I had a dream two nights ago that I felt so strongly depicted
some of the issues the Church struggles with these days. So I'll go
through the dream and explain how I think it relates.
The Dream:
In my dream I was at a fire station. At some point, I slid down the
firepole and on the lower level of the fire station there was,
ironically, a fire. I panicked. As I looked around, I realized no one
who was a part of the fire station was around. I sounded the fire alarm
and no one came. Assuming they hadn't heard it, I sounded the alarm
another couple of times. Nothing.
I ran out from the station and noticed that people were outside the
fire station. These were people that have been associated with the
church in my life, and they were having spiritual conversations. The
alarm sounded, but they were all outside talking. When I confronted
them about it, they responded that they weren't worried about it
because it seemed to be a contained fire.
That's all I remember about my dream. I have a few points to make about this.
1. The station was threatened by the very thing it was established to challenge.
The fire station was built and established to create a safe presence
in the community/world, not just for its own self. Just like the fire
station, the Church doesn't exist for itself. The fire station wasn't
created to protect the fire station from fire. For the fire station to
function at all, according to its purpose, it cannot itself have a
fire. Its purpose is to protect the surrounding community from fire and
to combat the effects of fire in the world.
Likewise, the Church exists for the benefit of the world. A Church
existing to protect the Church is limited in scope and purpose. And if
the Church houses the very thing it claims to combat or protect others
from, it condemns its own self, rendering itself completely useless.
2. The fire station was equipped to put out the fire.
It would be one thing if the firehouse did not have hoses and
running water, but by definition and by name, it claims that it does.
If it is not equipped to put out fires, it cannot be a fire station. It
may claim to be one, but the actually details would show that it is a
liar.
The Church cannot claim to be the Church and not do what the Church was made to do, or more importantly, to BE what it was made to BE.
If a Church is not fulfilling its purpose in the world, it is not what
it claims to be. If the Church is the Church, there is no excuse for
it not filling its purpose, because by definition, it is equipped.
3. No one responded to the distress signal.
It is important to know what the distress signal is. Fire stations
have very distinct alarms that firefighters are trained to recognize.
Certainly some churches hear and don't respond. But I think the
bigger issue is that the Church often is unaware of what the distress
signals are. These vary greatly at the local church level. Every church
has a distinctive way of communicating problems. In fact, every person
does. The trick is to learn those signals. Paul knew those signals and
his letters respond to them. We need to be conscious to learn the
distress signals of the individuals around us and the church we are
specifically a part of, and to respond as a result.
4. The fact that the people preferred to talk rather than to respond to needs.
In every facet of life, people have their ideas about how to handle
situations. We can do a lot of talking about solutions, and ironically,
sometimes it's the very discussion of the problems that keeps them
from being solved. And talking can also prevent us from learning our
church's distress signals. If we are singularly focused on the
importance of our own words and ideas, we become deaf to the ideas,
words, and cries of others.
5. The way their complacency was excused.
It's not simply worth noting that the people's complacency was excused, but how
it was excused. The biggest excuse was that it was a grease fire on a
non-flammable surface. It seemed like a contained fire. So long as it
didn't spread and get worse, people decided to live with the flames.
As followers of Jesus, we cannot excuse the darkness within/among us
and claim to be light. Rather than actively entering into a way that
is more loving and truthful and good, the Church often tries to contain
its fires and "suck up" (if you'll excuse the phrase) their existence.
"Well, we'll just try to avoid going there with ________"
"It's not great, but I think as long as it doesn't __________, I think we're okay."
So often we don't believe that the power of Christ really can and
does transform us and/or our Church communities. So we attempt to
contain our fires, or simply attempt not to spread them. And so we
accept defeat and limit our participation in the mission of the Church.
Or of the fire station.
That's all. No wrap-up. Just food for thought.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Identity and Being In the World
Preface: This blog is a half-developed thought. It's an inspiration to me to share the stories that I have experienced that have changed me. Other blogs are more developed in thought, so if you want that, click on another one. But if you read this one, hopefully it will inspire you the way writing it inspired me.
If you grew up in the church, you have heard the phrase, "Be in the world, but not of it!" used as a condemnation to those that are judged for being too much a part of the world. You may also have heard the verse used as an excuse, wherein the speaker claims that whatever thing they have done that is in question has been simply a part of being in the world, but it's okay because they are still not of the world.
In either case, I believe that the verses this concept is based on are being stretched like a contortionist's body. Its untwisted form may be somehow present, but only with some imagination. Though no verse says this phrase directly, "in the world, but not of it", some roughshod googling suggests that it is a religious construct of the Sufis.
The Bible verses perhaps primarily responsible for our adoption of this phrase are from Jesus and Paul. In the upper-room, Jesus says, "As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you" (John 15:19b). And Paul says, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind" (Romans 12:2a).
Fairly, both verses seem to imply the Sufi concept. Clearly both verses assume that we are in the world, which seems like common sense, but I think a lot of Christians forget that from time to time. That said, both verses also demonstrate that the followers of Jesus are decidedly Different and Apart.
My concerns in our understanding of this concept are:
1) The artificial, legalistic lines we draw between being in the world and being of the world, which often lead an exclusion of the world or to seclusion from the world
2) The tendency of the affluent, privileged, and modern world to determine for themselves which world(s) they want be a part of
I'll rush through the first point a bit. When we draw lines between what being in the world and of the world means, we can easily become like the Pharisees who shut the door of the Kingdom in people's faces (Matt. 23:13b), which excludes the world. Or it leads to a full-out seclusion from the world. Probably all of us are familiar with so-called Christian bubbles. The culture of "gosh darn it,"of "got Jesus?" T-shirts, of WWJD bracelets, and other things that make the Christian community a great punch-line for a certain type of joke. I won't go into the details here. You know the drill.
The second part, which has actually a lot less to do with these verses directly, is what I am going to focus on.
Something that eats at me is the fact that a large number of us in the western world have the ability to choose what world or which worlds we are a part of. Have any of you seen the show Dance Moms? It shows the studio and tour lives of mothers who have daughters that dance competitively. In an episode I saw recently (I don't watch often, but when I do, I watch a marathon and then hate myself for days after the fact), a new-coming mother/daughter pair swooped in. She, as a single, working mother, asked the other mom's what they do. Sitting in the window room, watching her daughter perform, one mother replied, "This is what we do. This is our lives."
Their worlds are centered around competitions for fame and fortune for their children. It's what they do. It's how they identify themselves. It's how they decide how and what to be in the world.
In some party schools, the worlds that exist for college students involve a lot of sleeping, homework, binge drinking, going clubbing, etc.
In some Christian circles, the world that exists is one that centers on weekly meetings, vigils. People identified with this world may have Jesus bumper stickers, fish, and of course, extensive knowledge of the Christian film industry (which some of you didn't know existed).
If you asked the students about their favorite Kirk Cameron film, they might ask if he was the dude from Growing Pains, then proceed to say, "Wait! He's in movies?" If you asked someone from the Christian circle to make you a Jagerbomb, they might say, "Oh, I can't - I'm a pacifist."
The dance mom said it well. This is what we do.
It concerns me when we choose to limit which worlds we are exposed to. I may not want to feed into twisted dynamics of separate worlds, like any of the three described above, but I want to know them. Part of white privilege is never having to be exposed to the injustices that the people of color have been exposed to, never having to come to terms with the fact that we have been a part of creating this dynamic (not just in history, but in the present). Part of class privilege is that those who are rich never really have to cross paths with the poor. They have enough money to pay for a way of life that would ensure that they would never have to see another poor person again.
I'm speaking in extremes. Most of us do come into contact with these realities from time to time. But do we let them change us? Do we let the things in these worlds inform us, transform us. We are not to allow them to conform us, but to transform us. The dance moms have it right again (I'm saying that as much as possible - there aren't many situations where this phrase is appropriate or true) - it does come down to the question of identity. Do we let our worlds inform our identities or do we let our identities influence the world around us?
If enough of us walk in power and truth, we can be the presence of transformation in the world, bringing hope. We should be able to echo Jesus' own self-proclaimed (or proclaimed by a prophet, affirmed by Jesus) decree of His mission in the world (confirming his identity as the Messiah):
The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
If you grew up in the church, you have heard the phrase, "Be in the world, but not of it!" used as a condemnation to those that are judged for being too much a part of the world. You may also have heard the verse used as an excuse, wherein the speaker claims that whatever thing they have done that is in question has been simply a part of being in the world, but it's okay because they are still not of the world.
In either case, I believe that the verses this concept is based on are being stretched like a contortionist's body. Its untwisted form may be somehow present, but only with some imagination. Though no verse says this phrase directly, "in the world, but not of it", some roughshod googling suggests that it is a religious construct of the Sufis.
The Bible verses perhaps primarily responsible for our adoption of this phrase are from Jesus and Paul. In the upper-room, Jesus says, "As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you" (John 15:19b). And Paul says, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind" (Romans 12:2a).
Fairly, both verses seem to imply the Sufi concept. Clearly both verses assume that we are in the world, which seems like common sense, but I think a lot of Christians forget that from time to time. That said, both verses also demonstrate that the followers of Jesus are decidedly Different and Apart.
My concerns in our understanding of this concept are:
1) The artificial, legalistic lines we draw between being in the world and being of the world, which often lead an exclusion of the world or to seclusion from the world
2) The tendency of the affluent, privileged, and modern world to determine for themselves which world(s) they want be a part of
I'll rush through the first point a bit. When we draw lines between what being in the world and of the world means, we can easily become like the Pharisees who shut the door of the Kingdom in people's faces (Matt. 23:13b), which excludes the world. Or it leads to a full-out seclusion from the world. Probably all of us are familiar with so-called Christian bubbles. The culture of "gosh darn it,"of "got Jesus?" T-shirts, of WWJD bracelets, and other things that make the Christian community a great punch-line for a certain type of joke. I won't go into the details here. You know the drill.
The second part, which has actually a lot less to do with these verses directly, is what I am going to focus on.
Something that eats at me is the fact that a large number of us in the western world have the ability to choose what world or which worlds we are a part of. Have any of you seen the show Dance Moms? It shows the studio and tour lives of mothers who have daughters that dance competitively. In an episode I saw recently (I don't watch often, but when I do, I watch a marathon and then hate myself for days after the fact), a new-coming mother/daughter pair swooped in. She, as a single, working mother, asked the other mom's what they do. Sitting in the window room, watching her daughter perform, one mother replied, "This is what we do. This is our lives."
Their worlds are centered around competitions for fame and fortune for their children. It's what they do. It's how they identify themselves. It's how they decide how and what to be in the world.
In some party schools, the worlds that exist for college students involve a lot of sleeping, homework, binge drinking, going clubbing, etc.
In some Christian circles, the world that exists is one that centers on weekly meetings, vigils. People identified with this world may have Jesus bumper stickers, fish, and of course, extensive knowledge of the Christian film industry (which some of you didn't know existed).
If you asked the students about their favorite Kirk Cameron film, they might ask if he was the dude from Growing Pains, then proceed to say, "Wait! He's in movies?" If you asked someone from the Christian circle to make you a Jagerbomb, they might say, "Oh, I can't - I'm a pacifist."
The dance mom said it well. This is what we do.
It concerns me when we choose to limit which worlds we are exposed to. I may not want to feed into twisted dynamics of separate worlds, like any of the three described above, but I want to know them. Part of white privilege is never having to be exposed to the injustices that the people of color have been exposed to, never having to come to terms with the fact that we have been a part of creating this dynamic (not just in history, but in the present). Part of class privilege is that those who are rich never really have to cross paths with the poor. They have enough money to pay for a way of life that would ensure that they would never have to see another poor person again.
I'm speaking in extremes. Most of us do come into contact with these realities from time to time. But do we let them change us? Do we let the things in these worlds inform us, transform us. We are not to allow them to conform us, but to transform us. The dance moms have it right again (I'm saying that as much as possible - there aren't many situations where this phrase is appropriate or true) - it does come down to the question of identity. Do we let our worlds inform our identities or do we let our identities influence the world around us?
If enough of us walk in power and truth, we can be the presence of transformation in the world, bringing hope. We should be able to echo Jesus' own self-proclaimed (or proclaimed by a prophet, affirmed by Jesus) decree of His mission in the world (confirming his identity as the Messiah):
The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Why I don't owe God my life.
This is probably going to be one of the most controversial blogs I post, and almost definitely one of the most offensive.
Almost exactly a year ago I was dealing with the all-too-common issue of guilt. Guilt is the primary broken way in which I relate to God, myself, and others. Guilt, I've discovered, is one of the most important tools of manipulation, and is arguably one of the strongest driving forces of motivation. Even in the church, as Wayne Jacobsen notes.
So almost exactly one year ago while on a retreat at school, I was pondering the idea of grace. In an atonement model of the resurrection, where Jesus bore our sin and "paid the price", the "debt is cancelled". I started thinking about what it means for a debt to be cancelled. The balance is emptied. Even without the idea that Jesus' righteousness is imputed to our accounts, the balance due is 0. Nothing. That tripped me up for a minute.
Wha- I don't owe God anything? Get this: You don't owe God anything.
A famous hymn says, "Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe." That is the most contradictory phrase I have ever heard in a religious song. Let's reword this. "Jesus paid it all", roughly means "Jesus made it so that there is nothing to owe". So let's run through this again. "Jesus made it so that there is nothing to owe. All to Him I owe." That's what I call a logical fallacy. Especially if we aren't setting up a false dichotomy between Jesus and God.
It's been paid. We don't owe God obedience. We give it to Him. We don't serve Him because we owe it to Him. Is He worthy of all? Absolutely. So why make the distinction?
1. Because God is worthy of our true love and devotion.
If we are so caught up on paying a debt that no longer exist, our good works become a selfish means of self-justification which suggests we believe that Jesus didn't pay it all. On a deeper level, it reduces our ability to truly love God because 1) We don't really believe the extent of God's love for us - that He would truly cancel the debt (and we know that we love God because He first loved us), and 2) Love isn't the driving force behind our actions. If we relate to God out of guilt rather than from love, we aren't devoted to the God that we love so much as we are indebted to the God that we feel enslaved to.
2. Because our God is unique.
In Acts 17 Paul appeals to the men of Athens who were "very religious in every way" (vs. 22). His proclamation of who God is was set up to directly contrast the ways the men of Athens were taught to relate to their own gods. Section by section, his proclamation overturned the expectations of who or what "God" is. There were stringent requirements that had to be made to appease the gods of Athens. Not so with the God who was made known through the crucified and resurrected Messiah, for "He is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else" (vs. 25).
The God we follow, as revealed to us through Jesus, never gains followers through manipulation and He never seeks appeasement. Even to those for whom He performed miracles. If I healed some dude and he tried to sell me out to the Pharisees (see John 5), I would be like, "Really? I healed you! You owe it to me to follow me - or at the very least not try to stir up trouble for me."
Is obedience commanded? Is love a command? Yes. Yes. But the basis is never from what we owe. The basis is instead, in my understanding, from what we receive.
Matt. 20:25-28
Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.
Jesus paid it all. All to Him we give.
Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it, now we live.
God, I don't get your love. It offends me that I can't ever pay you back. Not in full, nor in part. God, if this really has been paid in full, any and all of my attempts to alleviate my guilt are in vain. You have called me blameless. I thank you that when I learn what it means to abide in you that I live into that reality. Give me the faith to trust that what you said is true. I want all that I do for you and for others to be motivated by love. Thank you for that freedom Jesus. Help us to get it. Help us to have faith when we don't.
Almost exactly a year ago I was dealing with the all-too-common issue of guilt. Guilt is the primary broken way in which I relate to God, myself, and others. Guilt, I've discovered, is one of the most important tools of manipulation, and is arguably one of the strongest driving forces of motivation. Even in the church, as Wayne Jacobsen notes.
So almost exactly one year ago while on a retreat at school, I was pondering the idea of grace. In an atonement model of the resurrection, where Jesus bore our sin and "paid the price", the "debt is cancelled". I started thinking about what it means for a debt to be cancelled. The balance is emptied. Even without the idea that Jesus' righteousness is imputed to our accounts, the balance due is 0. Nothing. That tripped me up for a minute.
Wha- I don't owe God anything? Get this: You don't owe God anything.
A famous hymn says, "Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe." That is the most contradictory phrase I have ever heard in a religious song. Let's reword this. "Jesus paid it all", roughly means "Jesus made it so that there is nothing to owe". So let's run through this again. "Jesus made it so that there is nothing to owe. All to Him I owe." That's what I call a logical fallacy. Especially if we aren't setting up a false dichotomy between Jesus and God.
It's been paid. We don't owe God obedience. We give it to Him. We don't serve Him because we owe it to Him. Is He worthy of all? Absolutely. So why make the distinction?
1. Because God is worthy of our true love and devotion.
If we are so caught up on paying a debt that no longer exist, our good works become a selfish means of self-justification which suggests we believe that Jesus didn't pay it all. On a deeper level, it reduces our ability to truly love God because 1) We don't really believe the extent of God's love for us - that He would truly cancel the debt (and we know that we love God because He first loved us), and 2) Love isn't the driving force behind our actions. If we relate to God out of guilt rather than from love, we aren't devoted to the God that we love so much as we are indebted to the God that we feel enslaved to.
2. Because our God is unique.
In Acts 17 Paul appeals to the men of Athens who were "very religious in every way" (vs. 22). His proclamation of who God is was set up to directly contrast the ways the men of Athens were taught to relate to their own gods. Section by section, his proclamation overturned the expectations of who or what "God" is. There were stringent requirements that had to be made to appease the gods of Athens. Not so with the God who was made known through the crucified and resurrected Messiah, for "He is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else" (vs. 25).
The God we follow, as revealed to us through Jesus, never gains followers through manipulation and He never seeks appeasement. Even to those for whom He performed miracles. If I healed some dude and he tried to sell me out to the Pharisees (see John 5), I would be like, "Really? I healed you! You owe it to me to follow me - or at the very least not try to stir up trouble for me."
Is obedience commanded? Is love a command? Yes. Yes. But the basis is never from what we owe. The basis is instead, in my understanding, from what we receive.
Matt. 20:25-28
Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.
Jesus paid it all. All to Him we give.
Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it, now we live.
God, I don't get your love. It offends me that I can't ever pay you back. Not in full, nor in part. God, if this really has been paid in full, any and all of my attempts to alleviate my guilt are in vain. You have called me blameless. I thank you that when I learn what it means to abide in you that I live into that reality. Give me the faith to trust that what you said is true. I want all that I do for you and for others to be motivated by love. Thank you for that freedom Jesus. Help us to get it. Help us to have faith when we don't.
Monday, December 26, 2011
He sees me... and I exist.
First few paragraphs are personal blurbs about "where I am with God/faith/life" right now, but it's disjointed and confused. Kinda like me right now, haha. If you don't wanna bother with that part, please skip to after the blocked off area.
_____________________________________________________
I recently discovered that I get to know God in the context of my problems. I have a very deep, solid relationship with God. But I don't relate to him on the basis of his love. I still fight against this belief that God loves me inasmuch as I am useful to his ultimate purposes. That I would be better to him as an empty, personality-less shell that could be moved and operated fully by him. read previous blogs on this topic. Cool insights in past entries.
Knowing now that this isn't true, I still find it easiest to relate to God by bringing him problems and/or by asking him to guide me into specific works for him. I don't know how to relate to him by just enjoying him and letting him delight in me. I have a close friend who really grasps God's love. If she doesn't understand his love or see his love on a given day, it shows. She really needs it to survive and to thrive. She knows what it is to know God's intimate love for her. So when she doesn't know/believe/trust it, she feels deprived and her day isn't "right". She knows something is off.
God is teaching me about his love for me. That he doesn't want me to come to him just for "marching orders" for how to deal with this or that. That he wants me to accept his love. I read a commentary on the Gospel of John and it spoke of how Judas was served by Jesus just as the other disciples were. Jesus washed his feet but he remained unclean. Jesus fed him the bread, but when he took it "Satan entered him". This commentator (Koester) said that Judas's issue lied in not accepting Jesus' love. Wow. That's a sobering thought.
God is teaching me how to accept his love. How to trust it, really. I have a deep love for God. But I often struggle to believe that He cares for me. So long as I "press right through", "tough it out", and take "marching orders", I can continue to serve and demonstrate my love for God without truly accepting or understanding his love for me. So God has not given me anything I can run forward with. In this season right now he is not telling me what I want to hear. He's not telling me how to serve, how to do this, how to deal with that. He's not letting me aggressively root up all these struggles I have.
He's been calling me to rest. He's given me images and words for what this season in my life is about right now. And it's about "playing" with God, resting with him, and coming away with him. This is all the intro to my actual blog.
___________________________________________________________
I was watching a movie the other day. It's winter break and I finally get to see movies I've been meaning to see since the summer. So I rented Super 8. I love the movie Stand By Me and I heard this one was similar. I still prefer Stand By Me, but Super 8 was pretty good.
I have been having a hard time hearing God lately. But out of the blue the main character Joe said a line that resounded. I knew God was speaking to me, reminding me of how he sees me. Any other time, the line would have been really amazing, but only within the context of the movie, not at all in relation to me. When I heard it, I almost began to cry. Not because of what was happening to Joe. But because of what Joe's words revealed to me about how God and I relate. Now that I've built sufficient suspense, here's the line:
She used to look at me... this way, like really look... and I just knew I was there... that I existed.
God reminded me that when he looks at me, he really looks. He sees me. His eyes level all the barriers I've put up. His eyes see past all the crap that the world heaps onto me. His eyes shine through the lies I've believed to reveal what is true about me. In that moment, when I see him seeing me... I know. I know that I am here. That I exist. Not I as I perceive myself to be. But the I I am in God's eyes, which is the truest me there is. I exist because he sees me, and because I know he sees me, I can exist as I truly am.
Is that too philosophical? Is it just making sense to me because it's what I needed to hear? Let me put it another way.
Last year I was praying, asking God which people of the Bible I am like. I believe it was that very night that God gave me a dream. In my dream, someone told me that I am like Hagar and that there are five other people in the Bible who share my way of faith (I didn't find out who yet).
Excited that God answered my prayer, I turned to Genesis to read about Hagar. And I was deeply offended. Here's the basic premise. Hagar was Abram and Sarai's slave. She was an Egyptian. She didn't share their ethnicity and almost definitely did not share their monotheistic beliefs in the True God.
Abram and Sarai had been promised by God that they would have many descendants (even though they were well past child-bearing ages). They started to doubt, and Sarai urged Abram, "Look, just have a baby with Hagar." She didn't have to tell him twice! So Hagar became pregnant. Now Sarai got jealous and felt like Hagar was being cruel to her since she had become pregnant. She freaked out and talked to Abe. He just said, "Deal with her how you will." And Sarai treated her so badly that Hagar ran away.
Hagar got to a spring in the desert and an "Angel of the Lord" (which in the Old Testament means God's very presence) came to her and spoke to her, telling her to go back to Sarai and Abram. He gave her a blessing and also made a blessing/promise/covenant with the unborn child. He even said, "You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard of your misery."
She then names God as a result of her encounter with him. Genesis 16:13 says, "She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me."
I thought to myself, "It's a cool story, God. But I'm still kinda offended. I mean, Hagar? What did she ever do that got you to see her?" With a patient response, he responded, "Nothing." I stopped short and asked, "What?!" He replied, "She didn't do anything to make me see her. I just saw her."
In an unexpected way, God overturned my entire way of thinking. I get caught up in the idea that I do things to make God see me. Some people think God turns away when they do things that aren't so good, since he supposedly can't bear to look on sin (which is untrue, by the way; it's a powerful lie the enemy uses against us, though). I tend to fall more on the side of the other false belief that God doesn't really see me unless I'm fighting for his attention. That he doesn't see me unless I'm willing to do the list of tasks he gives me. And all-too-often I think that once he "gives me a task", that I'm on my own and that I can only meet back up with him once it's completed.
In this comparison, God reminded me, No. No. He doesn't see me because of anything I do or don't do. Hagar didn't know God! She probably worshiped other gods! But God saw her and cared for her. In Genesis 21, another incident happens with Sarai and Hagar, and again Hagar ends up in a desert, but not near a spring this time. She was convinced that she and her little boy (who is a child at this point) would die. Ishmael cried and God heard him. He spoke to Hagar and formed a well of water for them to drink. He proved to be the One That Sees yet again.
Just like Joe in Super 8... It takes Hagar knowing that God is looking at her, that he really sees her, to know that she exists. For me, to know that I exist as God looks at me is to exist wholly within his love. Existence without God's love is empty. Sure, other people looked at Joe. But only his mom could really see him in a way that affirmed the truth about the essence of who he was. Other things and other people may see me and make me feel understood. But existing in God's love, knowing his eyes and his gaze... That affirms the truth about the essence of me as I learn the truth and essence about God. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I'm glad God spoke to me through that movie. He's been surprising me by sneak-attacking me with little spurts of understanding of his love when I'm not looking for it. I love my God so much.
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I recently discovered that I get to know God in the context of my problems. I have a very deep, solid relationship with God. But I don't relate to him on the basis of his love. I still fight against this belief that God loves me inasmuch as I am useful to his ultimate purposes. That I would be better to him as an empty, personality-less shell that could be moved and operated fully by him. read previous blogs on this topic. Cool insights in past entries.
Knowing now that this isn't true, I still find it easiest to relate to God by bringing him problems and/or by asking him to guide me into specific works for him. I don't know how to relate to him by just enjoying him and letting him delight in me. I have a close friend who really grasps God's love. If she doesn't understand his love or see his love on a given day, it shows. She really needs it to survive and to thrive. She knows what it is to know God's intimate love for her. So when she doesn't know/believe/trust it, she feels deprived and her day isn't "right". She knows something is off.
God is teaching me about his love for me. That he doesn't want me to come to him just for "marching orders" for how to deal with this or that. That he wants me to accept his love. I read a commentary on the Gospel of John and it spoke of how Judas was served by Jesus just as the other disciples were. Jesus washed his feet but he remained unclean. Jesus fed him the bread, but when he took it "Satan entered him". This commentator (Koester) said that Judas's issue lied in not accepting Jesus' love. Wow. That's a sobering thought.
God is teaching me how to accept his love. How to trust it, really. I have a deep love for God. But I often struggle to believe that He cares for me. So long as I "press right through", "tough it out", and take "marching orders", I can continue to serve and demonstrate my love for God without truly accepting or understanding his love for me. So God has not given me anything I can run forward with. In this season right now he is not telling me what I want to hear. He's not telling me how to serve, how to do this, how to deal with that. He's not letting me aggressively root up all these struggles I have.
He's been calling me to rest. He's given me images and words for what this season in my life is about right now. And it's about "playing" with God, resting with him, and coming away with him. This is all the intro to my actual blog.
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I was watching a movie the other day. It's winter break and I finally get to see movies I've been meaning to see since the summer. So I rented Super 8. I love the movie Stand By Me and I heard this one was similar. I still prefer Stand By Me, but Super 8 was pretty good.
I have been having a hard time hearing God lately. But out of the blue the main character Joe said a line that resounded. I knew God was speaking to me, reminding me of how he sees me. Any other time, the line would have been really amazing, but only within the context of the movie, not at all in relation to me. When I heard it, I almost began to cry. Not because of what was happening to Joe. But because of what Joe's words revealed to me about how God and I relate. Now that I've built sufficient suspense, here's the line:
She used to look at me... this way, like really look... and I just knew I was there... that I existed.
God reminded me that when he looks at me, he really looks. He sees me. His eyes level all the barriers I've put up. His eyes see past all the crap that the world heaps onto me. His eyes shine through the lies I've believed to reveal what is true about me. In that moment, when I see him seeing me... I know. I know that I am here. That I exist. Not I as I perceive myself to be. But the I I am in God's eyes, which is the truest me there is. I exist because he sees me, and because I know he sees me, I can exist as I truly am.
Is that too philosophical? Is it just making sense to me because it's what I needed to hear? Let me put it another way.
Last year I was praying, asking God which people of the Bible I am like. I believe it was that very night that God gave me a dream. In my dream, someone told me that I am like Hagar and that there are five other people in the Bible who share my way of faith (I didn't find out who yet).
Excited that God answered my prayer, I turned to Genesis to read about Hagar. And I was deeply offended. Here's the basic premise. Hagar was Abram and Sarai's slave. She was an Egyptian. She didn't share their ethnicity and almost definitely did not share their monotheistic beliefs in the True God.
Abram and Sarai had been promised by God that they would have many descendants (even though they were well past child-bearing ages). They started to doubt, and Sarai urged Abram, "Look, just have a baby with Hagar." She didn't have to tell him twice! So Hagar became pregnant. Now Sarai got jealous and felt like Hagar was being cruel to her since she had become pregnant. She freaked out and talked to Abe. He just said, "Deal with her how you will." And Sarai treated her so badly that Hagar ran away.
Hagar got to a spring in the desert and an "Angel of the Lord" (which in the Old Testament means God's very presence) came to her and spoke to her, telling her to go back to Sarai and Abram. He gave her a blessing and also made a blessing/promise/covenant with the unborn child. He even said, "You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard of your misery."
She then names God as a result of her encounter with him. Genesis 16:13 says, "She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me."
I thought to myself, "It's a cool story, God. But I'm still kinda offended. I mean, Hagar? What did she ever do that got you to see her?" With a patient response, he responded, "Nothing." I stopped short and asked, "What?!" He replied, "She didn't do anything to make me see her. I just saw her."
In an unexpected way, God overturned my entire way of thinking. I get caught up in the idea that I do things to make God see me. Some people think God turns away when they do things that aren't so good, since he supposedly can't bear to look on sin (which is untrue, by the way; it's a powerful lie the enemy uses against us, though). I tend to fall more on the side of the other false belief that God doesn't really see me unless I'm fighting for his attention. That he doesn't see me unless I'm willing to do the list of tasks he gives me. And all-too-often I think that once he "gives me a task", that I'm on my own and that I can only meet back up with him once it's completed.
In this comparison, God reminded me, No. No. He doesn't see me because of anything I do or don't do. Hagar didn't know God! She probably worshiped other gods! But God saw her and cared for her. In Genesis 21, another incident happens with Sarai and Hagar, and again Hagar ends up in a desert, but not near a spring this time. She was convinced that she and her little boy (who is a child at this point) would die. Ishmael cried and God heard him. He spoke to Hagar and formed a well of water for them to drink. He proved to be the One That Sees yet again.
Just like Joe in Super 8... It takes Hagar knowing that God is looking at her, that he really sees her, to know that she exists. For me, to know that I exist as God looks at me is to exist wholly within his love. Existence without God's love is empty. Sure, other people looked at Joe. But only his mom could really see him in a way that affirmed the truth about the essence of who he was. Other things and other people may see me and make me feel understood. But existing in God's love, knowing his eyes and his gaze... That affirms the truth about the essence of me as I learn the truth and essence about God. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I'm glad God spoke to me through that movie. He's been surprising me by sneak-attacking me with little spurts of understanding of his love when I'm not looking for it. I love my God so much.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
"The man who told me everything I ever did".
Anytime I used to read or hear the story of the Samaritan woman in John 4 I was always disturbed. Jesus seemed either cool and removed, or cruel and haughty, in my reading of it. There's a *lot* going on in this narrative that I would love to talk about, but in this blog I want to focus on one narrow aspect. Or two and how they relate. Cool?
Ok. So basically Jesus talks to a Samaritan woman at the well and mysteriously talks about Living Water. She doesn't really understand what he's saying but asks him for some anyways. He talks it up pretty good; it must be worth a shot. He tells her to summon her husband, to which she replies that she has none. He replies back, "No. You're right. You've had five husbands and the guy you are with now isn't your husband."
She affirms that he is right and that he must be a prophet. Then they go into a tangetial conversation about religion and whether the Jews and right or the Samaritans are right. Cool, cool stuff going on here, but not what this blog is about. Maybe another one. Eventually Jesus admits he's the Messiah and she goes off into the village telling everyone, "Come see the man who told me everything I ever did! Could he be the Messiah?"
The story disturbed me on many levels. It was always weird to me that Jesus called her out like that. She tried to dodge an awkward situation of explaining about the man she is living with by telling him, "Oh, I don't have a husband." And he calls her out. Straight up. No, Missy, you ain't dodging that bullet! Does it sting?
As a kid/teen/young adult, I always read that and felt that it was so unnecessary the way he did that. If that was me, I'd have been all kinds of defensive. Or offended. Or legitimately just freaked out. But she responds, "Oh. You must be a prophet." Knowing that he has special insight from God, she seeks his wisdom on the topic of worship. Astounding. And later she uses the story of him knowing all about her as a reason why he could be the Messiah. She doesn't keep it quiet (though her own story is involved and could be at stake), but tells the whole village! How unexpected!
Detour: Most people who grew up in the church have a serious problem understanding God/Jesus. They see God as the "bad cop" and Jesus as the "good cop". I always had the opposite problem. A real love for God and a real fear of Jesus. He was so unpredictable and so harsh in his judgments and words. Or that's how I'd always thought of him. That's the lens through which I always read this narrative.
But I had a crazy realization today in a very profound way. It unfolds like this: Jesus wasn't speaking to the woman to convict her. Unlike with other people he encounters (even in this gospel), he does not say to her, "Go and sin no more!" He doesn't address the issue more than just showing her that God revealed her situation to him. A prophet, as she called him, does not speak on his own, but speaks the words of God and the insights of God. The fact that he spoke of her story indicates that God himself saw and knew her intimately. The wonder she must have felt at knowing that she had captured the attention of the Almighty!
She was spoken to in a way that elicited trust and belief, not condemnation, defensiveness or fear. She responds not by explaining her situation, nor by ending the conversation and walking away. Knowing that she is known by God, she asks this wise prophet how to worship God truly. She opened herself to a vulnerable position knowing that he could, and probably would, say that her worship was false. As a Jew, of course she expected him to say that Jews were right, the end.
But he turns everything on its head. Jesus does not say that her worship is untrue. Only that she worships who she doesn't know. Ironically, God knows her, but she does not truly know him. The Jews, on the other hand, know God. But soon, he claims that the specifics of where to worship will no longer matter, because God will make it so that people could worship all over "in Spirit and in Truth". In a sense, that the Jews knew God more than the Samaritans did, but that both still had a lot more to learn as Christ himself was revealed (and God revealed through him).
She says that she knows of the Messiah and he tells her that he himself is the Messiah. At this the woman leaves her jar at the well and runs off to the town to talk about him and invite others to see him.
I had always read Jesus as brash and cruel, calling her out as a sinner/liar and telling her that her religion is wrong. I had always misread Jesus. This new insight makes this whole narrative make more sense. Pushing it even further, the understanding of this second half of her encounter even makes the first half make more sense.
This is a woman who has faced hardships. She was either involved in a life of sin or had many husbands pass away. Or both. She was hardened towards the very idea of a Jew talking to her, unwilling to interact with Jesus until she got the record straight about why he would even want to talk to her. But he saw her need for Living Water. He saw the thirst in her that could not be quenched. At first glance it seems like this conversation is never resolved. But we find that it is resolved throughout the text when Jesus talks about worshiping "in Spirit and Truth" (God doing a new thing in worship which, we readers find out, is actually through Christ), and when he reveals that he is the Messiah. He is the Living Water.
This is the God who sees us and knows "everything we've ever done" and tells us where we've been, who we are in Truth, and how to worship in Truth that we too would truly know God and worship who we know.
How amazing that God knows us but just wants us to know him. Ultimately, Jesus came to reveal to the world who God is. Later in the same gospel (John 14), Jesus and one of his disciples have this exchange:
Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.
This is the God who desires to be known so fully that he came in flesh to a world that did not know him, though he created it, so that it could know him and his immense love and so it could have life. That is what Jesus was showing the woman at the well in Samaria. That what Jesus shows and offers us today. The reality of knowing God.
Ok. So basically Jesus talks to a Samaritan woman at the well and mysteriously talks about Living Water. She doesn't really understand what he's saying but asks him for some anyways. He talks it up pretty good; it must be worth a shot. He tells her to summon her husband, to which she replies that she has none. He replies back, "No. You're right. You've had five husbands and the guy you are with now isn't your husband."
She affirms that he is right and that he must be a prophet. Then they go into a tangetial conversation about religion and whether the Jews and right or the Samaritans are right. Cool, cool stuff going on here, but not what this blog is about. Maybe another one. Eventually Jesus admits he's the Messiah and she goes off into the village telling everyone, "Come see the man who told me everything I ever did! Could he be the Messiah?"
The story disturbed me on many levels. It was always weird to me that Jesus called her out like that. She tried to dodge an awkward situation of explaining about the man she is living with by telling him, "Oh, I don't have a husband." And he calls her out. Straight up. No, Missy, you ain't dodging that bullet! Does it sting?
As a kid/teen/young adult, I always read that and felt that it was so unnecessary the way he did that. If that was me, I'd have been all kinds of defensive. Or offended. Or legitimately just freaked out. But she responds, "Oh. You must be a prophet." Knowing that he has special insight from God, she seeks his wisdom on the topic of worship. Astounding. And later she uses the story of him knowing all about her as a reason why he could be the Messiah. She doesn't keep it quiet (though her own story is involved and could be at stake), but tells the whole village! How unexpected!
Detour: Most people who grew up in the church have a serious problem understanding God/Jesus. They see God as the "bad cop" and Jesus as the "good cop". I always had the opposite problem. A real love for God and a real fear of Jesus. He was so unpredictable and so harsh in his judgments and words. Or that's how I'd always thought of him. That's the lens through which I always read this narrative.
But I had a crazy realization today in a very profound way. It unfolds like this: Jesus wasn't speaking to the woman to convict her. Unlike with other people he encounters (even in this gospel), he does not say to her, "Go and sin no more!" He doesn't address the issue more than just showing her that God revealed her situation to him. A prophet, as she called him, does not speak on his own, but speaks the words of God and the insights of God. The fact that he spoke of her story indicates that God himself saw and knew her intimately. The wonder she must have felt at knowing that she had captured the attention of the Almighty!
She was spoken to in a way that elicited trust and belief, not condemnation, defensiveness or fear. She responds not by explaining her situation, nor by ending the conversation and walking away. Knowing that she is known by God, she asks this wise prophet how to worship God truly. She opened herself to a vulnerable position knowing that he could, and probably would, say that her worship was false. As a Jew, of course she expected him to say that Jews were right, the end.
But he turns everything on its head. Jesus does not say that her worship is untrue. Only that she worships who she doesn't know. Ironically, God knows her, but she does not truly know him. The Jews, on the other hand, know God. But soon, he claims that the specifics of where to worship will no longer matter, because God will make it so that people could worship all over "in Spirit and in Truth". In a sense, that the Jews knew God more than the Samaritans did, but that both still had a lot more to learn as Christ himself was revealed (and God revealed through him).
She says that she knows of the Messiah and he tells her that he himself is the Messiah. At this the woman leaves her jar at the well and runs off to the town to talk about him and invite others to see him.
I had always read Jesus as brash and cruel, calling her out as a sinner/liar and telling her that her religion is wrong. I had always misread Jesus. This new insight makes this whole narrative make more sense. Pushing it even further, the understanding of this second half of her encounter even makes the first half make more sense.
This is a woman who has faced hardships. She was either involved in a life of sin or had many husbands pass away. Or both. She was hardened towards the very idea of a Jew talking to her, unwilling to interact with Jesus until she got the record straight about why he would even want to talk to her. But he saw her need for Living Water. He saw the thirst in her that could not be quenched. At first glance it seems like this conversation is never resolved. But we find that it is resolved throughout the text when Jesus talks about worshiping "in Spirit and Truth" (God doing a new thing in worship which, we readers find out, is actually through Christ), and when he reveals that he is the Messiah. He is the Living Water.
This is the God who sees us and knows "everything we've ever done" and tells us where we've been, who we are in Truth, and how to worship in Truth that we too would truly know God and worship who we know.
How amazing that God knows us but just wants us to know him. Ultimately, Jesus came to reveal to the world who God is. Later in the same gospel (John 14), Jesus and one of his disciples have this exchange:
Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.
This is the God who desires to be known so fully that he came in flesh to a world that did not know him, though he created it, so that it could know him and his immense love and so it could have life. That is what Jesus was showing the woman at the well in Samaria. That what Jesus shows and offers us today. The reality of knowing God.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Leave the Outer Courts!
God has been talking to me a lot about forgiveness and what it truly means to accept Jesus. To accept Jesus and His life is to accept his death, his forgiveness, his resurrection and his call to us to live, dying daily, recognizing the resurrection as our hope and knowing the depth of his love and forgiveness.
This past week I was hit hardcore with guilt about things in my past. At prayer on Thursday, some of those things came to mind and I was overwhelmed with guilt. And confusion. I thought, "Why is this coming to mind? Didn't God and I already deal with this?"
God said to me, "Emily, I don't condemn you for these things."
I replied, "Yeah, I know."
He said, "No, Emily, listen... I didn't condemn you then either."
That stopped me in my tracks. First, it's offensive. How could God not condemn me at the time when I was claiming to be a leader in his name doing things that were contrary to his nature and leading others astray? How could he not condemn me for that?
I realized in that moment that I only believe that God doesn't condemn me for it now because of who I am now. Because I am no longer that person and because I am so much further from where I was. God addressed that in two ways:
1) Sure, it's not who I am now. But it wasn't WHO I was then. I am never to identify myself by my sins as though they are essential to my identity. The sins I did were lies. The fact that I believed it was my identity and that I still thought that it is who I was... Lies! Jesus knew THEN that it was not who I am and he was justifying me.
2) If that's what I believe, I believe that I am justified by myself and my good works, my progress. In such a case, it's not Jesus who justifies me but myself. That's works-based religion. That is not the message of Jesus.
That night I realized I haven't accepted God's forgiveness. But I still wouldn't. It was too good to believe and I didn't deserve it.
The next day I went on a women's retreat with folks from my school. One girl shared her testimony and talked specifically about God's forgiveness for her past and how she realized that God justified her even then, though her actions were wrong, God justified her. I thought, "Wow, that's the exact language God used when He spoke to me the night before." But I wrote it off anyways as something to think about later.
The following day at the retreat, one of the leaders spoke on Luke 7. This is the story when the sinful woman came to Jesus when he was having dinner with the Pharisees. She came and cried, anointing his feet with expensive perfume and her own tears. The Pharisees were disgusted, but Jesus said to them (my paraphrase):
Okay. Story-time. There are two guys who owed a man a debt. One owed a smidgen. One owed a whole lot. This man cancelled both of their debts. Who loved this man more?
They replied, "Well, I suppose the one who had a larger debt to begin with."
"Right-o," Jesus says, "This woman loves much because she is forgiven much."
We are only freed to love and accept God's love when we recognize the extensive forgiveness he gives to us.
The leader who spoke on this passage brought attention to the woman's tears. She said that she believed the woman wasn't crying tears of pleading or guilt or shame, but tears of thankfulness and recognition of what Jesus was offering. Likewise, the anointing of the feet was a gift of thankfulness.
That transformed my mind. I always saw this woman's entrance as her begging, pleading, and maybe even bribing Jesus to forgive her. And his acceptance of her plea and her bribe to me were indicative of how God wants us to approach him. With guilt, proving to him that we know how unworthy we are. I know that's wrong thought. I have known that for a couple years, but it's deeply entrenched in my mind.
But it wasn't until this weekend that I chose to truly accept the depth of God's forgiveness. As I prayed on it, I envisioned forgiveness as a gift that was just past arms-length away, meaning that I had to stretch and reach and experience some degree of pain to obtain it.
God corrected me, "No, Emily (he says my name a lot... I like that)... I'm telling you about this so much right now because it is so close to you and you are in a place where you can accept it if you choose." My image was amended: There was the gift of forgiveness. Three inches from my chest. So dang close. And there was me: head turned away, nose wrinkled in disgust, hands up, unwilling to accept it.
Then Jesus said, "If you focus on the gift, rather than on the space between you and the gift, you won't be able to resist accepting it."
AKA: I was focused on the distance between me and forgiveness. The reasons why I can't accept it, the very fact that there was something standing in the way of me and the gift. Jesus basically said, "No, Emily, there's nothing between you and this gift. It's empty space and it holds no power! But if you focus on the beauty and goodness of what I'm offering you, you won't be able to turn it down!"
So I prayed more and searched it out more, focusing on forgiveness. God showed me EVEN MORE (he does so much for me to teach me. His patience is incredible). Okay, for those who don't know, in Judaism (Jesus was a Jew) there's the temple. There are different "courts" that different people had access to. The very inner court, called the "Holy of Holies" was only accessible by the high priest and it held the Ark of the Covenant, which before Jesus' death was the very presence of God. There were various courts leading up to it where those who were considered in Jewish law to be "more pure" could enter.
The furthest court from the Holy of Holies was "the outer courts", or "the court of the Gentiles" (Gentiles = non-Jew/unclean).
As I prayed, God gave me this image (and I will close here - please read this not through just my eyes and what it says to me, but what God is saying is true for all those who follow Christ):
I was standing in the court of the Gentiles. There were hundreds of people there with me. Jesus walked up to me, took hold of my sleeve and gently pulled. He was leading me to cross into the next court. The wall that separated me from the next court in that had always looked so foreboding was so easy to cross. It literally took me just taking a step to cross the threshold. In that next court I looked back, uncertain. I asked Jesus, "Wait, but no one else is crossing it. Why am I able to come in further and all those people can't?" (I didn't ask because of them really, I asked because I felt like if none of them could, I must not be allowed either).
Jesus replied, "All those people are allowed in. They just don't know. But I am telling you now, you are able to come in." I was able to come in because I was willing to accept what Jesus said. That I had access. But by Jesus all could have access if they chose to accept it.
He led me in and in through all the successive courts until finally we reached the Holy of Holies. It was a small room. As I looked in, along the East wall was a bed. Jesus had made up a bed for me. He said, "This is your dwelling place."
I am to make my home in the Holy of Holies. I have always felt like I could enter into the most intimate places of God with a limited-access, temporary pass. So I enter in for a brief moment and then return to where I feel like my home is: in the outer courts. But there's no bed there. When I claim to be a Christ-follower and don't accept his forgiveness, I am living as though I am homeless, because my home is in the Holy of Holies. And God has said this is not a temporary thing for when I feel clean. If I truly accept Christ, I truly accept his forgiveness, and I truly make my home in the deepest inner courts with full intimacy with God. I can only enter by Christ. But I don't ever have to leave the Holy of Holies.
I share this because this is my journey right now. I accept forgiveness through Christ and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. I also share this to tell the masses gathered in the outer courts that they all can have access to the Holy of Holies through Christ. Don't be content to settle for the outer courts. Don't be like the Pharisees in Luke 6, accepting small amounts of forgiveness. Accept the whole of it and by Christ, make your home in the inner courts.
John 14:1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
This past week I was hit hardcore with guilt about things in my past. At prayer on Thursday, some of those things came to mind and I was overwhelmed with guilt. And confusion. I thought, "Why is this coming to mind? Didn't God and I already deal with this?"
God said to me, "Emily, I don't condemn you for these things."
I replied, "Yeah, I know."
He said, "No, Emily, listen... I didn't condemn you then either."
That stopped me in my tracks. First, it's offensive. How could God not condemn me at the time when I was claiming to be a leader in his name doing things that were contrary to his nature and leading others astray? How could he not condemn me for that?
I realized in that moment that I only believe that God doesn't condemn me for it now because of who I am now. Because I am no longer that person and because I am so much further from where I was. God addressed that in two ways:
1) Sure, it's not who I am now. But it wasn't WHO I was then. I am never to identify myself by my sins as though they are essential to my identity. The sins I did were lies. The fact that I believed it was my identity and that I still thought that it is who I was... Lies! Jesus knew THEN that it was not who I am and he was justifying me.
2) If that's what I believe, I believe that I am justified by myself and my good works, my progress. In such a case, it's not Jesus who justifies me but myself. That's works-based religion. That is not the message of Jesus.
That night I realized I haven't accepted God's forgiveness. But I still wouldn't. It was too good to believe and I didn't deserve it.
The next day I went on a women's retreat with folks from my school. One girl shared her testimony and talked specifically about God's forgiveness for her past and how she realized that God justified her even then, though her actions were wrong, God justified her. I thought, "Wow, that's the exact language God used when He spoke to me the night before." But I wrote it off anyways as something to think about later.
The following day at the retreat, one of the leaders spoke on Luke 7. This is the story when the sinful woman came to Jesus when he was having dinner with the Pharisees. She came and cried, anointing his feet with expensive perfume and her own tears. The Pharisees were disgusted, but Jesus said to them (my paraphrase):
Okay. Story-time. There are two guys who owed a man a debt. One owed a smidgen. One owed a whole lot. This man cancelled both of their debts. Who loved this man more?
They replied, "Well, I suppose the one who had a larger debt to begin with."
"Right-o," Jesus says, "This woman loves much because she is forgiven much."
We are only freed to love and accept God's love when we recognize the extensive forgiveness he gives to us.
The leader who spoke on this passage brought attention to the woman's tears. She said that she believed the woman wasn't crying tears of pleading or guilt or shame, but tears of thankfulness and recognition of what Jesus was offering. Likewise, the anointing of the feet was a gift of thankfulness.
That transformed my mind. I always saw this woman's entrance as her begging, pleading, and maybe even bribing Jesus to forgive her. And his acceptance of her plea and her bribe to me were indicative of how God wants us to approach him. With guilt, proving to him that we know how unworthy we are. I know that's wrong thought. I have known that for a couple years, but it's deeply entrenched in my mind.
But it wasn't until this weekend that I chose to truly accept the depth of God's forgiveness. As I prayed on it, I envisioned forgiveness as a gift that was just past arms-length away, meaning that I had to stretch and reach and experience some degree of pain to obtain it.
God corrected me, "No, Emily (he says my name a lot... I like that)... I'm telling you about this so much right now because it is so close to you and you are in a place where you can accept it if you choose." My image was amended: There was the gift of forgiveness. Three inches from my chest. So dang close. And there was me: head turned away, nose wrinkled in disgust, hands up, unwilling to accept it.
Then Jesus said, "If you focus on the gift, rather than on the space between you and the gift, you won't be able to resist accepting it."
AKA: I was focused on the distance between me and forgiveness. The reasons why I can't accept it, the very fact that there was something standing in the way of me and the gift. Jesus basically said, "No, Emily, there's nothing between you and this gift. It's empty space and it holds no power! But if you focus on the beauty and goodness of what I'm offering you, you won't be able to turn it down!"
So I prayed more and searched it out more, focusing on forgiveness. God showed me EVEN MORE (he does so much for me to teach me. His patience is incredible). Okay, for those who don't know, in Judaism (Jesus was a Jew) there's the temple. There are different "courts" that different people had access to. The very inner court, called the "Holy of Holies" was only accessible by the high priest and it held the Ark of the Covenant, which before Jesus' death was the very presence of God. There were various courts leading up to it where those who were considered in Jewish law to be "more pure" could enter.
The furthest court from the Holy of Holies was "the outer courts", or "the court of the Gentiles" (Gentiles = non-Jew/unclean).
As I prayed, God gave me this image (and I will close here - please read this not through just my eyes and what it says to me, but what God is saying is true for all those who follow Christ):
I was standing in the court of the Gentiles. There were hundreds of people there with me. Jesus walked up to me, took hold of my sleeve and gently pulled. He was leading me to cross into the next court. The wall that separated me from the next court in that had always looked so foreboding was so easy to cross. It literally took me just taking a step to cross the threshold. In that next court I looked back, uncertain. I asked Jesus, "Wait, but no one else is crossing it. Why am I able to come in further and all those people can't?" (I didn't ask because of them really, I asked because I felt like if none of them could, I must not be allowed either).
Jesus replied, "All those people are allowed in. They just don't know. But I am telling you now, you are able to come in." I was able to come in because I was willing to accept what Jesus said. That I had access. But by Jesus all could have access if they chose to accept it.
He led me in and in through all the successive courts until finally we reached the Holy of Holies. It was a small room. As I looked in, along the East wall was a bed. Jesus had made up a bed for me. He said, "This is your dwelling place."
I am to make my home in the Holy of Holies. I have always felt like I could enter into the most intimate places of God with a limited-access, temporary pass. So I enter in for a brief moment and then return to where I feel like my home is: in the outer courts. But there's no bed there. When I claim to be a Christ-follower and don't accept his forgiveness, I am living as though I am homeless, because my home is in the Holy of Holies. And God has said this is not a temporary thing for when I feel clean. If I truly accept Christ, I truly accept his forgiveness, and I truly make my home in the deepest inner courts with full intimacy with God. I can only enter by Christ. But I don't ever have to leave the Holy of Holies.
I share this because this is my journey right now. I accept forgiveness through Christ and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. I also share this to tell the masses gathered in the outer courts that they all can have access to the Holy of Holies through Christ. Don't be content to settle for the outer courts. Don't be like the Pharisees in Luke 6, accepting small amounts of forgiveness. Accept the whole of it and by Christ, make your home in the inner courts.
John 14:1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Finding Freedom In Christ
This summer has been a time of discovery in my faith. I'm realizing how much of my faith has been so determined by the way we've learned to conceptualize it within the context of Western (or more specifically American) Christianity. More specifically, this summer I have been learning a lot about freedom in Christ.
I think our systemized theology and the way its been taught in the church as far as free will is concerned has done quite a disservice to Christ-followers. We talk about free will in the context of original sin. Free will is what caused sin. Whatever causes sin must not be good, therefore, we accept free will as the one flaw that god created us with.
We've dealt with this by saying that free will is not a flaw. It is the little thing that God begrudgingly created us with so that we could choose to love Him. If He didn't create us with free will, we would essentially be robots. No better than a little girl's play doll that says, "I love you Mama!" when its button is pushed. I think this is a shallow understanding of the cause for free will and though it attempts to cast a positive light on free will it only does so after first affirming our fear of free will.
Our understanding of free will is crucial to the way that we view ourselves and the way that we live our lives for God. In the past I have prayed fervently that my will would be broken and that it would be replaced by God's will. I felt that I could only do the will of God by my will being totally obliterated. Essentially I felt that the only way to please God was for me to know His will in every choice I made, in every word I spoke, and in every thought I had and to carry it out perfectly. We say that God gave us free will so that we would not be little robots, but for so much of my life I tried to make myself into a robot.
In church we speak of being empty vessels. We sing "I want more of you and less of of me. Empty me. Fill me with You." I saw myself as a Christian as literally being a body that God would move exactly as He would. Just an empty shell of a person, no desires of my own, no interests of my own, nothing that would define me as anything other than a vessel for Christ.
We have a few downfalls with these perceptions:
1. Free will is seen as a flaw.
We have been created in God's image. If I could have a baby and choose for it to always love me, I would. That would not make my baby a robot. It just means that they would not deviate from that principle love. Instead, free will is given to us because God Himself has free will. God has free will and does not sin. Free will is not sinful. We do not need to forfeit free will to serve God.
2. We identify our "selves" as our "flesh".
Paul spoke of sin as being fleshly desires. We are instructed to put off our flesh, which is being corrupted. Flesh does not mean humanity. Living a godly life does not mean living above our humanity. Flesh does not mean our personalities. To seek to live a life empty of ourselves is to seek a life of slavery and domination. This mindset is a dressed up version of gnosticism, which was declared as heresy in church councils at least as early as 325 AD.
3. We tend to assume that free will does not exist within the will of God.
We tend to assume that God's will is very specific in every instance. By we, I mean me. This is my major pitfall. You know those game shows where there are three doors and the best prize is behind one door, a decent prize is behind another, and a bogus prize is behind another? For every choice I make I see a line of doors (usually many more than 3). One door is God's perfect will. Some are very clearly not within God's will. And the others... Hope for the best. Unfortunately, I never know which door is *the right* door, because clearly there is only one. I now believe that is untrue.
With these three main pitfalls (there are probably more, but these jump to mind), we can essentially live what we call a "Christian" life by living as though we have to fight the odds to be acceptable to God. Or we live out of our own efforts to perfect ourselves. Or we live lives devoid of the beautiful things God individually created us with because we see our uniqueness as a thing to be emptied out of us. Or we live in perpetual guilt that we are living outside of God's will 97% of the time because we make choices that are slightly less than His best. Then we face a paralyzing fear for any decision we have to make in the future.
I'm beginning to believe that God's will is far more general and broad in nature and that so long as we are living within that grand narrative of love, ushering towards the Kingdom, that God leaves a lot of the details of how that happens to us. That said, our wills can be at odds with that narrative, and in those cases or wills must be submitted. Not broken. But submitted.
Okay, I'm about to get into some theologically sketchy terrain, but bear with me. Those who are familiar with theology will recognize hints at the idea of two separate hypostases in Christ that was deemed heretical in a church council. But again, bear with me.
When I was a young teen I read this book by Max Lucado called "He Chose the Nails". In this book, Lucado makes a statement that he believed that if the soldiers hesitated in nailing Jesus to the cross that because of His overwhelming love for us, Jesus would have snatched the hammer right out of their hands and began nailing Himself to the cross. It's a nice sentiment, but I think it's unbiblical and misdirecting.
Matthew 26:39 says, "Going a little farther, [Jesus] fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”"
Indicating there were two wills. He did not want to die. He would not have hammered Himself to the cross. When Jesus walked back from praying he found the disciples asleep and He says to them, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." He said this to them, supposedly for not staying awake and keeping watch with Him. I think He said it just as much to reflect the conflict of wills He was experiencing Himself.
He prayed again, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
Max Lucado, Jesus did not choose the nails. He chose His Father's will, submitting to it and to the nails. The thing is not to demolish our wills. They are not always opposed to the will of God. God gives us freedom within His will. There are times when He wills something specific for us (I think these things are blatantly obvious and difficult to miss; we don't have to be petrified that with every decision we might miss His perfect will). There are times when are wills are at conflict with what God wills.
Even then, we aren't to obliterate our wills, but to submit them to God.
Romans 8:7,9,15
The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so....You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, they do not belong to Christ...The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”
I think our systemized theology and the way its been taught in the church as far as free will is concerned has done quite a disservice to Christ-followers. We talk about free will in the context of original sin. Free will is what caused sin. Whatever causes sin must not be good, therefore, we accept free will as the one flaw that god created us with.
We've dealt with this by saying that free will is not a flaw. It is the little thing that God begrudgingly created us with so that we could choose to love Him. If He didn't create us with free will, we would essentially be robots. No better than a little girl's play doll that says, "I love you Mama!" when its button is pushed. I think this is a shallow understanding of the cause for free will and though it attempts to cast a positive light on free will it only does so after first affirming our fear of free will.
Our understanding of free will is crucial to the way that we view ourselves and the way that we live our lives for God. In the past I have prayed fervently that my will would be broken and that it would be replaced by God's will. I felt that I could only do the will of God by my will being totally obliterated. Essentially I felt that the only way to please God was for me to know His will in every choice I made, in every word I spoke, and in every thought I had and to carry it out perfectly. We say that God gave us free will so that we would not be little robots, but for so much of my life I tried to make myself into a robot.
In church we speak of being empty vessels. We sing "I want more of you and less of of me. Empty me. Fill me with You." I saw myself as a Christian as literally being a body that God would move exactly as He would. Just an empty shell of a person, no desires of my own, no interests of my own, nothing that would define me as anything other than a vessel for Christ.
We have a few downfalls with these perceptions:
1. Free will is seen as a flaw.
We have been created in God's image. If I could have a baby and choose for it to always love me, I would. That would not make my baby a robot. It just means that they would not deviate from that principle love. Instead, free will is given to us because God Himself has free will. God has free will and does not sin. Free will is not sinful. We do not need to forfeit free will to serve God.
2. We identify our "selves" as our "flesh".
Paul spoke of sin as being fleshly desires. We are instructed to put off our flesh, which is being corrupted. Flesh does not mean humanity. Living a godly life does not mean living above our humanity. Flesh does not mean our personalities. To seek to live a life empty of ourselves is to seek a life of slavery and domination. This mindset is a dressed up version of gnosticism, which was declared as heresy in church councils at least as early as 325 AD.
3. We tend to assume that free will does not exist within the will of God.
We tend to assume that God's will is very specific in every instance. By we, I mean me. This is my major pitfall. You know those game shows where there are three doors and the best prize is behind one door, a decent prize is behind another, and a bogus prize is behind another? For every choice I make I see a line of doors (usually many more than 3). One door is God's perfect will. Some are very clearly not within God's will. And the others... Hope for the best. Unfortunately, I never know which door is *the right* door, because clearly there is only one. I now believe that is untrue.
With these three main pitfalls (there are probably more, but these jump to mind), we can essentially live what we call a "Christian" life by living as though we have to fight the odds to be acceptable to God. Or we live out of our own efforts to perfect ourselves. Or we live lives devoid of the beautiful things God individually created us with because we see our uniqueness as a thing to be emptied out of us. Or we live in perpetual guilt that we are living outside of God's will 97% of the time because we make choices that are slightly less than His best. Then we face a paralyzing fear for any decision we have to make in the future.
I'm beginning to believe that God's will is far more general and broad in nature and that so long as we are living within that grand narrative of love, ushering towards the Kingdom, that God leaves a lot of the details of how that happens to us. That said, our wills can be at odds with that narrative, and in those cases or wills must be submitted. Not broken. But submitted.
Okay, I'm about to get into some theologically sketchy terrain, but bear with me. Those who are familiar with theology will recognize hints at the idea of two separate hypostases in Christ that was deemed heretical in a church council. But again, bear with me.
When I was a young teen I read this book by Max Lucado called "He Chose the Nails". In this book, Lucado makes a statement that he believed that if the soldiers hesitated in nailing Jesus to the cross that because of His overwhelming love for us, Jesus would have snatched the hammer right out of their hands and began nailing Himself to the cross. It's a nice sentiment, but I think it's unbiblical and misdirecting.
Matthew 26:39 says, "Going a little farther, [Jesus] fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”"
Indicating there were two wills. He did not want to die. He would not have hammered Himself to the cross. When Jesus walked back from praying he found the disciples asleep and He says to them, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." He said this to them, supposedly for not staying awake and keeping watch with Him. I think He said it just as much to reflect the conflict of wills He was experiencing Himself.
He prayed again, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
Max Lucado, Jesus did not choose the nails. He chose His Father's will, submitting to it and to the nails. The thing is not to demolish our wills. They are not always opposed to the will of God. God gives us freedom within His will. There are times when He wills something specific for us (I think these things are blatantly obvious and difficult to miss; we don't have to be petrified that with every decision we might miss His perfect will). There are times when are wills are at conflict with what God wills.
Even then, we aren't to obliterate our wills, but to submit them to God.
Romans 8:7,9,15
The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so....You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, they do not belong to Christ...The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”
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