Jason Gaboury's Blog, page 10

Meeting God in a Season of Anguish

 

In moments of anguish it’s easy to forget that some of our most cherished and comforting traditions emerged in seasons just like these.  We need comfort in the midst of our trauma.  We need hope for restoration.  We need relationship with God.  Isaiah 40:1-11 offers us all three.  

 

We’ve mostly forgotten that Isaiah 40:1-11, is a passage born out of anguish.  We read these words or hear them sung every December as the opening lines of Handel’s Messiah.  They evoke positive feelings of security, warm cider, close relationships, and holiday cheer.  We forget the anguish into which these words were written, and the condition into which they speak. 

 

The context of Isaiah 40 is crucial. These words are written to a community in spiritual crisis.  The chapters promise judgment coming on the people of Judah.  This judgment will take the form of Jerusalem and its temple being destroyed, the royal family becoming castrated servants of the king of Babylon, and the people being scattered through a foreign empire.   

 

Everything upon which the covenant worldview of the people of God was built would be tested by this judgment.  Monotheism, the belief in One God, would be upended by the defeat of God’s people by foreign deities.  The doctrine of election, one people of God, would be strained to the breaking point by scattering the people through a foreign empire. How will this people survive?  Their hope for the future, one place for God’s people, would be challenged by their dispossession of the land, and their scattering into the empire.  

 

Isaiah 40, in 3 distinct voices, point us to God in the midst of anguish.  In these words, we encounter comfort, restoration, and the relationship that makes these possible.   

 

The first voice speaks of comfort.  

Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her 

that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,

that she has received from the Lord's hand
double for all her sins.

 

The voice of comfort assures the people that their suffering and judgment is not the end. Conquered people are tempted to believe that God has abandoned them. As a conquered people, Israel might be tempted to turn from God and instead worship the power of the empire in its economic dominance, military prowess, and ability to exercise political will. Isaiah says, “No.”  God has not abandoned you.  The hardship that you’re enduring now is under the Lord’s hand.  God is at work, even in judgment, even in exile.

 

Some of us balk at any talk of God and judgment.  This is because, at least according to Boston University professor Dr. Peter Kreeft, we live in a cultural moment where we have collapsed, the virtues of love, compassion, and goodness all into kindness.  And since, we rightly believe God is loving, compassionate, and good we assume therefore that God’s deepest nature is to be kind.  (Judgment doesn’t fit with our image of kindness.)  

 

But, according to Peter Kreeft, this is a distortion of God’s character.   Kindness has to do with being friendly, generous, and considerate.   It has to do with treating others as ‘kin’.  It is a virtue.  The New Testament even commands us to show kindness to one another.  However, while it is not incompatible with the nature of God to include the conviviality associated with kindness, Kreeft argues that God’s truest nature corresponds more deeply to the virtue of mercy.  Mercy is compassion or forgiveness shown to someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm.  In a fallen, corrupted, and corruptible world God isn’t, ‘nice’.  It’s so much better than that…God’s deepest nature is to be merciful.  

 

That’s why the bible demonstrates God’s love as combative and confrontational as well as compassionate and gentle.  That’s why in scripture God’s goodness makes moral demands and provides rescue from sin.  That’s why God’s is revealed as both compassionate and critical.

 

In the desolation and anguish brought on by our own sin, the sin of others, or the vulnerability of a world experiencing multiple crises, (COVID-19, racial injustice, economic crisis, political polarization) God’s first word to his people is comfort.  

 

God sees you.  God’s mercy is open to you, whatever situation of captivity, judgment, or exile you’re living in.    

 

The fist voice is the voice of comfort.  God is at work.  The Lord will restore justice.  

The second voice is the voice of restoration.  

A voice cries out:

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.

Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

 

The image here is of work being done in preparation for a royal visitation.  Imagine a city preparing to host the Olympic games.  I drive through Lake Placid several times a year, and even though the Olympics haven’t been there since 1976, you can still see the buildings and infrastructures that were built to accommodate the Olympics.  

Isaiah’s vision is one summoning people to work, to prepare for the Lord’s return to Zion.  All that was broken will be restored. This is not a message for philosophical contemplation, it’s a call for shovels.  There is work to be done.  Our common prayer, ministry, outreach, and acts of mercy are all ways in which God bestows upon simple human beings what one writer calls, “the dignity of causality.” 

 

What would need to happen in your home for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there?  What would need to happen in your school, office, department, or studio for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there?  What would need to happen in our online and cultural discourse for us to see God’s glory more fully revealed?  What needs to be ‘filled in’, what needs to be ‘raised up’?  

 

In the midst of anguish God speaks a word of comfort and a word of calling.  We are called fill in and raise up in a way that anticipates the day when God’s glory will be revealed and everyone sees it together. 

 

The third voice shows us how to have relationship with God.  

It’s insufficient to believe in the comfort and mercy of God and to be actively involved in the work of God, we are summoned to relationship with God. 

 

A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry?”

All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.

The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand for ever.

 

I love Isaiah’s utter realism about human beings.  There is unflinching confrontation with the reality of human frailty, weakness, and limitation.  Sometimes we get this idea that to be godly, or spiritually robust is to be without weakness, fault, or inconsistency.  But here the voice is crying out “all people are grass”.  God is not unaware of our weaknesses, sin, and inconstancy.  God knows all about that and invites us into relationship with him anyway.  We don’t need to be smart, powerful, rich, good looking, or talented.  We don’t need to be nuanced, culturally sophisticated, highly educated, or socially powerful.  In fact, most of those things get in the way of us having relationship with God. 

 

Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good tidings;

lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;

say to the cities of Judah,
“Here is your God!”

See, the Lord God comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;

his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,

and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.

 

This final section contrasts what people are like with what God is like.  God is powerful, just, and mighty.  God is also the shepherd king who is tender and merciful.  God carries the vulnerable in his arms and gently leads the mother sheep.  God has no rivals in the scope and totality of his power.  God has no equal in the depths of his tenderness and compassion. 

 

Do you know God like that?  Are you at the same time overwhelmed by the majesty, beauty, and power of God, AND dumbstruck by God’s tenderness and compassion to you?  If not, then come and discover life with God.  Leave a comment.  Reach out and let’s discover together.  If you do know God in this way then be a voice like Isaiah’s, a voice calling others to the mercy, restoration, and life with God.   

 

Study: A Way to Know God

This Talk was given at Cornell University in 2018.  

How is Jesus Christ relevant to an Ivy League Education?  

Aristotle said, “ALL men by nature desire to know. An indication of this is the delight we take in our senses; for even apart from their usefulness they are loved for themselves; and above all others the sense of sight. For not only with a view to action, but even when we are not going to do anything, we prefer seeing (one might say) to everything else. The reason is that this, most of all the senses, makes us know and brings to light many differences between things.” 

You are in a stage and place in life where the desire to know and to discover is elevated about as highly as it can be.  Despite the critique it gets in your newspapers and student journals, the words of Ezra Cornell “I would found an institution where any person can find instruction in any study…” Gets at this fundamental human desire.  Much of the critique of this motto is not a criticism of the pursuit of knowledge and instruction, but to its scope.  “What does ‘any person’ and ‘any study’ really mean?”  So, the disciplined pursuit of knowledge is a profound good.  We don’t argue about that.  

We also don’t argue that getting a college education transforms us in more ways than one. By getting a college education you are joining an elite global community, a community that is entrusted with the levers of cultural leadership, environmental stewardship, economic development, technological advancement, and political stability.  By getting an elite college education, you are choosing to identify with the leading edge of this incredibly privileged community.  

So, what difference does Jesus Christ make?  I will make the case briefly that Jesus makes 3 significant differences to our identity as students.  These three differences are; perspective, practice, and purpose.  

 

Perspective: Because Christ Transforms my Identity, I Study.

 

Did you know that study has been a central component of the Christian movement from it’s very beginning?  Luke’s gospel, begins this way "Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, 2just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, 3I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first,* to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, 4so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.”   

 

Luke’s gospel begins by describing the careful investigation and ordering of information that is both the heart and fruit of scholarship.  Why?  Because the Christian gospel is not a corpus of religious ideas or a set of virtuous actions, it is an announcement of something that happened in history.  Jesus of Nazareth lived a life of significance, taught the Hebrew scriptures in a way no other man had ever dared, demonstrated in word and action that Israel’s God was keeping the promises of the Law and Prophets, healed those who were sick and suffering, died a horrific death with political and theological significance, and rose from death 3 days later igniting a radical transformation of the Jewish worldview and ultimately the world.  

 

Christian faith emphasizes study because this gospel is an event that must be understood if it is to be lived out.  Christian faith emphasizes study because at its heart are claims about the nature of reality, human identity, relationships, ethics, and meaning.  No worldview can truly be called Christian that doesn’t thoroughly embrace the desire to know, to study, to investigate, and to discover.  

Because Christ Transforms my Identity, I study.  Every field of study matters to God.  Every area of life cries out to be understood.  

 

An identity transformed by Christ will bring a unique perspective into practice of study.  We will study not just to acquire knowledge, skills, or technical proficiency.  We will study as a way of loving God with our minds.  Rather than seeing our academic pursuits in a secular or personal category over here, and our Christian life in a separate category over here, a truly Christian perspective will see all of life as a context within which to know and love God, God’s world, and God’s people.  

 

For example, my friend Keegan studied fine arts and photography at Columbia University.  Her work was highly criticized by her professors during her senior year because it lacked the deconstructionist and boundary blurring elements that the studio associated with disciplined and educated application of her craft.  Keegan took the criticism seriously, reflected on it, and went back to her professors and told them, with convicted humility, that they hadn’t understood her work.  She explained her deep knowledge of the kinds of work that they were doing, while simultaneously making a case for a work that explored personhood through portraiture.  She won over her professors and ultimately graduated with honors in the program.  Keegan’s Christ centered perspective enabled her to see and work differently.  

 

Practice:  Because Christ Transforms my Identity, I Study.

Not everything about study and about being a student is glorious and God honoring.  A Christ transformed identity gives us perspective through which we unleash our natural desire to know.  A Christ transformed identity enables us to study as a way of knowing God, loving God, and serving our neighbor.  But… without a different set of practices study will quickly become filled with anxiety, anger, and avoidance.  Do any of you experience any of these in your life as a student?  

 

Anxiety is rampant on campuses like Cornell.  It’s a great irony that a campus community full of bright students, resourced with every imaginable support structure, is also plagued by anxiety and fear.  The fear of failure.  The fear of not measuring up.  The fear of what your professor or classmates think of your work.  These fears drive students to resent study, to avoid it, or to come to it with great stress.  

 

Dallas Willard, one of the smartest and most godly men of the last century, counseled John Ortberg while John was working at this big, dynamic, and incredibly busy church in Chicago.  John called Dallas and asked him for spiritual advice.  “How,” John asked, “would you advise me to make sure I’m living the life God wants me to live in the midst of the demands of ministry?”  Dallas thought about it for a minute and then said, “You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”  And then he stopped talking.  Meanwhile John was on the other end of the phone waiting…growing increasingly frustrated, anxious, and distracted because this call was taking a long time… and John had stuff to do… “Is that it?”  John asked frustrated, revealing as he just how important it was that he slow down and eliminate hurry from his life.  

 

I want to modify Dallas Willard’s words for Cornell students.  Because a Christ transformed identity practices study differently, Christ transformed students ruthlessly eliminate anxiety from their life. 

 

How can we do this?  We seek to know God!  (I confess I spend far too much time with godly, earnest, sincere, theologically sophisticated, and missional students who do not know God… not really… not in a way that reflects in their life the truth they might confess with their minds.)  

 

If Jesus is king of kings and lord of lords, then you and I can trust him to provide for our needs.  This is radically different then the dominant paradigm we live under.  Many of us functionally believe, “If I don’t… it won’t.  If I don’t work myself to the absolute bone… I will flunk out, fail, and bring shame on myself and my community.” 

In contrast the Christian believes that Jesus has the ability and authority to provide us what we truly need. 

How can we trust Jesus to provide for us?  Because Jesus let go of his life in loving trust of his father, you and I can let go of our lives in loving trust of Jesus.  You can give yourself to study without stress, resentment, or avoidance.  

 

Here are some practices that will help you study without stress…  

-        Take sabbath every week!  Too many of us seek the blessing of God while violating God’s command to stop, rest, delight, and be renewed one day per week.  We can’t ignore God’s command to rest 1 day per week and expect God to bless our efforts.   

-        Have a study plan.  Years ago I learned from John Stott to study 1 hour per day, 1 block per week, 1 day per month.  A study plan bonds our study into a structure that allows us to make space for other things. 

-        Engage your study as Worship.  As a follower of St. Dominic, study is built into the daily rhythm of our life with God.  We study in the presence of God and call upon God’s help to learn what we can’t learn alone.  This semester I’m teaching myself New Testament Greek.  As I study in the presence of God, I find the Holy Spirit illuminating my mind, leading me to deeper understanding, causing me to grasp declension paradigms and recognize words.  

 

Purpose: Because Christ Transforms my Identity I Study.

Let’s look at the passage from Luke 1 again.  

Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, 2just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, 3I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first,* to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, 4so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.”   

 

A Christ transformed identity is set free to study so that others may know the truth.  A consumer approach to study that seeks to gather information, skill, or opportunity for oneself is incompatible with a Christ transformed life.  It doesn’t matter whether your studying marketing, engineering, or agriculture.  A Christ transformed student learns for the sake of knowing and serving God by applying their knowledge in the service of others.  Luke, a physician and companion of the apostle Paul, studied carefully so that others might know the truth.  You have a similar opportunity.  

 

As Aristotle said, “All men (people) have a desire to know…”  But we will only ever know the pitiless and merciless, anxious and grasping way of death unless we are transformed.  It’s only when we see the perspective of Jesus who did not count equality with God as something to be grasped, something to be exploited for his own pleasure, but emptied himself…for you.  That we can begin to grasp his vision of a transformed life.  This Jesus who took on the form of a slave, who came not to the institutions of cultural power, but to a poor couple in an oppressed community at the margins of the empire… This Jesus emptied himself, gave his life, hung naked and vulnerable on a cross.  

 

Jesus did this so that your desire to know can be fulfilled through a lifetime of knowing God in a way that turns you out of yourself and makes you a blessing to others.  

Because Jesus transforms my identity, I study.  As you enter into this new semester, I pray that you would have your identity transformed by Jesus too!  The Christian life, when understood, leads us to practices, perspectives, and purpose that will transform study, making it a transformative way to know God.  

 

 

How to Study the Bible on Your Own

BY MALAYA GABOURY - JULY 27, 2020

God’s word is alive and active (Hebrews 4:12). As young followers of Jesus, it is super important to learn how to study Scripture for ourselves because it is through Scripture that God speaks to us. 

When I first made a serious decision to follow Jesus, I realized that there is so much more to the Bible than I ever thought. To be honest, I was kind of overwhelmed at the thought of tackling Scripture on my own. Where do I even start? How will this draw me closer to God? How do I make sense of passages that confuse me? There was no Sunday school lesson that covered how to read the Bible at home. 

If you have or had similar questions, then this post is for you. Here are a few things I’ve learned that have helped me read the Bible on my own:

Pray!

Ask God to speak to you and meet you as you study his word. Ask the Holy Spirit to give you insight into passages that you may not understand. 

I love Paul’s prayer in Ephesians 1, where he asks God to give the people of Ephesus wisdom and revelation in order that they would know God better:

“I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. 18 I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, 19 and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” - Ephesians 1:17-19

God wants to know you and wants you to know him. And what better way to get to know God than to become familiar with his words? So when we ask God to speak to us and reveal himself to us through Scripture, we can trust that he will answer this prayer. 

Start with Something Manageable

You don’t have to read everything at once. Remember, God’s word always accomplishes His purpose (Isaiah 55:11). God can speak to you through any passage of Scripture, even just one verse. Pick one book of the Bible to read through (if you don’t know where to start, my encouragement would be to start with one of the gospels, such as the book of John). 

Once you’ve picked the book that you want to read through, remember that you don’t have to read the whole thing in one sitting. You don’t even have to read a whole chapter in one sitting! For the longest time, I read an average of 10 verses per day. Even though reading the book of Acts in this way took me quite a long time, it helped me to stick to it and not get discouraged. After reading smaller passages regularly, I was able to gradually increase the amount of Scripture I read each day. Nowadays, I read an average of one chapter per day. 

Don’t be afraid to start by reading bite size passages of Scripture. By starting small, you’ll be able to build consistency in your Bible reading. And as you gain consistency, you will be able to work up to reading larger passages of Scripture.

Look at the Background and Context 

This really helps you understand a passage. When looking for the background and context of a passage, here are some questions to ask:

Who was the intended audience of this passage?

How would the intended audience have understood or interpreted this passage?

Who wrote this passage? What did the author want to communicate?

Are there particular themes in this passage that come up in the rest of the book?

 

You can find answers to these questions by reading the notes in a study Bible or by reading a commentary. I love N.T. Wright’s “For Everyone” series and the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. There are also some great online resources, such as Blue Letter Bible and Howto.Bible. 

Make Observations and Ask Questions

Get curious! What themes do you see in this passage? What questions do you have? Is there any repetition of words and/or phrases? List out any promises in the passage. I like to mark my observations in my Bible. I even have a color coding system, which I wrote about here. If you have specific questions about the passage, see if you can answer them with clues from the passage itself. You can also look for answers in other passages of Scripture or in commentaries. 

Remember, questions are good things! You don’t have to have all the answers all the time, in fact, you shouldn’t. The more you ask questions, the more you will need to dig into the passage. 

Ask questions that will drive you towards the heart of God. Questions such as “What does this passage teach me about God?” will help you seek God and know him better. Here are a few questions you can ask yourself: 

What does this passage teach you about who God is?

How does this passage point to Jesus?

What might God be saying to me through this passage? 

Final thoughts and Encouragement

When we read the Bible, we are getting to know God more. Just like any relationship, the relationship we build with God in Scripture grows over time. Bring your questions and curiosities, your hopes and dreams, your doubts and fears into your time of reading Scripture. And over time, you will get to know God more and more.

For more from Malaya Gaboury visit: https://lifewithmalaya.blogspot.com

Hidden Foundations for Seeking Justice (part 2)

I love and support the conversation about justice we’re having in our culture. As a Christian, I don’t see how one can worship a God who, “hears the cry of the poor, ” (Psalm 34) or speaks through the prophet saying “I the Lord love justice,” (Isaiah 61:8) and then turn a deaf ear to those crying out to be seen and heard. At the same time, it’s important to remember that justice is medicine, not food. As a medicine, justice helps the body remove evil, malice, oppression, unfairness, and cruelty, but on its own it cannot sustain the body to grow into what is good, true, and beautiful. 

Medicine is necessary when we are sick. Food sustains is into health. We need both. 

In my post, Hidden Foundations for Seeking Justice (Part 1), we identified 3 foundational practices for Christians seeking to do justice; practice listening, participate in worship, and learn systems thinking.  These practical habits will help shape us into the kind of people who pursue justice, not because of the burning intensity of a moment, or by being carried along by the energy of a movement, but with the integrity of a life hidden in Christ.  

Here are another 3 crucial foundations for Christians seeking to do justice. 

1.     Explore Your Emotional Iceberg – In Pete Scazzero’s Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, Pete uses the image of an iceberg to illustrate an important point too many of us ignore.  Just as most of the iceberg is under the water, so most of our motives and emotional energy is under the surface of our lives.  We can move quickly, from input to input, simply skimming the surface, not really knowing or understanding what is driving us.  

This is particularly tempting for those of us with an activist orientation.  We see a video or read an article that triggers something within us.  A sense of injustice flares into outrage.  We click, we share, we comment, re-post, donate, sign, etc. Our activism is reactive.  We never stop and consider what our exposing event has ‘triggered’ within us, or what it might mean.  

Reactivity, even if it’s directed towards something good, is rarely sustainable or healthy.  For example, I got pretty angry in a conversation recently about education.  The friend hadn’t said or done me any harm, but was simply expressing a viewpoint that made sense to them.  Because educational injustice is an emotional trigger for me, I very quickly became critical, and then downright hostile.  Was I mad at my friend?  No.  Was I championing educational justice?  Not really. If you could look under the surface of my emotional life, you’d see that I was working out grief and anger from my own experience and the experience of people close to me.  Working out this anger on my friend does nothing to advance the cause of educational equity, even if working for justice in this area is good in itself.  

We explore our emotional iceberg when we learn to ask; 

-       What am I (really) mad about?  

-       What am I (really) sad about?

-       What am I (really) glad about?

-       What am I (really) scared of?

Exploring the iceberg helps us to ground our justice seeking in our values and vocation rather than in our passions and emotional triggers. 

2.     Steep in Scripture – Any Christian engagement in seeking justice has to be anchored in scripture.  Without scriptural reflection we simply end up adopting categories of justice from popular culture.  Is justice based on a social hierarchy or personal merit?  Is the aim of justice equality of opportunity or outcomes?  Or, to be more concrete, when someone says, “black lives matter,” are they endorsing a political platform, or stating a theological truth?  

In scripture we discover what God is like.  The origin stories in scripture describe God in loving relationship with his creation, intent on preserving and restoring what is lost through human rebellion.  The image of God revealed in Genesis is one of justice.  We see God working within,  and sometimes subverting, human systems in an effort to bring blessing to the nations.  The exodus narrative reveals God as the liberator and law giver, one who is patient in love, and yet by no means ignoring the guilty.  God continues to work within and in spite of human injustice from the settling of the land of Canaan through the exile.   The prophets preach against injustice and idolatry.  Psalm 68:5 describes God as, “Father of orphans and defender of widows.”

In the New Testament we see a community emerge around Jesus as he teaches about the kingdom of God.  God’s justice, according to Jesus, is coming in and through his work.  Jesus’ death and resurrection launch a new community.  This community lives within a corrupt human empire while faithfully announcing Jesus as Lord, and not so subtly suggesting that Caesar isn’t.  The epistles attempt to work out how this new community is to live faithfully and justly together. The book of Revelation is a barely veiled critique of the Roman Empire, declaring the ultimate victory and justice of God.

This biblical story is all about justice!  Attempts to read the story of scripture that screen out justice pull the larger story out of shape.  That said, the arc of justice in the biblical text does not fit neatly into our contemporary justice slogans.  It was never meant to.  

Anchoring ourselves in the story of scripture fuels us to work for justice without being coopted by the interests of a particular party or movement.  For Christians seeking justice, our commitment to party, political philosophy, or group identity are secondary.  We are primarily committed to God, through Jesus, as revealed in scripture and empowered by the Spirit.  

3.     Cultivate Stewardship and Responsibility  – In his paper Revelation and Christian Hope, N.T. Wright describes the unholy trinity of money, sex, and power at the center of corrupt human empire.  In contrast Wright draws on the human vocation, renewed in Christ, to steward resources, build relationships, and fulfill responsibilities.  This is a helpful insight for Christians seeking to engage in justice work because it begs an unavoidable question.  Is our justice work an effort to exercise wise stewardship and fulfill our responsibilities, or is it an attempt to amass, or hold onto, power?  

This is an important question.  In his book How to be an Antiracist, Ibram X. Kendi argues that self-interest, especially group self-interest, is the primary driver behind policy.  For Kendi, policies are secondary justifications for decisions made out of naked self-interest.  Within this worldview it is tempting to see power as the means to maximize group self-interest.  

While Kendi’s thinking is radical in some parts of his book, his perspective on power and self-interest is not.  It is the default understanding of the Christian Right as well as the Black Lives Matter movement. Power is seen, not as a bestial temptation, but as a means for good.  As far as I know the only popular challenge to this view is in the imaginative work of J.R.R. Tolkein, whose story hinges on a temptation to claim power for oneself and thereby brining destruction and domination instead.  

Christians, especially those committed to justice work, need to build habits of stewardship and responsibility against the temptation to grab at power.  My friend Jonathan has spent years orchestrating his personal life to maximize environmental stewardship as a key component of his justice work.  If you asked him, Jonathan would say, “You can’t give away a freedom you don’t have.”  

Cultivating stewardship and responsibility is not instantly gratifying work.  It involves paying attention to how we spend money in the midst of a consumer culture.  It means regularly asking, “what are my responsibilities to my family, colleagues, and neighbors,” before trying to change the world.  

The fruit of building stewardship and responsibility is trust.  The more deeply we are shaped by stewardship, the less likely we will be to try and control others.  The more we see our justice work as emerging out of our responsibility to our neighbors, the more likely we are to partner with others well and build relationships. 

Exploring our emotional iceberg, steeping ourselves in scripture, and cultivating stewardship and responsibility are hidden foundational disciplines for Christians seeking to do Justice.  On their own they will not lead to meaningful change, healthy relationships between racial groups, or greater accountability in the face of injustice.  What they will do is shape us into the kind of people capable of pursuing justice in a way that is healthy, God honoring, and holistic.  

 

 

Free to Fail - From Anxious, Stressed, and Lonely to Captivated by Beauty

It was a great plan.  I’d gotten up ridiculously early to bring a housemate to the airport and was desperate to deliver the diamond ring in my pocket to Sophia, along with the invitation to marry me.  Sophia is not a morning person.  I got breakfast, fresh flowers, and drove to Sophia’s only to discover the impossible had happened.  Sophia left early.  I tried to surprise Sophia at mid-day, but missed her again, this time by five minutes.  It took four attempts before finally, exasperated, after 7oclock that evening… Sophia and I were in the same room.  

The story has a happy ending.  This week Sophia and I celebrated twenty years of marriage.  But, as far as I know, I’m the only person who has 4 failed engagement attempts in the same day.  I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like failure.   

 

When I fail, I feel anxious, stressed, and lonely.  

 

The American Psychiatric Association published an article last July describing college students with three words, anxious, stressed, and lonely.  That was last summer before a global pandemic exposed the failures and fissures in our healthcare system.  It was last summer, before a global recession put more than 16 million people out of work.  That was last summer… before the simmering racial injustices we’ve watched on our screen boiled over into a moment of racial reckoning.  

 

If we were anxious, stressed, and lonely before… 

 

Where is God in a confusing world out there and a restless world in here?  In moments like this we know we need God.  Our need for God in moments of fear and failure is not just a modern problem.  As my friend Calvin Chan would say, it’s an ancient problem, because it’s a human problem, because it’s a spiritual problem.  

 

But, reflecting on Colossians 1:15-23 we can discover how fear and failure lose their fangs when we behold God’s beauty. 

 

Where is God?  

Until we know where to look for God, we’re guaranteed to miss him.  In the ancient world there were three places where people looked for God; temples, palaces, and contemplation.  

Temples were full of statues, images, or idols that were thought to bring the presence of God into contact with people.  If you asked an Ancient Roman, “where is God” they’d say, “which one,” and then point you to a temple. Temples were supposed to be places where heaven and earth came together.  Temples were common, but they were also treacherous.  You didn’t want to ignore the temple too long and risk the wrath of the gods. 

 

Another place ancient people looked for God was in politics.  Homer and Virgil had written epic poems about how the gods were intimately involved in the outcome of war and peace, in the establishment of one kingdom or another.  It wasn’t that much of a stretch for the Roman empire to begin worshipping its emperors.  If power comes from the gods, and Caesar has the most power, Caesar must be a god, or maybe the son of God.  

 

There were people who were skeptical of all this temples and politics.  They thought the place to find God was in contemplation.  They thought, if human beings really gave themselves to observation, reason, reflection, and learning then, we could discover the divine principles that hold reality together and make existence what it is.  If we can plumb the depths of creation we could discover the divine. 

 

Not much has changed in the last 2000 years.  Our temples tend to be full of mirrors and screens rather than statues, but they are places we go to worship.  Our temples are treacherous.  Don’t neglect to work out regularly or you’ll risk the wrath of the body image gods.  Don’t neglect your newsfeed or you’ll risk the wrath of the social gods.  Don’t be the last one to see the avatar or you’ll miss out on the experience god.  In a season of diminished summer internships and study abroad how many of us are quaking in fear of the wrath of the success gods? 

 

We also look for God in politics either hailing this, or that, leader as ‘god’s anointed’ or else hoping against hope that the next election will bring about the long-awaited peace and prosperity every candidate promises and none can deliver.  We look for God in our movements for social change and are discouraged to discover they are imperfect too.   

 

Still some of us give ourselves to contemplation, pursuing academics, studying the enneagram, or spiritual life hacks, hoping that contemplation will lead to divination and truth to transcendence.  

 

Christianity says, we don’t find God through temples, politics, or contemplation, we find God by looking at Jesus.  Colossians 1:15 – 23 says, “He (Jesus) is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation;”[1]

 

Christianity starts with Jesus.  We say, “where is God?”  The New Testament says, “look at Jesus… he’s right there… everything we need to know about God we can see by looking at Jesus.”  Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God, not etched in stone but living and breathing, flesh and bone.  A person that can be seen and known.  

 

This is why we in intervarsity establish and advance witnessing communities so that students and faculty can meet God in the face of Jesus. 

 

I’ll never forget talking to students at Hunter College with my friend Ashley a number of years ago.  We were doing a survey like the ones you can get on our evangelism website.  We’re talking to lots of students when, Tom cocks his head, and says, “I got a question… how do you know God even exists…”  Ashely doesn’t skip a beat, he says, “because I’ve met him…”.  Ashley then goes on to tell a story about how the Jesus who he’s encountered in the New Testament is actually knowable in the present.  Tom had tears in his eyes as Ashley prayed for him that day and offered a word of blessing and invitation.   

Where is God?  He is in the face of Jesus Christ.  

 

Who is God? 

When we look into the face of Jesus in the pages of scripture what do we see?

 

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; 16 for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him.” 

 

This is important because although we know Jesus through his life, teaching, death, and resurrection, God himself, Jesus himself, is so much bigger.  

He is the source of life, existence, and being.  He is the source of love and rationality, of justice and mercy, abstract thought and mathematics.  He is the source of all spiritual and physical reality.  Everything is from him.  Everything is for him.  

 

Think about it.  The very act of being itself, which we take for granted, is dependent on a myriad of interlocking forces that are themselves held together by energies and motions we’re only beginning to discover.  Barbara Boyd used this example years ago, but it helps me understand something about the scope and majesty of God.  If we were to take the almost 93 million miles between the earth and the sun and reduce them to the size of a sheet of paper, it would take a stack of papers from here to the moon to model the distance between earth and our next closest star.  That star is just one in a galaxy of stars, in a universe of galaxies.  The scope and magnitude of creation is beyond our imagining.  And Jesus holds all of it together with a single word of his power.  

 

17 He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.  [2]   

 

Let me ask you a pointed question, is this Jesus, the kind of being you invite into your life to be your personal assistant?  

We treat God like he’s an app on our cell phone, something to make our lives more convenient, less painful, and more optimized.  Jesus is not an app!  He is the creator of heaven and earth, of outer space, inner space, and even cyber space.  

 

If we understood for a moment the vastness, power, and total uniqueness of Jesus through whom and for whom all things were made, who holds all things together we would be undone by the sheer magnitude of it.  Immortal, invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible, hid from our eyes, most blessed, most glorious, the ancient of days, almighty, victorious, thy great name we praise!

 

How on can we even stand in the presence of someone so immense?  The answer is again Jesus.  

 

What is God like?

The God we see reflected in the face Jesus is the creator God, but also and most beautifully, the God who reconciles us to himself.  

 

18 He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. 19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.  [3]

 

The story of the bible could be told as the story of three trees.  The tree of the tree of life with God, the tree of independence from God, and the tree of judgment.  The tree of life captures God’s intention and longing for his creation.  God creates life in love for love.  God sustains life.  The longing of God’s heart is life in love with the people God has created.  The longing for home, for belonging, for justice, for harmony, for beauty, is the longing for the tree of life in the presence of God.  

 

The tree of independence contains the fruit of trying to be God instead of being in relationship with God.  The tree of the knowledge of good and evil turns into gallows where relationships come to die.  Man and woman kill their ‘one flesh’ unity and begin to envy and blame each other.  Creation groans in agony as humans begin to exploit rather than steward.  Human beings judge themselves unworthy of relationship with God having sacrificed their relationship of trust and intimacy. 

 

Cut off from the source of life humanity is locked in a pitiless, cutthroat, competitive world knowing there is no way home.

 

The tree of judgment is the last tree in the story.  We fear failure because we’ve colluded with death and injustice and forfeited life.  Death is the debt we owe.  Jesus, the image of the invisible God, hangs his own life on the gallows in order to break the power of death forever.  The cross of Jesus is the cleft in the pitiless walls of the world where life with God starts anew.  

 

Colossians assumes we understand this story so that we can recognize Jesus as the leader of this resurrection community, the one who, though holding all things together with a word of his power, stretches his own flesh between heaven and earth to bring earth and heaven together. This reveals God’s incredible self-giving love.  The reason we can stand in the overwhelming presence and power of the God of creation is because of the uncontainable self-giving love of God we see in Jesus. This is what it means that the fullness of God was pleased to dwell in him.  

 

It’s not enough for us just to know this conceptually.  The invitation is to respond to it personally.  (Even now I’m going to invite you to respond to Jesus by clicking the link.)  

 

Living in Freedom

 

And you who were once estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, 22 he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through death, so as to present you holy and blameless and irreproachable before him— 23 provided that you continue securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven. [4]

 

Notice how Colossians pivots from a cosmic view of who Jesus is and what God has done in Jesus, to you.  The invitation is to see ourselves.  

 

We live in a culture where it’s considered blasphemous to describe ourselves with words like, estranged, hostile in mind, and doing evil.  We’re supposed to protect ourselves and one another from such negative talk, but I wonder if our sensitivities reveal something important.  Perhaps, we’re like the main character from the Broadway musical Evan Hansen, a young man who’s desperate to connect, but terrified to say the wrong thing.  Evan scrambles to write a story of himself that will make him free him of the anxiety, stress, loneliness, and failure he feels, but underneath it all is primal fear.  

 

'Cause what if everyone saw?
What if everyone knew?
Would they like what they saw?
Or would they hate it too?
Will I just keep on running away from what's true?

Colossians call to Evan Hansen and to us is to say, you were these things, but now, because of Jesus.  You are holy, blameless, and irreproachable.  This call summons us 

to faith, a faith that comes rooted and established in the good news of the gospel.  

I remember teaching my toddler to climb in the park.  As she stretched her body to reach for the next rung of the ladder, she would freeze in fear.  I would put my hand on her and say, “it’s ok, Papa’s got you.”  She learned to climb, and I stepped further and further away.  One day as she was climbing a new part of the apparatus I noticed she was talking to herself.  She’d reach, stretch, and freeze.  Leaning in, I overheard her say, “it’s ok… Papa’s got you.”  

 

God’s posture towards us, even in our failure, is to stretch out his arms and say, “It’s ok, Papa’s got you.”  In an age that is anxious, stressed, and lonely, fear and failure lose their fangs when we behold God’s beauty.  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

[1] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Col 1:15). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[2] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Col 1:15–20). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[3] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Col 1:18–20). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[4] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Col 1:21–23). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

Imagine - How to Meet God in Scripture

Half of the US population used the Bible regularly in 2019 (48%), according to the American Bible Society.  Presumably, those who use the Bible hope to make a connection with God, deepen their faith, and increase their fulfillment in faith. It’s surprising then that only about half of those who use the bible regularly (24%) of the US population seem to discover the connection and transformation they’re looking for.  

For many the Bible feels like an archaic book full of confusing language and unfamiliar people and culture.  Instead of drawing us into a dynamic friendship with God, we’re left scratching our heads.  What if it didn’t have to be this way?  

Protestant tradition, despite its emphasis on scriptural engagement, may be partially responsible for our struggle to discover the transformation we seek.  There is a strong tendency within Protestantism to emphasize the Bible as uniquely authoritative and a subsequent desire to make this authoritative volume accessible to all readers.  These tendencies are valuable, but they create a practical problem.  If everyone can read the Bible for herself, what’s to stop her from wild, or even potentially harmful, interpretations?  

The Protestant solution has been to lean toward reason when it comes to biblical interpretation, creating systematic theologies to establish a kind of boundary lines between orthodoxy and heresy.  These boundary lines allow for individual interpretation and discussion but insist that such discussions take place within a broader rational tradition.  One can argue for or against a literal seven-day creation narrative and not be, ‘out of bounds,’ provided one is arguing in good faith and according to rational principles.  This tradition is valuable, but it too creates a practical problem, what to do with human emotion.  

If reason provides one lens for scripture engagement within Protestantism, emotionalism provides the other.  The tendency to conceive of scripture in emotionalist categories can be seen in the same American Bible Society study.  Surveying views of the Bible’s overall intent, the choices on the survey were: (a) a rulebook or guide to live the best life, (b) knowing what God expects of me, and (c) a letter from God expressing love or salvation.  Of these three choices two are highly rational (rules or expectations) and one is highly emotive (a love letter).  

If our choices for scripture engagement are either rationalism or emotionalism it’s little wonder we struggle to discover the relational connection with God we’ve been promised. 

Think of a relationship with another person.  Using your reason, you may learn a lot about someone, but you don’t really ‘know’ them.  For example, you may read People magazine and learn all about your favorite celebrities, but the people themselves still remain strangers.  On the other hand, you can be attached to someone emotionally but not really know or understand them.  A toddler, for example, is highly emotionally attached to their caretaker, but doesn’t have the capacity for a mature relationship. 

The problem in relating to another person rationally or emotionally is not that either reason or emotion are bad, but that they are incomplete.  Relationships with other people, and with God in scripture, require imagination.  Why?  Because imagination creates the context for empathy.  

When a friend shares the story of their being bullied by a boss or coworker, we don’t have to have had the same experience to empathize with their experience.  We can imagine what it’s like to be bullied. We can imagine what it’s like to worry about an unhealthy work environment.  And, having imagined, we can show empathy to our friend. 

What if the struggle to make a connection with God, deepen our faith, and increase our fulfillment in faith is a struggle of imagination?  What if we treat the bible like it’s a divine people magazine, enabling us to collect lots of information about God, while God himself remains a stranger?  This is precisely what we do when we come to the bible as a rulebook.   Dreamily and wistfully, pining for a particular emotion as we read scripture also misses the point.  It’s imaginative reading of scripture that puts us in a place to know God.  In imaginative reading we immerse ourselves in the story of God’s interactions with people throughout history. It matures our relationship with God from ideas and emotions to empathy and friendship.

Imaginative reading invites us to use observations about language, context, repetition, and conflict, to place ourselves in the midst of the unfolding drama. We then imagine the story as a participant within rather than an outside observer. Reading with the heart and imagination deepens the learning and transforms habits of heart and mind in ways that reading for information, understanding, and even moral exhortation does not. 

For example, one of the most profound of Jesus’ teachings is found in Luke 10:25-37, the parable of the good Samaritan. The parable emerges out of a lawyer’s desire to experience the eternal life Jesus was preaching about. A lawyer asks Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (v. 25). Jesus’ response points out that the lawyer already knows the answer. If he wants to experience God’s life, he needs to love God with everything he has and love his neighbor as himself. 

Jesus’ challenge, “Do this and you will live” (v. 28) masterfully draws out the lawyer’s real obstacle. Loving our neighbor as ourself is much easier said than done. And so, as lawyers do, he asks Jesus to define his terms. “Who is my neighbor?” (v. 29). 

What does this story look like from the inside if, for example, I imagine myself as the lawyer? Suddenly, I’m alert to the desire to have God’s life. I imagine spending days wrestling with the Holy Book trying to accurately apply its insights to my life. I imagine a gnawing feeling in my gut that tells me I’m missing something. I long for God’s life, not just for me but for my whole community. 

And I feel stuck. Then I imagine myself as the lawyer seeing Jesus. That he knows something about God’s life is evident in the authority with which he speaks and heals. What is it? What does he know or understand about God’s eternal life that I lack?

Placing myself inside the story helps me to see that the lawyer and I aren’t that different. This means that the story of the good Samaritan is not simply a moral tale Jesus tells about being nice to those in need, but it’s a key clarification to what it means to have life with God. It’s as much Jesus’ response to me in the twenty-first century as it was to this unnamed lawyer in the first. 

The story of the good Samaritan does not answer the lawyer’s question directly. Jesus describes a scenario where a wounded and vulnerable man is left on the side of the road to die. Religious experts notice the man and pass him by. In a remarkable twist Jesus has the religious and ethnic outsider, a Samaritan, experience splagchnizomai, a graphic description of compassion, that literally means a movement or churning of the inner organs toward the wounded man. It’s not just that the Samaritan “feels bad” for the wounded and vulnerable, he aches internally, seeing the earlier traveler’s plight. This gut-wrenching compassion compels the Samaritan to act. The Samaritan, a man outside the law of God, disadvantages himself for the sake of this nameless, faceless other. Then comes the punchline, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” Jesus said (v. 36). 

This story from Jesus answers the lawyer’s question by re- shaping the lawyer’s and our definition of neighbor. Neighbor is not defined geographically, ethnically, or categorically, but by the compassion and activity of the one who sees others in need. According to Jesus, we do not first decide who our neighbor is and then practice hospitality, compassion, or mercy. We first practice hospitality, compassion, and mercy, and by so doing become neighbor to those around us. 

If I’m reading this story imaginatively, from the inside, I feel its sting. Do I experience splagchnizomai when I look out the window and see kids on the playground of the failing school across the street? Am I willing to disadvantage myself for them? What about the neighbor across the hall with a broken leg, the one fighting breast cancer, or the mom heartbroken about her son? 

As I read from the inside, God’s invitation becomes clear. Like the lawyer I want to justify myself. “Don’t you see the people I’m hosting at my apartment every week? Don’t you see the effort we’re making to raise kids and build community? Why don’t I feel like I’m experiencing eternal life?” Jesus’ response, “Which one of these was a neighbor?” is as unsettling as it is beautiful. It touches the nerve of loneliness and invites ruthless self-examination. What if my “community building” activities are less about compassion for others and are instead motivated by a desire for acceptance, approval, or affection? What would it look like to “neighbor” others out of concern for their situation? 

As I ponder these questions, something like hope stirs inside. Even though today my love for my neighbor was self-serving, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps one day, I will be a neighbor and experience life with God in the ways I long for.  

What if all of our times in scripture led us to these kinds of connections?  What if we read with our imagination and discovered ourselves drawn into a dynamic friendship with God?   

 

 

 

Hidden Foundations for Seeking Justice (part 1)

Over the last month we’ve seen a dramatic shift in our national conversation around racism and justice.  Online, in print, and on the streets, coalitions of women and men across ethnic, demographic, religious, and even political lines are taking up the call to work for racial justice.  This is good.  Christians can and should engage in marches, share articles, sign petitions, and raise our individual and collective voices for a better world.  We can and should engage in principled debate around key issues.

 

And yet… with so much of our default engagement leaning toward speaking, acting, demanding, challenging, or arguing, we miss a deeper and more foundational work.  Justice is what we do with our relationships, resources, and responsibilities, not just what we demand others do.  While there is a place for dramatic confrontation and deconstruction, the pursuit of justice requires personal, relational and systemic stability, creativity, and connection.  When the pursuit of justice is unmoored from constructive activity the most likely outcome is communities retreating into their own groups violently opposed to one another.  When the pursuit of justice is focused on what we say or how we say it, our activism is likely to be performative rather than substantial.

 

Here are 3 crucial, if non-cathartic, foundations for Christians seeking to do justice.  Intentionally practicing these disciplines will develop our character and capacity to pursue justice in a spiritually and emotionally healthy way.  

 

1.     Practice Listening – In a world anxious to say the right thing and to be seen saying the right thing, we desperately need to practice listening.  What happens when we’re in a conversation passionately sharing your ideas, but no one is really listening?  We tend to repeat ourselves and get louder.  Or, if we’re less self-aware, we can feel really good about the thing we said, because we said it.  In either case no real communication is happening.  

The book of James, a book both confrontational and combative when it comes to seeking justice in love, exhorts readers,  “You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; 20 for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.”  

We practice listening when we ask; can you say more… what do you most want me to remember… what’s most important to you…Listening well enables us to connect and communicate.  This is vital in a context where much of what is considered communication can be better described as communities shouting slogans to one another. 

2.     Participate in Worship – Justice is a way of talking about goodness, which, together with truth and beauty, are the transcendentals of classical thought.  For centuries, our minds have been drawn to wonder and contemplation in relation to goodness, truth, and beauty.  This is good when contemplation of these virtues leads us to wonder,  joy, and praise in the contemplation of our triune God of grace.  When we are not drawn to worship God, but become enamored of beauty itself, goodness itself, or truth itself we are often disappointed.  I’ve seen students pursue beauty and become perfectionistic and joyless.  

This came home to me personally when, earlier in ministry, several people I closely mentored in faith abandoned their Christian commitments.  I taught these young people to love justice and to think critically, (they still do both of these things).  I sat heartbroken as dear friends used their passion for justice to cause them to become increasingly distant from the church and then from a life with God.  

Worship together in a local community focuses our attention on the beauty and goodness of the one true God.  As we remember who God is and what God has done, in Jesus, by his Spirit, we are liberated to work for justice without worshipping our ideas about justice.  

We worship when we connect with other people (even online) and remind ourselves of who God is and what God has done.  I love the words of former bishop William Temple, “To worship is to quicken the conscience by the holiness of God, to feed the mind with the truth of God, to purge the imagination by the beauty of God, to open the heart to the love of God, to devote the will to the purpose of God.”

3.     Learn Systems Thinking – Too many conversations about justice and racism dead end because we have not learned to be good systems thinkers.  Most of us are adept at understanding relationships.  We conceive of justice and fairness in relational terms. This is good.  But, understanding the attitudes and values that influence personal relationships is a very limited way of understanding things like racial  justice.  We can agree it’s not good to treat people with suspicion, fear, superiority or prejudice, and even work to eliminate these in our own hearts, without even beginning to engage the challenges that create the context for those tendencies to exist in the first place.  

A slogan like, “Black Lives Matter,” is an example of group thinking.  Understanding group dynamics, including the distribution of resources, perspectives, and power is helpful.  Strategies that have been born out of group identities have been effective at creating social change.  But, like the relational thinking above, group identity is a limited way of understanding racism or justice.  

Systems thinking is the practiced ability to see a whole interconnected set of resources, relationships, and responsibilities and appreciate how the actions of one part impact another.  Racism is a systems problem, not just a relationships or group problem.  You remove White people and still have racism because people have been socialized. Interventions at the relational or group level, even if they are successful, may  not address or impact the larger system.  There is nothing cathartic, or immediately gratifying, in learning systems thinking skills.  It’s a bit like learning a foreign language, or like practicing formal logic.  But unless we disciple ourselves to think in systems our justice efforts are likely to stall at the relational or group level.  

Listening, worship, and systems thinking are hidden foundational disciplines.  On their own they will not lead to meaningful change, healthy relationships between racial groups, or greater accountability in the face of injustice.  However, they do have the ability to shape us into the kind of people who pursue justice, not because of the burning intensity of a moment, or by being carried along by the energy of a movement, but with the integrity of a life hidden in Christ. And then the justice we seek truly becomes possible because we have the character and capacity to embody what we long for.  (Colossians 3:3) 

Look out for next week’s Hidden Foundations for Seeking Justice. (part 2)

Smoke and Fire – Meeting God in Disruption

Crack!  Boom!  Fsssssst.  Wheert!  Boom!  

Every night for the last few weeks our neighborhood has carried on a nightly symphony of fireworks between midnight and an hour before dawn.  Percussive,syncopated sounds startle us from sleep.  Colorful flashes of light burst brilliantly outside our windows.  Each night the energy and insistence of these displays increased, leading up to an almost endless display late July 4th and early July 5th.  

 Commentators are unclear about what’s driven the increase in fireworks this year, but all agree the scope and intensity is significantly increased.  Some speculate that the fireworks are a symbol of liberation, a raucous way of re-engaging with community post COVID-19 quarantine.  Others suggest they’re a not-so-subtle protest against police policies that have failed communities of color.  Others suggest they are an expression of aggression.  

 On one hand, I think these explanations say more about the commentator than they do about the firework displays.  We see what we expect to see and interpret our experience through plausibility structures that make sense to us.  The activist, concerned about police brutality, sees a symbol of resistance.  The parent, desperate for their child to sleep through the night, simply experiences aggression.  On the other hand, exploring our interpretations can lead us to discover desire, perspective, and even values we’d otherwise take for granted.  

 The increase in fireworks, and corresponding decrease in sleep, have led me to reflect on smoke and fire as ancient, primal, symbols.  From storytelling around the fireside, to the Festival of Lights, to candles in the window at Christmas, we’ve associated light and flame with the transcendent.  We are drawn to these symbols almost involuntarily, as though the symbols themselves speak an inarticulate language of the soul.  What might I learn if I explore these symbols as a contemplative Christian?  What wisdom might reveal itself?  And, how might this perspective help me to respond the next time the fireworks rouse me from sleep?  

Interpreting the Symbols 

Fire and smoke have a distinct symbolic function within my worship tradition.  In liturgical Christian traditions, we use candles to symbolize the presence of God.  Candles are usually lit before worship begins as a reminder that God is present before we do anything.  Liturgical traditions also use incense in worship to symbolize the prayers of the church.  The smoke diffusing from visible to invisible reminds us that the invisible God is not so far away. Our prayers and urgent (and sometimes pungent) cries are heard. The true God is Immanuel, God with us. 

 

What happens if I interpret the screech and pop of the fireworks outside my window within this interpretive lens?  It might enable me to see the fire as the presence of God in my community.  Just as I believe God is present in worship before I do anything, the flashes of light may remind me that God is present in my neighborhood, even in the times and places where light may seem to flicker and pop, rather than bathe in a soft steady gleam.

 

Considering the burning smoke as prayers, I may wonder what dreams or longings are embedded in my neighbors as we live, packed together in this narrow strip of island.  There are, more than likely, dreams of home, love, life and future, dreams of opportunity or hope.  How many of those dreams feel as though they’ve turned to smoke in these last few days, weeks, or years?  Perhaps the colored smoke out my window is a longing that can only be voiced as a loud, disruptive, boom, desperate to be heard.  

Burning Invitation

 

If I read these symbols in this way, it’s impossible to shake their invitation.  

 

In the liturgical tradition, the scent and sight of smoke is also a witness that it is possible for the invisible God to make himself visible in a man, Jesus Christ. The church, which is so identified with Christ as to be named his body, is called to smell distinct and recognizable. It is called to be as noticeable as smoke. 

I doubt many of my neighbors expect the odor of the church to be pleasant or inviting. Many church communities in my neighborhood are struggling.  How few, I wonder, whether in the liturgical tradition or not, burn with any kind of holy fire. I fear we smell more like American Idol than like the aroma of Christ. We hide behind cultural respectability, consumer comfort, and campaigning for causes left and right. 

 

But if the smoke and fire of our late nights is an indication of any kind of spiritual hunger, perhaps we need to carry incense again. Perhaps we need to get close to a holy fire that we might remember how to burn. Perhaps we need to let our songs and silent desperations diffuse into the presence of the holy. Perhaps we might learn, through touching Christ, what it means to be human again.

 

Discovered Desire 

 

A spiritual and liturgical interpretation, like the one offered above, says far more about me than about the people lighting up the night sky.  This interpretation raises challenges for me to think and pray through.  How might God be inviting me to love my neighbors well in this season?  How might I respond to the stirring for holiness I experienced in these reflections?  How might I point the way to light and life for others in this season?  

 

Questions for Reflection

Consider something disruptive in your life and context.  

1.     How might you interpret that experience in a way that draws your heart and mind toward God?  

2.     What symbols or commitments shape your interpretative framework?  Do these symbols and commitments accurately reflect your understanding of God?  

3.     What stirs in you as you reflect on your experience in this way?  What might God be saying to you through it?  

 

 

 

Smoke and Fire – Fireworks and Holy Longing

Crack!  Boom!  Fsssssst.  Wheert!  Boom!  

Every night for the last few weeks our neighborhood has carried on a nightly symphony of fireworks between midnight and an hour before dawn.  Percussive,syncopated sounds startle us from sleep.  Colorful flashes of light burst brilliantly outside our windows.  Each night the energy and insistence of these displays increased, leading up to an almost endless display late July 4th and early July 5th.  

 Commentators are unclear about what’s driven the increase in fireworks this year, but all agree the scope and intensity is significantly increased.  Some speculate that the fireworks are a symbol of liberation, a raucous way of re-engaging with community post COVID-19 quarantine.  Others suggest they’re a not-so-subtle protest against police policies that have failed communities of color.  Others suggest they are an expression of aggression.  

 On one hand, I think these explanations say more about the commentator than they do about the firework displays.  We see what we expect to see and interpret our experience through plausibility structures that make sense to us.  The activist, concerned about police brutality, sees a symbol of resistance.  The parent, desperate for their child to sleep through the night, simply experiences aggression.  On the other hand, exploring our interpretations can lead us to discover desire, perspective, and even values we’d otherwise take for granted.  

 The increase in fireworks, and corresponding decrease in sleep, have led me to reflect on smoke and fire as ancient, primal, symbols.  From storytelling around the fireside, to the Festival of Lights, to candles in the window at Christmas, we’ve associated light and flame with the transcendent.  We are drawn to these symbols almost involuntarily, as though the symbols themselves speak an inarticulate language of the soul.  What might I learn if I explore these symbols as a contemplative Christian?  What wisdom might reveal itself?  And, how might this perspective help me to respond the next time the fireworks rouse me from sleep?  

Interpreting the Symbols 

Fire and smoke have a distinct symbolic function within my worship tradition.  In liturgical Christian traditions, we use candles to symbolize the presence of God.  Candles are usually lit before worship begins as a reminder that God is present before we do anything.  Liturgical traditions also use incense in worship to symbolize the prayers of the church.  The smoke diffusing from visible to invisible reminds us that the invisible God is not so far away. Our prayers and urgent (and sometimes pungent) cries are heard. The true God is Immanuel, God with us. 

 

What happens if I interpret the screech and pop of the fireworks outside my window within this interpretive lens?  It might enable me to see the fire as the presence of God in my community.  Just as I believe God is present in worship before I do anything, the flashes of light may remind me that God is present in my neighborhood, even in the times and places where light may seem to flicker and pop, rather than bathe in a soft steady gleam.

 

Considering the burning smoke as prayers, I may wonder what dreams or longings are embedded in my neighbors as we live, packed together in this narrow strip of island.  There are, more than likely, dreams of home, love, life and future, dreams of opportunity or hope.  How many of those dreams feel as though they’ve turned to smoke in these last few days, weeks, or years?  Perhaps the colored smoke out my window is a longing that can only be voiced as a loud, disruptive, boom, desperate to be heard.  

Burning Invitation

 

If I read these symbols in this way, it’s impossible to shake their invitation.  

 

In the liturgical tradition, the scent and sight of smoke is also a witness that it is possible for the invisible God to make himself visible in a man, Jesus Christ. The church, which is so identified with Christ as to be named his body, is called to smell distinct and recognizable. It is called to be as noticeable as smoke. 

I doubt many of my neighbors expect the odor of the church to be pleasant or inviting. Many church communities in my neighborhood are struggling.  How few, I wonder, whether in the liturgical tradition or not, burn with any kind of holy fire. I fear we smell more like American Idol than like the aroma of Christ. We hide behind cultural respectability, consumer comfort, and campaigning for causes left and right. 

 

But if the smoke and fire of our late nights is an indication of any kind of spiritual hunger, perhaps we need to carry incense again. Perhaps we need to get close to a holy fire that we might remember how to burn. Perhaps we need to let our songs and silent desperations diffuse into the presence of the holy. Perhaps we might learn, through touching Christ, what it means to be human again.

 

Discovered Desire 

 

A spiritual and liturgical interpretation, like the one offered above, says far more about me than about the people lighting up the night sky.  This interpretation raises challenges for me to think and pray through.  How might God be inviting me to love my neighbors well in this season?  How might I respond to the stirring for holiness I experienced in these reflections?  How might I point the way to light and life for others in this season?  

 

Questions for Reflection

Consider something disruptive in your life and context.  

1.     How might you interpret that experience in a way that draws your heart and mind toward God?  

2.     What symbols or commitments shape your interpretative framework?  Do these symbols and commitments accurately reflect your understanding of God?  

3.     What stirs in you as you reflect on your experience in this way?  What might God be saying to you through it?  

 

 

 

I'm Scared - Cultivating Hope in an Anxious Time

“I’ve lost about 15 pounds this past month,” Bryan said.  “Just figured you should know.”  Bryan’s anxiety and stress that started after losing a family member to COVID-19, compounded when he watched the video of George Floyd’s death.  “I didn’t expect it to impact me that much,” Bryan said, “this isn’t the first time, or even the first time in a while, that I’ve seen a video where someone who looks like me is hurt or killed…” his voice trailing off.  A minister, Bryan has been caring skillfully for others for the last few months, but something’s changed recently.  He’s lost his appetite and is showing signs of stress.  

Earlier that day, I’d had a conversation with a friend whose anxiety about his relationship with his teenage son has kept him up most nights this week.  “I don’t know what’s happening in him,” he said, “I just know he’s angry and in pain.”  This friend’s fear about his relationship with his son filled the space between us with a heavy weight.  

These conversations forced me to take a more honest look at myself.  I’ve lost about 14 pounds since March too.  This week I’ve bolted upright in the middle of the night perhaps for reasons other than the nightly barrage of fireworks between 11 and 4 am.  Perhaps it’s past time to name and address the fear and anxiety so prevalent in this moment.  

Naming Fears 

The fears that we’re feeling in this moment are not irrational.  A deadly disease has moved through our country and communities.  It not hard to remember how, each week in April, the illness got closer and closer to people we knew and loved.  This illness that was ‘out there’, became one that had infected friends of friends.  Then friends got sick.  Then close friends.  Then we started to grieve the loss of loved ones.  The economic impact started to come home as unemployment skyrocketed.  Walking past closed small businesses or listening to friends lament the loss of opportunity or income was a sobering reminder that a deep recession was already upon us.  And then, the loss of Amhaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd caused a simmering discontent about violence against black people to boil over into the streets.  

None of these conditions has changed.  Infection rates are shrinking in some places and accelerating in others.  Economic recovery is slow.  And, our capacity to work past racial trauma into a shared, connected, and healthy public conversation around racism is low.  

We carry fears in our bodies.  Is it safe for me to go out and re-engage in my community?  Will we be able to make ends meet?  What’s going to happen in my workplace or industry?  How is my racial assignment and ethnic identity being perceived by others?  Am I safe?  Am I connected?  Am I seen?  Known?  Valued?  

Choosing Faith 

Fear is such a primal experience for us that the Bible is full of exhortations to not be afraid.  In Mark 4:40 Jesus asks his disciples a pointed question, “Why are you afraid?  Have you still no faith?”  At first glance, Jesus’ question seems a little unfair.  He and his disciples had just been in a storm at sea.  The boat had been taking on water.  And his disciples, many of whom were experienced fishermen and, presumably, competent seamen, were afraid.  The disciples’ faith seems beside the point.  They’d been in the midst of a crisis at the mercy of forces they couldn’t control.  Their boat was taking on water.  Being afraid seemed like an appropriate response under the circumstances.  

And yet, Jesus’ questions linger.  This story in Mark 4:35-41 is a hinge from a series of Jesus’ parables in which he describes the kingdom of God as something to be received and recognized, to a section where Jesus will demonstrate the kingdom of God in deeds of power.  These questions hover at the intersection of belief and behavior.  Mark is taking his readers on a journey from parable to practice, from abstract concepts to concrete application.  

Curiously, Jesus’ questions are present tense.  They do not ask, “why were you afraid,” but “why are you afraid?”  This suggests that the fear is not merely circumstantial.  It may be appropriate for fishermen who have an appropriate understanding of storms at sea to experience fear as the boat takes on water.  Jesus’ questions probe for present fear.  Why are you afraid?  

In the midst of global crises about health, finance, and racial justice we may do well to appreciate the power of the storms and the limits of our ability to control them.  We may also do well to probe beneath the circumstances to fear that plagues us beneath the wind and waves.  When I fear for my health or the health of my family, am I really assessing the risks in the environment or am I confronting the fear of abandonment, powerlessness, and death I’ve been avoiding.  Are my fears about our economy displaced anxiety about not being a good provider or dad, or fear that I might be the professional failure I dread?  Does the conversation about race and justice unearth anxieties about my connection to various communities that matter to me?  Seen in this light, my fears, like the disciples’ fears, are stirred up in the storm but have a deeper root.  

Jesus’ questions summon his followers to faith.  Faith is not the denial of danger or an attempt to be impassive and impervious to pain.  Faith, in Mark’s context, is what happens when we receive Jesus’ words and hold them close.  To hold Jesus’ words close in the context of Mark 4 would mean; asking for understanding and insight into Jesus’ teaching (Mark 4:10), attending carefully to what we understand of Jesus’ teaching (Mark 4:24), accepting that our spiritual growth is something outside of our control (Mark 4:28), and actively anticipating that small acts of faithfulness will produce much larger transformation (Mark 4:30-32).  

For Jesus’ disciples, faith would not have meant ignoring the storm, it would have meant asking different questions.  Instead of worrying whether Jesus cared about their fate (Mark 4:38), his disciples might have asked, “how can we be faithful to God, to you, and to one another in a time like this?”      

 

Living Hope

What would it look like for us to choose faith in a season of storms?  The challenges around us aren’t going away.  Many will only intensify as we move into a presidential election and a rapidly changing cultural landscape.  Here are four things we can do to move from fear to faith so that we live in hope.  

1.     Take Sabbath – Taking Sabbath is a radical action in the midst of crisis.  The more anxious we are, the more likely we are to give ourselves to activity or distraction.  The frenetic energy we put into work, or to finding the next distraction, is simply a way of avoiding our fears and allowing them to control us.  Taking a 24-hour period every week to disengage from work, to rest, to relate, to delight, and to restore our soul through worship, is an embodied way of saying these crises don’t define me.  

When was the last time you took a 24-hour period to take sabbath in the way above?  How might taking this space every week help you be less afraid?  

2.     Hold Jesus’ Words – Like the disciples in the passage above, we default to fear and anxiety when we’re not holding onto the words of Jesus.  Jesus’ words are good news.  They speak of justice and mercy, of forgiveness and holiness, of compassion and wisdom.  Meditating on the words and work of Jesus has the ability to reshape our perspective, increase our hope, and inspire joy.      

How are you holding onto Jesus’ word during this season?  What might change if you took a few minutes every morning, mid-day, and evening to reflect and meditate on Jesus’ words in Mark 4 this week? 

3.     Pray Daily – Prayer is to the spiritual life what breathing is to our physical life.  The less we pray the more anxious we become.  This leads to frenetic activity and distraction.  The simple practice of praying in the morning and evening can interrupt the patterns of anxiety and reorient us away from fear and towards faith.  If prayer is difficult for you, and it is for many of us, try simply repeating a scripture like, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” (Matthew 8:25)

What are your prayer habits during this season? How might the practice of praying, even briefly, morning and evening reduce your anxiety and fear?

4.     Pursue Justice – Fear turns us inward.  We fear there won’t be enough, so we hold ourselves back from others materially, relationally, and socially.  This makes fear worse by further isolating us.  Pursuing justice turns us outward, forcing us to consider not only our own wellbeing, but the interest and wellbeing of others.  Pursuing justice can start by knowing the people whose livelihoods are most intertwined with our own, seeking to understand their concerns and perspectives.  It can lead us to budget in ways that serve people well.  It can also lead us to participate in meaningful social or political work, though it’s usually healthiest if it doesn’t start there.  

What are the ways you’ve been pursuing justice this season?  How might taking one step into greater awareness or engagement help you become less afraid?  

It’s past time to name and address the fear and anxiety so prevalent in this moment.  Practicing these spiritual disciplines will help us become more aware of the fears and anxieties that are undermining our health, relationships, and social engagement.  They will give us perspective, invite us to faith, and reshape our hope.  

Share below your best spiritual practices for overcoming fear and anxiety.