Unity: The Aroma of Christ
As we sat in the doctor’s office waiting for her appointment, I massaged my wife’s sore neck and shoulders. I had volunteered, but the truth be known, I would have rather not. I’m selfish. The choice between the book I’d brought along and blessing her should have been obvious. It wasn’t. But once I got started, I did it wholeheartedly. I saw another woman watching us with great interest as we chatted and I searched for knots in the tight muscles. When she made eye contact, she said, “I’m jealous! I wish my husband would do that for me…”
I don’t claim to be a good husband, but my wife’s pain bothers me--first, because it hurts her, and secondly, because it can't help but affect everyone in the family. It’s the nature of family to not just share a formalized commitment or genetics (increasingly a “too confining” definition), a home (for a season), a common last name (not necessarily), mealtimes (occasionally) and all the germs that come in the door. It’s the nature of family to share difficulties and joys; to listen when ears are tired; to speak truth when it hurts because lies hurt more; to invest in another’s good at great personal cost. A functional family is a unit of people unlike in gender, age, and interests sharing life together. It is a unity. And like true beauty, it is attractive because it’s both the ideal and it’s uncommon.
The lady in the waiting room may have wanted a back rub, but she longed to be cared for, to be incredibly important to someone. Seeing my feeble attempts to give that to my wife stirred up a hunger in her. Instead of loving my wife, I could have spoken to the woman about God’s love and perhaps we would have had a nice conversation. But most often, when our words are segregated from action, they have little impact and do not stir hunger for God. Something to tantalize the appetite is needed.
When it’s getting to mealtime, but I’m busy and preoccupied, and I drive by a restaurant sign, I usually ignore their words. But when the incredible smell of well seasoned grilled steak come into the window of my car, I suddenly know I’m hungry; I’m very hungry indeed. The aroma both reminds me that I haven’t eaten and it proves that a restaurant is nearby.
This leads me to Jesus’ strange words about unity.
…May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. (John 17:23)
I’ve read the metaphysical, theological musings about this passage. I suspicion that many are accurate, but entirely miss the point. Unity and love are not theological ideas, they are a way of life based on decisions—as simple as a back rub and as hard as choosing an unselfish act. The world often scoffs at our rhetoric as just another passing sign to be ignored and place of worship as another building cluttering the landscape. But it doesn’t scoff at back rubs. They are the tantalizing aroma that reminds them they are hungry and proves that food is nearby. Although our words about Jesus are very important, it seems that the proof of our words is our love for one another and our unity. At least that’s what Jesus said.
2 Corinthians 2:15 For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.
John 13:35 By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
“Daddy’s Coming!”
About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice… "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)
The outdoors was my father’s passion. He called forests “God’s Country.” Family outings were picnics to secluded areas that included long walks. Vacations were almost invariably camping trips to wilderness areas. This is a story about how a visit to “God’s Country” became a visit from God.
Daddy was looking for the perfect place to camp. Not a campground—no to him campgrounds were like towns in the forest. It had to be wilderness yet it had to accessible to our old station wagon. It wasn’t an easy task, but my Dad was up for it. He had a tip from a park ranger about a great spot. There was a road of sorts because workers had to occasionally service the remote gas wells in the heart of the Allegheny National Forest.
We got there about dusk on Sunday night. I remember the pungent aroma we smelled as we arrived. It was from small leakage from the wells. It’s odd, isn’t it, how things we smelled as a child provoke strong memories. As usual, we set up camp together. The tent, air mattresses, wood for the camp fire all received attention from weary hands and bodies, big and small. Our dog Frisky’s collar jingled as he too gave himself to the important task of exploring and smelling. I’ve always been distracted by sounds.
Family evening walks were always on Daddy’s agenda. We explored a long abandoned railroad right of way whose coal burning steam engines had carried away logs decades previously. As a young boy who had never encountered coal before, the discarded lumps were fascinating and they filled my pockets. As a skinny little boy—my how we change—I hadn’t worn a belt, and soon my pants were sliding down my skinny bottom. My Mom took a portion of Frisky’s rope leash and made me a belt. It amazes me now how she adapted to a boy’s behavior without criticism and with creativity.
I was probably the cause. We walked and walked. At least it seemed that way to short legs and full pockets. I don’t remember whining, but I’m sure I did. At any rate, what happened next had never happened before and never did again. My father left his family to look for a shortcut back to camp. He took Frisky and left us waiting.
From the vantage point now of being a parent, I’m again amazed with Mom. Time stretched on, Dad didn’t return, and yet she remained outwardly calm. Eventually, she led us back to camp in the growing darkness. Someone mentioned rattlesnakes. Mom assured us that Daddy could take care of himself. In spite of those courageous words, fear followed us—not just to camp, but to our beds.
I was in the back of station wagon, unable to sleep. First light was making its way through the forest leaves when I heard it. I didn’t care that my sister and mom were trying to sleep. I heard the jingle of the steel rings on Frisky’s collar. I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Daddy’s coming! Daddy’s Coming!” No one else but a little boy had listened and remembered the sound associated with our dog’s brisk walk. No one else knew Daddy was coming.
God often seems absent, away on other business, while I am confused and afraid. This seems to be our common experience, even for Jesus. The Gospels clearly teach that Jesus knew the cross was coming. Yet there was a moment in time in which He, in spite of knowledge, in spite of absolute trust, in spite of faith, felt abandoned and forsaken. The scriptures are silent about most of His thoughts during His agony but I would conjecture that He gave Himself to remembering what He had heard and seen in His Father’s presence. He remembered the sound of His Father’s footsteps. When He said, “It is finished,” He “heard the jingle” of those footsteps that told Him, “Abba, Daddy, is coming! Daddy’s coming!”
What are the sound of Father’s footsteps? I hope I know. In times of distress, I must know and remember Him or I am without hope. For me, Father not only saved a family from potential tragedy, he taught a little boy to listen and to pay attention to things others might overlook. The little boy is gray haired now. But I’m still listening, and I believe I hear Him coming near.
Listen! Can you hear Father’s footsteps, too?
About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice… "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)
The outdoors was my father’s passion. He called forests “God’s Country.” Family outings were picnics to secluded areas that included long walks. Vacations were almost invariably camping trips to wilderness areas. This is a story about how a visit to “God’s Country” became a visit from God.
Daddy was looking for the perfect place to camp. Not a campground—no to him campgrounds were like towns in the forest. It had to be wilderness yet it had to accessible to our old station wagon. It wasn’t an easy task, but my Dad was up for it. He had a tip from a park ranger about a great spot. There was a road of sorts because workers had to occasionally service the remote gas wells in the heart of the Allegheny National Forest.
We got there about dusk on Sunday night. I remember the pungent aroma we smelled as we arrived. It was from small leakage from the wells. It’s odd, isn’t it, how things we smelled as a child provoke strong memories. As usual, we set up camp together. The tent, air mattresses, wood for the camp fire all received attention from weary hands and bodies, big and small. Our dog Frisky’s collar jingled as he too gave himself to the important task of exploring and smelling. I’ve always been distracted by sounds.
Family evening walks were always on Daddy’s agenda. We explored a long abandoned railroad right of way whose coal burning steam engines had carried away logs decades previously. As a young boy who had never encountered coal before, the discarded lumps were fascinating and they filled my pockets. As a skinny little boy—my how we change—I hadn’t worn a belt, and soon my pants were sliding down my skinny bottom. My Mom took a portion of Frisky’s rope leash and made me a belt. It amazes me now how she adapted to a boy’s behavior without criticism and with creativity.
I was probably the cause. We walked and walked. At least it seemed that way to short legs and full pockets. I don’t remember whining, but I’m sure I did. At any rate, what happened next had never happened before and never did again. My father left his family to look for a shortcut back to camp. He took Frisky and left us waiting.
From the vantage point now of being a parent, I’m again amazed with Mom. Time stretched on, Dad didn’t return, and yet she remained outwardly calm. Eventually, she led us back to camp in the growing darkness. Someone mentioned rattlesnakes. Mom assured us that Daddy could take care of himself. In spite of those courageous words, fear followed us—not just to camp, but to our beds.
I was in the back of station wagon, unable to sleep. First light was making its way through the forest leaves when I heard it. I didn’t care that my sister and mom were trying to sleep. I heard the jingle of the steel rings on Frisky’s collar. I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Daddy’s coming! Daddy’s Coming!” No one else but a little boy had listened and remembered the sound associated with our dog’s brisk walk. No one else knew Daddy was coming.
God often seems absent, away on other business, while I am confused and afraid. This seems to be our common experience, even for Jesus. The Gospels clearly teach that Jesus knew the cross was coming. Yet there was a moment in time in which He, in spite of knowledge, in spite of absolute trust, in spite of faith, felt abandoned and forsaken. The scriptures are silent about most of His thoughts during His agony but I would conjecture that He gave Himself to remembering what He had heard and seen in His Father’s presence. He remembered the sound of His Father’s footsteps. When He said, “It is finished,” He “heard the jingle” of those footsteps that told Him, “Abba, Daddy, is coming! Daddy’s coming!”
What are the sound of Father’s footsteps? I hope I know. In times of distress, I must know and remember Him or I am without hope. For me, Father not only saved a family from potential tragedy, he taught a little boy to listen and to pay attention to things others might overlook. The little boy is gray haired now. But I’m still listening, and I believe I hear Him coming near.
Listen! Can you hear Father’s footsteps, too?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Tortured
When I read the confession, I threw the paper on the floor and screamed, not from my agony, but his. In my mind’s eye, I could see the captive tortured. I could hear his bones crack. I could smell his scorched flesh. I could see him enduring it all; saying nothing except the same words that had branded him as a traitor. The words attributed to him had to be those of another.
The captive in this case was not a person, but a passage of scripture. I did throw a paper to the floor and yell. The paper was not a confession. It was simply some notes for a Bible study I was doing. But I, with either spectacular silliness or a degree of perception, reacted to what was written as if it were incredibly important and fundamentally wrong. The author of the notes was attributing meaning and intent to a challenging verse that tortured the context. He broke the bones, the actual structure of the words. He wrote a “confession” that he insisted was endorsed by the captive verse, and broadcasted it to the world. When I read the words, it was as if I were an unwitting witness to a torture born confession.
I was very upset, but to be clear, I was not offended because I have a different doctrine than the writer. I mostly find agreement and use the resource because it takes the study of scripture very seriously. It’s not that I have a different understanding of the passage. I don’t understand it. It does not easily fit in with my admittedly limited understanding of the grand themes of the Bible. But I am offended by the distortion of the text and context to make it fit into a theology, even an accurate theology. We must not adapt scripture to fit our preconceptions and imagine God to say what we think wise and practical. Or expedient. This is the committed Christian’s chief place of vulnerability to betrayal. But how does this happen?
I came of age in a time when prisoners of war were routinely tortured so that they would sign bogus confessions and publicly defame the country that they served. On TV, I saw gaunt, wooden, hollow-eyed men say things that everyone knew refuted everything they held dear. Yet they confessed to things that were not true. The wounded, broken men spoke broken words, emptied of the conviction that had bled out from of their wounds.
I have also seen the Church suffer the effects of torture in our battle with Satan. Only, in this case, the enemy often torments subtly to obtain small concessions rather than outright betrayal. In the midst of loneliness, thoughts bombard the mind to lower the standard for appropriate companionship. Financial pressure cuts at resolve for integrity. Hunger for church growth gnaws at the truth of the cost of following Christ. Most often, we see the process as being flexible; simplifying; or in the case of the Bible study, fitting scripture into our system of understanding. To accomplish His goal of diminishing God’s Word, Satan may say He will end His torture if we give adherence to a doctrine rather than to Truth; give a plan of salvation instead of a Savior; replace peace with the absence of conflict; talk about Jesus instead of obeying Him; or build a building instead of the Church. Too often we can stand no more and have succumbed to these lies.
I wonder if, when others see and hear us, they sometimes see broken, spiritually gaunt, hollowed eyed people speaking broken words, emptied of the conviction that bled out from their wounds. In this, I remember with hope the promise of the prophet. By His wounds we are healed.
By His wounds I am healed.
Matthew 9:36 Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd
Jeremiah 17:14 Heal me, O LORD, and I will be healed ; Save me and I will be saved, For You are my praise.
When I read the confession, I threw the paper on the floor and screamed, not from my agony, but his. In my mind’s eye, I could see the captive tortured. I could hear his bones crack. I could smell his scorched flesh. I could see him enduring it all; saying nothing except the same words that had branded him as a traitor. The words attributed to him had to be those of another.
The captive in this case was not a person, but a passage of scripture. I did throw a paper to the floor and yell. The paper was not a confession. It was simply some notes for a Bible study I was doing. But I, with either spectacular silliness or a degree of perception, reacted to what was written as if it were incredibly important and fundamentally wrong. The author of the notes was attributing meaning and intent to a challenging verse that tortured the context. He broke the bones, the actual structure of the words. He wrote a “confession” that he insisted was endorsed by the captive verse, and broadcasted it to the world. When I read the words, it was as if I were an unwitting witness to a torture born confession.
I was very upset, but to be clear, I was not offended because I have a different doctrine than the writer. I mostly find agreement and use the resource because it takes the study of scripture very seriously. It’s not that I have a different understanding of the passage. I don’t understand it. It does not easily fit in with my admittedly limited understanding of the grand themes of the Bible. But I am offended by the distortion of the text and context to make it fit into a theology, even an accurate theology. We must not adapt scripture to fit our preconceptions and imagine God to say what we think wise and practical. Or expedient. This is the committed Christian’s chief place of vulnerability to betrayal. But how does this happen?
I came of age in a time when prisoners of war were routinely tortured so that they would sign bogus confessions and publicly defame the country that they served. On TV, I saw gaunt, wooden, hollow-eyed men say things that everyone knew refuted everything they held dear. Yet they confessed to things that were not true. The wounded, broken men spoke broken words, emptied of the conviction that had bled out from of their wounds.
I have also seen the Church suffer the effects of torture in our battle with Satan. Only, in this case, the enemy often torments subtly to obtain small concessions rather than outright betrayal. In the midst of loneliness, thoughts bombard the mind to lower the standard for appropriate companionship. Financial pressure cuts at resolve for integrity. Hunger for church growth gnaws at the truth of the cost of following Christ. Most often, we see the process as being flexible; simplifying; or in the case of the Bible study, fitting scripture into our system of understanding. To accomplish His goal of diminishing God’s Word, Satan may say He will end His torture if we give adherence to a doctrine rather than to Truth; give a plan of salvation instead of a Savior; replace peace with the absence of conflict; talk about Jesus instead of obeying Him; or build a building instead of the Church. Too often we can stand no more and have succumbed to these lies.
I wonder if, when others see and hear us, they sometimes see broken, spiritually gaunt, hollowed eyed people speaking broken words, emptied of the conviction that bled out from their wounds. In this, I remember with hope the promise of the prophet. By His wounds we are healed.
By His wounds I am healed.
Matthew 9:36 Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd
Jeremiah 17:14 Heal me, O LORD, and I will be healed ; Save me and I will be saved, For You are my praise.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Text and Context
What’s your favorite scripture?
Most of us, me included, gravitate towards passages that give comfort, assurance, or reason to trust. I’ve never heard anyone quote what Jesus said in Matthew 7:23 as one of their top ten: “Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'” We understandably want comfort rather than confrontation, but that mindset can lead to misunderstanding.
God loves me and cares for me faithfully. There are many, many passages that affirm those core truths. I need to often be reminded. But it’s also important that I understand that God often describes what He means in more detail before or after our favorite verse. And it’s not necessarily what I would assume. For example, I heard a story about a Northern woman getting a job in the rural South. One day at lunchtime, she was inundated with work and didn’t feel she should take the time to go out for lunch. A co-worker was going out, and the woman asked if the co-worker would pick her up a sandwich and bring it back. The co-worker said, simply: I don’t care to.” and left. The woman was devastated because to her, the answer meant “I don’t want to.” Not only was the woman hungry, but more importantly, she worried about being able to work effectively with cold, mean co-worker— One who wouldn’t even try to offer an excuse like, “I don’t have time— Sorry! Just a blatant, –at least as the woman understood--“ I don’t want to take an extra 30 seconds for you.” A while later, the co-worker returned with sandwich in hand. The conversation that resulted showed the woman that “I don’t care to” really meant “I don’t mind at all.” It was necessary to dig deeper for the context of what the idiom meant in that particular culture. The words isolated from their context resulted in misunderstanding.
When life seems out of control, I often think of Jeremiah 29:11:
For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
At first reading, this passage seemed to give a promise for a rosy future. I want to prosper! I want God to bless me with a bright future! And He does! It’s just not necessarily in the ways that I would imagine. The context of these incredible promises was that Israel was beginning a long period of exile to Babylon. Sin had resulted in discipline and it was important for exiles to remember that, in spite of the present pain, God’s long term plans and promises remained intact. Out of context, the verse seemed to mean that they (and consequently me) would avoid difficulties that brought short term harm. The context is that God’s faithfulness transcends current circumstances. Although they couldn’t return to the Promised Land, their children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren would. If you or I misunderstand God to promise that life will always be pleasant based on scriptures such as this, then we will come to believe that either God is a liar or that we are somehow disqualified from enjoying His promises..
I’m not a Biblical scholar. It’s important to have scholars searching the nuances that knowledge of original languages and culture can bring. Those who do that can deepen our understanding and enrich us. But the intended audience of the Bible has never been the scholar. It’s always been “us” –the Israelites, the Church, the seekers. The majority of difficulties that we have in understanding are the same as woman in the story. She made a reasonable assumption of what her co-worker meant, but until she had a conversation with her, she didn’t and couldn’t understand the context. Until we begin to dialogue with scripture, we will be stuck in misunderstanding. If we don’t understand what a person says, we might ask, “What did you say?” The actual words, the ‘text, is the starting point. If we still don’t understand, we might say, “What do you mean?” The surrounding life events, culture, and other things said that modify or enhance the meaning of the words is the context. Whether in life or scripture, text and context are the keys to understanding. It often takes some effort to dig out the context, but it’s well worth the effort.
If you don’t believe me yet, just ask the husband whose wife just said she was fine after a tough argument and he took the words at face value without looking at her face and body language. I’m sure he eventually found out he didn’t understand at all.
What’s your favorite scripture?
Most of us, me included, gravitate towards passages that give comfort, assurance, or reason to trust. I’ve never heard anyone quote what Jesus said in Matthew 7:23 as one of their top ten: “Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'” We understandably want comfort rather than confrontation, but that mindset can lead to misunderstanding.
God loves me and cares for me faithfully. There are many, many passages that affirm those core truths. I need to often be reminded. But it’s also important that I understand that God often describes what He means in more detail before or after our favorite verse. And it’s not necessarily what I would assume. For example, I heard a story about a Northern woman getting a job in the rural South. One day at lunchtime, she was inundated with work and didn’t feel she should take the time to go out for lunch. A co-worker was going out, and the woman asked if the co-worker would pick her up a sandwich and bring it back. The co-worker said, simply: I don’t care to.” and left. The woman was devastated because to her, the answer meant “I don’t want to.” Not only was the woman hungry, but more importantly, she worried about being able to work effectively with cold, mean co-worker— One who wouldn’t even try to offer an excuse like, “I don’t have time— Sorry! Just a blatant, –at least as the woman understood--“ I don’t want to take an extra 30 seconds for you.” A while later, the co-worker returned with sandwich in hand. The conversation that resulted showed the woman that “I don’t care to” really meant “I don’t mind at all.” It was necessary to dig deeper for the context of what the idiom meant in that particular culture. The words isolated from their context resulted in misunderstanding.
When life seems out of control, I often think of Jeremiah 29:11:
For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
At first reading, this passage seemed to give a promise for a rosy future. I want to prosper! I want God to bless me with a bright future! And He does! It’s just not necessarily in the ways that I would imagine. The context of these incredible promises was that Israel was beginning a long period of exile to Babylon. Sin had resulted in discipline and it was important for exiles to remember that, in spite of the present pain, God’s long term plans and promises remained intact. Out of context, the verse seemed to mean that they (and consequently me) would avoid difficulties that brought short term harm. The context is that God’s faithfulness transcends current circumstances. Although they couldn’t return to the Promised Land, their children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren would. If you or I misunderstand God to promise that life will always be pleasant based on scriptures such as this, then we will come to believe that either God is a liar or that we are somehow disqualified from enjoying His promises..
I’m not a Biblical scholar. It’s important to have scholars searching the nuances that knowledge of original languages and culture can bring. Those who do that can deepen our understanding and enrich us. But the intended audience of the Bible has never been the scholar. It’s always been “us” –the Israelites, the Church, the seekers. The majority of difficulties that we have in understanding are the same as woman in the story. She made a reasonable assumption of what her co-worker meant, but until she had a conversation with her, she didn’t and couldn’t understand the context. Until we begin to dialogue with scripture, we will be stuck in misunderstanding. If we don’t understand what a person says, we might ask, “What did you say?” The actual words, the ‘text, is the starting point. If we still don’t understand, we might say, “What do you mean?” The surrounding life events, culture, and other things said that modify or enhance the meaning of the words is the context. Whether in life or scripture, text and context are the keys to understanding. It often takes some effort to dig out the context, but it’s well worth the effort.
If you don’t believe me yet, just ask the husband whose wife just said she was fine after a tough argument and he took the words at face value without looking at her face and body language. I’m sure he eventually found out he didn’t understand at all.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Who’s Your Daddy?
My wife and I traveled to a southern state for our honeymoon. We stayed at a cabin in the mountains. When we saw a large insect that looked like a cricket by the fireplace, I performed my “manly” duties and dispatched the intruder. As we examined the remains, we saw it had a cricket’s body and a scorpion’s stinger. A friend later shared she had had a similar incident, but was stung and her arm went numb. She also killed the culprit, and when she looked closely at it and saw the same odd mixture of species, she took the offender to the local university entomologist (bug-ologist). The scientist explained that scorpions were migrating and occasionally interbred with crickets and the result was what she brought in. The daddy of this aberation was an aggressive, virulent intruder who mixed his genes with an unsuspecting, peace loving local. The result of this union wounded our friend.
A few years ago, I became close to a fellow leader at our local church. I enjoyed him and respected him immensely. He also had a very responsible position at the corporation for which he had worked at for many years. One evening his wife shared with great pride that he had learned many things from his management position at work and he was looking forward to implementing them in his responsibilities at church.
Unfortunately, he did act on what he had learned. I’m confident that his intentions were good, but incorporating corporate “wisdom” and giving it equal or greater weight than biblical wisdom ended up causing great harm. In a time of crisis for our church, his response was that we immediately needed to do something. A number of people strongly agreed. Others said; “Pray! Seek God! And after we’ve done that, we’ll make a plan of action.” We came to a bitter impasse. Both groups wanted the church to overcome adversity and thrive, but the “father” of the first mindset was human wisdom and the “father” of the second mindset was God as the source of wisdom. Sadly, we are routinely ruled by mindsets and principles that do not come from this side of the Cross.
For example, who and what is the pastor? Is this minister an individual who serves at the pleasure of people, and so must, first and foremost, be a politician. Or is he, or she, a shepherd who is allotted responsibility to care for some of the Chief Shepherd’s sheep? Is pastoral ministry a job or a calling? Boards and congregations have tended to regard the pastor as an “at will” employee who can be dismissed based on a lack of popularity. They don’t understand that, in the short term, unpopularity is often the result of following God closely. (Think “Jesus.”) They don’t understand the difference between a job and a God given calling.
A genuine calling results in devotion to ministry, and giving far beyond what is “required.” To the ones called to pastoral ministry, the cost of sacrifice to themselves and their families is secondary to their passion for Christ and for those for whom He died. But there is sacrifice too painful to bear. Having their high calling treated as only a job that can easily be filled by another imparts to those in ministry a sense of personal dishonor and disrespect for the office of pastor. Too many have been so grievously wounded by this that they are lost to ministry. And sometimes, they are even lost to themselves.
There are broader implications. Few mourn the loss of the wounded left to suffer in their solitude, and fewer still turn aside from their busy lives to care for the hurting. In doing this, we deny that we, the strong and the weak, the rich and the poor, the well and the hurting, are the Body of Christ, the fullness of Him who fills all in all. We deny that what we do for the least of these hurting ones, we do for Jesus Himself. And I’m terrified by the knowledge that some believe they have served God well in their mutiny from God’s seemingly impractical ways. Those who devalue their pastor for the sake of growth in numbers or finances, or who shut their ears to the cry of wounded so they can accomplish their goals believe they can serve God better in the manner of their own choosing rather than in the ways that He mandates. The father of their understanding is no longer God but human wisdom. I’d much rather face a giant mutant scorpion-cricket hybrid than Biblical purpose crossbred with worldly perspectives.
Galatians 3:3 Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?
Romans 12:2 Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will
Colossians 2:20 Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belonged to it, do you submit to its rules:
I John 2:15 Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.
My wife and I traveled to a southern state for our honeymoon. We stayed at a cabin in the mountains. When we saw a large insect that looked like a cricket by the fireplace, I performed my “manly” duties and dispatched the intruder. As we examined the remains, we saw it had a cricket’s body and a scorpion’s stinger. A friend later shared she had had a similar incident, but was stung and her arm went numb. She also killed the culprit, and when she looked closely at it and saw the same odd mixture of species, she took the offender to the local university entomologist (bug-ologist). The scientist explained that scorpions were migrating and occasionally interbred with crickets and the result was what she brought in. The daddy of this aberation was an aggressive, virulent intruder who mixed his genes with an unsuspecting, peace loving local. The result of this union wounded our friend.
A few years ago, I became close to a fellow leader at our local church. I enjoyed him and respected him immensely. He also had a very responsible position at the corporation for which he had worked at for many years. One evening his wife shared with great pride that he had learned many things from his management position at work and he was looking forward to implementing them in his responsibilities at church.
Unfortunately, he did act on what he had learned. I’m confident that his intentions were good, but incorporating corporate “wisdom” and giving it equal or greater weight than biblical wisdom ended up causing great harm. In a time of crisis for our church, his response was that we immediately needed to do something. A number of people strongly agreed. Others said; “Pray! Seek God! And after we’ve done that, we’ll make a plan of action.” We came to a bitter impasse. Both groups wanted the church to overcome adversity and thrive, but the “father” of the first mindset was human wisdom and the “father” of the second mindset was God as the source of wisdom. Sadly, we are routinely ruled by mindsets and principles that do not come from this side of the Cross.
For example, who and what is the pastor? Is this minister an individual who serves at the pleasure of people, and so must, first and foremost, be a politician. Or is he, or she, a shepherd who is allotted responsibility to care for some of the Chief Shepherd’s sheep? Is pastoral ministry a job or a calling? Boards and congregations have tended to regard the pastor as an “at will” employee who can be dismissed based on a lack of popularity. They don’t understand that, in the short term, unpopularity is often the result of following God closely. (Think “Jesus.”) They don’t understand the difference between a job and a God given calling.
A genuine calling results in devotion to ministry, and giving far beyond what is “required.” To the ones called to pastoral ministry, the cost of sacrifice to themselves and their families is secondary to their passion for Christ and for those for whom He died. But there is sacrifice too painful to bear. Having their high calling treated as only a job that can easily be filled by another imparts to those in ministry a sense of personal dishonor and disrespect for the office of pastor. Too many have been so grievously wounded by this that they are lost to ministry. And sometimes, they are even lost to themselves.
There are broader implications. Few mourn the loss of the wounded left to suffer in their solitude, and fewer still turn aside from their busy lives to care for the hurting. In doing this, we deny that we, the strong and the weak, the rich and the poor, the well and the hurting, are the Body of Christ, the fullness of Him who fills all in all. We deny that what we do for the least of these hurting ones, we do for Jesus Himself. And I’m terrified by the knowledge that some believe they have served God well in their mutiny from God’s seemingly impractical ways. Those who devalue their pastor for the sake of growth in numbers or finances, or who shut their ears to the cry of wounded so they can accomplish their goals believe they can serve God better in the manner of their own choosing rather than in the ways that He mandates. The father of their understanding is no longer God but human wisdom. I’d much rather face a giant mutant scorpion-cricket hybrid than Biblical purpose crossbred with worldly perspectives.
Galatians 3:3 Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?
Romans 12:2 Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will
Colossians 2:20 Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belonged to it, do you submit to its rules:
I John 2:15 Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.
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