Living Christmas

For some reason, my kids and I have had some great conversations lately at Walmart. We sit on a bench while my wife checks out, and subjects just seem to pop up that open the door to some great discussion and teaching opportunities. Why it's happening at Walmart, I have no idea. (Perhaps we're spending too much time there?) Nonetheless, I am grateful for those moments and pray that they are formative in the lives of my children.

Now to my point. The other night, my youngest son and I were having a Walmart conversation when we happened upon the subject of "mean people." I'm not sure how it actually came up - although, in all probability, it somehow related to his older brother - but it led to a discussion on how we respond to those who do not treat us right. We talked about the fact that we are called to be people of love, grace, and kindness, and regardless of what others do, we cannot allow them to keep us from being what we are supposed to be. And, in reality, we will never change anyone by responding with an unloving, combative, or spiteful spirit. As Paul tells us in Romans 12:21, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

I've been thinking about that conversation in light of the Christmas season. Jesus entered this world not with a show of strength and power, not with force and coercion, but in the absolute humility of an infant born in a stable. He did not fight to hold on to His rights or His position, but emptied Himself in a way that is beyond comprehension. And His humble entrance set the tone for His life and ministry on this earth. He did not come to be served, but to serve; He fed the needy and healed the hurting, washed the feet of the undeserving, and forgave those who persecuted Him; He laid down His life to rescue the lost and hopeless. Jesus changed the world, not with demonstrations of worldly power or by fighting fire with fire, but through humility and sacrifice, love and mercy.

As the followers of Jesus, we too often and too easily allow ourselves to be pulled into conflicts of power and self-interest, fighting to defend our rights and our position against those who would oppose us. In the process, we frequently lose our way and neglect our calling. Rather than truly changing the world, we are content with preserving our rights in this world; rather than reflecting the grace of the One who has sent us, we elevate our own defense and winning arguments to the place of priority. The path that Jesus showed us, the one of humility, mercy, and sacrifice, can quickly fall from our sight; the way of loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us is too easily forgotten.

It's interesting, and somewhat ironic, that Christmas itself has become a battleground for some, an argument over our rights and place within the culture. Yet Christmas inherently reminds us that we will not truly change the world by defending our own rights or by fighting like others fight. Jesus came in humility and lived as a servant, effecting change not with the weapons, methods, or attitudes of this world, but by the way of the Cross. May Christmas challenge us once again to follow that same path, trusting that the way of love and grace will indeed make a difference.

The Unlikely Matter of Christmas

I'm one of those people who, by nature, finds comfort in consistency. I like it when things fit the expected pattern, when matters are clearly defined and ordered. My wife went through a spell where she tried a different recipe every time she made meatloaf. After several months of experimentation, I finally requested a moratorium on meatloaf in our household. It's not that they were all bad (although there were a few tragic missteps), I just couldn't deal with the numerous, unexpected variations. I want certainty and continuity. Call me obsessive, call me compulsive, call me insane - it's just me.

In my more mature and lucid moments, when I recognize this tendency as a deep-seated and personal issue of control, I also catch a glimpse of how this shapes my perceptions, understanding, and expectations of God. You see, sometimes I want God to fit into my self-created definition, to work according to my preconceived expectations, and to be contained by the boundaries of my understanding. Although I may not admit it openly, part of me wants a God who is safe and predictable, a God who shuns surprises and acts in line with my notion of consistency. Christmas, however, reminds me that God is anything but that; it reveals a God who acts in surprising and unlikely ways, who breaks in unexpectedly and mysteriously. Consider the story again:

God comes into the world, not with sky-splitting glory and power that drops people to their knees, but in human flesh, as a baby with all the usual dependencies and needs.

The Word of God became flesh, and in the mystery and wonder of this incarnation, Jesus somehow embodies the fullness of humanity and the fullness of God.

A young girl, ordinary and unexceptional in the eyes of the world, from a backwater town, with the common name of Mary, becomes instrumental in this divine story of redemption.

A common laborer named Joseph, without position, means, or power, is entrusted with the role of raising and providing for the Son of God.

The news of this miraculous in-breaking of God's Light into the darkness of our world was shared first, not with those considered famous or significant, but with common shepherds marked by the dirt of the fields and the smell of sheep.

Pagans from a far off country, moved by the sight of a star, came as unlikely worshippers while the educated, religious elite remained oblivious to what God was up to.

And the Son of God, the Word made flesh, came into this world, not with the appearances and trappings of nobility and dignity, but born in the mess and smell of an animal stall.

This is not how I would write the story; it is not what I would consider likely, expected, or even appropriate. But this is God's story, one that reveals His delight in working in unexpected ways, in surprising places, and in unlikely people. Christmas reminds me that God cannot be defined by my idea of what is likely, He cannot be contained by my personal expectations and judgments. God is working in ways, places, and people that I would not expect or imagine, and my efforts to contain or tame Him will only blind me to what He is doing.

"Lord, in this Advent season, I am reminded that you are a God who works beyond my boundaries of understanding and expectation. As an ordinary person, marred by weaknesses of all kinds, that brings me hope. As unlikely as it might seem, I too can be an instrument of your grace. And even as I try to embrace that truth for myself, help me to extend that same grace to others. You are at work in surprising ways, in places I would not imagine, and through people I would not expect. I ask You, simply, to give me the eyes to see it."

Rescuing Christmas. . . From Whom?

A lot of us seem to be concerned about Christmas. More specifically, we seem to be deeply concerned about how other people treat Christmas. Great offense is taken and spirits are troubled when people, businesses, and governments replace "Merry Christmas" with the generic phrase "Happy Holidays," giving rise to warnings about the secularization of Christmas. Those who want to fight those battles are certainly free to do so, and I respect their motives and intentions. Personally, however, I think there is a greater issue of concern when it comes to the secularization of Christmas: our own behavior, attitudes, and priorities as Christians.

On one level, I expect the world around me to secularize Christmas. After all, if someone is not living in a relationship with Jesus, they're probably going to treat Christmas as a general holiday rather than a sacred event. As the followers of Jesus, however, it falls to us to live out and bear witness to the true significance of Christmas. It's at that point that I believe we need to express some serious concern. While we've been busy pointing the finger at the secular world and how they observe or fail to observe Christmas, we have turned a blind eye to the secularized spirit that so often governs our own observance.

The season of Advent should be for us a time of genuine worship, prayer, and reflection that renews and awakens our hearts, fills us again with the wonder of God's love, deepens our gratitude for the God who is truly "with us," brings our attention to His Kingdom at work in this world, and challenges us to lay down our lives in a spirit of sacrificial love. Too often, though, this is not the reality of my Christmas observance. Rather than a time of worship and spiritual renewal, Advent becomes a month shaped and directed by the culture around me, filled with busyness and distraction, planning and spending. In our intent to celebrate the season, we too easily and frequently set aside those things that bring our attention to God, sacrificing time in the Word and in prayer for the surface matters of the holiday. And so, we enter the new year like so many of those around us: tired, overfed, and in debt.

Who is it, exactly, that is responsible for the secularization of Christmas? It's easy to say that secular people are to blame, but perhaps it's really those of us who should know better and are simply blind to our own secular habits. Before we criticize the world around us for its treatment of Christmas, perhaps it would be in order to honestly evaluate our own observance. We might find that, in spirit and priority, we're not really all that different from those we criticize - only the title has been changed.

A Renewed Sense of Thanksgiving

As I sat in church last Sunday, I experienced one of those moments that we treasure, a moment when God draws close and speaks to us in a way that is desperately needed. We were singing about our God being "indescribable" and "uncontainable" when the reality of His greatness suddenly took hold of my heart, giving me a deep sense of peace and joy. In that extraordinary moment, the Spirit bore witness to my spirit that our God is bigger than the boxes we so often use to define Him, that He is so much more than our preconceived, predictable, and comfortable notions, and that He is far beyond our frail and limited comprehension. It was an encounter that I personally needed, a reminder that arrived at a critical time, and it's giving shape to my expression of Thanksgiving this week.

I am thankful for a God who is great beyond my comprehension and is never defined by our human paradigms and structures.

I am thankful for a Creator so incredible that through His Word this world of life, beauty, and mystery was spoken into existence.

I am grateful for a Father who loves so deeply and fully that He was willing to risk rejection for the sake of true relationship.

I am thankful for a God who loves so completely that He was willing to restore a sinful and broken world through His own sacrifice.

I am thankful for a Father who is abundant in mercy and delights in forgiveness.

I am thankful for a God who extends to me patience beyond measure in spite of my seemingly endless weaknesses and struggles.

I am thankful for a God who is constant in His heart and character, even when I am not.

I am thankful for a God who understands that I don't always understand and is faithful to me all the same.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever. (Psalm 118:1)

The Issue With Taking Issue

I have come to understand that sometimes the issue is not the issue. I'm sure others could express the meaning of that statement in a more coherent and sensible way, but stay with me here. The point is, we have the ability to make a big deal out of some issue or event, when in fact our real concern and motivation is something else entirely. We're even pretty good at fooling ourselves, turning a blind eye to the true motivations behind what we do and say.

Take, for example, the disciples of John the Baptist and their discussion in John 3:22-30. They got into a big argument with someone over the nature of ceremonial washing, but the details of that theological debate are not shared with us. In fact, the very next verse has these disciples returning to John the Baptist and complaining that Jesus was now baptizing and everyone was going to him. Wait a second - what happened to that pressing theological debate about ceremonial washing? Where is the resolution to this monumental issue that brought on such an argument?

Is it possible that the reasons and particulars of this debate are not shared with us because they were not the real issues driving these disciples? Maybe the real issue behind this public argument was actually the concern they shared with John: people were now going to Jesus, and they were not on center stage anymore. You know, one of the easiest ways to get back in the spotlight is to get involved in some public controversy or argument. Could it be that some of John's disciples, threatened by Jesus' rising popularity, stirred up a controversy in order to bring attention back to themselves? That's not to say there weren't some genuine theological issues being debated, but was that the genuine motivation? In other words, was the issue of the debate really the issue, or was it more about their need for attention and position?

I realize I cannot make that judgment with certainty. After all, half the time I can't figure out people here and now, let alone someone that lived centuries ago. However, I believe the question is worth raising, and I believe that because I know myself. To be honest, there have been times when I have taken issue with something or someone, and my real concern was far more personal and self-centered in nature. Debates and crusades over some grand cause can easily provide cover for my need for attention and importance; small issues can grow into great controversy when my ego is the secret motivation.

You can't help but notice that we spend a lot of time in our churches debating matters of all sorts. There are always those on a crusade for some great cause or against some great conspiracy. At times we seem to live for controversy and conflict. And of course, we justify it all as necessary because of the importance of the issues involved. Now I don't question the fact that many of these issues are valid and important, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder if they are always the real issue. Are there times when the conflicts and crusades are actually attempts to fulfill our need for attention, when the controversies are secretly motivated by our desire to control, when the debates are fueled by our desire for importance? For my part, I must admit that there have been times when the answer is "yes."

I doubt that I am alone. So, as the followers of Jesus, let's pray together for a greater awareness and sensitivity to the truth that the issue is not always the issue, and may a spirit of honesty and humility prevail in His Church.

Some Thoughts On Being Right

I like to be right.

It feels good when I am.

In fact, it feels so good that I want to be right all the time. Therein lies the problem.

Being right about some fact or issue, and having others acknowledge that I am right, too often becomes my only priority, blinding me to the essential matters of character and attitude. It can quickly take the form of an idol, something I give myself to so completely that I neglect things far more significant. Winning the debate can sometimes become more important than people and relationships; having my view and opinion prevail can take precedence over Christlikeness.

God is teaching me the dangers of my unhealthy need to always be right about everything:

My need to be right does not allow for confession and apologies. Since such things, by their very nature, admit to being wrong, my driving desire to be right will not allow them. Instead, I seek refuge in excuses and rationalizations. The need to always be right depends greatly on a spirit of denial and deception.

My need to be right does not allow me to truly listen to others, especially my critics. Unwilling to face the possibility that others might understand something better, or have a valid point that is contrary to my own, I choose not to hear what they are saying. I listen only for the purpose of responding or arguing, and not for the sake of that person. My intense desire to be right leads me to devalue and disrespect others.

My need to be right can propel me into hurtful, destructive behaviors and attitudes. In my effort to win, I can lose sight of love, mercy, and grace. Like Peter in the garden, I begin to swing my sword in defense of what is right and true, oblivious to the damage it causes. Being right becomes my justification for hurtful words, unloving attacks, and a spirit of division. Jesus did not excuse Peter's behavior because he was on the right side - he told Peter to put the sword away. Jesus tells me the same thing, but the desire to be proven right can cause spiritual deafness.

My need to be right hinders my growth as a follower of Jesus. Growth is dependent upon a confession of need, the admission that I do not have it all together and have it all figured out. The desire to always be right is not comfortable with such confessions; it leads instead to a spiritual pride and arrogance that denies any need for further understanding, change, or growth.

Some of you may defensively jump to the conclusion that I am promoting some kind of relativistic, "every way is true" approach to spirituality. Relax - that's not the point. Jesus is the truth, and seeking to know and understand the truth revealed in Him is essential. However, my self-focused need to be right about everything, and to be seen as right by everyone else, is something entirely different. Distinguishing between the two can be difficult, but it is necessary. As a follower of Jesus, the call on my life is bigger than being factually right - it's about being like Him. When I lose sight of that, I can quickly find myself being wrong, even when I'm right.

A Post-Election Mandate

After months of campaigning and millions of dollars spent, the votes have been cast and counted, bringing to a close another election season. We have now entered into the period of reflection and response, with all of its analysis, opinions, and reactions. Obviously, the responses vary greatly, depending on which candidates and issues you voted for. Some are elated, while others are defeated; some are hopeful, while others are disappointed; some see a bright, sunny day ahead, while other believe the sky is falling. Then there are always those who, either through disinterest or disillusionment, have disconnected from the whole process and seem to go on their way completely unaffected by such matters.

Regardless of where you fall in this spectrum, there is one reaction that is necessary for the followers of Jesus, one response that should rise above all the others. Let's remember the words of Paul and Peter:

I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf and give thanks for them. Pray this way for kings and all who are in authority so that we can live peaceful and quiet lives marked by godliness and dignity. (I Timothy 2:1-2)

For the Lord's sake, respect all human authority - whether the king as head of state or the officials he has appointed. (I Peter 2:13-14a)

These words are not contingent on who we voted for or what party the candidate belongs to. We are not released from this response because we are disappointed in who was elected. There is no escape clause when we disagree with their decisions. This is to be the reaction of God's people - period. We pray and intercede for those in authority because it is the response of love and
grace. We will give respect to those in authority because we are called to reflect the character of Christ. In all things, we are to walk in grace, kindness, and mercy; in everything, we are to love and pray for others, wanting God's best for everyone. The words of Paul and Peter remind us that the realm of politics does not give us a free pass - we're still supposed to be like Jesus.

Throughout the election process, we have often appealed to the authority of Scripture in discussing and debating various social issues. May we remember that these words about respecting and praying for those in authority are just as inspired and authoritative as the passages we have quoted to others. We cannot be selective in our observation of Biblical values. Demonstrations of disrespect and a lack of love will do nothing but make all of our other arguments ring hollow. Whatever you might feel about the election and its outcome, there is one reaction that must rise to the surface: we will love, respect, and pray for others, whether we voted for them or not. The way of Jesus does not change, even in an election year.

Come November 5. . .

At this point in election season, I typically grow tired of it all. The incessant ads begin to annoy me, the minute-by-minute polls wear me out, and the constant “expert” analysis on TV and radio becomes nothing more than white noise. It’s not that I don’t care, or don’t want to be involved in the process – I just have a limited attention span and want to get on with it, already. And to be honest, I think another reason I grow weary at the end is the message of fear and pessimism that becomes so increasingly common at this stage. Both sides try to make the case that we cannot let the other side win, because if they do, all will be lost and the world, as we know it, will end.

What’s both interesting and troubling to me is how Christians and Christian organizations allow themselves to become driven by fear and begin to rely on the same fear-based message. A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a well-known organization stating that if certain individuals win this election:

America as we have known it will no longer exist. This country that we love, founded on Judeo-Christian values, will cease to exist and will be replaced by a secular state hostile to Christianity. This “city set on a hill” which our forefathers founded, will go dark. The damage will be deep and long lasting. It cannot be turned around in the next election, or the one after that, or by any election in the future. The damage will be permanent.

Yikes - that’s some bleak and scary stuff. In my reaction to that statement and its view of faith and politics, I in no way want to seem judgmental, demeaning, or dismissive toward those who share these sentiments. I do not question their heart, their faith, their motives, or their integrity. I also have no intention of making a political statement, endorsement, or prediction of any kind. My concern is with the approach and the perceived attitude conveyed by statements such as this. Personally, I struggle with the followers of Jesus resorting to fear and casting a shadow of hopelessness. With all respect, I choose not to follow in that path, and here are my reasons:

• The true "city set on a hill" is not equivalent to or dependent upon any earthly nation or government. The Body of Christ is called to be the "city set on a hill," and that city will not "go dark" because of any election on this earth. Come November 5, regardless of who has won and who has lost, the followers of Jesus will still be here, and they will continue to love and serve as light in the darkness. Throughout the history of the Church, no ruler or government has ever been able to stop the movement of God's Kingdom, and they never will.


• The true hope for our world is not found in governments, courts, or legislation, but the transforming love and grace of God. The systems of this world do not have the power to change hearts, restore lives, and heal families. Our God is the One who gives life, restores the broken, heals the hurting, and makes all things new. Come November 5, regardless of who has won and who has lost, our God will still be living, present, and active in our world. On that day, and for all days to come, He will continue to carry out His gracious work of redemption in and through people like us.


• The true call placed on our lives is to pick up the cross and follow Jesus for the sake of His Kingdom. To be motivated by the fear of a "secular state hostile to Christianity" suggests a self-concern that misses the mark of our call. It implies that our concern and efforts are aimed at our own comfort and security within society; it hints at the possibility that we cannot bear the thought of living from the margins of society rather than the comfortable mainstream. Jesus did not call us to fight for a comfortable position in the culture, the avoidance of personal insult and persecution, or the backing of the government; He called us to lay down our lives, to know that we are blessed when we face rejection and persecution for His sake, and to trust that there is an all-surpassing power from God at work in these jars of clay. Come November 5, regardless of who has won and who has lost, our call will remain the same, and the power of God's Spirit will continue to uphold and enable those who are willing to follow. The purposes of His Kingdom will always be accomplished by the way of the cross, the path of love and sacrifice, and not by the power or means of earthly nations.

While I recognize the significance of these decisions, and I realize our need for prayerful involvement, I have also come to believe that God's Kingdom must not be equated with the political business of this world. I will earnestly pray and vote my conscience, and I trust you will do the same. But through it all, may we remember that God's position and purpose are not dependent on the elections of any earthly nation, including ours. Despite the rhetoric that seems to suggest otherwise, He is not on the ballot - He will still be God come November 5.

Good Intentions; Wrong Approach - Part III

Okay - allow me one more post on this whole matter of being salt and light in the world, and then I promise to move on. On second thought, promise might be too strong - I'll try to move on. How's that?

Beyond the issue of being versus simply doing, there is an essential quality and reality about salt and light that we have, by and large, neglected. We have too easily overlooked the fact that salt and light must be present to make a difference. A light in one room does not impact the room down the hall with its door closed. Salt in a container does not impact food on the table. To make any difference in the environment, to have any hope of bringing transformation, salt and light must be present and engaged. Nothing is changed or achieved through isolation.

It seems to me that our dependence on the world's means and systems of operation has not led us to a greater or more transformational presence in the world; in fact, it may have enhanced our isolation. Our political activism, our boycotts and protests, have given us the sense that we are involved. While this is true in one sense, there is a profound difference between being involved in the systems of this world and being present as salt and light. What Jesus said in Matthew 5:16 was that the world should "see our good deeds and praise our Father in heaven." He didn't say they need to see our involvement, our activism, our protest, or our arguments - they need to see our good deeds, the acts of love, mercy, and compassion that flow from the grace of God and draw attention to Him. To be salt and light is to be a present, living reflection of Christ's love and grace to such a degree that people are attracted to the kingdom of God.

I suspect we have allowed involvement to supplant true presence. I can sign a petition without ever connecting to my neighbor. I can vote a certain way without ever serving those around me. I can forward emails about a cause, but never demonstrate love to someone that is hurting. I can easily boycott a company, but never draw someone to Christ. We convince ourselves that we are acting as salt and light, even while we fail to live out a loving and grace-filled presence among those in need. We are simply taking shots from a distance.

Am I saying that such involvement is wrong? No, I'm saying that it's insufficient and cannot fulfill our purpose. We are called to be a positive, grace-filled presence in the world that draws attention to our loving, grace-filled Savior. To be salt and light requires us to move beyond the comfort and safety of our circles, to step into our world as a reflection of Jesus, to invest in others with a spirit of love and sacrifice. The fact is, politics and protest are easy - ministry is hard work. Arguments and boycotts are simple - truly being present with those in need can get messy. Petitions and email campaigns are no sweat - laying down our lives in service is costly. We have too often opted for the easier path, exchanging true presence in our world for involvement in worldly systems that are inadequate for our mission.

Perhaps there is a deeper issue here that we do not want to face. Why do we often substitute a reliance on the world's methods and systems for the loving, serving, and engaging presence we are called to be? Here's a thought - maybe we want the government, courts, corporations, and schools to enforce our values for us so we don't have face being light in the darkness. If the systems of the world support our ideas, then the "rules" will keep everyone in line so we don't have to go out and engage our neighbors. If the government and courts uphold what we believe is right, then we can maintain the illusion that we are a part of a Christian nation, allowing us to live comfortably in our isolated circles. Maybe our real concern in so many of these efforts is not the building of the kingdom, but our own level of comfort in society. To be present as salt and light in a world that is dark and broken can be uncomfortable; it's a lot easier if the government enforces the rules for us.

The problem is, our mission is not to win arguments and force changes in behavior. We are called to bring others into a transforming relationship with Jesus, and the means and methods of this world will never be able to do that. Jesus never once indicated that the kingdoms and governments of this world were the pathway to building His kingdom. Those in the early church had no expectation of the government or courts supporting them or upholding their values, and yet they changed the world. If we are to change our world, you and I have to move beyond taking shots from a distance, stop relying on the systems of this world, and quit isolating ourselves in comfortable circles. The Jesus we claim to follow is the one who came into this world and lived among us in love, mercy, and sacrifice. To be salt and light is to do the same.

Good Intentions; Wrong Approach - Part II

In picking up the conversation from the last post, Jesus clearly issues a call to His followers in Matthew 5:13-16 to live as "salt of the earth" and "light of the world." I believe, as stated previously, that our well-intentioned attempts to do so have too often relied on the wrong tools and strategies. Instead of changing hearts and lives, we aimed for the lower goal of changing laws and policies. Rather than seeking to build the kingdom of God, we substituted the fight for a moral society. It's not that a moral society is a bad goal, or that policies and laws are not worthy of consideration; it's the fact that these things lack the power to accomplish our true mission of making disciples. If we effectively carry out our disciple-making mission, these other concerns will be influenced naturally by the transformation of lives, families, and communities. However, the opposite has proven not to be true - making the tangential goals and issues our main priority has not resulted in the formation of Jesus-following disciples.

I sense that this misdirected focus is actually a reflection of a deeper misdirection, one that is at the heart of our understanding of what it means to be salt and light. In thinking about my own understanding, and what I have so often heard preached and taught, it seems that our attempt to define salt and light rests almost entirely on what salt and light do. Salt preserves, and so we must preserve the world from decay. Light reveals, and so we have to show people the right way. While these observations are certainly true and valuable, I believe our narrow focus on doing has led us, at times, to the wrong priorities and approaches in ministry.

When we are shaped solely by the concern of how we can make the world fall in line with our values and what we do, we find ourselves driven to win arguments, elections, and culture wars. Believing our primary call is to win these battles, we resort to the world's means and methods, using political and economic power to try and force others to act right. In essence, we become activists just like any other activists - getting out the vote, signing petitions, boycotting, and protesting in an effort to win the arguments and debates. Here is the problem, as I see it: We are not called to win arguments or elections; we are called to win people to a new life through faith in Jesus. We are not called to simply change what people do; we are to call others to be with God and learn to live out the genuine love and grace of His kingdom.

If we are to be faithful to our mission as Jesus' followers, it seems that we might need to reconsider what it looks like to be salt and light in our world. Why did Jesus choose to use the metaphors of "salt" and "light" to begin with? Was His primary concern what they do or accomplish? Or, could it be, that His primary point is that salt and light simply are. Think about it. Salt does not set out to do anything - it just is. The influence of its presence is the natural result of its character. Light does not set out to do something - it just is. It makes a difference simply in its presence, by the character of its being. To be salt and light is precisely that - to be something. Maybe Jesus' point is that we are called to reflect His character, not just in what we do, but in who we are as people. Could it be that the simple presence of people who truly embody the character of Christ will bring greater transformation to our world than winning arguments or elections ever could?

When our focus is on what we do, and we believe our mission is to change what others do, we too easily lose sight of what we are called to be. We grab the tools of this world and its systems in an effort to "win" the good fight, and far too often in that process abandon the character of Christ. We can fight for the right cause, but do so in a manner that violates the spirit of love and grace. We can battle over the right behavior, but do it with words and attitudes that break the heart of Jesus. If we win the arguments, carry the election, or overturn the policy, but do it through the same means and spirit as the world, then we have denied the very nature of what it means to be salt and light. The question is much bigger than what Jesus would do; it is ultimately about what Jesus would be.

The methods of this world cannot fulfill our mission, and the use of them does not automatically vindicate us as salt and light. In humility, I admit that my indiscriminate, and often unloving, reliance upon them has too frequently served to push others away rather than draw them toward the kingdom of God. How did Jesus change the world? He did not rely on earthly means of power or force to compel the right behavior; He simply embodied love, mercy, and sacrifice. As He did, an amazing thing happened - people fell in love with Him, and they were changed. To be salt and light is to embody the same character, to be like Him in who we are, to bear the spirit of love and grace in such a way that people fall in love with Jesus.

Maybe the defining question of being salt and light is not, "How can we win?" but "How can we love like Jesus?" If that became our priority, we just might see people, families, and communities genuinely changed - regardless of who wins the election.

Good Intentions; Wrong Approach - Part I

I often have good intentions that are poorly executed. Without going into details, I can tell you from first-hand experience that laundry detergent doesn't work the same in the dishwasher, a hammer cannot be used to fix everything, and there is definitely a difference between baking soda and baking powder. (That last one relates to a particularly ugly incident involving blueberry muffins.) In every case, I had good goals and the best of intentions; unfortunately, I also had a bad plan that produced the wrong results.

Over the last several years, I have come to believe that we as evangelical Christians too often carry out good intentions with a bad plan. We rely on the wrong tools and the wrong strategy, producing results that fall far short of our purpose and mission. And rather than honestly recognizing our need for a better approach, we continue to walk down the same road, believing that somehow our good intentions will eventually produce a different result and make it all okay.

You are certainly free to disagree at this point, but I sense that evangelicals in America have too often, and mistakenly, turned to the tools of worldly power in an attempt to accomplish a spiritual goal. We have come to rely on political power, economic power, and the systems of this world as means of carrying out the mission of the Church. We want to believe that if we just get the right candidate elected, all will be well and we have done our Christian duty. We think that if we boycott a company into submission so that they change their corporate policy, we have successfully carried out the work of the Kingdom. We devote huge amounts of time and other resources to arguing with the secular world, assuming that our primary goal is to win an argument. For decades now, this has often been our approach, an approach that I admittedly have followed at different points in my own life.

While there is no doubt that we have had the best of intentions, at what point do we stop and ask, "Where has this gotten us? Is this approach accomplishing our mission?" As I look at where we are and what we have achieved in all of this, some obvious questions and answers seem to stand out: Has the church in America grown? No. Is American society more moral? No. In fact, we have lost ground on both counts. And even when we win the battle, we get our candidate elected or we get that company to change a policy, what have we truly accomplished for the Kingdom? Have we changed anyone's heart? No. Have we changed anyone's belief? No. Have we led anyone to Jesus? No.

Despite the negative answers to all these questions, we continue down the same path, patting ourselves on the back when we "win" and shaking our heads in disbelief when the world seems to slip further away from our ideals. Please understand, I am not saying that there is never a time or place for this kind of involvement. The problem, as I see it, is that we have substituted these things for ministry. Rather than engaging our world with a love and grace-filled ministry that genuinely transforms our culture, we depend on earthly means of power to force the appearance of change.

Our call is to make disciples as we daily live out the kingdom of God. The means of this world, the political and economic forces we so often rely upon, do not possess the power or ability to change hearts and build the kingdom; they are insufficient for the task. Perhaps we need to rediscover what Jesus meant when He called us to be "salt and light." What is He calling us to be and do in this world? Over the next couple of weeks, I invite you to think along with me as we consider His words to us in Matthew 5:13-16. Throughout the discussion, I realize we might disagree at points. That's okay - just remember, I have the best of intentions!

Worrying About Caesar's Stuff

Like many of you, I have been involved in a number of conversations over the last week that centered on the financial and economic crisis facing our country. To be honest, as much as I may try to convey some sense of understanding and insight on these issues, the fact is, it's all beyond my level of understanding. All I know is that, apparently, a whole lot of people loaned a whole lot of money to a whole lot of people who can't pay it back, and now it's all come back to bite us. As you can see, God clearly did not provided me with the necessary gifts for working in the financial field. Just ask my wife - she took the checkbook away from me a long time ago due to my proven inability to keep it balanced.

But despite my lack of knowledge and understanding, one thing is obvious to me - people are afraid. Many of us find ourselves haunted by dread and uncertainty, terrified by the prospect that we might just wake up from the American dream to see our more than comfortable life-styles slip away. While such a reaction would be expected and understood within our affluent culture, it's interesting that the followers of Jesus, myself included, seem to be easily drawn into the same spirit of fear and uncertainty. I do not intend to minimize legitimate concerns, and I certainly would not belittle the pain of those who face the loss of a house or a job. The issue I raise is one of Christians living in and being driven by fear. Is it not true that the people of God's kingdom are called to build their hope and security on something greater than the kingdoms of this world? If our hope rests elsewhere, if our lives are built on a different foundation, then should we fear what others fear?

Perhaps our sense of fear and uncertainty reveals something about us, a revelation of the painful truth that we are too attached to the things of this world, too dependent on the life-style we have created, too obsessed with our own comfort and welfare. Shaped by the culture more than I care to admit, I build houses on the sand, and when the sand shifts, I am afraid.

On one occasion, when Jesus was confronted with a question about the interaction of God's people with the kingdoms of this world, He simply responded, "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's." I have often heard those words interpreted as, "Be a good citizen, be a good Christian." In other words, you have a foot in both worlds, so do what is right on both counts. Now there is certainly nothing wrong with being a good citizen, but I'm not sure that was the point Jesus was trying to make. I tend to think that Jesus was impressing on us the truth that when we are surrendered fully to the kingdom of God, we can freely let go of the wealth and power of this world. When we truly live as people of His kingdom, the issues that bring fear, concern, and conflict to the world around us do not impact us in the same way.

This is what I hear Jesus saying: If it has Caesar's picture on it, and it has Caesar's name on it, then it obviously belongs to Caesar. So let him have it - why do you care? You should be so fully devoted to God, so completely invested in His kingdom, that you can let go of this stuff without fighting and fear. Don't worry about Caesar's stuff; he can do that. Be more concerned about the fact that you belong to God.

It's one thing to express that belief when life within Caesar's realm is comfortable and profitable. It's another thing entirely to hold to that belief when the retirement account is getting hammered, the value of the house plummets, and the factory may shut down. But if we do not believe it in a time like this, can we say that we ever really believed it at all?

Motives and Minivans

We have a minivan. I hate to admit it and have never been happy about it. With apologies to minivan lovers and a confession of my unhealthy attraction to cars, I have to say that I see minivans as nothing more than boring and utilitarian boxes of transport for middle America. Please don't take offense - it's just a matter of personal preference. My disdain for minivans, however, doesn't really have any bearing on what I want to share; it's just I find it impossible to say that I own one without adding that disclaimer. I'm sure it's rooted in some deep insecurity I have regarding other people's opinion of me.

But enough of that tangent - here's the story: One day I was standing behind the minivan, and the rear door was up. My wife, not aware that I was standing close to the van, reached up and pulled down the door to shut it. Now understand, she didn't pull it down slowly and gently; she yanked that boy down hard. I know this for a fact because she yanked it right down on my head. After several minutes of pain and incoherence, I came around and realized what happened. And when I came to my senses, I certainly did not accuse her of doing it on purpose. To the contrary, I assumed it was purely an accident and she did not intend to cause serious brain damage or death. Why was that my assumption? Because she is my wife, I love her, and I choose to trust her heart.

Assumptions are a powerful force, and many of the divisive conflicts I witness in the church occur simply because we decide to assume the worst. Christians too often refuse to give other believers the benefit of the doubt. Instead, we choose to believe that they intended to hurt us, they deliberately ignored us, they willfully excluded us, they purposely lied to us, and so on. Our inability to see the motives and hearts of others does not seem to keep us from making serious judgments, judgments that refuse to consider the possibility of unintentional misunderstandings or miscommunication. Believing our perceptions are infallible, we stubbornly hold to our feelings and judgments as absolutely accurate and justified.

Now I know that there are times when people do intend to hurt and destroy. I realize that when there is a history of hurtful behavior that is not confessed or changed, even though it has been confronted, a relationship of trust cannot be established. But let's get honest about life in the church - our quarrels and divisions usually do not fit into that category. More often than not, a small and insignificant event is perceived wrongly, the worst is assumed, and rather than dealing with it in a spirit of love and reconciliation, we become a prisoner of our inaccurate judgment. And once that judgment takes root, we look at everything through the lens of our misperception, turning every word and action of that person into some intentional slight and deepening the divide we created.

Do I realize how completely proud, arrogant, and sinful it is to assume that my perception of a conversation or event is completely without error? I am a broken human being, who is in the process of being restored by the grace of God. As such, I still carry a boatload of issues, problems, and baggage. I am given to miscommunication, mistakes, and unintentional stupidity. I am not God, my perceptions are not infallible, and I cannot see the heart or motives of others. As one who desperately needs the people in my life to extend the benefit of the doubt and the willingness to assume the best, it is only right and just that I offer that same grace to others.

When the prophet Samuel set out to anoint a new king of Israel (I Samuel 16), God pointedly reminded him not to be swayed by the outward appearance of others. While in the context of the passage that statement refers directly to the physical stature of an individual, I believe it reveals a truth that translates more broadly. What appears to be so, as I perceive it, can be deceptive. God alone knows and sees the heart, and accordingly is the only One qualified to pass judgment.

More than ever, I am convinced that most of the personal conflicts within the church flow out of the arrogant assumption that our perception of what others say, feel, or do is without error. Refusing to allow for the possibility that our perception might be distorted, we are unwilling to grant others the benefit of the doubt and choose, instead, to act out in judgment. As we walk down that path, misperceptions continue to pile on, pushing us to the relational breaking point. But humility calls us to a different path, a path that confesses we are not God, a path that admits our inability to perceive all things clearly. It asks us to trust the heart of others, assuming the best of our brothers and sisters for the sake of love and unity. It reminds us to extend the grace to those around us that we so desperately need ourselves.

Even when they smack us in the head with the door of a minivan.

Defining "Essential"

Like so many others, my family spent some significant time this week without any power due to the windstorm that swept through the Ohio Valley on Sunday. As my kids complained about all that they were doing without, I encouraged them to stop and reflect on those in our world who live every day without our conveniences and luxuries. Of course, while teaching them a valuable lesson, I was secretly bemoaning the fact that my computer would not come on, the phone didn't work, and I couldn't find an open gas station. I'm pretty good at teaching others lessons I have yet to learn myself.

But setting my hypocrisy aside for a moment, I have to admit that this week did force me to wrestle with the question of what is truly essential. Apparently, we have an innate ability to turn non-essential things into necessities we cannot live without. In our consumer-focused, convenience-minded culture of abundance, we are undoubtedly shaped by that tendency more than we care to admit. Somehow, in our minds, non-essentials become essential. As I thought about that in the material sense, I could not help but think about how that same tendency also reveals itself in the realm of church, ministry, and the spiritual life. Even there, we find it all to easy to turn non-essentials into core values.

Think, for a moment, about the conflicts that Jesus faced during His ministry. It seems to me that many of those battles revolved around the issue of what is truly essential. For the Pharisees and others, matters like picking grain on the Sabbath, fasting on the appropriate day, washing in the right way and at the right time, what particular day of the week you came to be healed, and not eating with the wrong kind of people, were all seen as essential matters of God's kingdom. When Jesus conveyed a different understanding of what is truly essential, they took offense and conflict ensued.

For Jesus, what mattered most was loving God with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and loving others as we love ourselves. These were the priorities that governed His ministry, determining what, where, and when He did what He did. Jesus, quite simply and deliberately, set non-essential things aside for the sake of living out the essential character of God's kingdom, a kingdom of love, grace, mercy, and justice. He did not allow outward traditions and rituals to overrule that which is genuinely essential, which brought him into conflict with those who wanted to make such matters primary.

Now, I'm probably already in trouble with some of you, because you know where this is headed. But in all honesty, I don't think we can deny that many of the conflicts we face in our churches today revolve around the same issue. Just as we so often do with the material things of life, we can elevate non-essential elements of church life to the status of necessity. As a result, our particular forms and styles of worship and ministry become battlegrounds; music styles, what time and day we have church, how the pastor dresses, and whether we have Sunday School on Sunday morning or small groups on Tuesday night, are fought over as if these matters provide the essential foundation of the Church.

It's not that these non-essential things are wrong in and of themselves; it's just they are not essential. And when we try to make them the essential issues of the church, we blind ourselves to what matters most. We argue about styles of worship, and in the process lose sight of what worship really is. We debate about the process of making disciples, and ignore the fact that we aren't doing it anyway. We rise up in defense of how we are supposed to "do" church, but fail to see what God has called us to be as His people.

Even good things, when given the wrong priority, become idols. As the followers of Jesus, when we allow non-essential issues to become more important to us than what is truly essential, we cease to be salt and light in our world. Just as the Pharisees, we can become consumed with defending our particular way, and in so doing, fail to live out God's heart and purpose.

The definition of what is essential has not changed. As Jesus revealed to us, and expressed so clearly in His own ministry, this is all about loving God and loving others, living out what it means to be the people of His kingdom through the transforming power and grace of His Spirit. To let anything else become more important in my life, or the life of the church, is to sadly miss the point.

Don't Quote Me

It wasn't long after my son started school that he came to me with the critical question of whether or not Santa Claus really exists. In my best fatherly spirit, and with a hint of scholarly depth, I discussed with him the origins of Santa Claus and the identification with Saint Nicholas, the 4th century bishop of Myra who gained a reputation for secret giving. Of course, he promptly went to school the next day and told his friends, "My dad said the real Santa Claus died over over 1600 years ago." Nice.


Sometimes it doesn't pay to be quoted.

Maybe that thought should cause us to take a second look at the ways we quote God. Like those times when we rip a passage of Scripture out its context and use it to get our way or prove our point. Or the times we so quickly and easily say, "God told me." It's amazing how often what God tells us seems to line up with what we wanted anyway. What about the times we "defend" God or His Church, but do so in a spirit that is less than Christlike? I can't help but think that there must be times when God winces and says, "Please don't quote me - I'd rather my name not be attached to this."

For people who claim to value the Ten Commandments as a critical foundation of faith, law, and society, we often do a good job of ignoring the spirit and intent of the words, "You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God." I grew up in a church culture where that simply meant you shouldn't use God's name as a curse word. Now that's true enough, but it's hardly the whole picture. The reality is, whenever we knowingly invoke, attach, or apply God's name to something that does not reflect His character, we misrepresent Him and wrongfully use His name. Like a fake Rolex watch, we put a genuine name on something that is not genuine.

So when I twist Scripture to fit my own agenda, I'm attaching a "God said so" to something that is not so. When I easily and carelessly say "the Spirit led me," when in reality it was my own desire leading me, I have turned His name into a disingenuous stamp of approval. And when we call ourselves the followers of Jesus, and take that name upon ourselves, but choose not reflect His character and spirit in the people that we are, we misrepresent and misuse the very name we claim to honor.

Day by day, in what I do, in what I say, in the person I am becoming, I am in a very real way quoting God. I pray that I will see the many ways that, in my weakness, I misquote Him. But more than seeing, I pray for the grace to respond to those failures with humility, genuine repentance, the necessary apologies, and with gratitude for the amazing love and patience of my God. My heart tells me that's the kind of response God is willing to attach His name to - but don't quote me.

The Appearance of Change

I've spent the last few days in a leadership conference. I'll be honest, my attitude going into such conferences is usually not a positive one. The prospect of sitting in a room all day listening to an "expert" tell me the right way to do something, which will be contradicted by another "expert" at the next conference, doesn't really excite me. My grumbling begins a full week before and continues until I return home. (I know that comes as a surprise to you, given my usual sunny and positive disposition.)

But today I was truly challenged as I listened to Alan Roxburgh, author of The Missional Leader, discuss what it means to live missionally in this period of dramatic cultural change. Change has always been a part of life in this world, but most of the change we face takes place within the normal, expected paradigms. For example, we expect to get old, to move to a new home, to change jobs. Such changes are a natural part of life for churches as well. They expect pastors to come and go, the death of members, and the birth of new ones. These are all changes that we have learned to manage with our existing skills and abilities.

However, there are some changes that happen outside our expected paradigms, changes that take us beyond the skills we currently have. Something like the death of a spouse is so disruptive that it takes us to a place we have never been before, rendering our usual coping skills insufficient. In the face of such dramatic, unanticipated change, our current habits and solutions fail to address the challenge. There simply can be no return to "normal."

The world we live in is undergoing a deep and disruptive change. A shift in culture and worldview continues to take shape around us, and the church is faced with the reality that many of our traditional approaches and solutions are no longer working. Roxburgh shared that churches are responding differently to this cultural change:

• Some churches are reactive. They know the culture has changed, they don't like it, and they respond by becoming even more entrenched in what they have always done, isolating themselves from their community. Rather than confront the change, they put up a higher wall.
• Some churches are developmental. They believe that if they just develop what they already do, and do it better, they will be more effective. So, they change their music style, remodel the building, put in a coffee bar, hire some new staff, etc. The problem is, they are still doing what they did before; they are just trying to do it "better." While improving what we already do may attract more "church" people, it will do nothing to attract those who are completely disconnected from the church. If they weren't interested in what we were doing before, they probably won't care that we are now doing it differently.
• Some churches become transitional. Instead of asking how they can do the same thing, but do it better, they ask questions of a totally different nature. They begin to wrestle with questions like: How do we move out of our church and into our neighborhood? How do we begin to listen to the people in our community, so we truly learn who they are? What can we do to begin to understand the culture of this place and this time? What does it really mean to be missionaries to our own neighborhood?
• The church that humbly asks these questions has the opportunity to become a church that is transformational. These are the churches that truly enter the lives of people in their community, expressing the redeeming love of Christ. Rather than continue in their same pattern of ministry, they step out into a place they have never been before. Not hiding from the culture around them, or being consumed by that culture, they become a transforming presence in the culture. In their place and time, they sacrificially embody the love and grace of God in the midst of ordinary people.

As I thought about these different reactions, I had to confront the painful truth that much of what I did as a pastor was really developmental change. We simply changed the appearance of things; the culture and mindset underneath remained the same. Although it looked different, it did not move us outward to engage the culture around us. We did it in the name of being missional, but it did not advance the mission of God's kingdom. It made us feel good, but it did not reveal Jesus to the broken people of our neighborhood who would not think of darkening the church door.

I wonder if I am really willing to do what is necessary to become a transformational, missional kind of Christian? Am I willing to step beyond the comfortable things I do and truly move into the world around me to listen, learn, and serve? Am I willing to go to that place I have never gone before, embodying the love of Jesus in the midst of this culture? What is God really calling me to be and do in my neighborhood? What does it look like to live out the kingdom of God in my particular place and time?

I invite you to wrestle with these questions along with me.

Early Dismissal

Many years ago I read an interview with John Stott, noted British clergyman and author. In it, he was asked his opinion of a particular movement within the church that was seen as a new revival by some and as heresy by others. I have never forgotten his response. (Okay, I've probably forgotten the exact wording - but I remember his point.) Stott said that he had learned not to dismiss such things in their entirety or to accept them uncritically, because God can be at work in a movement even when that movement has elements about it that need disciplined or corrected.

That approach struck me as sensible and somewhat obvious. After all, I trust that God is working in me and in my life despite the fact that I am imperfect, marred by weakness, and often lack understanding. How many things about me need disciplined or corrected? Yet, I believe the grace of God continues to shape me for a greater purpose. Doesn't it make sense, then, that God could be working in a church or a movement within the Church, even though it needs correction at points?

Too often, when it comes to churches that step outside our traditional forms of ministry and thought, we react with an absolutist "all or nothing" attitude. If we see any element that might be lacking or missing the mark, we write the whole thing off as a plague of heresy and deception. Rather than accepting the idea that they might actually have some valid criticisms and questions, we reject them as being subversive. Rather than recognizing that we could possibly learn from them, we vilify them. Rather than acknowledging our points of common ground and entering into genuine dialogue regarding our differences, we draw hard and fast lines of isolation and judgment.

I have come to believe that such an attitude conveys an arrogance that is unacceptable for the followers of Jesus. In essence, it says that every part of my thought and practice is perfect, and therefore, everyone else should be in line with me. It suggests that my way is never deserving of criticism or question, and anyone who does so must not be holding to the truth. In the end, I take upon myself the authority to decide where God will work and through whom He will work.

The fact is, every movement in the history of the Church has had elements that went too far or got off track at some point. Does that mean that God was not working through them at all? There were those in the Protestant Reformation that went too far. I mean, really - when theological arguments end up launching religious wars, complete with persecution and destruction, you probably have gone too far. But we certainly do not reject all that came out of the Protestant Reformation. My own church was born out of the American holiness movement. There were those in that movement who jumped the track and went too far into an unbiblical hyper-perfectionism and legalism. Does that nullify all that God did through that movement? Absolutely not. Looking back, we can indeed see clearly that God was at work in these movements and churches, but we also see clearly the points that needed correction and discipline. The one does not invalidate the other.

Why should we view movements within the Church today any differently?

Arrogance leads us to easy dismissal and judgment, not to genuine discernment. True discernment calls us to enter these conversations with authentic conviction, humility of spirit, and Christlike love. Discernment knows that if we accept uncritically, we may compromise essential truth; but, it also recognizes that if we dismiss easily and entirely, we just might miss out on what God is doing in His Church.

Public Conversations

I've been thinking about the implications of blogs like this one. We now live in a time when pretty much anyone that can turn on a computer can put their thoughts out there for the world to read. And it seems there are those who actually read the thoughts of people like me. (Why, I'm not sure - apparently there's nothing good on TV.) As I thought about that, I came to this realization: our conversations have become public.

When I am part of a public conversation, I need to be concerned about what I am conveying to those who may not be a part of the conversation, but are definitely observing the conversation. Certainly this should be of great concern to those of us who claim to be followers of Christ. Paul tells us in Colossians 4:6, "Be gracious in your speech. The goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out." (The Message) I believe the New Living Translation expresses it this way: "Let your conversation be gracious and attractive." I wonder, do those who observe my public conversations see something attractive and full of grace? Are they drawn toward Jesus?

The other night I visited a website that claims to defend the true gospel and warns of the deceptions that are supposedly undermining the Church. From there I visited many of the other linked sites that contained like-minded arguments and criticisms. Their public conversation reflected a number of ideas: there is only one "right" translation of the Bible, anything and anyone associated with the emerging church is bad, the spiritual formation movement is a spiritual deception, and the Left Behind series is the only orthodox view of eschatology. There was also the occasional hint that Barack Obama is, in fact, the antichrist.

To be honest, I have no problem with them expressing their theological views, even though they may differ from mine. I enjoy a good theological debate. I also choose to believe they are speaking out of a genuine concern for the Church and what they perceive is right. I fully respect their right and their willingness to express their thoughts and convictions. None of that is the issue. What I found disturbing in all this was the lack of graciousness in the conversation. Christian leaders who do not agree with their position were mocked as sell-outs at best and deliberate deceivers at worst. Going beyond the discussion of ideas, they judged the heart and spiritual condition of others. There was a clear absence of respect, civility, and kindness; it all simply, and unfortunately, lacked grace.

Even if we happen to be right about the issue, what do we accomplish if we drive others away with our unkind spirit? I'm not sure "Christian attack-dogs" serve to build the Kingdom. As the followers of Jesus, our conversations should reflect both the grace of God and human graciousness. This is always essential, but its importance is now highlighted by the fact that our conversations have become public. Others are watching. Will they see a love and respect that is different than the hostility they experience in the world? Will they see a kindness, gentleness, and graciousness that is attractive?

I know I have a long way to go, but I hope I am at least walking in that direction.

Parking Lots and Bad Press

The other day I heard a sports-talk radio host share an experience that caught my attention. He and his wife had gone to dinner, and a church parking lot was across from the restaurant. There was a sign saying that the lot was reserved for church activities, but seeing that it was not a day when any church services were scheduled, and given the fact that others were parking there and walking across the street, the radio host pulled in and parked. When they returned, there was a note on their car from the pastor of the church stating that the lot was for church parking only, and at the bottom, written in large letters, were the words, "CAN YOU READ?"

The radio host shared this on the air, publicizing both the name of the church and the pastor who had written the note. My guess is he will not be visiting that church anytime soon and his listeners probably won't either. (At least for worship - some may actually go there now just to park.) What's that old adage about there being no such thing as bad publicity?

As I finished my drive home that day, I thought about the image of the church that had just been conveyed to thousands of people. This story tells them that the church is more concerned about protecting a parking lot than serving people. It tells them that people of the church will respond with sarcasm and unkindness if they do not do what is expected. It tells them that we are no different in our spirit or priorities than the rest of our culture.

But of course, it's always easy to point a finger and shake your head over what someone else has done. My prayer is that stories like this will bring me to a place of honest self-examination. Am I more concerned about protecting my "stuff" than I am about reaching the people around me? Have I communicated to others a spirit that is sarcastic or unkind? Are there times that I speak when I really should just shut-up? Unfortunately, the answer is sometimes "yes" to all of the above.

In I Corinthians, Paul said that he chose to "put up with anything rather than hinder the gospel of Christ." It's pretty clear from his letters that this did not mean Paul let himself be walked on or that he hesitated to speak the truth. I think the point is that, for him, the genuine work of the gospel took priority over his own "stuff" and his perceived "rights." To damage the witness of the gospel for the sake of his own possessions or desires was contrary to the call of Christ.

We constantly face the danger of reversing the order so that defending our "stuff" becomes more important than reaching others with the love of Christ. Will we be more effective in reaching our neighborhoods by putting up signs to protect our parking spaces or by opening up what we have to serve the community? Will we make a greater impression for Jesus by sarcastically chastising those who fail to live up to our expectations or by responding with patience and mercy? If our only choice is between silence and hurtful words, which path puts the work of the gospel first?

The idea of there being no such thing as bad publicity works for those who care only about their own publicity. For those of us who are followers of Jesus, bad press reflects poorly on Him and hurts the mission He has given us. Sometimes, for the sake of the gospel, we need to take down our signs and not write those notes. In the perspective of the Kingdom, people will always be more important than my stuff.

Lord, help me to simply shut-up, park somewhere else, and go love someone.

Excuse Me

Okay - it's been a while. Things have been busy, I have been distracted, pressing responsibilities have consumed my time, blah, blah, blah. Like you, I have a ready list of excuses I can throw out at any given moment. The bottom line is, though, I haven't posted anything in a while simply because I didn't take the time to do it. Period.

So, that's my explanation to all three of you that actually read this.

It's tough for me to cut to the bottom line and just admit that I could of done something but didn't. My natural tendency is to make an excuse in order to justify my action or lack thereof. I'm guessing I'm not the only one with that tendency. (Alright - it's not a guess; it's actually a statement of fact based on years in the pastorate.) We use excuses like an emergency exit door from responsibility.

The problem is, excuses rarely solve anything. Typically, they lead to questions which lead to further excuses which create more questions. It's an ugly cycle. And in all honesty, I can't say that I feel better after passing off a lame excuse. Usually, my mind is scrambling to find more excuses to fill the holes in my previous excuse. But more important than the issue of my own personal peace of mind is the fact that my reliance on excuses stands as a barrier to my growth in Christlike character.

I've been giving some thought to what Jesus said about letting your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." People of true humility and integrity simply let their words stand in truth; they do not need qualification or justification. We are not called to live and speak with hidden agendas or conditions, but consistently in truth and love. My words are an expression of my character, and as a follower of Jesus, I want to be able to stand by my words with integrity.

Often, my excuses are not words I can genuinely stand by. Instead, they are manipulative, conditional manners of speech that deflect truth and responsibility. Rather than a simple "yes" or "no," excuses interject a "but" that seeks to distract and distort the reality of a situation. Making excuses does more to defend my pride than to build integrity; it is failure searching for a loophole.

Some habits are hard to break, but as a first step, I will make no excuse for not posting the last two months. But you do have to realize all that I had. . . oh, sorry. It really is hard to stop.

The Trouble With Money

Money makes me nervous. It's not that I don't like it - I'm just afraid of liking it too much. We seem to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking and talking about it. Whether it's at home, work, or even at church, the subject of money easily and often dominates the agenda. And usually the conversation centers on the fact that we don't seem to have enough.

I know it's necessary in many ways, I realize it can be used for great good, and yes, I know the church needs it to carry out ministry. But is it the central issue we so often turn it into? Let's be honest, we tend to make money the repository of all our problems and the solution to all our dilemmas. We believe that if we just had more, everything would be okay. Even in our churches, we frequently make money the scapegoat for our failure to carry out the mission of Jesus, despite the fact that Jesus himself was not exactly known for having a lot of disposable income.

I'm afraid I give money too much credit (so to speak), allowing it to consume too much of my attention and provide too many excuses. And the troubling thing is, I don't easily recognize the power it can have over me. Jesus said something about it being easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. As much as we try to gloss over that statement, I think he meant what he said. Money can be powerful and deceptive, making it difficult to discern my true motives and priorities. I can easily rationalize my concern for money with a list of valid needs and noble causes, but sometimes that list hides a great deal of self-interest. I need the grace of God to reveal truth and set me free.

Money has its earthly importance, but it is not the heart of who we are and what we do. I know we need it, but it's not the central issue of life or ministry. The evidence is around us every day. There are families with money that still fracture and break apart, people with means who live empty and meaningless lives, and churches that sit on bank accounts while they die away. At the same time, there are those who are poor in the eyes of the world, but live in love, joy, and contentment; there are churches that have little, but are creating life-changing communities of God's grace. There are some who realize that life and ministry are rooted not in the money available to us, but in the love, grace, and power of God offered to us.

I am shaped by my culture more than I care to admit. We all are. Our churches are. Maybe, through that influence, we have come to care about money too much. While we worry and argue about the dollars, we neglect the greater issues of love, trust, relationships, and the power of God. And if that is indeed the case, all the money in the world is not going to make a difference in our families or churches.

Third Base

Although I was never a big fan of football coach Barry Switzer, there is one quote from him that I really like. He once said, "Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple." I'm not sure why a football coach is making a baseball analogy, but that's beside the point. There is a truth within those words that calls us to humility.

Our culture celebrates the independent spirit and the "self-made" individual. But is anyone truly self-made? Can we really attribute our successes, however we define them, to nothing more than our own efforts? None of us experience life in a vacuum, unaffected by others and untouched by circumstances. And while we are certainly responsible for the choices we make, we cannot ignore the impact of influences and opportunities we did not create or control. The fact is, I've had a lot of help along the way. Humility calls us to remember, and be grateful for, the people and opportunities that have shaped us.

I want and need to improve my memory. May I always be aware that:

• I am here, not because of what I deserve, but through the love and grace of God. And God loves everyone else just as much as He loves me.


• I have been helped and blessed by people who have loved me and invested in my life. I would not be what I am without their influence.


• I have been given resources and opportunities that others have not. That is not a reason for pride, but a call to humble gratitude.

There is certainly nothing wrong with recognizing hard work, and true humility does not ask us to belittle the gifts and abilities God has given us. We find it easy, though, to cross the line into self-sufficiency, believing that we have earned by our own merit all that we have and are somehow more deserving than others. But at the very heart of the gospel stands the idea of redemption, restoring that which cannot restore itself. If this is indeed the great need of humanity, then I must also accept the reality that no one is self-made, and the gifts that have been given to me are exactly that - gifts. I am where I am, not because of my own ability, but by the grace of God extended to me in countless ways throughout my life.

Just because I'm standing on third base doesn't mean I hit a triple.

Unconvincing Arguments

Even as a kid I loved to argue. Right or not, I had an answer for everything. If I couldn't win the argument with logic, I would do so with plain bulldog tenacity. I could argue even the most ridiculous position to the point that the other person just wore out and quit.

I used to think that was a great quality until God gave me a child who is just like me. Now, not so much.

As the followers of Jesus, we spend a lot of time arguing, defending what we accept as the truth of God's Word. We fight with school boards, governments, scientists, and Oprah. We develop curriculum, organize associations, and orchestrate email campaigns, all for the sake of winning the battle with those who don't believe what we believe. We literally spend millions of dollars of the Kingdom's resources and countless hours of time and energy trying to win arguments with the world.

I'm not going to say that's a bad thing, and in no way would I ever question the heart or motives of those who take on these battles. But I am at the point in my life where I'm asking some tough questions, and here is one: Why do we, as Christians, spend so much time and effort trying to prove the Bible right and at the same time completely ignore so much of the Word in our own relationships?

Think about it. We will defend a creationist view of Genesis 1 to the point of death, but easily turn a blind eye to Jesus' words about forgiving others. (Matt. 6:14-15) We are quick to protest the liberal scholars who seek to redefine the "historical" Jesus, but slow to follow the Biblical direction for resolving conflict. (Matt. 18:15-17) We don't hesitate to express our discontent when society fails to conform to our values, but can be oblivious to our own lack of love for those not like us. (Matt. 5:43-48) While we try to argue the world into believing the Bible, the attitudes and conduct within the body of believers too often contradict the very words we defend.

I know - we are frail human beings and none of us is perfectly like Christ; therefore, inconsistencies will always be a part of the earthly picture. That doesn't mean we shouldn't speak truth to the world around us. Okay - but my struggle is not so much with the reality that inconsistencies exist as it is our failure to confess those inconsistencies in a genuine spirit of humility and repentance. That failure conveys the attitude of arrogance and judgment that so often brings division within the church and mars the image of Christians for those outside the church. When we argue with the world about Biblical values, while ignoring our own failures in following Jesus' words, others will easily dismiss us as self-righteous and hypocritical. What they see is someone more concerned about winning arguments than being like Jesus and loving people.

I have come to realize that the inconsistencies I choose to ignore are not hidden to those around me. They see what I choose not to see, and if I am going to draw anyone into Christ's Kingdom, I must open my eyes and acknowledge my personal failures. The truth is, I am too often guilty of selective hearing. The Scripture is easy to hear and use when it seems to speak to someone else, but it's another story when the light is turned on my own heart. When I finally acknowledge that, and confront my own struggles, I find that I begin to look at others differently. Rather than seeing an opponent who must be argued into submission, I see a person who needs love and grace as desperately as I do.

Personally, I don't know too many people who have successfully been argued into the Kingdom, but I do know many who have found a relationship with Jesus because somebody loved them. Perhaps we would be more effective in our mission if we spent less time trying to win arguments and more time creating communities of love, grace, humility, and acceptance. In a world that is broken and dysfunctional, a community like that just might be a convincing argument.

Lessons From Chocolate Deprivation

I have learned that I can actually live without M&Ms. This is no small matter given my intense devotion to chocolate, and believe me, it was not initially my idea to wander down this path of discovery. The truth is, my doctor has been on my case for years now about cholesterol, triglycerides, and the like, but I typically chose to alleviate the pain of his guilt-ridden warnings with more M&Ms. A few months ago, however, the conviction stuck and I decided that I needed to make better choices and live a healthier lifestyle. So, as a part of this new and improved approach to life, I cut M&Ms as a regular part of my diet. And guess what - I didn't die.

Actually, when I do have M&Ms now (only occasionally and in moderation), I seem to enjoy them more. Before, they were a daily compulsion that I had to fill and I ate them thoughtlessly rather than gratefully. It seems my sacrifice has resulted in a new sense of appreciation.

So I guess a little self-denial can be a good thing.

In a consumer-minded culture like ours, self-denial is not generally valued. We are driven to have more, use more, eat more, and buy more. We are part of a society that has everything, but values little; that wants it all, but is grateful for none. Even as the followers of Jesus we can find ourselves caught up in the same cycle of addiction to earthly things. Perhaps it would benefit us to rediscover the spiritual discipline of self-denial.

Clement of Alexandria (c. 150-c. 215) claimed that the body has the potential to be either the temple of the soul or the tomb of the soul. The difference between the two lies with the word attachment. When I am attached to something, I must have it; and when I must have it, it controls me. Those who are controlled and driven by temporal things lose their focus and attention on the things of the Spirit. The result, necessarily, is the loss of spiritual vitality and passion. Spiritually speaking, we become walking tombs.

Clement, along with many witnesses in the history of the Church, believed that self-denial helps us to break our attachments to worldly possessions, activities, and pleasures. Times of fasting remind us that we do not have to have these things and we do not live for them. Periods of voluntary sacrifice refocus our hearts and minds on the priorities of the Kingdom and draw our attention back to the voice of the Spirit. And when we return to the things we have given up for a while, we are able to receive them with true joy and gratitude as the gift of God, rather than a thoughtless compulsion. Breaking our attachments brings freedom, and rather than a tomb, we become a temple.

What would happen to our level of spiritual passion and focus if we practiced, consistently and deliberately, the discipline of self-denial? What if we gave up, just for a time, something that has the potential to control us and assume a higher priority than it should? There is no shortage of possible suspects: food, work, shopping, TV, sports, internet - the list is endless in our culture. It's not that we need to give them up forever, or that they are necessarily bad in and of themselves; we just have this tendency to become consumed, losing our sense of priority and spiritual focus. A little time without them helps to keep us free from unhealthy attachments.

Clement once said, "We ought to behave as strangers and pilgrims. . . as people who are not passionately attached to the created world but use it with all gratitude and with a sense of exaltation beyond it." I think Paul expressed it this way: "And even though 'I am allowed to do anything,' I must not become a slave to anything." (I Cor. 6:12, NLT)

Not even to M&Ms.

It Is What It Is, Part II

As I expressed in the previous discussion, we cannot deny that the world, left to its own direction, simply is what it is. "Sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all, because all sinned." (Romans 5:12) The human condition is one of sinfulness and that cannot be changed apart from the grace of God. It is also true, unfortunately, that the professed followers of Jesus sometimes choose not to be expressions of God's grace in our world, opting instead for isolation and judgment. And when we choose that path, it seems hypocritical to complain about or be surprised by the state of the world; we're like those who choose not to vote but want to reserve the right to complain about the government, or people who won't change their diet but expect their cholesterol to come down. (Okay, that last statement was actually a personal confession.)

But, in all this, let's not forget the good news: The world has not been left on its own, even when we fail to be the salt and light we are called to be. The grace of God is at work around us, even when we choose not to take part in that work. The Spirit of God is faithful to stir hearts and minds while speaking truth and drawing lost people. More is going on in the heart of your neighbor than you see on the surface. In the book of Acts, Ananias was shocked when he was called to go and pray with Saul of Tarsus. Certain the Lord was confused, he let God know what this guy Saul was really like. But God had done a work beyond Ananias' line of vision, and He continues to work today in surprising places and in the hearts of unlikely people.

But even as we acknowledge this loving and faithful work of the Spirit in our world, we find ourselves once again challenged: Are we really a part of what God is doing, or are we merely content with operating our own programs in comfortable isolation? Is it possible we have allowed self-interest and religious habit to keep us from seeing what God is doing and wants to do around us?

Assumptions can be powerful and deceptive. I have too often assumed that maintaining the operation of a church is the same as living out God's purpose. But can we hold to that assumption if we are not seeing lives transformed into the image of Christ? It's not that the operation of a church is wrong or unnecessary; it just cannot be substituted for our purpose. The very character of God, revealed in Jesus, assures me that He is working in our world. Whether or not we are a part of that work is a different question entirely, and it's one we need to ask ourselves with humility and reflection.

I heard someone say that, at this point, they believe God is doing more outside the established church than inside. Honestly, I was initially offended by the thought. But criticism often stings with an element of truth. I have to admit there were those in Jesus' day who were pretty good at running the religious institution, but were blind to what God was doing. At the same time, there were those on the outside who saw and believed. And as I recall, Jesus said something to the religious folks about the outsiders "entering the Kingdom before you."

May we never be so proud as to think those words could not possibly speak to us.

It Is What It Is

My lawn has serious issues. The grass is thin and pale, bare spots abound, and there are some things growing out there I've only seen on the Discovery Channel. It's sad, really. It always helps, too, when the neighbors have lawns that look like golf courses. I'm sure they love me.

But I can't blame the yard for its sorry state. The fact is, I hate yard work and I have no idea what I'm doing even when I try. Once in a while I spray some stuff I bought at Walmart and throw a little grass seed around; but in all reality, I'm clueless. And since the yard can't fix itself, it remains in its pitiful state. It simply is what it is.

Sometimes we forget that the world can't fix itself. We have a tendency to respond to the condition of our world with an almost prideful sense of shock and disbelief. We look at the darkness and brokenness around us, shake our heads, write it all off as a sure "sign of the times," and then retreat to our safe sanctuaries to wait for the end of all things. Occasionally, in the name of culture-changing ministry, we forward an email to other Christians telling them who to vote for and who to boycott. And when confronted with our failure as the Church to make a genuine difference in our culture, we conveniently remind ourselves of how bad it is "out there," and matter-of-factly pin the blame on the world and its unwillingness to come to us.

It seems to me that Jesus laid the responsibility on another doorstep. He said, "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl." Rather than being surprised by the condition of the world, Jesus sets a challenge before those who are called to be salt and light. The truth is, if things are to change, the followers of Jesus must move beyond the safety of the church's walls and the comfort of friendly circles. We must be salt in a decaying world and a light in dark places.

Sinners can't be anything but sinners apart from the grace of God. Rather than pointing a finger in shock and arrogance, I need to humbly remember that there, but for the grace of God, go I.

Darkness can never be anything but darkness if the light remains hidden. If the darkness seems to be spreading, perhaps we should, in all humility, consider Jesus' words and accept that we have failed to live as the genuine expression of His light in the world.

A world in bondage to sin will not come running to us on Sunday morning simply because our churches are open. Rather than shaking our heads in disbelief, maybe we should ask with broken hearts, "How can we show love to them right where they are?"

If we, as the people of salt and light, remain disconnected and hidden from those who are lost and hurting, we have no right to be surprised by the world's condition. The world simply can't fix itself. Left on its own, it is what it is.

Swallowing Camels

I am, admittedly, skilled in missing the point. As a student, I could spend thirty minutes writing a paper and then burn two hours creating a cover page. I can make fifteen attempts at tying my tie so the length is just right and never notice that my pants are ripped. And honestly, you don't want to watch a movie with me - just ask my family. If one insignificant detail of the story is out of place, I can successfully obsess over it to the point that all hope of entertainment and enjoyment is lost. I guess I'm one of those "can't see the forest" kind of people.

Sometimes, in my more lucid moments, I think about what Jesus said to the Pharisees: You guys will strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.

It seems so easy to lose sight of significant matters. It's not that all the things receiving our attention are unimportant; they're just not the most important. As disciples of Jesus we sometimes pour great energy into straining out the gnats, but completely ignore the camel in the room. In both my own life and the church, I have come to believe that one of those camels is the lack of genuine humility seen in Jesus' followers.

Having grown up in the church, I have heard a lot about "worldliness" and the call to be a holy people. But I have to be honest: I've heard little more than obligatory references to the spirit of humility. If anything, we have the tendency to excuse arrogance and pride as a matter of "personality" or simply being strong in our convictions. But even while we explain it away, we deal with the divisive fall-out:

• The unwillingness to apologize for hurtful words and behaviors, creating walls of separation in personal relationships and in the Body of Christ.
• The retreat into isolationism and a judgmental spirit, assuming that we are always right and somehow more deserving than others.
• The belief that my position, success, tenure, or money makes me more valuable to the Church and my opinion more important.
• The unwillingness to admit that my critics sometimes have a point.
• The stubborn refusal to be in dialogue with and show love to those who disagree with me.

Perhaps we are afraid that humility will be mistaken for a weakness in our beliefs or character. But if we think about it, Jesus would never be accused of such weakness, and yet he "emptied himself," sat at the table with sinners, and took the place of the lowest servant. If we are indeed called to be like Jesus, humility must necessarily be a core value of our lives.

As I look at my own life, the church I love, and the world around me, it's clear that many are looking for more than religious marketing, arguments, and arrogance; they need genuine connection with a community shaped by humility, acceptance, and authenticity. If that is true, then what is needed in the Church is not so much a reformation of doctrine or programs, but the rediscovery of a Christlike character and attitude.