Tag Archives: faith

gift giving and heretic hitting…

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Today seems like as good of a day as any to begin again. It has been almost two months since I last posted and quite a bit has happened. Classes finished rapidly, ending with the best gpa I have had at CSL, and my wife and I were whisked away to the east coast to begin our internship year known as a vicarage. Needless to say life has been busy but, to be honest, it has been nothing short of wonderful. Not only are we close to my wife’s family but the congregation of which we have become a part is more than a blessing. From day one we were welcomed with open arms and although it hasn’t quite been three weeks it feels like home.

While today is just another day at the office trying to plan out the next few days, get some reading done, and hopefully work on some sermonizing, it is also a day that has caused me to stop and think. Growing up, this time of year wasn’t always the easiest. We never had much money and the holidays always have a way, at least in my life, of bringing out the worst in situations. Christmases, like most other holidays, always came in twos, one with mom, and one with dad. But no matter the financial situation, our parents always did their best to give us whatever we wanted. It may not have been the most glamorous labels or the best stuff but every year we had presents under the tree and something to brag about when school resumed. Not everyone is as fortunate as we were.

This year my wife and I, thanks to our vicarage congregation, had the opportunity to buy presents for a child who otherwise would not have the chance to have them. And as we looked at the list, and our bank account, we thought about prioritizing based on what we could afford. It may not have been the smartest decision, but that priority list went out the window. I know there were years when my mom couldn’t afford what we got, yet somehow we had stuff to unwrap and brighten our day. This year, as I thought about my history and the similarity that must exist between my past and that little girl’s present, I knew we couldn’t stop with what we could or couldn’t afford.

After all, isn’t the Christmas season about giving? Just look at the man who really brings Christmas joy, jolly old St. Nick.  He has built a reputation on the giving of gifts to the good little children. Only, the gift I remember him for, and the gift that arguably made him most famous, was the one he gave to Arius. It was during the Council of Nicea in 325 that Arius was attempting to defend his notion of the person of Christ, namely that Jesus was only a man and not God. Upon hearing Arius wax heresy eloquently Nicholas, a bishop in attendance, stood up and slapped Arius in the face. Jolly Old St. Nick, gift giver and heretic hitter.

Apart from being a story that makes me smirk, and one that scares me should I meet St. Nick in the resurrection, it causes me to think about the importance of how we talk about Christ and his incarnation, especially during Advent and Christmas because the way we talk about things influences how we act. It is too easy, and perhaps too dangerous, simply to speak about the coming of Christ in a romantic, lovey dovey, feel-good, sappy family channel, halmark card kind of way. As much as the incarnation is evidence of the love of the father for his creatures, it is also an affront.

Adolf Koeberle, a German theologian from the early half of the twentieth century, speaks of the incarnation in a way that shatters the common story. “The miracle of His presence is the pledge that God has taken pity on the world” (Koeberle, The Quest for Holiness, Wipf and Stock, 53.) Pity? Not love and joy but pity? For whatever else it may be, the incarnation is God’s way of telling humanity that we cannot climb a ladder to heaven. It doesn’t matter what we feel, experience, think, or do, nothing can get us up. He comes down. He comes to us.

In the same way, the cross too is an affront to us. “God has disclosed His judgment on the world in the Cross of Jesus so as to crush us utterly and completely by the judgment it reveals. Here He shows the world what it would never have fully realized by itself, the end of its own wisdom and willfulness and the judgment of God on both” (Koeberle, The Quest for Holiness, Wipf and Stock, 46).

Indeed this time of year is a season for giving, but the reality is there is nothing we can give to God. Nothing we can do to make him happy, or like us better, or get closer to him because he has already done that for us. He came to us. He continues to come to us in Baptism and Holy Communion, in the words of the absolution and in the preaching of and reading of His word. If nothing else this time of year should remind us of this fact. The incarnation, the beautiful baby Jesus and heart warming nativity scene isn’t simply a pledge of love, it is pity enfleshed, pity and judgment that will lead to a cross. Pity and judgment that reminds us of what we cannot do.

But in that moment, when we realize what the incarnation and the cross mean for us as a people we are freed from the falsity of life. Freed from the need to check off boxes on a list of things we have to do to be good Christians. Freed to love people for no other reason than that they are people. Because the other way that God continues to come to us, to care for us, is through us. In the mother that cares for the child, in the son who has to work two jobs to help his family stay afloat, in the random stranger that buys the Christmas presents for those who cannot afford it.

Life under the cross isn’t about making God happy, it is about being his hands and feet to those who need it. What is between me and God has already been decided; 2000 years ago and half a world away. But what is between me and my neighbor, well that changes every day. The situations that arise, ones that remind me of my past, ones that challenge my present, and ones that shape my future are the places in which God has placed me to care for my fellow creatures. In Lutheran terms the third use of the law is less about making me acceptable to God and more about teaching me what it means to care for my neighbor, in that way it guides me.  Obedience to it doesn’t effect my place with God, but it does affect my place with my neighbor.

This season is one of giving. One where God gave to us because we cannot give to him. One where God gave to us so we could give to the world.

more than enough: toward A theology of hope

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The following is a submission for our student publication at Concordia Seminary. I’d love to hear your feedback so that I can improve as a writer and theologian.

 

More Than Enough: Toward a Theology of Hope
By M. E. Borrasso

 

On the heels of the first presidential debate of this election season, pundits of professional and amateur persuasion are quick to offer up their collective opinions. Candidate A did this well while candidate B did this poorly and candidates C, D, E, and F, the ones we all forget even exist, are just that, forgettable. He promises this, she promises that, and each and every one of them offers up their own ideas or perspectives concerning the best way to move forward. Regardless of political affiliation, the tie that binds politics is one optimistically known as hope. While there are undoubtedly other factors that contribute to the political process, e.g., financial interests, the rhetoric of the day on both sides of the aisle is one of hope. For a better next four years than the last, for a vibrant economy and a stronger national identity, these are the hopes of politics.

Yet, despite the current hype of the coming days, hope has a way of manifesting itself in all arenas of life, not simply the political one. Take, for example, the planting of flowers in depressed areas around St. Louis. Both at the recent theological symposium and in subsequent classes I have been reminded of the peculiarity and profundity of planting flowers. A seemingly useless gesture amidst downtrodden and dilapidated domiciles proves to be a confession of hope, encouraging the change to come. The planting of these flowers reminds us of the need to have an answer that uplifts those who are downcast and heals those who are broken. If only that were possible. A hopeful answer to the why of suffering eludes even the most astute theologian. Sure we can point to helpful places, but, more often than not, when faced with suffering we find ourselves asking the Lightfootian question, “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turns the minutes to hours?”

More than a fair question, Lightfoot’s question strikes at the depth of human suffering. I would venture to guess that suffering is something we have all experienced. It may take different forms, but for each of us there is something that shakes our confidence and tests us in ways we did not know we could be tested. For some, suffering is financial. Given the strains of seminary life this is most assuredly a real, and even frightening, concern. How will I pay for classes or books? How will I pay for gas, food, rent, and everything else that comes down the pipe? Will I be able to pay back the loans I take out to pay for all that stuff? For others, suffering is personal. The multifaceted nature of seminary life causes us to ask the uncomfortable questions. Am I smart enough? Am I good enough? Will I live up to the perceptions of my place in the church? All of these questions, and ones which we only ask in the seclusion of our heads shake the foundations that brought each of us here. For me, suffering is all encompassing, it involves myself, my family, and my friends. As I walk through my time at seminary, struggling with finances and personal security, it seems that my family and friends are presented with tougher and tougher situations that break, beat, and belie my confidence in the glory of creation and the sweetness of life.

What road is left to take when I find myself face to face with Lightfoot’s question? Where can I turn when the waves of my suffering turn my minutes to hours? What flowers can I plant? To what future can I look? The answer is almost painfully obvious, especially given our context at the seminary, to the cross of course. But this response can fly off my lips with a pithy quality that embitters my soul to that reality. I may not want to admit it, but the “right” answer is the one that causes me to question things all the more. If the answer is so simple, why don’t I feel better knowing it? My question betrays my problem, it is all about me. And in telling myself to look to the cross I make for myself another law which I cannot keep. Rather than mitigate my suffering it magnifies it because once again I failed to go first where I know I can find the answer.

Perhaps, though, where is the wrong question to be asking. Wrong because it attempts to locate hope in a place as an abstract place rather than in a concrete person who embodies that quality. Who is the hope? Well that is most assuredly Jesus Christ. But still, who is a question that only has effect after we establish what hope is. The what of hope causes us to stop and think, when we need hope to get through this life, what exactly do we need? Is it an idea? A feeling? Or is it something which forms and embraces us. Is it something we fix, or something that fixes us? Something we can reach out and grab, or something that reaches down and grabs us? Something that I look to, or something that looks to me? Only understanding hope in such a fashion appropriates the reality that Christ reached down and grabbed us at the cross. The who and where of hope are important because of the what. Or, put another way, in coming to us in the cross Christ taught us what hope does. Hope conforms our suffering to that of Christ’s. It reminds us that when the waves turn the minutes to hours, God is with us. It is hope that causes us to embrace the glory of creation and the sweetness of life alongside the bitter side dish of suffering. It may not feel like much some times, like flowers in a street or promises on the campaign trail, but it is more than enough. For in suffering, in the cross of Christ, God makes himself known.

paradoxical justice

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These past few weeks have flown by. It feels like just yesterday I was getting ready to go through orientation and here I sit, weeks later, knee deep in classes and midway through the 23rd Symposium. The “Theological Symposium” put on by Concordia Seminary is an event that happens every year, at least for the last 23, where people come together to think about and discuss a prudent topic. This year the theme is, “Doing Justice: The Church’s Faith In Action.”

A timely topic no doubt, but, perhaps inevitably, the conversation has vacillated between the poles of guarding against turning the Gospel into something purely social and the importance of recognizing the felt needs of our neighbors, the ones next door and the ones across the pond. The presenters have done a masterful job wading through the murky waters and have helped sketch the landscape we encounter daily. In an invaluable way they has reminded us, at least have reminded me, that, as one presenter Kathryn Galchutt, said, “Both justice and mercy begin at home, they just do not stay there.”  ‎But, as what tends to happen when we begin talking about something, the conversation has taken on a decided tone; one that, in my opinion, limits our understanding of justice.

Let me first say that I do not think this was intentional, nor do I think it is necessarily problematic, I am merely conveying what I have experienced this first day. The tone, for lack of a better word, has to do with justice being understood as meeting a felt need. Conversations, important and necessary conversations, have been held concerning how we help those who need to eat, who need a job, a home, and more help than perhaps any single person can provide. Additionally, we have been reminded of our complacency and complicit role in systemic evil.  All of this important, but in the end, all of it limits the scope of justice to a single idea,  aid. A need exists for whatever reason, justice invokes the necessary methodology through which that need is met, and that reason is eradicated.

Several times throughout the day I have been reminded of Gustaf Wingren and his notion that, “God does not need our works but our neighbor does.” As a church body we have admittedly had a history of being quietistic, for good or bad, when it comes to issues of justice. The obvious examples of the times we have become vocal need not be mentioned. Suffice it to say, we know how to take a stand sometimes we just prefer not to, unless, of course, the Gospel is at stake. This too is extremely important. We do not want to cheapen, imbrue, or lose that which has been gifted to us. We protect it at all costs and sometimes that leads us down roads most, inside and outside our circles, just do not understand. But Wingren, and indeed this entire symposium, calls us to remember that there are physical and spiritual needs that must be met. While the church’s unique responsibility is unburdening the conscience, it is not her only responsibility.

But thinking of justice, I wonder if, as I alluded to earlier, we are defining it too narrowly. We are, for better or worse, tying up justice with materialistic concerns which are of vital importance.Whether it is the inexhaustible work of LWR to aid and develop or the work of congregations who care for illegal immigrants or those who have nothing, we are working with a concept of justice that inadvertently glosses over emotions. Certainly our discussions on dignity and human worth have hinted at this but they too have ended with or moved toward the idea that we should actually meet the physical need of a person. But what about the injustice that exists within families? The son who feels like a second class citizen. The wife who doesn’t recognize the person she married. The bread winner who works to provide yet feels invisible. These too, as Bernhard Seter would say, fall under the category of, “I may not be able to define justice or injustice, but I know it when I see it.”

And we Lutherans have always had a way of dealing with these or any other theological tensions, we simply label them a paradox and continue one with life. Our theological presuppositions are rife with paradox, saint and sinner, now and not yet, etc. Even today I am reminded that there is again this tension between unburdening the conscience and filling the stomach. But I wonder if we run to that fire escape a little too often. It is easier to chalk it up to paradox than risk everything by facing the fire head on. Our theology is something we can hide behind all too easily and in doing so, betray the principle that allows us the freedom to live and think as Lutherans, because paradox isn’t an excuse, its a weapon.

We live in a world that isn’t fair. Being born in America is more of a privilege than we will ever know. Getting an education is a privilege all to often understood as a burden. As one presenter put it, “Being born in America is like winning the lottery of life.” Yet we still murder, rape, and exploit our neighbors. We still look to our own interests. We still turn way the beggar and toward that which we don’t need but can afford. And despite this reality, we live. We care for one another. We volunteer to tutor, we create programs that teach people how to care for themselves and their families, physically and spiritually. We look the beggar in the eye and give him the dignity befitting a human being. And the only way that can make sense is through a word like paradox. It is a both/and, it always will be.

That is of course until all is made new. While Christ’s death and resurrection have secured the future of all creation, the benefits are waiting in escrow. And until that day when we together with all creatures are made new we live a life with the recognition that life is up and down all at the same time. Rather than letting the realization that, to play on Christ’s words,  we will always have the poor, destitute, and hurting whether it be physical, mental, or spiritual with us always paralyze us into quietism, we can enter into life unafraid with an unswerving confidence in the future. Because while today thousands will die, one day Christ will return and put all things in order. While we live with evil and good today, tomorrow will know only joy. While we live with, and will always live with injustice this side of Christ’s return, on the other side there is nothing but justice. The justice of pardon brought forth by His blood. The justice that levels the playing field, restoring all things to their proper place. The justice of the cross and empty tomb. The justice that can only come when He comes again.

a fresh start?

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As the calendar page is about to turn once again, a new chapter in my life is beginning. Over two months have passed since I last tried to get this blog a sense of regularity, and who knows, maybe one day it will find that. But rather than apologize and give weak excuses for my lack of activity I am just going to push forward.

A new address, a new school, and a new quarter is about to begin. Yet, despite its newness, this is a continuation of something that I began four years ago. The rest of my week is going to be filled with two days of orientation and an opening service all leading up to next week when classes resume. Only, this isn’t my first orientation or opening service or even my first quarter here. In the fall of 2008 I began work toward my M.Div. at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis. I had no idea what would happen over the next two years, but at the end of my second year I left. Two more years pass, and my journey here resumes.

It is tempting to want a fresh start, to put all of the past hurt and anger behind me as if it didn’t happen. But to do so would be to ignore everything I have experienced throughout the past four years. So rather than want a fresh start, I want to pick up here I left off with an informed mindset, ready to continue having spent time on the other side of the street. I don’t know what my future will hold here but I do know, for maybe the first time, that I belong here, and that makes all the difference.

If I were to be honest about my last trip down seminary way I was unsure of my place. I could barely stomach calling myself a seminarian much less a Lutheran one. I wasn’t comfortable in my identity nor my place in the institution. So rather than look for the best in those around me, I found it much easier, and much more entertaining, to find the worst. It became commonplace for me and my close group of friends to sit outside the chapel or in an archway, have a drink, and scoff. We took pride in it. Classes and the lunch table were places we found our material, and at night it became our own little version of stand up comedy. It was as cathartic as it was corrupting. I don’t regret those times because they gave rise to now cherished memories and lasting friendships. I do, however, need to be honest about them because this time around, the scoffers club is no more.

I wish it were that easy to say my attitude is completely different. To  be sure I do not hold the grudges anymore no do I look for the worst, in fact, I have a sense of belonging there I didn’t have before. But that doesn’t mean the nicety of the campus is what I expect. My experiences cause me to fear what might be coming down the pipe. Apprehension may be a better world but the idea is the same. I know what this was like the first time around and I am leery that it is waiting for me just around the corner. I am happy to say that as of now, I haven’t come face to face with the problems of my past. My experiences in my returning to the seminary are decidedly different than those of my initial venture. I am continually met with warmth and care and I hope this community continues on that track.

But what if it doesn’t? What if three weeks in it morphs into the beast of my past experience? Should I run? Do I fight? How do I move on if it turns out this is just a facade? Frankly, I don’t know and I hope never have to. But in reality not every day will be the warm and comforting sort. As is normal in life, stress will mount, things will be said, opinions expressed and feelings hurt. That is simply the nature of humanity. We care more about ourselves than the person next to us. Sure we all have our moments of piety, care, and concern but by and large my opinion is always more important than yours simply because it mine. My life is more important than yours because I am the one living it. Don’t mistake what I am saying, I don’t mean that I am actually more important, only that as I walk through life I live as though that were true. All humanity does. And it is precisely this reason that makes me happy I don’t have a fresh start, not here on campus or in my everyday life.

Fresh starts are funny things. With the past removed we finally have the chance to do things right. But the fact is, we will never do things right. We may choose a better option, but perfection is impossible. I’ve heard it put many times that the Gospel, that the forgiveness of sins is like a do-over, like a fresh start, but I don’t like that phraseology. It implies that by being forgive I can actually move forward and do things right this time, and if I don’t, I get another chance. Truth be told, I don’t want the chance to do things right. That is too much pressure. That is too much stress. If God is giving me a chance to be perfect I better not blow it. Because with every chance to be perfect, with every fresh start, is the crushing reality of imperfection and failure.

So, how then do I live my life? If I know that with every fresh start is the reality of failure life seems pretty pointless because I’ll never get it right. But here is the difference, and the reason why I think that phraseology does no good, forgiveness is not a do-over, it is a promise. It is a promise that no matter how many times you do or don’t make the right decision you are forgiven. It is a promise that no matter who we help, ourselves or our neighbors, at the cross we were all worth it. It is a promise that no matter where we do or do not belong, in God’s eyes we are always His children. And here comes the reality that reshapes our identity. Because my life isn’t about living right or wrong, it is about living, period. It is about having the freedom to care for others because I know I am cared for. It is about recognizing my place in the world and living in that place gladly. It is about the fact that the good and bad I do don’t matter to God, they matter to my neighbor.

Gustaf Wingren once wrote, “God does not need your good works, but your neighbor does.” And here I think we find the middle ground for that problematic notion that faith without works is dead. Because in faith we are freed from the bonds of life that push us to be better for ourselves. Free from the bonds of having to prove our worth to God and our place in society. Free to love and serve in the places we find ourselves with the work that is before our hands. This is why a fresh start is a bad idea, because I will never get it right, and the beauty of it is, I don’t have to. I don’t need a do-over, I have a promise. A promise that lasts longer than my ability to do things right. A promise that allows me to live and love despite hurt and pain, fear and sorrow, struggle and corruption. A promise given to me in the waters of my baptism where God claimed me as his own. A promise spoken in absolution and preached in a sermon. A promise I taste in bread and wine. A promise that frees the conscience and unburdens the soul. A promise that, as the Word of the Lord, endures forever.

part 1: the church is a whore…

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THE CHURCH IS A WHORE, BUT SHE IS MY MOTHER

The above phrase, regardless of who actually said it, encapsulates a reality too easily dismissed as a plausible representation of the relationship between the individual and the church. In an age when the latest trends espouse an escape from the church and organized religion for the sake of following Jesus, such an idea seems more than preposterous. After all, the church is the one that causes wars, ignores the poor, and cares only for the sake of its survival. While people of both society and the church recognize the latter’s shortcomings, those inadequacies serve as justification for the wholesale rejection of the church rather than a continued embrace of it. This is why a phrase like the one above is so difficult to swallow; it is as if the call of today is, “The church is a whore, so let’s have no part in her.”

That sentiment is one with which I can empathize. Having grown up within the fold of a conservative, confessional, liturgical church body, the church has simultaneously been the place of my greatest joy and worst frustrations. In the summer of 2010, after spending two years studying at my church body’s seminary, I quit. I was exhausted and frustrated, angry and cynical, and I wanted nothing to do with the church that I perceived turned me into a shell of my former self. Walking away was difficult because of my connection to the church body. In almost every way, The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod is the only home I have ever known. Yet despite my deep connections to the LCMS, wholesale rejection of her was exactly what I thought the right course of action was given the hypocrisy I had experienced at the seminary level. As fate would have it, however, the home to which I never thought I could return is precisely the place of my future.

The question must be asked, why? What is it that has caused me not to reject completely the church I know to be a whore? This is often a difficult question to answer because of the personal convictions required to take such a step. Although it is possible for me to hold beliefs in accord with the LCMS, and yet not be a part of her, to do so would be inauthentic. Recognizing that as a Christian I hold to the Lutheran perspective, moreover a Missouri Synod perspective, here I stand, I can do no other. It was from her womb I was born in the waters of baptism. It was in her house, hearing words from her mouth that I took my first steps in the faith. It was at her table I joined my entire family, past, present, and future in the family meal. And it is her faith I know to be my own. Not taking my place within my family would be denying that which I know to be true, regardless of disagreements or reservations that continue to exist. This is why the controversial phrase that society will have trouble understanding encapsulates my reality. The church is a whore, but she is my mother.

The faith that has been passed on to me carries with it the responsibility of being faithful as those before me had once been. Sainted church historian Jaroslav Pelikan once quipped, “Tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. And, I suppose I should add, it is traditionalism that gives tradition such a bad name” (Pelikan, Vindication of Tradition). Being faithful is not a matter of repeating what once was said for the sake of its survival, it is embodying the faith of the past in the present for the sake of the future. The question then presents itself; what is the faith of the past? “This, however, is the catholic faith: that we worship one God in trinity and the Trinity in unity, neither confusing the persons nor dividing the substance.” This phrase from the Athanasian Creed serves to define that which is orthodox and catholic concerning the confession of the church. In reality, this is how creeds function. “Such repetitiveness is, of course, no accident. It is intended to condemn those who “rashly seek novelties and expositions of another faith,” and above all to document—even actually to celebrate—the continuity of these creeds and confessions of faith not only with the other orthodox creeds and confessions that have preceded them but above all with what is cherished as the authentic apostolic tradition” (Pelikan, Credo). Creeds, and confessions of faith, are not simply static documents or sayings to be repeated so as to become an end in and of themselves. Rather, they serve to establish and define the border within the which the church lives.

Faith does not belong to the individual. Across the centuries faith has been passed down, gifted from one generation to another through the work of the Spirit. This point cannot be overstated; no Christian comes to faith apart from the Church that came before. The Spirit, through the marks of the Church, works to call, gather, and enlighten; without the Church, no one would believe. To the American ear, who would prefer to do things in the way of Frank Sinatra , a statement such as that one is bitter. Faith is often understood, in practice if not in theory, as intellectual ascent. “I accepted Jesus Christ,” becomes the phrase by which a person espouses their personal belief, as if belief could exist apart from the community that came before. But that phraseology and ideology are, at best, individualistic, and at worst, ignore the generations upon generations who were gifted belief through the work of the Spirit. It is a shared belief, a shared faith. In the Athanasian formulation, the catholic faith is “worship [of] one God in trinity and the Trinity in unity.” This is precisely why creeds are important, because they form and inform the individual and the community at the same time, fostering recognition of shared belief across the ages.

Because faith does not belong to the individual, neither can a statement of faith. While it is true that one must own the confession they profess, regardless of the creedal formulation, it cannot exist in contradistinction to the creeds and confessions that have come before. In this vein stands this statement of faith. Creedal and confessional formulations are designed to form and inform the boundaries of orthodoxy and catholicity while recognizing the shared faith across generations, those that have passed and those that will come. This is the golden thread, the theological motif, and that which binds together the voice of a Lutheran with the voice of the church. Hermann Sasse encapsulates this idea when he writes,

“Jesus Christ is Lord.” This is the original confession of the church. With it the Christian faith once entered world history. To understand the sense of this confession ever more deeply is the great, yes, basically the only task of all Christian theology. To repeat this confession, to speak it in ever new forms, to translate it into the language of all times and peoples, to protect it against misunderstandings and reinterpretations, and to understand its meaning for all areas of life–that is the task of all confession building within Christendom. No later confession of the church can and wants to be anything else than a renewal of the original confession to Jesus as Christ and Lord. This is true of the Apostles’ Creed, the Nicene Creed, the confessional writings of the Reformation, and any confession in which the Christendom of the future may want to speak its faith. As this confession stood at the beginning of the church’s history, so it will stand at the end. Then will be fulfilled that great world of the apostle: “At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Phil. 2:10f).

go to hell

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This is the week I have been waiting for since the quarter began back in January. Spring Break. Ok, it’s not the same sort of excitement I used to have when the phrase “spring break” was uttered throughout the hallways of my grade school or high school. And no, it isn’t the same joy I had during college or my first two years of seminary when I realized I now had a break from all studying, reading, and those other entanglements that occupy so much of my time. This week is so exciting because I have a narrow window to read and study the things I want to rather than what I have to.

Contained within this week was the planned reading of a few books and articles that spoke to the struggles I had been going through, especially toward the end of the quarter. But as always, life injected itself into my plans and although it’s only a day in, plans have changed. I don’t know yet whether this change is good or bad, only that the week I thought I was going to have is not going to happen. I imagined a week of rest, sitting on a couch or chair with coffee at the ready diving deep into the pages I longed to digest. Only, there was work to be done around the apartment, and it wasn’t going to do itself.  Now, before I lead you to think I didn’t have time to do anything but work I must admit that I still found time for a nap and tomorrow I’ll still find time for my coffee. But what should have taken 5 minutes took an hour and a half and I lost my day. Tomorrow will bring work, and the following days will bring other tasks to be completed. Today, the day I thought I’d have to do whatever, ended up being just another day that forced me to do things I didn’t want to do.

However mundane the tasks were and however distracting they became, they did give me time to clear my head, and hopefully my heart, of the attitude I had been carrying the last few weeks of the quarter. Time spent on something other than theological notions has its advantages, not the least of which is that I get a break. My mind doesn’t often let me takes breaks, my wife reminds me, and sometimes I remind her, i just cant shut it off. It’s my great achilles heel, I focus so much on one thing and tear it to pieces only to drop it a day later and attack the next thing. Im like a rabid dog, looking to bite the jugular of theological positions I don’t see as tenable.

This too has its advantages and disadvantages. In a way it is helpful because it forces my ear to the ground, always listening for both the words being spoken and that which lies behind them. I don’t always have an ear for both, but more often than not I get lucky enough to hear the answer, even if they don’t come out and say it. Like I said, it’s something I can’t always turn off and when it goes in my ear, it isn’t always nice enough to go out the other side.

Jesus didn’t understand his divinity. Or so I read this morning. One of those things that went in and didn’t easily come out. It was argued that when Jesus predicts his death, he isn’t actually doing so prophetically in the sense that he knows it is going to happen, just standing in line with those other revolutionaries who give over their lives to a movement, like MLK when he preached about not getting to the promise land. But this notion bugged me because it seems like we (btw this was spoken by a Christian and that’s why I say we), are more often than not happy about undermining the person to which we cling for the sake of what we think makes Him more fashionable.  The quest for the historical Jesus is such an endeavor that does the same thing. Taking the man Jesus and the Divine Lord and gluing them together like two boards that, although they are one are completely separate ideas or persons, results in not one Christ but two. But why is that problematic? Because this notion was rejected with Nestorious long ago.

Now, I will readily admit that we, as people who take seriously the claims of scripture, need to address the arguments against inerrancy and inspiration and, for the sake of the Truth, need to spend more time becoming the implied reader in order to understand the author of each document. That being said, I abhor the notion that to be a thinking Christian means I have to reject the historic notions of the church. I don’t just mean notions that became innovations like preaching in the native language, I mean those supported biblically, whether we like it or not. But those things we don’t like, the things that scare us if they are actually true, are precisely what needs to be embraced for the sake of others.

What do I mean by this? Why even talk about it? Well, as I pondered the claim that Jesus didn’t know who he was I reached out to a friend, one who should get back to business, and he pointed out something I missed. He said, “To accept that Christ was prophetic in such a manner, 2nd person of the Trinity, Savior of the world demands that we recognize there is a higher power at work and that we’re really fucked up and continue to fuck up, and that takes a lot. It’s extremely frustrating. Especially when people come up with these pseudo theories to baptize their insecurities before a Holy Christ and so many fall prey. And all you wanna say is that you don’t have to feel this way. Let go. Believe.”

So what did I miss? That life is scary, especially when you see it for what it is. Turn on the news, read a paper, look out the window and you will be confronted with a world that seeks only its own gain. Life is even scarier when instead of looking out the window, you look into the mirror. You know you better than I know you. I know those things I dare not speak. Things I’ve done, thoughts I’ve had, notions I’ve pondered. When we look into the deepest parts of our souls we see ourselves for what we are, broken. It shouldn’t surprise us then that the world we have, it’s broken too… and that is our fault.

I could be wrong. There are those who think that people are basically good and kind and caring, and at our core that is who we are. Some people, like the one I am reading, think that this Christian idea of original sin isn’t biblically, intellectually, or scientifically supported. But I wonder how a claim like that, which in this case is buttressed by scientific theory which rejects the historical facticity of Genesis 1-3, is supported by an evolutionary theory which presupposes survival of the fittest, not helping the sick and weak. That may be a cheap shot, but before the fundie or conservative card gets played, please, hear me out.

Look at a newborn, does that child care about his or her parent’s sleeping habits. Does that kid care about mommy and daddy in their heart or do they actually just care about food, being changed, naps, and all around comfort. This is not to say kids don’t love their parents, but rather, that a child’s first inclination isn’t to the other, it is to their own needs. Why do you have to teach a kid to share but not to be selfish? Perhaps there really is something wrong with us. Something that scares the crap out of us.  Something that causes us to distrust our neighbor and hate or fear the world around us. Something that always reminds us that we are alone.

This is the world we live in, one that rapes, murders, steals, lies, and causes all sorts of pain and hurt. This is not the fault of anyone but ourselves. But instead of dealing with the problem, we find ways of coping. We present theories that allow us to escape the reality of a claim. We do as my friend said, we baptize our insecurities before a Holy Christ. Sin is real. But so is Christ. A Christ who took on flesh and dwelt among us as fully God and fully man. A Christ who was baptized in the Jordan, betrayed, and murdered. He was hung on a cross with nails in his hands, and you on his heart. For in this event he took on the sin that lies in each of us. The sin that separates us from God, our neighbor and ourselves. He became sin and paid the wages of it. He died.

But death, this is not the end of the story, three days later He rose again and conquered that which sin creates, He conquered death. But between death and resurrection, at least as our fore bearers confessed, He descended into hell. This descent was not to suffer, but to proclaim the victory that was His. The victory of His sacrifice over the powers of sin, death, and the devil himself. So what? Why should it matter that He preached this in hell, to the captives in prison? Because hell could not overcome His message. His resurrection put to bed once and for all the powers that would seek to kill and destroy, and there is absolutely nothing that can stand in the face of such a reality.

Tonight I listened to a sermon, one that I am borrowing from, and one that has impacted my life in ways I do not yet know. It spoke of  the story of Peter’s confession that Jesus was the Christ. In response Jesus says that upon this rock He will build the church, and the gates of hell will not overcome it.  Some take the rock to mean Peter himself, but as for me, I think it is speaking to his confession, it is speaking about Christ. He is the rock, and the gates of hell will not overcome. Funny thing that expression, because gates are not things that go on the offensive. Rocks, on the other hand, do.

There is an expression, or liturgical greeting, often used when Christians gather together. Someone proclaims: The Lord be with you. Everyone responds: And also with you. While there are some variations to this, the idea is the same, a shared presence of the Lord in the lives of all who are there. But what if we were bold enough to greet each other a different way. Imagine someone getting up and saying: Go to hell. And the response: And you go as well. Our American minds may not be able to get past the phrase that is so often used to degrade or insult someone but if we are built upon Christ, to hell is where we should go, and we should go unafraid because those gates have no power over us.

Hell, whatever else it may be, is all around us. It is there for the mom who can’t pay her bills, and the dad whose best friend is the bottle. It is there in the one who chooses to sell a body rather than protect it. It is there in those who take what isn’t theirs, and murders for no reason. But it is also there in us, in our hearts that tell us we aren’t good enough, in our thoughts that teach us how worthless we are, and in our memories that remind us of things we wish never happened. It is to this hell we must march, unafraid and unashamed, carrying forth the banner of the cross and empty tomb of Christ. He is the one who destroyed the power of sin and death, once for all. His victory impels and empowers us to bring that freeing message to a world that needs it, to a person who feels it.

So, go to hell. And go unafraid, for the one who leads you has already won.

remember the millstone

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Thankfully finals week is coming to a close. Only a few things left to check off the list and I will gladly welcome my weeklong break before my last quarter begins. I don’t have much left, but it’s enough to keep me busy and enough to make next week look glorious. Ok, maybe glorious is a stretch, it’s enough to make next week look comfortable. Time for to take a break from the books and just enjoy life, the weather this week in Chicago is making that very easy to do.  Today was near 70 if not more, but rather than don the shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops that I hold so dear, I was dressed head to toe, clerical collar and all. Why? Because today was graduation picture day, yet another step along the path that leads me to June.

I really am looking forward to getting back to St. Louis, and in some ways I can’t believe those words are coming out of my mouth. So much has gone on in my past and while there are still some feelings I need to deal with, I feel excited for what lies ahead. But more than just coming home to the denomination of my roots, I feel like I have been gifted something, not just a respect and admiration for those roots, which I know I could not have had if I never spent time away, but a confession. Truth be told I have always struggled with the idea of confession, not in the sense of confessing one’s sins to God or a brother or sister, but in the sense of proclamation.

Perhaps the best part of it is that my confession, as much as it is my own, it isn’t. It belongs to those in the faith that have gone before me, those in whose footsteps I walk. People like James Voelz, Tony Cook, Herman Sasse, CFW Walther, and Martin Luther, fathers and professors in the faith. But not just those who teach me what it means to have this confession, its the confession of J. Louis Oetting, James Ilten, Dave Adams, Tom Noll, Dan Wegrzyn and everyone else who served the church where I grew up by being pastors worthy of the calling. Yet it is not only theirs, it belongs to each and every person who understands or embraces the lonely way. But beyond even this confession stands another, the confession of Christ, the one the entire Church universal shares with one voice.

That voice though, it can be the most frustrating thing in the world. Sometimes that voice of the Church, or at least the voice of a preacher or parishioner, can be the difference between life and death. As I am often want to do, I find myself trolling youtube for videos that I might find interesting or frustrating. My wife gets frustrated by it because she knows in the end I’ll just get frustrated. But still I watch them, and sometimes they make me want to scream, other times they make me want to laugh, and still others, they make me want to cry.

Take for example one I saw just before I started writing this. A man using youtube to claim that Satan is a God and Yahweh is Heavenly Father and Jesus is not a real name. The kicker is that he openly professes his assembly is the only one which has this truth and no other Christian entity throughout the world understands what he does. That is enough for a red flag to go off in my mind, but for others, that may make the most sense in the world.

Theres this other guy, Pastor Steven Anderson, you can find clips of him everywhere on youtube. He is fond of screaming from the top of his lungs that Jesus wore pants. That women shouldn’t wear pants. That God knows there are differences between men and women, and thats why he calls men they that piss against the wall. That certain people are the devil or evil incarnate. And if you don’t like what he says, well, you can get the hell out of his church, or so he claims. I don’t bring this up simply to poke fun at it, though from where I sit that is very easy to do. I mention him because he could be the only exposure some people have, and in this day and age the message he is spewing is doing more harm than good.

But the same can be said of me. I’m judgmental, cynical, and have a Ph.D. in Sarcasm. I don’t help out when I should. I’m lazy and care about myself more than others. In short, I can be a real prick sometimes and sometimes I just don’t care. And what is scary, is that I could be the only contact someone has with Christianity. While I have this really great confession that I get to claim as my own, I wonder if I will ever do it justice because I know how broken and corrupt I really am. This is the real problem, the brokenness of humanity. The corruption that turns our focus from the other who could be affected by what we are saying and doing to ourselves because we just know we have to be right and the whole world needs to hear it. While I do think there is a message the whole world needs, I don’t think it’s the one that is always coming out of my own mouth.

I used to fear wearing a cross to mark me as a Christian because I knew I was a horrible example of it. If people saw that cross and saw me at my worst they’d reject Christianity. However, if anything, that notion just shows me how much more highly I think of myself than I ought. The work of God doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to the Father who created all and sustains all life. It belongs to the Holy Spirit who enlivens the heart, brings faith to those who have none, and continually communicates God’s love and grace. And it belongs to Christ Jesus, who is the Word of God. Christ that Word of God who tented among us, suffered, was crucified, died, and was buried. Christ who on the third day rose again and is seated at the right hand of the Father, from where he will one day judge the living and the dead. Christ whose sacrifice brings forgiveness, life, and salvation, especially to me, a broken and corrupt person who in reality cares only about himself.

It is because the work of God belongs to God that I don’t fear wearing that cross anymore. While I recognize that I have a role to play, I won’t kid myself into thinking it is higher or lower than it really is. But with that recognition comes the realization of the responsibility I carry. Because, as afraid as I was about wearing a cross, I was even more scared about wearing a clerical collar. More than scared, I was ashamed of it. I know what atrocities have been committed by those who have worn them and I also know of the boundless love poured out by others who wear them. My fear is that I wont live up to the responsibility something like that carries and I’ll be one of the former rather than latter. But rather than be afraid of it, I know I need to embrace it. Not just because of the symbolism it provides to those who see me in one, but because of the reminder it gives me.

What reminder? The one Jesus gave to those who would cause any of those little ones to stumble into sin. The one about the millstone being put around their neck and being thrown into the bottom of the ocean as something that would be better for them. I know I need that reminder, and I think more people need to remember it because when someone opens their mouth about God and publicly proclaim something about Him, they better do so in full assurance that they aren’t misleading people. Too much pain and hurt has already been caused by people speaking or acting on behalf of God where it is doubtful God would have spoken or acted for Himself. I know this cant always be done, but that doesn’t mean we ignore the responsibility we carry as people of God.

In the end, the work of God will always belong to God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. But we too are instruments, as Peter calls us, we are the royal priesthood, the holy nation. And that comes at a price. Remember the millstone. But more importantly, remember the Christ. The one who never misled, the one who always gives of Himself, and the one whose life was given so that all might live. Not because of the example we did or didn’t set, but because of the Love of the Father for his creation, shown through the death and resurrection of His Son, and given to the world through the work of the Spirit.

dust you are…

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Februrary 22, 2012 marks a very important day to many people. It is a day when people turn their eyes to something in the past which defined a people and forever encapsulated victory in the hearts of those who witnessed it and those who tell the story. What event? The Miracle on Ice. What did you think I was talking about?

32 years ago a group of scrappy college kids, who began their journey as enemies, finished it as brothers and in doing so defeated the greatest hockey team in the world. Gold Medalists in 1956, 1964, 1968, 1972, 1976, and later on 1984 and 1988, the Soviet Union were by far the greatest hockey team of that era. On only two occasions had they not acieved Olympic God, with America claiming gold in 1960 and 1980. To say that the US team was an underdog that afternoon in Lake Placid would an understatement. Yet they overcame the odds and took down that big bad Soviet bear. For some the game was about national pride, for others, it was a hockey game played out on the greatest stage in the world. Yet, no matter who witnessed it or told the story, this moment helped to restore hope to a nation. It is remembered as one of the few moments, like those in the national consciousness, that people can recall with accuracy where they were when it happened. And while this moment may not mean much to some, for other it is one of the greatest sports moments in American history.

So why bring it up other than the fact that I am a nerd about this kind of thing and proudly own a replica sweater of that 1980 US Men’s Hockey Team? I mean, I didn’t witness it. The closest thing I can come to that is a condensed version of the game ESPN classic put out. I also didn’t know anyone who participated it, though I do know a Mark Johnson and can’t help but think of number 10 whenever I hear that name. I bring it up because in recounting events of the past I become a part of the story, not as a central actor in it, but in one of the many who pass it on.

Wednesday nights during my senior year of college were spent at a local bar because it was the one night of the week they had Rockband/Guitar Hero just like bars have karaoke. A group of us, who spent way to much time playing that game in our dorms, would take to the “instruments” and play our hearts out on expert, and much fun was had by all. Not just us mind you, people in the bar. Just like karaoke provides entertainment, so does kids playing a video game. One of these fabled Wednesdays saw a young man capture the attention of everyone in the bar. The song, Through Fire and Flames by Dragonforce is easily one of, if not the toughest songs to play in the collection at that time. Yet play it he did, and all eyes in that bar turned to him and cheered wildly as he did what others could only dream of doing, beating that difficult song. When the song ended, he walked up to the bar and took a free shot, sat back down, and barely said another word. That kid playing guitar hero in a bar was Matt Nix. Retelling stories, whether they are about one of the greatest moments in US Hockey history or a kid playing guitar hero in a bar, connect the hearers to the event and in doing so invites them to participate in that event anew.

Over the past year/few months I have been reconnecting with the roots of Lutheranism, rediscovering the beautiful depth and breadth of her theology and practice, and embracing again her paradoxical spirituality. What do I mean by that? That the Word of God, which is the Bible but not only the Bible, has the power to communicate in a tangible way, the grace of Christ on a cross. That the waters of Baptism save, as within them we are buried with Christ and rise with Him in his resurrection. That in the bread and wine we receive the body and blood of Christ and we taste His forgiveness. These things, known to us as word and sacrament, define our lives because we recognize them as the places where God comes to us, not because we determined them to do that, but because God promised to be there among the common elements of language, water, bread and wine. And these things, rather than acting in a magical way despite my disposition, force me to continually be confronted with my brokenness and inability to be the person I should and do not simply point me to the place to find restoration, actually restore me. In them God pronounces upon me the forgiveness of the Cross, even when i don’t feel it, understand it, or live it out. They act outside of myself, and bring to me something I can be sure of. Why? Because God promised to be there, and He is trustworthy.

But why bring this up in light of the other stories? Because Wednesday February 22, 2012 marks another date, Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. This season is one that pushes the church to remember the march to the cross and reminds her of her need to continually turn from herself to Christ, the one in whose footsteps we walk, in whose cross we are forgiven, and in whose resurrection we are made alive. The time of Lent, the story it tells, is one that invites us to participation. Not simply to gain an understanding, learn how to live rightly, or engage in a mystical act which brings us closer to God, but to journey with Christ to His cross and through his tomb. In short, it is just like every other day, only it isn’t.

Traditionally, Ash Wednesday begins with people hearing words that are more than a little unnerving. “Dust you are and to dust you shall return.” As these words are spoken, the sign of the cross is made upon a persons forehead using ashes from last years palm branches. It begins with an invitation to embrace your frailty, your inability to cheat that which is common to all mankind, death. But this embrace is not one that leaves you empty, at least not indefinitely. That part of the story is held back until that day we celebrate the glorious resurrection of Easter. Only for now, we wait, faced with our own mortality, reminded of our utter brokenness. It is the brokenness that now separates us from the coach of those college kids and that kid who played Guitar Hero.

Dust you are and to dust you shall return. Death confronts us all, and make no mistake, it is our enemy. But when death comes knocking, we need not be afraid. For in Baptism, we have died already, and having died with Christ, we will rise again with Him. A resurrection of the body. And while the story of lent is going to push and stretch in ways unimaginable, while the story of life is going to be filled with trouble and suffering, while the inevitability of death will lurk around us until it greets us, we need not fear. The journey doesn’t end in a closed casket, the door stands open. Dust you are, and to dust you shall return. Yet hope remains…

words that heal

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Half of February has passed with much that has kept me busy. Too busy to blog? Maybe, but I decided to take a break for a few weeks so that I could reassess what it is I’m trying to do here and how well I think I’m doing it. Nearly a month has passed and I have to say I’m no closer to answering either of those questions than I was when I stopped. That being the case I decided that it was time to begin again.

So much has happened in the days that have passed between then and now. However, last night brought to a close a chapter in my life. As I have made aware I once attended a seminary in St. Louis. Concordia Seminary is one of the two run by the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod and after spending two years there, I quit. I walked away dejected and hurt, angry and full of pain, a shell of what I was when I began back in 2008. Last night, I received a phone call informing me that my application for readmission to Concordia Seminary has been accepted and in the fall I will have the opportunity to go back. Yes, you read that right, I am going back to the place that broke me.

I suppose the question “why?” is flashing across your mind at this point. Why if it was so bad do you want to go back? Why bother? Why now? Why there? For those of you who may have been following this blog it might not be as much of a surprise as I have written somewhat concerning my journey thus far. While a full recounting of events would take too long, I feel as though I owe an explanation, albeit a brief one.

Having spent nearly two years at another seminary, one not affiliated with Lutheranism of any sort, I have  come to the realization that within the fold of Lutheranism is where I belong, or rather, within Lutheranism I find my perspective. And, while there are a plethora of Lutheran perspectives, it is the perspective held by the Missouri Synod that I recognize to be my own. Interning at an ELCA congregation has been wonderful, but it has also shown me that we do differ. This came to a head last week when I attended a conference designed to explain  the lenten lectionary readings so that pastors could better preach upon them.

Before I continue, I want to make it clear that I do have a deep respect for people within the ELCA regardless of how I critique the theology espoused by those within it. An example of the difference in perspective is in how we approach the historicity of the scriptures. During this conference one of the passages discussed was the flood, and while they rejected the historical reality of the event spoken of in Genesis four, they did find comfort in the promise of God not to do it again. What I find problematic is that the promise is not to do again something God admitted to doing. So, I ask you, what kind of promise is it when you promise not to do again something you never did in the first place? It would be like me promising never again to walk on the moon.

While this is only one example of how different we understand things, there are several I could pull from. This is not to say that I despise anyone who clings to a different approach, but, I am finally willing to admit that there are differences, and that these differences are significant. More and more I find that my perspective, the one I actually have as opposed to the one I am told to have, is in line with that of the Missouri Synod, so much so, that to deny my place within her would be to lie. For me, claiming to be a Lutheran, and more so, claiming to be a Missouri Synod Lutheran is more about being honest with myself and others as to where I stand than it is about condemning those who hold a different perspective.

While this is a great revelation for me and is helpful, it has compelled me to act. This is why I am going back, because I do want to be a pastor within the Missouri Synod, and I know I won’t have to compromise myself because it is the perspective I know I possess. This decision did not come lightly as there is so much baggage in my history with both being Lutheran and being a student at the sem in St. Louis. Only, together with my wife and many others, I have come to realize this is what I need. I need to be put in check and challenged. I need to be shaped and formed in the ways I resisted so long ago. Why? So that I can serve others better, because in the end, this is what it comes down to, not me but you.

It is easy, especially on a day like Valentines Day, to see the brokenness and hurting that runs rampant throughout the world. How many people are lonely and hurting this night and every other? How many people are being defined by their inadequacies and are paralyzed because of it? The answer to both is way too many. And while I recognize that I will never be able to stamp out the brokenness, I do know that I can still play a part, the part I know how to play.

Coming from a broken home I have been gifted with experiences that have shaped me and formed me to be sensitive to those who suffer, but unless I can enter into the brokenness of others, those experiences matter very little. In the end, what matters is not my brokenness, but the the brokenness of those around me. I know that my brokenness doesn’t define me. This is not about being arrogant and thinking that I have it all together, because I don’t. I struggle daily with my arrogance and condescending nature. I know of my deep brokenness and fears. But, these do not define me because my identity is found not in these things the world reminds me that I am, but in what Christ has claimed me to be, a beloved child of God.

It is that same Christ who has purchased and won me that has rescued the world from herself. It may sound corny or overdone, but the reality is, Christ is that which restores the brokenness. As the Church, we are to be the hands and feet of Christ, restoring the brokenness we see around us. Jamie Tworkowski once wrote, “We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don’t get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won’t solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we’re called home.” Being bold in broken places finds its fulfillment in both words and actions. Deeds that build up and words that heal. Words that bring Christ to bear on the life of one who is crying out. Words that connect Christ to this world. Words like these…

you’ll never walk alone…

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Two more weeks have come and gone. The quarter is well underway and I have more homework to do than ever before, only, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll do it all. Well, after years of wondering and waiting if it would ever happen to me, I finally have a conversion story. I am proud to admit that I am a fan of European Football, more specifically, of Liverpool Football Club.  This is due in large part to the FIFA ’12 game I purchased on the iPad after Christmas this year. A 99cent price tag was enticing enough to give the game other countries call football a try. Admittedly, I never liked it that much, not even during World Cup play. I remember playing it as a kid for the Lombard Park District for one season, and not being all that good. Maybe that’s why I never gave it a real chance, boy have I missed out.

At first it was a way to pass the time a work or to avoid homework. But the more I played the game the more I wanted to play. I decided to start a career mode and chose the only team I knew, Manchester United. After two seasons on the easy level, I was ready for a challenge. Having now been exposed to other teams, I settled on the one whose crest spoke to my heart. Call it what you will, but when I looked at the words across the top of Liverpool’s crest, I knew I found the team I’d root for, the team that is now my own.

You’ll Never Walk Alone. A song from a long forgotten musical has been the anthem of a club nearly a quarter of the way around the world from where I live. My curiosity grew and the more I looked in to the history of the club the more amazed I became. Not only had I found a new love for a game I once hated, I was finding out part of the story that, beyond the accolades, is one of triumph over adversity, especially for the fans. What I am referring to is the Hillsborough Disaster of 1989 when 96 fans lost their lives. On that day the authorities failed to do their job both in controlling who entered where, and, in the aftermath of the devastating crushes, caring for the injured. Justice has never been done.

But on that day those fans broke down signs and used them as stretchers. Those with medical training used it on the man or woman next to them. People helped people escape, not because they were fellow Liverpool fans, but because of the character ingrained in every one of them. The same character which is embodied on their crest in four small words: You’ll Never Walk Alone. Needless to say I’m hooked. My transformation became complete this week when a package arrived for me bearing Liverpool FC paraphernalia.

But lest you think all I have done these last few weeks is play a game on my iPad and drool over a new obsession, I also succumbed to the arguments which circled the famous video entitled “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus” often shortened to Jesus>Religion. When I first saw the video my thoughts weren’t warm and my words were less than kind. The firestorm it created served only to further my opposition to it. Whoever this guy was, he was arrogance and ignorance veiled in humility and relevance and I couldn’t stand it. Apparently I wasn’t alone as the several video responses attest to that fact.

Two video responses which seemed to be the most watched are from a Lutheran pastor and a Catholic priest. While some claim the Lutheran one is arrogant and annoying, I think it is actually the better of the two. Why? Not simply because I agree with the position and articulation of the pastor, but because it exposes the original one for what it is. The first video is as, if not more, arrogant than the response, only it doesn’t seem so because it paints a picture people want to express. A point of view similar to one I have expressed at various times. But here is the problem, it isn’t completely fair and honest. It picks and chooses. It paints the picture it wants to paint.

Nevertheless, he is being honest about one thing, something problematic within not only Christianity, but humanity. He is talking about the complete and utter brokenness and inability of people to care for one another. In a word, sin. Nothing demonstrates more man’s inability to be humble toward one another than the fact that I am writing about a video that caused so much controversy. Look at the number of denominations and it doesn’t take long to figure out that Christians have a problem with sin. Look at the world and it doesn’t take long to figure out that everyone has the same problem. The question is, how are we going to deal with it.

The video produced another response, this time from a Muslim. This one I feel to be the most problematic, simply because I disagree with the picture it paints. That is not to say I am angry or bigoted toward the Islamic faith. However, this response demonstrates the reality that everyone has an opinion on something, rather, on someone. Some say he didn’t exist at all. Some say he was just a man. Others that he was a great teacher and that he pointed others to knowledge of a greater reality. Still others suggest he had feelings one way or another on certain subjects. But what about you, who do you say that he is? The He I am referring to is Jesus the Christ, and the way you answer that question has a direct impact on how you answer the one posed in the previous paragraph.

In the book of Matthew there is a story of Jesus asking his disciples who they think he is. Peter answers, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” This claim sets the stage for everything else that follows, not only in the chapter, but in the narrative itself. What separates Christianity is how it answers the question of who Christ is. Some say it is love, but love is found everywhere. Some say that it is hope, but hope is always to be found. Some say it is morality, but often it is those who supposed have no external moral guide are the ones who prove the most moral. It is not an action, an idea, or a standard of living which separates Christianity, it is Christ Himself.

So then, how do we deal with the fact that the world is broken as a people who confess with Peter that Jesus is the Christ? We don’t, He does. The problem with all those videos is that they place upon Christ mantles which may or may not belong. I’m not one to tell you how or what Jesus thinks, but I can tell you what I believe he did. I can tell you what the scriptures testify to him doing, but I cannot believe it on your behalf or turn it into something I want it to be. Sin is dealt with not by us loving one another better, but by the blood shed on our behalf. Sin doesn’t lose if we learn to bring hope to the darkest places, it lost because he broke through the grave. Sin doesn’t go away because I’ve done better today than yesterday, it is eradicated because His righteousness has been exchanged for humanities brokenness.

This Christ, the one who took on sin, death, and the power of the devil, He is alive. He is inside those broken people who fail to feed the poor. He is inside those people who corrupt the church and turn her into something she was never meant to be. He is inside those who care deeply in thought and action for those in greatest of need. He is inside those who comfort those who mourn and visit those who are sick. He is inside sinner and saint. He walks alongside empowering people to be more than they ever thought they could, and picking up those who fall to the deepest depths. This is what it means to follow Him. To recognize that this side of eternity things will always be good and bad. That following him doesn’t mean we will get it right, as if that were even possible. It’s not black and white like supporting a football team or joining a club. Following Christ is not about those who follow, it is about the one who leads.  It is not that we would be perfect, but that we would never walk alone.