More Than An Emotion

Dear Faith Family,   

"What is the chief end of man?
Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever."
(Westminster Catechism)

What is the purpose of life, the primary aim of your living and mine? The first question asked by the nearly 500-year-old catechism (summary of principles used for instruction) is, indeed, the essential question of humanity. A question every human, civilization, and society has (and is) answered in some form or fashion throughout history. The answer is two-fold. 

The first part is expected, at least for those of us who have grown up in the Church: "glorify God". The granular specifics on how we fulfill this aspect of our chief end have varied to some degree across the various times and places of those seeking to achieve it. "To glorify God, you have to ______." I am sure you fill in the blanks with at least a few different answers. Yet, as we were reminded after Easter, the essential and straightforward description of a life that glorifies God is one lived in a whole and holy relational rhythm. 

It's the first aspect that takes up most of our attention, and rightly so. But, we can't miss the second, contends the Church throughout history, if we want to live a truly good (perfect) life. Let me say that again: if we're going to live a good, complete life —a life that glorifies God —we must live a life of enjoyment, a life of joy. 

Joy, as Dylan and Psalm 126 reminded us on Sunday, is merely an end, something we arrive at; joy is a means to our singular end. Only as we enjoy our true life in God through Christ will we live a life that demonstrates the beauty of God. Only as we live a life that declares the beauty of God's good purposes will we experience the essential joy of living...forever. 

Here, at the midpoint of the Psalms of Ascent, we are encouraged to be transformed and empowered through joy. In your life given up to and kept by God's goodness (Psalms 120-121), given over to His glory (Psalm 122-123), trusting His greatness (Psalm 124-125); be filled and overflow with joy, says the psalmist in Psalm 126. Joy because of what life in God has meant and will mean. Joy is not meant merely as the feeling at the end of the pilgrimage, but its very purpose. 

As we pray and reflect on Psalm 126 this week, may we experience joy as our end, here in the middle. And may the words of Jesus to his disciples and friends shape the purpose and practices of our daily living. 

"By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full."

(John 15:8-11) 

Love you, faith family. God bless. 

Remembering The Start

Dear Faith Family,   

"Or have you forgotten that when we were joined with Christ Jesus in baptism, we joined him in his death? For we died and were buried with Christ by baptism. And just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glorious power of the Father, now we also may live new lives."
(Romans 6:3-4)

When the Church's gatherings began to move from primarily in homes, fields, and cemeteries into dedicated "sanctuaries" -- a transition entangled with political motives and not universally adopted, still it seems -- the apostle Paul's question, "Have you forgotten...your baptism?" was at the top of mind.  

Whether as large "fountains" constructed just outside the doors of repurposed ancient temples, or, as paedo (infant) baptism became more normal, in the smaller "fonts" added just within the doors at the back of the sanctuary, requiring all who entered "the church" to pass through them on their way in. Or, as many of us who practice credo (confessional) baptism are more familiar, the "baptistry" was placed at the front of the sanctuary and elevated, giving the sense that all that took place in front of the font did so because it took place in the font. Remembering our baptism has been literally built into Church.  

This coming Sunday morning, we'll have the opportunity to remember our baptisms as we celebrate the baptism of Ellie Holtkamp! If you are in town and able, I hope you'll join us in this joyous ancient rite. In the meantime, I encourage you to remember your baptism. Remember that you have been, as Paul reminds, immersed in the atoning death of Christ Jesus, raised through the cleansing waters of His actions into a new life with God. Everything that takes place as the Church on the other side or in front of this, your life as worship (Rom. 12:1-2), takes place because 

"...we have been united with Christ Jesus in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." (Romans 6:5) 

May we not forget our baptism, but rather, with gratitude and courage, truly live. 

Love you, faith family. God bless. 

Joining Together...To Mourn

Dear Faith Family,   

"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."

(Psalm 34:18)

Our summer psalms have been helping us connect various aspects of our day-to-day pilgrimage through life to the promises and actions of God on our behalf. Between the Day of rest, these "songs of transition," seasonally prayed and contemplated, ground the comings and goings, ups and downs of our daily living in the once and persevering joyous work of God for life--ours and our fellow pilgrims. 

While intimately personal, the psalms' existence is inherently communal, compelling us to pray not just for ourselves, but with and for others who, like us, can only make a life in and through the grace of God. This other orientation, coupled with the tragic events in South Texas over the last week, cannot help but raise tension in our prayer and contemplation. How can I consider the merciful providence of God in my life, turn my praise to Him in joyous testimony of His goodness towards me, and give myself to His goodness for the sake of another, and not hear the cries of those who've lost so much echo in the ears of my mind and heart? How can I pray what feels impossible for people experiencing such devastation to pray? 

Praying the particular Psalms of Ascent with their seemingly certain triumph of goodness has not been an easy task these last few days, at least for me. Yet, the wonder of praying the entire psalter repeatedly is that we are trained on what to pray when we feel that the weight of the current moment conflicts with the words of our scheduled practice. 

Because the LORD is near the brokenhearted (Ps. 34:18), we pray for our fellow humans and pilgrims that through their grief they will know both the nearness of the One who grieves with them, and believe for those who cannot, praying: 

"You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth." (Ps. 71:20). 

May we be joined together in our prayers, especially this week, remembering the words of the One who raises life from death,

"Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I among them." (Matthew 18:19-20). 

Love you, faith family. God bless. 

Starting With Truth

Dear Faith Family,   

"For recognizing and resisting the stream of the world's ways there are two biblical designations for people of faith that are extremely useful: disciple and pilgrim." (Eugene Peterson) 

Known as "The Psalms of Ascent," God's people sang psalms 120-134 as they made their regular return to "the mountain of the house of the LORD" (Isaiah 2:2) for the feasts of Passover, Pentecost, and Booths. Three times a year they made the pilgrimage from the places where they made their lives, to the place of Life itself, to be reminded of and celebrate God's actions on their behalf so that in their return, they "may walk in his paths...in the light of the LORD" (Isaiah 2:3,5) as distinctly God's people in the ordinary roles and responsbilities of life. 

It was these fifteen prayers that the scattered community, gathered together on the pilgrim road, would sing that situated all aspects of their daily lives into "his ways" (Isaiah 2:3). Their inner lives and outward experiences, the whole of their lived experience, were securely and transformatively grounded in the stories and place of faith, hope, and love where the festivals settled them. These songs drew them toward the top of the mountain, the house of the LORD, while also connecting the promises, provision, and presence of God to their daily life. 

It is within this tradition as we discussed a couple of Sundays ago, that we are contemplating, praying, singing, and conversing about a Psalm of Ascent (or two) each week as we make our rhythmic pilgrimage through our daily lives to a place to be reminded of and celebrate God's actions on our behalf each Sunday. A pilgrimage we began this past Sunday. 

The first two "travel songs" of our summer challenge compel us to consider our relationship to truth, the truth of how our apprenticed pilgrimage begins and persists. 

"In my distress I called to the LORD, and he answered me. Deliver me, O LORD, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue." (120:1-2) 

"I lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth." (121:1-2) 

Psalm 120 describes the emotional state from which a life as apprenticed pilgrims begins. All of the beginnings of our faith (whether at first or each day) are the result of complementary emotions: a dissatisfaction with the lies spoken to us and the lies we speak, and a desire for something true. Our faith has a word to describe the reaction from these mixed emotions: REPENTANCE. 

The first of our psalms, as we discussed on Sunday, compels us to consider what lies about life, about how we are to live a good life, do we listen to and perpetuate? And, as we ponder the question and feel the distress of dissatisfaction and desire, we turn and grab hold of the One who is already turned toward us. This is how our pilgrimage began in the first place, and how we return to "his paths" along the way. 

Psalm 121 reminds us that there is no more proficient ender to the apprentice pilgrim's journey than unmet expectations. If we expect that the pilgrim road is easy (requiring little effort or presuming our efforts will always succeed), or that trouble and setbacks are indicators of a wrong direction (or, more sinisterly, God's wrath), or that doubt was left at the starting line, then, when we: trip over an obstacle and loose our footing (vs. 3), are drained of energy by exposure to the elements (v. 4), or feel like lunatics for choosing such a discipled life ( v. 6); we will look for help in all the familiar places, among all the old lies, "to the hills" (v. 1). 

As we shared on Sunday, while atop the mountain, it may be easy to remember it is only the action of God that "keeps" us, yet on the pilgrim road, we tend to return to the products, programs, and people we can use to ensure that we keep to the right path. Yet, as Psalm 121 compels us to consider the truth of our journey, our finding the path in the first place and persisting along the way is not that we are keeping up with the right products, people, or programs, but that, in truth, WE ARE KEPT: 
 

"he who keeps you will not slumber…The LORD is your keeper…The LORD will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The LORD will keep your going out and coming in from this time forth and forevermore." (Psalm 121:3-8)

Our faith has a word to describe God's active guidance and care for our lives toward his good purposes: PROVIDENCE. And so, Psalm 121 compels us to consider: Do we recognize and rest in God's providence along the pilgrim road? Only when we recognize the truth of God's persistent actions on our behalf, even in the real struggles and stresses of daily living, will our souls be able to rest at the end of each day's travels. 

Repentance and Providence, turning from lies to truth and being kept by truth even when we instinctively return to the lies, are where Psalms 120-121 encourage us to situate the emotions and experiences of our daily lives on the pilgrim road. Psalms that, when prayed slowly and shared with others, help us live a long obedience in the same direction...which has made life worth living. 


Love you, faith family! God bless. 

A Summer Challenge

Dear Faith Family,   

"The essential thing 'in heaven and earth' is, it appears, that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living." 

If you didn't know who authored the above quote, you might attribute the observation to a proverbial sage. Perhaps a person who spent their life in search of wisdom, and perhaps, with the mention of "heaven," a person of faith who has discovered the truth to a good life. Maybe you even attribute it to the author of the book, whose title is derived from the quote (see the image above)! 

What if I told you that, despite the apparent affirmation of a life of persistent faith in persevering hope, the quote was actually a condemnation of the very way of life that you and I see as fundamental. Indeed, Friedrich Nietzsche--the genuinely atheistic 'father of postmodernism'--wrote these words as a sarcastic slight to what he rightly saw as the annoyingly limiting (to him) essential mindset and mode of a faith which transforms a person and a people.

While Nietzsche's desire was to free humanity (at least some) from banal submission to things like morals, not to mention Spirit and scripture. Yet, the stories of our faith tell us that joyous freedom is found only in our reciprocated obedience.

"If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you." (John 15:10-14) 

To scorn (like Nietzsche) a vision of life lived in "long obedience in the same direction" or circumvent it in the pursuit of the "immediate and the casual", which is the pervading pressure in our current times, does not merely put us at risk of missing out on "a life worth living," it puts us at odds with the very faith we desire to live by. So, what are we to do?

How do we ensure or recover the essential mindset and mode of a faith that transforms both ourselves and the world we inhabit? 

There are many things I appreciate about Eugene Peterson, including his ability to take what is meant to be a critique of our faith and turn it into an exhortation to faith. This is what Peterson does in his book "A Long Obedience In The Same Direction," specifically, by encouraging us to live into the essential mindset and mode of our faith as apprenticed pilgrims. 

Of course, as we discussed on Sunday, Peterson's vision of a life of faith being in a "growing-learning relationship" with Jesus, even as we are "going someplace" with Jesus, is not unique to him, but rather grounded in the scriptures and traditions which ground us. It is these scriptures and traditions, along with the mindset and mode they cultivate in us, that I invite you to explore this summer. 

Whatever your summer plans or schedule, I challenge you to do two things: 

• Join us in regular contemplative reading of particular Psalms, Gospel stories, and Peterson. Slow, prayerful, and repeated reading sets the pace (no pun intended!) for our practices. Here is a reading schedule to keep us in step with our fellow apprenticed pilgrims. 

• Join us in weekly conversation with communion at our Sunday Gatherings. The life worth living both requires and leads us into regular time with fellow apprenticed pilgrims. And this summer, especially, our Gathering will be a time for us to help one another understand and enter the essential mindset and mode of our faith. 

So, are you up for a summer challenge? I hope so! And pray that we'll come to know the truth and joy of a long obedience in the same direction...that always results in...something which has made life worth living.

Love you, faith family! God bless. 

"What Am I Doing With My Life?"

Dear Faith Family,   

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.
What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing."
(Annie Dillard) 

We have all felt the weight and truth of Dillard's observation, haven't we? Whether amid the grind of the mundane, overwhelmed by expectations, or in those too-quiet moments, we've all been hit with the question: "What am I doing with my life?" And, as much as we look to adapted visions of the past or aspirations for the future to validate our living, we know deep down that real life is actualized neither in the past nor future, but in these days, in this hour. 

There is a reason our faith heritage encourages us to examine our lives in compressed frames of a week or a day, rather than via drawn-out and yet-to-be eras. If a life cannot be measured until it has reached its end, then our life is not the sum of our past, for we are continuing to add to the sum these days and this hour. Likewise, our life is not a future aspiration, but rather what we are doing with our potential these days and at this hour.

Which, makes Dillard's words an exhortation to exercise agency in the work of living. 

Agency, whether individually or collectively, is the power people have to think for themselves and act in ways that shape their experiences and trajectories. As we've said, agency in the work of living is something humans are given "In the beginning," and so, "enhanced" in our new beginnings in life with Jesus. So, where does Dillard encourage us to exercise our agency in the work of living? Her answer will dazzle even as it makes us say "duh!" 

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order...a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living." (Annie Dillard) 

If how we spend our days is how we spend our life, then we should use the agency we've been given to shape these days and this hour. And how do we frame our hours? With a schedule, of course!

While the exhortation is simple, what Dillard is encouraging, as we discussed on Sunday, is not merely to use a planner, but rather, to live by a "Rule of Work." 

"Rule" comes from the Latin word regula, which is associated with a trellis, the woodwork or scaffolding on which a plant matures to maximize both fruitfulness and beauty. A "rule" is a set of habits we commit to that form our schedules. Habits like those espoused by Cal Newport in his book on working with agency for fullness of life: 

1. Do fewer things.

2. Work at a natural pace.

3. Obsess over quality.

Habits, when entwined with The Basic Rule, give us a "Rule of Working From The Soul," a way of working that we can love. Imagine that, that there were a way to do the work of living that was made up of hours that sustain rather than stress, of days that deliver rather than destroy, of time that delights rather than degrades!  

Of course, a "rule" won't take away all the difficulties of living, but it can provide a way to stay afloat rather than be drowned by them. If any of this resonates with you--doing work in a way you can love with your soul and exercising your agency in the work of living--let me invite you to do three things over the summer: 

• Listen to Sunday's sermon. 

• Read Newport's "Slow Productivity"

• In Community (with your GC or with other friends of faith), put together your scaffolding, write a "Rule of Life" in which faith and work are intertwined. 

If you have questions or need help anywhere along the way, don't hesitate to extend me an invitation to join you! 

Through our efforts of faith, may we find in the mundane, amid the mass of expectations, and in the moments of quiet that indeed we are spending our lives, 

"... work[ing] heartily (from the soul), as for the Lord and not for humanity, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance." (Colossians 3:23-24a)

Love you, faith family! God bless. 

There Is More To It Than That

Dear Faith Family,   

Oh! Teach us to live well! Teach us to live wisely and well!
Let your work be shown to your servants
and your glorious power to their children. (Psalm 90:12, 16)

Our faith makes two presumptions about daily life. One, that there is indeed a way to live well and wisely; and not. Two, that we learn this way through curious observation and humble imitation within the bounds of a gracious Love. 

Generally, and rightly, we think of this observation and imitation in relation to Christ Jesus. After all, he did say, "Go and make disciples of all nations...teaching them to observe all that I have commanded (Matt. 28:19-20) and "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you" (John 15:12). Unfortunately, however, we also tend to limit the application of our observations and imitations to the realms of religious practices and attitudes.

Whatever Jesus shows us about how to live has to do with only a part of our life (even if a significant part); i.e., our relationship to God and how we view others. Whatever implications that might have for the other parts of life (i.e., our responsibilities in the home and community, our vocations, our labor, our leisure, and the like) are a product of osmosis, a gradual equalizing of our attitudes and affections in these places with the attitudes of our faith. 

Yet, is that all that there is to a living well and wisely: to have the right attitude and affections in our daily living?  

Certainly, a life lived well and wisely does require properly ordered attitudes and affections, which the life of Jesus allows us to observe and imitate. Yet, we said, Jesus' work fundamentally changes all of life, not just our hearts, but also our hands and our heads. The death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus restores our full humanity. A restoration that devotes our hearts, minds, and agency together, towards a singular, yet marvelously myriad purpose: the fullness (maturation or fulfillment) of all created life. A restoration that takes us back to the beginning, as one scholar and priest reminds us:

“Let us then remind ourselves of the starting point. The created order, which God has begun to redeem in the resurrection of Jesus, is a world in which heaven and earth are designed not to be separated but to come together. In that coming together, ‘the very good’ that God spoke over creation at the beginning will be enhanced, not abolished…taken up into God’s larger purposes, no doubt, but certainly not abandoned.” (N.T. Wright) 

As we discussed on Sunday, the opening chapters of life's beginnings tell a story of humanity observing creation to learn its essential nature and worth and how to keep and work it by imitating (reflecting) its Creator so that all that the Creator desired might come to fruition through the hands and mind of His beloved image bearers (Gen. 2:4-19). Because we are restored to right relationship with God through Jesus, we are able to do the work for which we are made. 

"Our office and our delight are to look at the world in all the distinctive ways that humans can, so that in communion with us it can come to fruition." (Spencer Klavan) 

In communion with Christ, we observe how God has made things and people to flourish, we see the dignity and necessity of what has been made, and we act in ways that draw out that rightness(eousness) and draw them into it, so that we might make a life of perfection (teleios, purpose). That too, is what we learn as we observe and intimate the life of Christ, our life with Christ (Eph. 2:4-10). 

The beauty and wonder of this purpose, of the work of making life complete, is that it can be done regardless of our vocation or field, whether our work takes place mostly in a home or an office, whether we work primarily with our minds or our hands, or whether we work for others or others work of us.

Imagine the life you can make and live if you devote each day to curious observation and humble imitation in the places and labors of work. After all, this is what you are (re)made for. 

Love you, faith family. God bless. 

Held Together

Dear Faith Family,   

What keeps life from falling apart? Daily, what keeps our mistakes, missteps, and inattentive actions from unraveling all that is good? Historically, what provides stability amid the myriad of choices made, whose consequences we could not foresee, and the vast array of circumstances we could not control? 

It isn't easy to look back over a day and not see that some-thing more than our best efforts has kept things together. It's next to impossible to examine a life and not see that our persistent existence has been bound, held together, by some-thing. 

While this "some-thing" has had a variety of monikers over the millennia - a fate or force, our destiny, or pure energy -  our faith knows this thing's name: Christ Jesus.

"And Christ is before all things, and in him all things hold together." (Colossians 1:17)

The apostle Paul's proclamation is not merely an affirmation of our faith's primary assertion for those who adhere to it, as if it is only reality for those who choose to believe. Paul is describing a reality that is cosmologically and ontologically true, as well as religiously so. Listen to his words leading up: 

"For by means of Christ all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities - all things were created through him and for him." (Colossians 1:16)

Every-thing that makes up the universe, including our place and our persons, exists from him, has its beginnings in him, and has its nature from or for him. All the material that forms what our eyes can see - from fleshly bodies to celestial bodies and all that is between and below - and all that is immaterial that forms all the things we cannot see - from electromagnetic fields to souls and a whole host more - are kept in persevering harmony by him. 

How does this "some-thing" we know as Christ Jesus hold all of our living together, all that is visible and invisible that is us? How does Jesus harmonize our days and history with our beginnings and nature? What is that "thing" that supports our existence, reality? In a word: Love. What else do you call the work of Christ Jesus? 

"For in Christ all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself ("properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies") all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross." (Colossians 1:19-20)

What if we entered our days attentive and submitting to this "thing" that holds life together, to Love Himself? Would our labors and our leisure be different, essentially and practically? 

The witness of our faith over millennia is that they are and can be, as we were reminded on Sunday, when we let reality get into our lungs and bloodstream. So, take a few minutes to do just that! 

With each deep breath, give name to what is real, to what is true, allowing your body and soul to "rest in the Cross," from which your life and mine are bound together. 

• Breath In: "I am made…" Breath Out: "…through Him."

• Breath In: "I am made…" Breath Our: "…for Him."

• Breath In: "I am held together…" Breath Out: "…in His love."

Repeat the "breathing prayer" three times, then go about your day different, and bound. 

Love you, faith family. God bless. 

Fundamentally Different

Dear Faith Family,   

Jesus' death and resurrection -- God-In-Flesh, dying upon the apparatus designated for traitors and slaves, and alive again three days later -- truly revolutionized the world. 

Christians believe this to be theologically true and doctrinally accurate as a spiritual reality. The world of God and the world of humanity, or at least God and human beings' spirits or souls, reconciled. But what if Jesus' work not only made a way for the salvation of our souls, but also revolutionized all the other facets of what it means to be human, saving us wholly. 

Secular historians like the late Rodney Stark and Thomas Cahill, and more recently Tom Holland, argue that the world is evidentially and fundamentally different after the death and resurrection of Jesus. What changed? These historians and others contend that the world after Jesus began to become more humane. 

Not instantly and not perfectly, but by both measurement and virtue, in practice and in ideal; the world we inhabit today is radically different than the world two thousand plus years ago. Those truths "we hold to be self-evident" and the values we take for granted as "unalienable rights" were in the millennia before Christ, neither obvious to human civilizations nor impossible to take away. For instance, Aristotle argued that some people were to rule and others to be ruled, which is a far cry from "all men are created equal." What are for us presumed universals, like the dignity of every life and the right to pursue a good life, were but underrealized aspirations of a landless and relatively obscure people before the cross and resurrection. 

After the cross and resurrection, fundamentally, the world changed as people of every tribe, tongue, and nation began to be drawn to the One who died and rose, and began to shape their lives together on His life with us. From the first century into the early Enlightenment, at least in the Western world, the revolution of God-With-Us, dead and alive for us, reshaped the very fabric of society.

Only in the late 1800s, when we put God to death again -- in the words of Nietzsche, "God is dead, and we killed him," -- did the humaneness of life become replaced with the productiveness of life (once again). It is this productivity, this view of humanity as obstacles or objects of use, which Easter raises us to revolt against. A revolution that starts, as we'll see over the next few weeks, by resurrecting the rhythm of Sabbath and work. 

To help us better recognize the revolution we are caught up in and pray ourselves into it, I've reproduced an email I sent a few years ago below. While the information may not be new, it is still needed. So I encourage you to keep reading! 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Our family enjoys Disney World; that's no secret. Due largely to Deedra's savvy planning, we have had several opportunities to spend time as a family immersed in a world of stories and thrill rides. Inevitably, we find ourselves wandering the park waiting for our next adventure but needing some cool place to slow down, and that's when we make our way to Walt's Carousel of Progress.

The "ride" is a slowly rotating theater with audio-animatronics on the stage showing a family's "progress" from the first days of electricity into the future of a technological utopia. The attraction was the central feature of the 1964 New York World's Fair, and while its tech is dated (and its song annoyingly sticky!), the vision for humanity it foretells is sadly accurate. In Walt's eyes, humanity is advanced the further it is removed from the daily tasks of living. The more machines can do for us, the less we have to do for ourselves. And the assumption in the "progressing" theater is the better we are for it all. 

What Walt saw way back then is what most of the modern, especially our Western world, has arrived at. Like Disney's carousel, we go around and around under the assumption that what makes life better is working less, rather than good work done well. 

Maybe because in the cultivation of life, all those responsibilities, roles, and relationships that require our daily efforts are entangled with thistles and thorns, we wrestle to work less. Maybe because leisure is marketed as a luxury and luxury is for the elite, we long for less labor. Maybe because we don't see the value of our daily efforts, unable to imagine our daily grind as a part of something more than surviving, we save our hearts for something else. Maybe because we don't rhythmically cease striving for life with God, we strive for the god-like disconnection from the efforts to live, to be human (though admittedly, that is unlike the God we know in Jesus). 

Contrary to Walt and our cultural perception and (if we're honest) our feelings toward it, work is not something that we overcome, but the means for overcoming, the way of living with God in partnership with His "deep design." Work is cultivating good in life that God has made, and doing so amid the seeming chaos that surrounds (see Gen. 2:5-15). If work was anything less, could the apostle Paul, with integrity to his calling as 'a servant of Christ Jesus...set apart for the gospel of God,' say to wives and husbands, children and parents, servants and masters, 

Whatever you do, work from the soul as for the Lord and not for mankind, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
(Colossians 3:23-24)

Our goal is not to get through work, get out of work, or work less, but to experience the wholeness of being (re)made to work in Jesus. For to be human is to work with God. And doing that for which we are fashioned, well, from the essence of our being. To that end, I invite you to pray with me (and for one another). 

Father, help us live into the gift of your beautiful, never-ending grace.

Holy Spirit, help us see that in you we are enough,
formed and fashioned in your good design for your good destiny.
Wonderful is your work; may our souls know it very well! 

May our work be a beautiful, generous offering of love to you, Father.

May it spill over to the people and the world you made.
May we flourish in our work,
because we are always resting
in the finished work of Jesus and His ever-presence.
Amen. 

Love you, faith family! God bless.

Raised to A Revolution

Dear Faith Family,   

Last week, we were invited to "not disbelieve, but believe." Believe that all the adversaries of our souls (within and without) have been destroyed by the finished work of Jesus on the cross. Believe that we are not alone, not meant just to figure it out, not left to wander through our days, but shown, taught, and guided into God's good design and destiny by Jesus alive again and forever. 

What could life be if we believed? We asked that question, hoping to spark our imagination for life after Easter. It is the question that will set the course for our Gathered times during this next season. But where do we start?

Well, as Psalm 92 reminds us, we begin where God has finished, ceased, sabbathed. 

A Psalm. A Song for the Sabbath
It is good to give thanks to LORD...

For you, O LORD, have made me glad by your work...

Your designs are very deep!...

My eyes have seen the downfall of my enemies,
my ears have heard the doom of my assailants.
(Psalm 92:1,4-5,11) 

Life after Easter begins where all life began: resting with God in God's finished work.

And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested...So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy... (Genesis 2:2-3)

When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, 'It is finished,' and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. (John 19:30)

As it was in Genesis, so it is again in Jesus.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. (Genesis 1:1) 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us... (John 1:1, 14) 

After God works, we rest with Him before we work with Him.

The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it. (Genesis 2:15) 

...Jesus showed them his hands and his side...[and] said to them, 'Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.' (John 20:20-21) 

It's (re)entering this "deep design," this whole and holy rhythm of Sabbathing to work, working into Sabbath, that allows us to live wisely, courageously, competently, and with peace. Imagine that! 

Seriously, imagine if you could distinguish between what is temporal and what is eternal in your daily duties, dialogues, and disagreements. Imagine being free from the fear that binds you in your relationships and responsibilities. Imagine being crafted and commissioned to handle your circumstances and career. Imagine if you were perfectly planted in God's court, his dwelling place now and forever. 

Psalm 92, as we shared on Sunday, invites us to stop rebelling against God's good design and get into this revolutionary rhythm.

I invite you, faith family, to let the Spirit lead you into praying from a place of Sabbath into your places of work this week as an act of revolution.  

Love you, faith family! God bless.

Happy After-Easter Week!

Dear Faith Family,   

Happy Afer-Easter Week! I know that all the pre-Easter and Easter-Morning activities get all the attention, and rightly so, but the after-Easter attitudes and actions should not be passed over too quickly.

The marvelous wonder of living after Easter is that the struggle for life is over. No longer do we have to strive to attain life, nor do we have to keep it, though we will, as Psalm 143 revealed on Sunday, continue to face struggles within life. Yes, even after-Easter, there will be days and seasons where we feel the enemy's crushing closeness and the fatigue of a life pursued for ill purposes. Yet, Jesus alive means all those enemies of living, those adversaries of the soul that still kill and destroy have themselves met their better. 

Each morning after-Easter, including this morning, we wake to the sound of steadfast love showing us the way we should go, teaching us how to live well, and leading us into open space. All because Jesus died for our sin, rose from the grave that first Easter morning, and lives this and every morning speaking the same words He spoke then:

"Peace be with you."
(John 20:19, 21, 26) 

What if we believed that? I mean, really believed that peace was with us? What if you believed that your conflicts in life would not be your end? Nor will the ones you are in conflict with.

What if you believed that you are not alone, not left to wonder, not left to just figure it out on your own? But instead, what if you woke with ears open, expecting to hear steadfast love show, teach, and lead you into life whole and holy?

What all could an after-Easter life be...
if we believed?! 

We'll start answering that question together on Sunday as we enter into our resurrected rhythms of rest and work together. But in the meantime, I invite you, my friends, to believe, trusting the good news that God is for you and with you. And, to imagine a life after-Easter, a life where you "have seen the downfall of your enemies" in the forever life of Jesus with others, for Jesus alive means He has, 

"destroyed all the adversaries of my soul"
(Psalm 143:12) 

Love you, faith family! God bless.

A New Measurement of Faith

Dear Faith Family,   

Unless you grew up in a tradition that kept the prayers and celebrations of “Holy Week,” the days leading up to Easter may not have included a time of reflecting on Jesus’ last supper with His friends before His crucifixion. Well, that is what tomorrow, Maundy Thursday, marks.

The label comes from the shortened Latin word “mandatum,” which means “command” and is the root of our word “mandate.” On the night before Jesus died, He gathered his apprentices together, giving them a mandate,

“A new commandment I give to you,
that you love one another: just as I have loved you….”
(John 13:34)

Gathered around this now-sacred table, Jesus gave the disciples our regular manner of remembering His love for us in the earthy elements of bread broken for our sins and wine poured as the sign of a new covenant  (Lk. 22:19-20). It was also here that Jesus gave his friends the often overshadowed example of His love in action by washing the disciples’ feet (Jn. 13:2-17). An “example,” Jesus says, “that you also should do just as I have done to you.”

At this final pre-Easter meal, Jesus offered himself and his service not just to friends but to friends who would either betray him or abandon him or both. Jesus' love was not only selfless and sacrificial but was simple and lacked all conditions. Jesus mandates a love like His and shows us how to keep that command. 

The prayed poems of Lent, Lord willing, have cultivated in us a humble empathy with our fellow sinners and saints. Now, in these final days of remembrance, we reflect on Jesus's final meal, which encourages us to move those prayers into practice. 

So today, take a moment to read and remember Jesus' final mandatum and ask the Spirit to lead you into the humble service of your fellow saints and sinners tomorrow. 

Pray believing Jesus' love for you empowers you to fulfill His command in even the simplest of actions toward those around you. Remembering, 

"By this all people will know that you are my disciples,
if you have love for one another." (John 13:35)

Love you, faith family! God bless.

Called To The Couch

Dear Faith Family,   

Whenever a parent says, "We need to have a family talk," usually there is something weighty to discuss. Rarely does a formal family conversation get called to choose a paint color for little Billy's room or what meals will make the rotation in the coming week. On occasion, the family talk might be primarily positive, like where to go on summer vacation. But most of the time, as is our case during the season of Lent, the conversation is spurred by something or some things a bit more serious. 

First things first, the opening verses of Psalm 102 are the community calling for "a family talk."

Hear my prayer, O LORD; 
let my cry come to you! 
Do not hide your face from me; 
in the day of my distress! 
Incline your ear to me; 
answer me speedily in the day when I call! 
(Ps. 102: 1-2) 

While these verses might not sound like a dad calling everyone to the living room couch, they've been heard as such by God's people for millennia. These two verses are repeated throughout the Psalms (39:12, 54:2, 61:1, 64:4, to name a few) and are the community's way of clarifying that it's time to talk to God and one another. The verses that follow reveal the weighty nature of the conversation: death and life. 

As Chaz help us see on Sunday, verses 3-11 get the conversation started with our shared experiences of dying, those little deaths we experience as we try to make a life. The pain, unease, and loneliness we feel through the exposure of our hearts, the withering of what seems good, and letting go of that which is less than true life, while particularly felt by each, is universally shared by all of us. We are not alone in our dying. We've all--including Jesus--felt death's sting, and we get to remind each other of this truth at the moment when we need to hear it (and repeat it!) the most. 

But our family talk does not end at death; it continues on to life anew. Verses 12-22 shift the conversation to life after death. And resurrection is serious talk. Talk of God's power and his compassion. Talk of his glory in our presence and across all the world. Talk of the end of imprisonment and the beginning of real and forever freedom. We share our experience of how God is changing and freeing us so that we never forget what reality truly shapes our daily existence, that God sees us, hears us, and is for us. 

So, call a family talk this week! Make arrangements to share your dying and share of our rising with your spouse or roommate, your Gospel Community, your kids, co-worker, neighbor, or friend. Remember that such conversations take place,

for a generation to come,
so that a people yet (re)created
may praise the LORD
(Ps. 102:18) 

Love you, faith family. God bless! 

Questioning Motives

Dear Faith Family,   

Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.
(Psalm 51:6)

The famed scholar of the psalms, Walter Brueggemann, once wrote, "The Bible is not interested in making lists of what is acceptable, as much as it is interested in transformational intentionality."

What spurred the Old Testament Professor's comment was his observation of apparently contradictory passages in our Psalm of Lent from Sunday. The confusion begins with the psalmist's discovery of what God does and doesn't want from us—which is something we all want to know, right! 

For you will not delight in offerings to make peace, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with sacrifices, efforts, to atone. 
The sacrifices of God are a broken and contrite spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. 
(Psalm 51:16-17) 

So, according to the psalmist, God is not so much interested in our ritual and religious acts done to make restorations for our sin or pacify His frustration with us. Instead, God wants only a spirit and heart that breaks when our relationship with him is askew. Great! God doesn't want me to do all those "religious" things prescribed to us—sacrifices like abstaining from particulars during Lent, offerings of time and resources, going to church, daily prayers, reading my bible, etc. What He really wants is for me to take our relationship seriously so that when I offend it, I feel the pain of wounding a loved one. 

This passage is quite modern! It checks all the boxes of generations moving away from religious structures. Here, it seems, is no religion, just a relationship. But then the psalm continues and seems to contradict itself. 

Do good in Zion in your good pleasure; 
build up the walls of Jerusalem; 
then will you delight in right sacrifices, 
in [peace] offerings and whole atonement offerings; 
then bulls will be offered on your altar.
(Psalm 51:18-19)

Wait a minute. I thought the psalmist said God will not delight in sacrifices and offerings? Yet here, the Psalm seems to say that God does delight in sacrifice and offerings—even adding more ritual examples of what God finds acceptable! So, which is it? Does God want me to do "religious" things or not? 

It is easy in a season like Lent, where we are invited to do more "religious" things like fasting weekly, praying the Examen regularly, entering into Lectio Divina rhythmically, etc., to lose sight of why we are doing these things.

Perhaps we think that in doing them—or any number of "Christian" activities—God will be pleased with us. And God's pleasure, after all, leads to the good things we are after in life, whether spiritually, emotionally, or even physically. Or maybe, subconsciously, we do them because we hope that doing so makes us a little better. Maybe even making up for some of the ways in which we are not who we want to be.  

Here, just as we begin the final leg of our pilgrimage, the psalmist leads us to consider the intentionality or motivation of our efforts with God. The psalm's end is not to get us to ask, "What does God want?" but rather, "Why am I doing what I'm doing?"  

The life we after through Lent—a favored life, forgiven, clean, whole, and new—is given to us, being formed within us. That's what verses 6-12 of Psalm 51 testify. God delights in the wholeness of our life in Him and in showing us how to live wisely (v.6). He has, is, and will purge, clean, wash (v.7), open ears to gladness, mend bones to dance (v. 8), not go hunting for sins but rather blot out iniquities (v.9), create a clean heart, renew a steadfast spirit (v. 10), not remove His presence but fill with His Spirit (v.11), restore joy, and exuberantly uphold life (v. 12). After such a list, what is there left for us to do?! 

Our "sacrifices" and "offerings" during the Lenten season, or any season, are not efforts to earn favor or make amends. Jesus has already done that for us. The intention of our "religious" practices has been transformed at the depth of our inability to truly live (v. 3-5). As we meditated on Sunday, the truth is that we are utterly unable to sustain life apart from God’s covenantal compassion (v. 1-2). No attempt on our end to make peace or cover our sin will suffice. No, we do the things we do during Lent, and the life between Lents, because we desire to daily live more and more in sync with His goodness, purpose, and presence. Life as people who know and are known for the truth of who and Whose we are (v. 13-15).

So, faith family, let us take a moment to consider your motives, your intentions during this journey through the Lenten season. Freed from attempting to do what only God can do (and has done!), may our practices do what they are meant to: help us walk in step with the Way so that others might do the same. 

Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
(Psalm 51:12-13)

Love you, faith family! God bless.

Something To Complain About

Dear Faith Family,  

 

"...your arrows have sunk into me, and your hand has come down on me. There is no soundness in my flesh because of your indignation..." 
(Psalm 38:2-3)

One of my biggest pet peeves is complaining, probably because I do so much of it myself! No matter the number of positive affirmations or the consistency of daily graces, my heart is prone to hone in on the difficulties of a day, a relationship, or a task. Whether the discomfort is slight or stiffening, a self-inflicted obstacle or an external impediment, I sometimes feel the psalm from Sunday is true, "my life is a vomit of groans" (Psalm 38:8). And frankly, I hate living that way. 

No one likes being around a complainer, not even the complainer themselves, yet Psalm 38 is known as a "Complaint Psalm." It is a poetic prayer that lets God in on all the difficulties of the day/life/world manifesting in our hearts. And while you'd be right to think God doesn't need to be "let in" to know of such realities, our faith heritage for thousands and thousands of years has taught us that God desires us to share with him what he already knows:

My child, give me your heart, and let your eyes delight in my ways.
(Proverbs 23:26)

Psalm 38, like the other "Complaint Psalms," teaches us that now, especially in the season of Lent, is the time to complain. And while my inner voice wants to fire back, "Stop complaining!" the Spirit says, "Don't hold back." Because, as Lent is catechizing us to know, we must enter the depths to rise to the light. 

When we complain to God, we are saying that we are finished, that we are done with this life as we experience it. Indeed, our complaint declares that we are done with the same old situations, the same old possibilities, the same old false fixes, the same old defenses and pretenses, essentially saying, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!" And so our complaint becomes our confession (perhaps for the first time) that we are utterly in need of something new, something that can only be received. 

For in you, God, I hope...my God—you will answer!... Hurry and help me; I want some wide-open space in my life!
(Psalm 38:15,22)

When we complain at people, spilling our vomit of groans into their laps, we usually leave a mess. When we complain to people, our vulnerable confessions of feelings can be an admittance of being done with the old and longing for something different. Still, in the complexity of relationships, our complaints may not be received as a step towards something new but yet another form of opposition. However, whenever we open our hearts to God, going with Him into the depths of our hearts, there is an ever-consistent response: I hear...I see...I know...and I, too, want more for you: 

Look at me. I stand at the door. I knock. If you hear me call and open the door, I'll come right in and sit down to supper with you.
(Revelation 3:20)

So, go ahead and complain! May your complaining to God lead you to the table prepared for you, even in the presence of those things which compel our complaining. 

Love you, faith family! God bless. 

A Tough, But Necessary, Turn

Dear Faith Family,  

 

"Transgression speaks to the wicked deep in his heart...For he flatters himself in his own eyes that his iniquity cannot be found out and hated." 
(Psalm 36:1-2)

The first turn in our Lenten journey, as we discovered on Sunday in Psalm 32, is a tough one. We round the corner and find that we are face-to-face with...ourselves. And not the prepared-for-the-day, dolled-up, slicked-out "Insta" self, but the self we'd prefer never garner anyone's attention. 

Whether out of shame or self-righteousness, because we are too distracted to look, or too wounded, too angry, too entitled, or too overwhelmed; when life feels painful or off, our instinct is to wrestle with the people, circumstances, and forces around us before facing ourself. The first of our Psalms of Lent, Psalm 6, assumed that this would be our initial response and, without condemnation of any sort, invited us to open up about our wrestles. 

Perhaps the only way to prepare for the inward turn of Psalm 32 is to know that God is for us, overcoming all that is opposed to our life whole and forever, 

My requests have all been granted, my prayers are answered. Cowards, my enemies disappear. Disgraced, they turn tail and run. (Psalm 6:9-10)

Knowing God's got all the "stuff" around us covered, we can be open and honest with ourselves and our contributions to the fractures we feel. 

Then I let it all out; I said, 'I’ll come clean about my failures to God.' Suddenly, the pressure was gone—my guilt dissolved, and my sin disappeared. (Psalm 32:5)

The journey of Lent leads us straight into the truth, "If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves" (1 John 1:8). And Lent's sure and scheduled end at Good Friday and Easter Sunday remind us that there is no more secure place to be, than being utterly vulnerable before God and with one another,

But if we walk in the light, God himself being the light, we also experience a shared life with one another, as the sacrificed blood of Jesus, God’s Son,
cleanses all our sin. (1 John 1:7)

As you (and me) pray Psalm 32 this week, may the Spirit lead us into honest, open, and transforming fellowship, even with those we wrestle with. 

Love you, faith family! God bless.


P.S. 
Tomorrow, March 20th, is our faith famiy's 12th anniversary!

It seems like only yesterday Christ City Church was just a dream, a dream of people sharing life together in Jesus, encouraging one another as we follow Him through the ups and downs or ordinary life. What a privilege and grace to have lived out a dream with you! 

"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than we ask or think, according to the power at work with us, to him be the glory in [Christ City] church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen." (Ephesians 3:20-21)

Mapping the Movement

Dear Faith Family,  

 

"O LORD, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath...The LORD has heard my plea; the LORD accepts my prayer." 
(Psalm 6:1,9)

For our journey of Lent to be effective and a movement that transforms, honesty is required: an honest assessment of our situation. 

Like the treed publican, the brother in the squalor of his squandering, as well as the brother embittered by his entitlement; what keeps us out of the community, out of the party, on the outside of the full and forever now, is our own sins. We confessed such together last week and in the previous few Sundays: 

We confess to you and to another, and to the
whole communion of saints in heaven and on earth,
that we have sinned by our own fault
in thought, word, and deed;
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone. 

(The Litany of Penitence) 

We will not travel far in Lent if we are unwilling to look honestly at our hearts and actions, attitudes, relationships, and affections...making an honest assessment of the situation. After all, as Augustine so pointedly reminds us, 

"Let us know you, O you who know me; then shall I know even as I am known...[For] the abyss of the human conscience lies naked to your eyes, O Lord, so would anything in me be secret even if I were unwilling to confess to you? I would be hiding you from myself, but not myself from you." 

The stories leading to Lent prepared us for this, our honest confession: a self-revelation in relationship. Ensuring us that the one who knows us--who sees us treed and in danger of our sins just compensation, humiliated in our squandering what's been gifted us, and bitter in our overestimated efforts--nevertheless invites us to share all that is his. Knowing we are seen and safe in what is seen, we need not fear the confession.

Yet, as the first of the Psalms of Lent begins, when we see ourselves honestly, we feel the weight of our situation acutely, "O LORD, rebuke me not...nor discipline me..." (6:1). The pslamist takes up where we left out last week, confessing to his contribution to his situation and the just compensation for all that is opposed to Life Himself. What else brings God's wrath, his anger, but that which takes what was made "very good" and twists it unto death? 

But notice the psalmist's confession is wrapped in a petition, in a prayer, in a plea. A plea for mercy (v.1), followed by a plea for grace (v. 2), then a plea for restoration (v. 3), and ultimately a plea for life to continue on the other side of death (vs. 4-5), for death not to be our end, but the end of what has led to it. 

As we discovered on Sunday, Psalm 6 maps out our Lenten journey. A journey that begins with an honest plea leading to a humble admission (vs. 6-7)  and culminating in a hope-filled profession (vs. 8-10).

While the psalm lays out the movement of the Lenten road ahead, it also provides us with our souls' daily/weekly movement along the way. It is that movement I want to invite us into today. 

Knowing that wherever you are today (in heart, in mind, in body) there is no need to hide, so take a few moments to make the Lenten journey: 

• An Honest Plea: Lord, have mercy on me, for I am a sinner. 

• A Humble Admission: I'm exhausted by my sin. I do not have enough strength or sight to overcome this. 

• A Hope-Filled Profession: You have heard and accepted my plea...and acted to save me through death into life. 

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live, I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me." (Galatians 2:20)

Love you, faith family. God bless! 

And The Journey Begins!

Dear Faith Family,   

"Truly, truly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit."
(John 12:24)

For much of the global Church, today marks the beginning of the season of Lent. A season in which we fall with Jesus into death and rise with Jesus into life again and new. 

The first day of this journey of bright sadness is marked as Ash Wednesday. On this day, many traditions within the Church gather to consecrate themselves for the road ahead and the Lenten Rhythms by imposing ashes. The ashes remind us that we have our origin in dust, and from dust, we will return, by the absurd and gracious gift of Jesus' life, to a life full and forever. Ashes may be our end, but they are not the end. 

While it is not our tradition to impose ashes, it is our tradition to join with the saints around the world on this day, praying the "Litany of Penitence" as our first steps toward the grave and abundant life. We start our journey of Lent by sharing our need for God's grace and receiving grace upon grace in Jesus. 

Pray with and as the Church:

Most holy and merciful Father:
We confess to you and to one another, 
and to the whole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, 
that we have sinned by our own fault 
in thought, word, and deed; 
by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. 

We have not loved you with our whole heart, nor mind, nor strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven. 
Have mercy on us, gracious Father. 

We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Jesus served us.
We have not been true to the mind of Christ.
We have grieved your Holy Spirit. 
Have mercy on us, compassionate Father. 

We confess to you, Father, all our past unfaithfulness:
the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives. 
We confess to you, humble Father. 

Our self-indulgent appetites and ways,
and our exploitation of other people, 
We confess to you, self-giving Father. 

Our anger at our own frustration,
and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves, 
We confess to you, generous Father. 

Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts,
and our dishonesty in daily life and work, 
We confess to you, just Father. 

Our negligence in prayer and worship,
and our failure to commend the faith that is in us, 
We confess to you, patient Father. 

We turn to you, Father, and away from the wrongs we have done: acknowledging our blindness to human need and suffering,
and our indifference to injustice and cruelty, 
We hold fast to you, always-present Father. 

Acknowledging false judgments, uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and prejudice and contempt toward those who are different from us, 
We turn to you, ever-chasing Father. 

Acknowledging our waste and pollution of your creation,
and our lack of concern for those who come after us, 
We hold fast to you, never-changing Father.

Restore us, good Father, and let your anger depart from us; 
Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great. 

Bring to maturity the fruit of your salvation, 
That we may show forth your glory in the world. 

By the cross and passion of your Son our King and Friend, 
Bring us with all your saints into
the complete joy of his resurrection. 

Amen. 

Love you, faith family. God bless! 

Best To Be Prepared

Dear Faith Family,   

"The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, but whoever loves less his life in this world will keep it for eternal life."
(John 12:23-25)

These are the words Jesus spoke not long after having transformed death into life eternal through the raising of Lazarus (John 11:1-44). Words spoken by Jesus after the crowds had sung their "Hosanna!" at his prophetic and meek arrival (John 12:12-18), but before they shouted "Crucify, crucify him!" (Luke 23:21). 

In other words, these words were spoken by Jesus on his way to the cross, to the paradoxically named "Good Friday," before those time-altering events of Easter morning. Words spoken by Jesus to those who had come a long way, "some Greeks" (John 12:20) to see him. Words spoken in preface not only to Jesus' death but first, to an invitation to follow where he was going: 

"If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also." (John 12:26) 

For most of the Western Church worldwide, the season of Lent begins a week from today. Lent is a journey of "bright sadness" that involves following Jesus to and through the cross, into the tomb, and up again into life eternal.

The spiritual journey of Lent is a downward movement, a choice to take Jesus up on his invitation to die with him, to let his death be our death so that we also might take up his life. "Great Lent," as one Orthodox scholar contends, "is a school of repentance to which every Christian must go every year," allowing us to experience (enter) the reality that "Death is no more! Christ is risen, and life reigns! Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave!" [1]

Yet, before we embark on such a journey, it would be wise of us to prepare. To ready our hearts, minds, souls, and wills for the days ahead through the words of Jesus spoken just before he entered Jerusalem on a donkey. Words spoken, as Jesus "was passing through" another biblically significant city, 

"He entered Jericho and was passing through. And there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich." (Luke 19:1-2)

We probably all know the story of Zacchaeus, that "wee-little man" who "climbed up into the sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see," only to be told by Jesus, "Zacchaeus, you come down, for I am going to your house today." Good luck getting that song out of your head now! 

Ironically enough, the final words of the Sunday School song were always sung with the teacher wagging their finger as if Jesus was scolding some overly energetic child who had ventured into the disobedient act of scaling the forbidden wood. I say ironic because, as we were reminded on Sunday, Jesus is actually the only one in the story who doesn't rebuke Zaachaeus but instead takes on the rebuke for him. 

"And when they [the crowd who'd moments before had been jeering at the treed traitor] saw it [Jesus rebuke-less rescue of Zacchaeus], they all grumbled [about Jesus], 'He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner."
(Luke 19:7) 

In order for us not to get lost in Lent--lost through self-condemnation or self-righteousness or self-saving--we need to see the Jesus Zacchaeus saw that day. Jesus who sees us exposed, vulnerable, and condemned and who trades our condemnation for his. 

In order for the journey of Lent not to be just another ritual or new tradition but truly a journey through death to life whole and forever, today, we also need to be more like Zacchaeus, willing to give up our life to see Jesus and as a response to what Jesus has done and continues to do when we are facing the consequences of our sin. 

So, my friends, this week, let us prepare our hearts, minds, souls, and wills for the days ahead by meditating on a familiar story anew. May we be strengthened and sobered by humility, our own and Jesus'. 

Love you, faith family. God bless! 

Not The Path We'd Choose

Dear Faith Family,   

"Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him." 
(John 11:11)

Knowing how the story ends sometimes keeps us from epiphany in the middle. Like with the famed Psalm 23. With the Lord as our shepherd, we know we'll end up beside "waters of rest" as we're led on "right paths" to "dwell in the house of the Lord forever." And while we may not ignore the fact that the "right path" takes us straight "through the valley of the shadow of death," we certainly don't choose to dwell there. 

Perhaps because we naturally (and rightly!) seek and expect relief and comfort, rescue, and consolation from the Lord, we are prone to ponder their apparent fulfillment in both the Psalm and the nearly as famed story of Lazarus. Yet, as we discussed on Sunday, it is not the end of the story that provides the "awe ha." Instead, the revelation is found right smack in the middle. 

You might think it odd to connect Psalm 23 and the story of the death and resurrection of Lazarus, but that is what John does in his Gospel. In John 10, Jesus reveals himself to be "the good shepherd" who knows and lays down his life for his sheep (10:10-18). Not long after this, one of his own, Lazarus, whom Jesus loved (11:3,5), falls ill (11:1). 

What a chance this is for Jesus, the Good Shepherd, to demonstrate just how good he truly is by coming to the aid of his dear and needy friend. Instead, Jesus, the one who does what no "hired hand" would do nor worthwhile shepherd could do, "stayed two days longer in the place where he was" before making his way to Bethany (11:6).

Don't you find it interesting, especially knowing how the story ends, just as Jesus apparently did (see 11:4), that he doesn't rescue his friends from the pain and suffering of death on the front end? It's not like Jesus needed to prove his power. After all, bringing people back from the dead isn't something new for Jesus (see Mark 5:21-43 & Luke 7:11-17), nor was healing them from a distance (John 4:46-54). So why another object lesson? Especially when Jesus' own resurrection just a few weeks later will make Lazarus' seem redundant? 

Perhaps Jesus, as he does in each of his "I AM" statements, desires to reveal something more than a literal interpretation. Perhaps, Jesus is offering more than mere comfort to his faith-filled, grieving in hope friend when he says to her and us,

"I AM the resurrection and the life.
Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die."
(11:25-26)

Perhaps, like the psalmist, Jesus is revealing that the "right path" doesn't take us around death--whether physical (we all know that!), nor spiritual, emotional, circumstantial, relational, vocational, aspirational, etc.--but rather through death to life eternal now, and always:

"The Prince of life is ever the conqueror of death [all the "little deaths" too]. Not only is he this by and by in the resurrection on the last day;
he is this always.[1]

Jesus does something to death, not just at the end, but in all the ways death makes its way into our living in the middle. Jesus does something through death, especially for his "friends." He transforms death from an end, from a "deep darkness" casting its shadows over life, to a sleep from which we are awakened into a new day. 

"Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him." 
(John 11:11)

This does not mean the deaths between the story's end are easy or joyful. After all, "Jesus wept" (11:35) with those mourning even when they were about to experience resurrection and life. But it does mean that Jesus' presence to us in the laments of living provides more than comfort, but life through death. Making death something utterly different than we expect, almost like what we think of as death, is never something we actually taste. 

"Do you believe me?" (11:26) Jesus still asks this question. How will you and we answer him? 

My prayer is that our answer will sound a lot like Martha's amid the shadow of death (11:27), 

"Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world..." into my world, to raise life through death. 

Love you, faith family. God bless.