through Acts, of course, with the Gentiles inheriting the Kingdom that was supposed to be just for Israel. In a world where the divide between haves and have-nots is greater than ever, Luke’s Jesus has a special significance if we’re trying to articulate a relevant Christianity to that world.
God, Eikons, and Sin: For McKnight, these three things are the chronological beginning of the narrative. Theologians call this theological anthropology: how we understand humanity in relationship to God. Long story short, the loving God created us in God’s image (Eikons) and we quickly brought Sin into the picture and screwed up the imago Dei (Latin for the image of God). McKnight understands Sin as “hyper-relational”: breaking many strands in the complex web of relationships between God, the creation, individuals, families, communities, etc. It is this brokenness, estrangement, marred image, and separation that creates the basic problem that Jesus came to deal with. In Jesus, all of this brokenness is made “at one” again: atonement.
Eternity, Ecclesial Community, and Praxis: If Sin is hyper-relational, dealing with a complex web of relationships, than the cure is going to be complex and intertwined as well. It’s so complex as to literally have no beginning or end: hence the term eternity. McKnight employs the image of Ecclesial Community for much the same reason. Atonement is not simply the reconciliation of individual souls to God. It is also the reconciliation of our communal lives to God (Social Gospel, anyone?), and of ourselves to one another. How does this all work? That is the realm of Praxis: the intersection of theory (theology) and practice. Living out these nice, clean abstractions in the messy realities of everyday life is the tough part, and it’s a never-ending (eternal) conversation as to how this whole Christianity thing actually works.
Reflections: I like the ground McKnight has covered thus far. He genuinely seems committed to ecumenical dialogue without letting one particular voice dominate the conversation. I am trying to figure out what particular theological tradition McKnight hails from. My hunch is some branch of the Reformed/Calvinist tradition, but I’m not sure yet. Anybody have any thoughts or insights on this question or anything else I’ve brought up here?
Discuss…
Picking up where we left off last time, McKnight begins Part 1 of the book by asserting again that when he uses the word atonement he is talking about far more than soteriology (how salvation works), but instead about our understanding of the Kingdom of God itself. That is, McKnight is talking about how we understand the Christian faith itself.
Since atonement theories point to a larger reality than that which they can encompass, therefore being ultimately inadequate to provide a full understanding of the subject in and of themselves, we have to use a plurality of metaphors when talking about atonement. If I may overlay Paul Tillich on McKnight’s text for a moment (something which I think McKnight would not mind terribly), a metaphor is another way of saying “symbolic language”. A symbol participates in the reality of that to which it points, but is not the thing itself. So if we were to absolutize only one atonement theory/metaphor/symbol we would be absolutizing something that is far less than absolute reality, i.e. God. The Bible calls this idolatry, which is a pretty major sin, so McKnight is right on in his insistence on using a plurality of metaphors to talk about atonement.
While McKnight’s list of starting points for talking about atonement is certainly not the end-all be-all list of possibilities (and I don’t see him implying that it is), his list is fairly comprehensive and each item merits some discussion.
Jesus: This may seem like a giant no-brainer, but most discussion of atonement begins with a definition of Sin, only then proceeding to Jesus. McKnight contends that Christian theology must begin with Christ. I tend to see theology as a circular undertaking, where our stance on every issue affects every other issue; hence there is no single starting point. Still, starting with Jesus is probably as good a place as any. McKnight takes Luke’s Jesus (let’s be clear- each gospel writer has his own distinct Jesus) and highlights the constant theme of reversal in Luke’s gospel: the last will be first, etc. This theme of reversal continues through Acts, of course, with the Gentiles inheriting the Kingdom that was supposed to be just for Israel. In a world where the divide between haves and have-nots is greater than ever, Luke’s Jesus has a special significance if we’re trying to articulate a relevant Christianity to that world.
God, Eikons, and Sin: For McKnight, these three things are the chronological beginning of the narrative. Theologians call this theological anthropology: how we understand humanity in relationship to God. Long story short, the loving God created us in God’s image (Eikons) and we quickly brought Sin into the picture and screwed up the imago Dei (Latin for the image of God). McKnight understands Sin as “hyper-relational”: breaking many strands in the complex web of relationships between God, the creation, individuals, families, communities, etc. It is this brokenness, estrangement, marred image, and separation that creates the basic problem that Jesus came to deal with. In Jesus, all of this brokenness is made “at one” again: atonement.
Eternity, Ecclesial Community, and Praxis: If Sin is hyper-relational, dealing with a complex web of relationships, than the cure is going to be complex and intertwined as well. It’s so complex as to literally have no beginning or end: hence the term eternity. McKnight employs the image of Ecclesial Community for much the same reason. Atonement is not simply the reconciliation of individual souls to God. It is also the reconciliation of our communal lives to God (Social Gospel, anyone?), and of ourselves to one another. How does this all work? That is the realm of Praxis: the intersection of theory (theology) and practice. Living out these nice, clean abstractions in the messy realities of everyday life is the tough part, and it’s a never-ending (eternal) conversation as to how this whole Christianity thing actually works.
Reflections: I like the ground McKnight has covered thus far. He genuinely seems committed to ecumenical dialogue without letting one particular voice dominate the conversation. I am trying to figure out what particular theological tradition McKnight hails from. My hunch is some branch of the Reformed/Calvinist tradition, but I’m not sure yet. Anybody have any thoughts or insights on this question or anything else I’ve brought up here?
Discuss…
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