Tag Archives: musings

what do I stand for?

Posted on by

It has been too long. February and March came and went and here I sit, a third of the way through April and I haven’t taken the time to post. Ah well, such is life I guess. My internship keeps me busy, and I am loving every minute of it. The people who I am lucky enough to serve are nothing short of wonderful. Lent was a handful, but it is now ended and I am hoping in the coming months to get back to some kind of rhythm, both here and at the office.

As I lie here, knowing that my alarm will go off in a few short hours, I cannot seem to get a song out of my head, “Some Nights” by Fun. I’m not saying that it is the best song in the world, but it is catchy, and since the Blackhawks developed a scoreboard video using it, well, it gets a place in my playlist. What I appreciate about the song is the question it thrusts to the forefront, a haunting question, what do I stand for? It isn’t an easy question to answer. I know that once I do answer it someone will inevitably be pissed off by it. But that is the easy part, because I know that no matter what someone always will be upset. The hard part of that question, is answering it for, or rather to, myself.

I had thoughts recently of migrating from wordpress over to another format, though I don’t think that will actually happen anytime soon if ever. While I was planning on it, the place I was attempting to migrate to did not give me the option of simply importing all my posts, I had to copy and paste them one by one. Well, as mind numbing as that may be, it gave me a chance to look over some of my earlier writing. If you have the time to look at it, don’t. In saying this I do not believe I am being overly critical. Rather, I am being honest. As I read the words penned in a different frame of mind I am struck by how much I was speaking from a place of hurt. Pain and anger dripped from every single syllable. I stopped that process at about the fourth one, I couldn’t take it anymore.

It was a humbling experience. I was reminded of the fact that those who teach will be judged more harshly, and to be sure that judgment is warranted. It is hard for me to wrap my mind around some of the things that came out of my mouth. And yet, I know at the time I stood strongly behind it. I am certain that I would have fiercely defended my position, and more than that, would have been convinced of my correctness and written off opposition as ignorant. That is, after all, always my problem. Whether people see it in me or not, I know I am an arrogant cuss. I try to fight it, but for one reason or another it always, inevitably, comes out, and although I am not proud of that fact, I know it is true. Others may not see it, because I do well to hide it, or wait to express it until I am alone with my thoughts, but trust me, I know I am an arrogant cuss.

And so here I sit, unable to sleep, knowing I was wrong to write what I wrote in the past, certain that at the time I thought I was right, assured of my own arrogance which can be blinding, and waiting for the day I go back and read this one and feel the exact same way. But rather than be afraid of that, I am trying to embrace it. Because while it is true I am not the person I was 3 years ago, 2 years ago, heck, 2 weeks ago, I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I know I have changed, I’ve cooled off my hot head somewhat, put those theological hand grenades back in my pocket rather than throwing them on the table, and came to grips with some truths about my presuppositions and beliefs. And rather than dwell on the fact that I may have lost some of my edge, some of what made me who I was, I feel like I have gained some perspective. I feel like maybe for the first time in a long time I have a pretty good idea of who I actually am and what I actually stand for.

In the end, I think that is what matters right now, that I know where I stand. For so long I felt pulled in different directions, I felt the need to justify my place and my beliefs and today I feel comfortable, secure even, in where I have landed. I am a Lutheran, a moderately conservative one at that, and while those words may or may not seem loaded to you, they are not the easiest ones for me to type out. Because that label was so loaded with pain and anger, I did all that I could to avoid it. But I can’t avoid it anymore. I can’t pretend that I am still that guy I was three years ago. I won’t apologize for coming to terms with what was once my enemy.  And who knows, maybe one day I will wake up and take this post back, recant it all because I came to some new realization.

But it’s ok. I dont need to know now if that will be the case later on because right now, in this moment, I can take comfort in the fact that my identity, security, and meaning do not stem from my fickle temperament and feelings. They rest solely and securely in the reality that in my baptism as an infant I was given an identity. I was given a faith in God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I was sealed, adopted, promised of my place for eternity, not because I thought it was a good idea at the time, but because God did what God does best. And that is the hope I can take with me. That is the hope that ensures that no matter what else I may become, I was first and will forever be, a baptized child of God. No matter what assails me, this is my identity, this is what I stand for. Or perhaps better put, this is what stands for me.

into an uncomfortable place

Posted on by

Lent is upon us. For a long time I never really felt good about Lent, not that you are supposed to or anything. But growing up I never quite understood the whole idea of giving something up. It isn’t that I thought it was somehow too Roman Catholic of a practice to take up, I just didn’t see the point. In some ways it felt forced, fake even, like the “New Year’s Resolution” time of the church year. And sometimes, it became a contest of who could give up something harder than another person. Me? I just didn’t care. And all those ideas of picking something up for it instead of giving something up didn’t gain ground with me either because that was just the same five cent candy in a different wrapper.

I suppose that 5, going on 6, years of seminary should have fixed that in me, but it hasn’t. However, I have learned, in some way, to appreciate the season of the church year often referred to as a marathon compared to the sprint that is Advent. Not in giving something up, or picking up something else, but in the focus and clarity such a season brings to the church. It forces us to confront the reality that Christ came to us because we couldn’t go to Him. It brings to the forefront the nature, character, and purpose of the incarnation in a way unmistakable. It ultimately leads us to the cross and to an empty tomb, to a promise fulfilled and a hope that is ours.

And it seems, at least to me, that Lent is exactly what the church needs right now, especially those of us who call the Missouri Synod home. The firestorm that has ignited in the last week has been nothing short of mind boggling. Honestly, I didn’t think most people knew or cared about the LCMS. Yet here we are, a short time removed from a controversial apology that caught the eye of the New York Times and Comedy Central alike. And rather than pick apart either side, which isn’t necessary given the reconciliation that has occurred between the two parties, I’d rather think about what undergirds the controversy. By that I don’t mean what actually happened, but the place from which both parties are coming, a confession made time and again throughout the history of the Lutheran church yet made once for all in the Book of Concord.

It isn’t ever easy to explain to someone outside the fold just what I mean by that last statement. Because it isn’t simply a lens through which we read scripture or a road map to the best the bible has to offer. It is something that forms us, that changes us, that gives us the grammar of the faith, something that is authoritative for us and is at the same time an ecumenical proposal to others. Only, it doesn’t come off that way all the time. And we often find, to borrow the words once spoken to Maverick in Top Gun, our egos write checks that our bodies can’t cash. Because if Scripture and the Confessions actually do what I am claiming they do, there should be evidence of it, evidence that we are different, and not different in a we don’t play well with others kind of way.

I don’t need to speak about how broken the church is, how the disconnect is there regardless of denomination, confession of faith, and authoritative structure. And I know it is easy for that to be thrown back into our faces because we should know better, we should be better. Only we aren’t much better. And neither we nor those outside can figure out why that is and it becomes a wedge that not only divides us from those outside our fold but also one that divides us one from another.
And yet I feel that we Lutherans are unique within Christendom. I don’t mean that we are the only ones going to heaven, but I do believe that we are distinct from Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, and Protestantism. (You can thank Hermann Sasse for my thoughts on that.) Unique because of the content, character, and nature of our confessions contained within the Book of Concord. And while I don’t have time to lay that out in detail, I do want to put it out there. Because that is part of what it means to be confessional, to put it out there on the line, to show people where you stand. And ironically enough that is part of why things have erupted over the last week. Because people have chosen not to hide behind their confession, but to embrace it for all its strength and weakness.

After all, our confessions ultimately lead us to a very uncomfortable place, they lead us to the front lines and put us in harms way. Right or left, it does not matter. Our confessions expose us because we have made them our own. Their words are our words. We may not have signed the document, but it has certainly signed us. And it is always dangerous to be exposed for what you are.

Which is why for the first time, probably ever in my life, I’m looking forward to Lent. Because it always exposes me for what I am, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It reminds me of my inability to follow through on things I start, which is probably the real reason I don’t give something up for Lent, if I don’t try I can’t fail. Yet I do fail, every single day. I don’t need Lent for that, but it certainly helps because I know where the road goes… to a cross. A cross that exposed humanity for what it is, a cross that carried with it death and despair, a cross that exposes God for who He is. Because on that cross Christ is revealed to be the Son of God, not in glorious parades, but in suffering and death. In rising again He conquered sin, death, and the power of the devil.

That doesn’t mean life will get easier, if anything it will probably get harder. Because that cross and tomb becomes our confession, Christ Himself, and where He is there too we will be. It exposes us, puts us in harms way, into the places we do not want to go. Into the lives of others who suffer. Into the brokenness of the Church. And yes, even into Lent.

gift giving and heretic hitting…

Posted on by

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.

paradoxical justice

Posted on by

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?

Posted on by

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.

go to hell

Posted on by

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.

dust you are…

Posted on by

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…

thy strong Word…

Posted on by

It has been a nice break the last few weeks. I decided when Christmas rolled around to take a break from blogging for a while. I figured I’d pick it back up sometime after New Year’s and today is that day. Not only is it my return from a mini-sabbatical but it also marks the beginning of my Winter Quarter here at sem. Once again it seems the next 10 weeks are filled with a seemingly insurmountable reading list, more papers than I can write, and less time to give to other areas of my life. I suppose it’s not that big of a deal that my break is over. I mean, it’s been nice to have time off, but I have filled it with more useless and mind numbing activities than ones that might be of some benefit. Although, I suppose that is what break is best for, a release. A time to step back and recharge using whatever means we have or benefit from.

The quarter started off as usual as any other. Ill prepared I walked into class, banking on the fact that nothing of substance happens the first day anyway. And although I was right that nothing major happens as far as the syllabus is concerned, I was surprised at how much this first day of class seemed to provide things to ponder. Take for instance my Internship II class. People told stories all about how busy they were over the break and when it came to me all I had to say was that I actually had a break. Rather than despair over it, I rejoiced in it, because I have a feeling that I won’t get many more of those. It seemed like so many people had the Christmas/New Years worship services dominate their landscape at precisely the time people should be able to relax.

Though I guess relaxation isn’t the name of the game during holidays. Parties, cooking, shopping, and a myriad of other activities often dot the landscape of the holiday season more so than taking the time to do nothing. And it was that doing nothing I hoped would carry on through the first day of classes, only my brain had other plans. I don’t talk much in classes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything, at least in most classes. I tend to keep my comments to myself because I don’t want to speak up every time I have a thought, if I did, nobody else would get a chance to speak. Today it so happened I was able to avoid dropping my two cents in, only I wonder if I should have spoken up.

The topic of discussion centered around the idea that the father-in-law of Moses told him that he needed other people to help him do what he was doing. This in turn meant, apparently, that pastors or leaders in the church must do likewise because it is not up to them to carry the burden alone. I do agree that pastors and leaders need to create boundaries so that they are not overwhelmed or neglectful to themselves or their families but I don’t know if this is the place to go to defend that idea. I’m not Moses. I’m not in charge of a huge group of people wandering the desert. But this was not my issue, being at a seminary with Baptist roots I’m used to people using scripture anyway they want. My issue was that people seemed to use humility and piety as a smoke screen to abdicate responsibility.

This is perhaps a little too harsh but I was getting the feeling that the pendulum has swung too far the other direction. Where once the pastor was a respected and valued part of a community and was differed to in all matters, they now find themselves squarely on the other end of the stick. Either apologizing for something they didn’t do, pretending things didn’t happen or don’t matter, or clinging to the idea that people hate truth. In some ways they have brought this rejection of the office upon themselves, but I wonder if the way to fix it is to say pastors need to assert emphatically or altogether abdicate their authority.

I have often found myself struggling with the idea and necessity of the office of pastor. I don’t know if they would even exist in a perfect world. But I don’t get to deal with a perfect world, I live in a broken one, but not one void of hope. Part of my struggle rests upon the examples of those who call themselves pastor, not because they have done things well or poorly, but because everyone seems to have a different opinion of what a pastor does. This has reared its ugly head most visibly during the sermon. Not so much in delivery style, but in the content. Sermons can often fall into a few different categories, not the least bit concerned with delivery, but focused squarely upon the point being made, or the hidden curriculum being taught. They validate themselves, invalidate others, purport an understanding, expound upon a difficult passage, but they all tend to have one thing in common, they frustrate me.

Those of you who have sat near me during a worship service may have noticed that I take little notes. These notes, even though I would like to pretend are my way of trying to remember some key point of inspiration, are often sarcastic comments. Having studied theology for the better part of a decade I feel like there isn’t much for me during sermons in the way of communicating knowledge. This is an arrogant statement, but it is honest. I know it isn’t right. I know I need to be humble. I know there is so much so many preachers can teach me, but in a sermon, I don’t want to be taught. I want my reality to change. Life outside the walls of a church is often harsh. It’s as busy, loud, contradictory, and frustrating as any endeavor one could attempt. It has times of joy and sorrow, peace and war, love and hate. It is often quick to teach you something you don’t know or forgot. I wonder then, when the people of God come together isn’t  the last thing that should be happening is more of what the world passes off for life?

The last few years have been quite a journey for me, with each passing day I am realizing more and more that the traditions of my youth are now my own, not because they have to be, but because I believe them to be right and for the first time I am willing to go to the mat for them. One of these traditions is a strong focus on the Word of God. By this I don’t necessarily mean the Bible, although the Bible falls into this category. Instead I mean the Word of God, Christ. The Word that was in the beginning.  The Word that brought things into being. The Word that became flesh and dwelt among us. The Word that chose to bear the burden on the cross. The Word that suffered, died, was buried, and rose again. The Word that changed reality as we know and experience it.

But it is not enough to understand this Word. Because this Word is not a static idea, it is a person to be apprehended. The Word says what it does, and does what it says. The Word changes reality, here and now, just as it did in days long since passed. The Word proclaims a new reality, one defined not by our inability to do or not do, but instead reliant solely upon the veracity of the Word itself. A Word that leaves one faced not with understanding, but with belief.

This is why sermons and worship services tend to frustrate me, because they do not bring this Word to bear on my life. This Word that changes my reality. I have always struggled with the idea of being a pastor. But if being a pastor means I get to bring this Word to bear on the lives of people. If it means that I get to enter in to a situation with the ability to proclaim a new reality, based not upon myself but upon God himself. If it means that my life becomes not about my ability to understand or teach, but about the Word’s ability to change lives, then sign me up.

There is so much uncertainty in the world. Who am I going to be in ten years? What the next paycheck is going to cover? Where the next meal is coming from? When will we start a family? Why did this have to happen today? How will we make it through not just the next month, but the next 24 hours? In a world that seems more eager to dictate fear than certainty the Word steps in and silences the cacophony. It reminds me that I am his. It reminds me that my future is secured. It reminds me that life is not about myself. But it does more than just remind, it acts. It creates. It brings certainty. It changes my reality. In the words of the old hymn…

 

Thy strong Word did cleave the darkness;
At thy speaking it was done.
For created light we thank Thee
While thine ordered seasons run
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Praise to thee who light dost send!
Alleluia without end!

Lo, on those who dwelt in darkness,
Dark as night and deep as death,
Broke the light of thy salvation,
Breathed thine own life-giving breath.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Praise to thee who light dost send!
Alleluia without end!

Thy strong Word bespeaks us righteous;
Bright with thine own holiness,
Glorious now, we press toward glory,
And our lives our hopes confess.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Praise to thee who light dost send!
Alleluia without end!

From the cross thy wisdom shining
Breaketh forth in conqu’ring might;
From the cross forever beameth
All thy bright redeeming light.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Praise to Thee who light dost send!
Alleluia without end!

Give us lips to sing thy glory,
Tongues thy mercy to proclaim,
Throats to shout the hope that fills us,
Mouths to speak thy holy name.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
May the light which thou dost send,
Fill our songs with alleluias,
Alleluias without end!

God the Father, light-creator,
To Thee laud and honor be.
To Thee, Light from Light begotten,
Praise be sung eternally.
Holy Spirit, light-revealer,
Glory, glory be to Thee.
Mortals, angels, now and ever
Praise the Holy Trinity!

Thy Strong Word
Text: Martin H. Franzmann

it begins…

Posted on by

I have always enjoyed reading but recently I have been reading much more fiction than usual. It started with Harry Potter. I had begun reading those over the summer and petered out somewhere in the middle of the third book. With a renewed sense of vigor I tore through them just before thanksgiving and finished the series thereafter. Then on a whim I read the Hunger Games series. Currently I am finishing another series that I began after that, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy.

The books I have read have been thoroughly enjoyable, each for their own reason. In Harry Potter I have to say it was the story of Snape that intrigued me the most. To be able to love someone so much that you dedicate your life to protecting the child they had with another man speaks volumes as to what it means to love the unloveable. The Hunger Games reminded me that heroes never come out unscathed.  Those things from the past carry on through life. But it is the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo that has been the most surprising of the novels. I can’t quite put into words what it is, but those novels held my attention better than the others and in some ways they are the least relatable to my life.

In thinking about why that might be I came to the conclusion that it could be the interconnectivity of everything. These seemingly separate characters all come together to tell a story. A story about life in its most vitriolic expressions. I have never been one to gravitate to fiction writing, unless it was historical fiction, but in recent weeks this push to read fiction has caused me more and more to see the value in it. Telling a story is a difficult task. Working out the connections, bringing things from one point to another, creating the world in which the story takes place, and all the while keeping me interested in it is a task that only a few have really been able to make it look easy.

Concurrent with my reading of fiction has come my yearly dose of Christmas music, only I tend to keep it to one group, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. No group tells a story like they do. If you ever have the time, visit their website and listen to their albums while reading the story that takes place between the songs. Something about their writing speaks not only to the Christmas spirit that seems to come and go every year, but also the hopes and dreams of humanity. Combine story telling with an eye for the season and those things which humanity hopes for and you have a cocktail for excellence, one which that group feasts upon.

While the most famous of their albums tells a fascinating story about an angel’s visit to earth, it is the album entitled, The Lost Christmas Eve, that has captured my attention in recent days. As often happens, one song among the many has really garnered a voice, forcing itself to be heard on repeat all day. What Child is This? is an appropriation of the hymn only the subject isn’t exactly Jesus Christ, rather, it is the son of the man the album’s story is telling. Having found the son he once abandoned this man is expressing what might become of his son and their relationship. It is a song of hope, a song that reminds people of the possibilities of the future.

The Christmas season somehow always gives way to this notion that all things can begin again. People approach the world differently, if only for a moment. And as Christmas passes New Years is eagerly anticipated as the coming year has yet to be written. Only as the calendar turns from one day to the next that hope fades and the harshness of reality rears its ugly head. Bills still need to be paid. Food still needs to be put on the table. Work needs to be done. Books read and papers written. One day rolls into the next and before you know it you are back in the Christmas seasons hoping somehow the next year will be different. Only inside you know it holds more of the same.

It is the cruel joke of life, false hope. Relying on some inherently flawed notion presents a worldview that, while it may taste good, makes you vomit in the end. We all do it. I can change x or z and my life will get better. If I read this or that I’ll have the right tools to work through life. But even when x and z change, life is still a struggle, only it might be a different struggle. The tools you gained are now no longer the ones you need. The cruel joke gets replayed over and over again yielding the same results.

This is not to say that life is devoid of hope or that one does not have the ability to change their situation in life, far from it. I am embracing this fact and pushing it further because as each obstacle is overcome, a new one presents itself. It won’t ever stop until our breath stops. What I am challenging is the notion that we expect it to. We think that this next one will be the last, that is the great joke, our yearning for it to be done. But why? Why are we so concerned with a life void of struggle? A life where we actually have the ability to measure up? Right now I don’t know if that is something that actually exists, at least this side of eternity.

In Lutheran circles there is a phrase, the law always accuses. It is a reminder that we will never have the ability to stand up based on our merit because the law of God is a continual reminder of our failures. So then, what are we to do in the face of such a notion? Sin boldly. But trust in God’s grace even more boldly. This oft quoted passage from Luther are truly words to live by because they remind us that while the law always accuses, God’s grace outdistances the law in every way. It puts the law in its place.

It is fitting to be reminded of this at Christmas time. That first Christmas saw God enfleshed in a child. It was a beginning, a beginning of the end of the power of sin, death, and the devil. A beginning that has since fostered other beginnings. For in Christ humanity begins again, no longer defined by her inability to follow the law, but by the Word of God spoken at the cross. It begins again at the manger. It begins again at the cross. It begins again at the resurrection. It begins again in Baptism and Holy Communion. It begins again in the realization that no matter what you have done, you are not defined by it. It begins again when you are reminded that God has declared you righteous on account of Christ. It begins again when we realize that no special combination of actions guarantees an easy life. And that beginning gives way to another, a life lived not for oneself but for the other. At Christmastime it is easier to think of the other, but in the New Year celebration this is often forgotten. And when it is, we must begin again. Because in our beginning we have the chance to care for others not because we have to, but because we can. Because we don’t have to worry about who takes care of us. Because we have been given the chance to begin again.

And I am not…

Posted on by

While TLC has its fair share of garbage shows like the infamously horrid “Toddlers and Tiaras,” the notoriously controversial “Sister Wives,” and the laughable yet lovable “Cake Boss” tonight my wife and I watched a new show that is pretty interesting. The show called “All-American Muslim” follows the lives of several families in Dearborn, Michigan as they live out an Islamic faith in America. While the show is obviously meant to show how “normal” Muslims are, if normal was somehow quantifiable, it provides an interesting viewpoint into a religion that so many people write off without a second thought.

While there are obvious differences between Christianity and Islam, there was an idea presented in tonight’s episode that Christianity in America undoubtedly purports. One of the people being followed on this show is attempting to get pregnant. Due to her inability to conceive she begins to struggle with the idea of once again donning the hijab. Her reasoning is that she feels that God is telling her to wake up by not allowing her to conceive and so by wearing the hijab God will then allow her to do as she desires. But I can’t just laugh off this idea that by obeying God certain blessings will be bestowed as something only Muslims assert because Christianity in America is pushing the same idea.

“Courageous” is a movie recently in theaters that discusses the idea of fatherhood. While I don’t want to spoil the movie for those who haven’t seen it, for the purposes of proving my point I have to talk about some key scenes. This movie follows the lives of a few individuals attempting to understand what God wants from them as fathers. Through heartbreak and loss it becomes apparent to these men that being a good enough dad just isn’t enough. So in the wake of a tragedy one man sets out to understand that which God desires of him as a father. Now, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be a good dad, this world could use a few more, but there is a problem with the thinking that by being a good dad is going to make your kids turn out right. This is part of the idea that shows itself in the movie, the idea that God blesses those who are obedient.

Two examples might be helpful here. First there is a scene where two of the men who signed the covenant are placed into situations that test their moral fiber. The man who tells the truth is promoted and the man who lies goes to prison. While its a nice story to get your point across, the world does not work in such a fashion. People are imprisoned for speaking truth and are allowed to walk free because of lies every single day. Are there situations when honesty frees and lies condemn? Most assuredly, but this is not a hard and fast rule. Also, this is a reality from which Christians are not free. Think of Paul who was imprisoned, or the thousands overseas imprisoned every day for clinging to a hope declared illegal. Does their faith and adherence to a promise not please God enough to set them free? I doubt it. In fact I have a sneaking suspicion that God is happier with his people outside the great U.S. of A than those who are within it. But even making a statement like that is problematic because it too is undergirded by this idea that in order to make God happy one must be faithful and pious.

There is another scene in the movie that pushes this idea and it is the scene where the father is giving his speech at church. One of the things he utters is almost a throw away phrase but I think it encapsulates the entire point because in his speech about being a good father he flat out states that he wants the blessing of God as if this were something he could guarantee by being a good father. I know that “Courageous” does not speak for all of American Christianity but I am hard pressed to find a place where this idea does not exist. The only problem is that this thinking turns God into a vending machine. I put in my dollar of obedience and get my snickers bar and all is well. This is not to say we shouldn’t want to be good parents or that we shouldn’t try to be faithful and pious but I think we need to recognize that being this way isn’t about getting God’s favor, its about acting the way we should act.

I had a close friend who was battling cancer. Everyone she knew prayed that she would be healed, that she would live a long and healthy life. But she didn’t. In January it will have been three years since she passed. She was one of the most selfless pious people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Her faith inspired others, but it did not guarantee her recovery. Because faith doesn’t guarantee anything this side of death. It does guarantee that life will be easy. It does not guarantee that everything will work out the way we plan. It does not guarantee that God is going bless us in any way more or less than He does for anyone else.

Tonight as I was watching garbage TV I was also helping my wife grade. Her kids were doing memory work on the meaning of the Apostles Creed as spelled out in Luther’s Small Catechism. Although her kids were working on the Second Article my eyes happened to glance over at the First Article. It reads as follows:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.

What does this mean? I believe that God has made me and all creatures; that He has given me my body and soul, eyes, ears, and all my members, my reason and all my senses, and still takes care of them. He also gives me clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home, wife and children, land, animals, and all I have. He richly and daily provides me with all that I need to support this body and life. He defends me against all danger and guards and protects me from all evil. All this He does only out of fatherly, divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in me. For all this it is my duty to thank and praise, serve and obey Him. This is most certainly true.

The third to last sentence is the one that caught my eye. “All this He does only out of fatherly, divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in me.” Blessings of life and home and food on the table come not as a result of my ability to do anything, but because of His ability and willingness to grant them. So why don’t all people get blessings then? Why are some homeless and some rich? I don’t know. I can’t answer that question. I once heard of a professor at my old seminary coining the phrase, “God is God… And you are not.” This phrase always seemed to me like a cop out. But the more I think about it the more I see the brilliance in its simplicity. I don’t understand God. I don’t know how He works or why things happen or why they don’t, and strangely I’m ok with that, at least for the most part.

I want to understand why bad things happen or why things go wrong. I want to be able to guarantee that my friends will overcome their battles with cancer and depression. I want to be able to guarantee that food will be on my table tomorrow and a roof will be over my head but I can’t. I can’t explain things and I can’t guarantee them. Not any amount of obedience or being the person I am supposed to be is going to fortify God’s hand of blessing in my life because I do not control God. God is God and I am not.

But that does not mean I am powerless in that ambiguity. Just because I can’t guarantee an outcome doesn’t absolve me from living the life I was created to live. This too is expressed in the explanation to the creed, “For all this it is my duty to thank and praise, serve and obey Him.” The life I live is one resultant of the work God has done in my life, both in the redemptive narrative of Christ which is made manifest at the resurrection to come and in the daily blessings I receive as I await that hope. But I do things not because I can guarantee more blessings will come. Such a task is futile at best. One look at the way life is attests to that fact. Yet when I recognize that I am cared for in every way no thanks to my own effort I am freed to care for others. I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to be afraid. God is God… And I am not.