Tag Archives: religion

what do I stand for?

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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.

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.

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).

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.

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…

And I am not…

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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.

death sucks

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Today when I woke up I had hoped the news from last night would have changed. However, this morning only confirmed the truth I knew the night before, Ozzie Guillen is no longer the skipper for, in my opinion, the greatest baseball team ever to take the field, The Chicago White Sox. A lot of people, especially, in the city of Chicago don’t have the same appreciation for the hometown heroes on the south side of town but I do. Why? Because Sox baseball is honest baseball and Ozzie Guillen was an honest manager.

He was always much maligned for his antics and “Ozzie being Ozzie” but the truth is he never pulled a punch, never pretended to be something he was not and always wanted the best for his players, the Sox, and the city of Chicago. The media has a way of spinning things and Ozzie was as much a victim of that as anyone else, he just seemed to make it easier for them to do that. Thats the thing about Sox fans, we don’t like bs. We don’t pretend the Sox are great when they do nothing. Ozzie didn’t either and for that I will always love and respect the man who helped bring a trophy to the South Side of Chicago.

But Ozzie leaving wasn’t the saddest news I learned all week, not by a long shot. In the end it is just baseball, as insignificant as anything else that doesn’t deal with real life. This Sunday I received a text from a friend of mine letting me know that a pastor in St. Louis had decided to end his own life. I did not know him all that well but I know people who did. Needless to say it was something that nobody saw coming. I can’t help but wonder why.

During difficult time it is callous to ask the question of if we did enough to ensure this wouldn’t have happened. Outside of the obvious reality that suicide is a faultless tragedy the fact is we will never know that answer. Trying to understand things like why people make the choices they make is never an easy thing because we do not live inside the mind of another. However, not being able to understand what transpired in the mind of another does not mean we cannot learn from the situation.

Death is an altogether uncomfortable subject because of its finality. There really is no way to reverse it and when the death of someone close to us happens we are left in a state of shock. Some people try to explain it. This had to happen because… Or it’s God’s plan to teach us something. But answers like that do nothing more than leave me wondering if anyone understands the pain and shock associated with death because during such a time platitudes like that are often empty and fruitless exercises in rhetoric. Using those fire escape sayings denies the reality of what we are experiencing, something that shouldn’t be happening. DEATH SUCKS.

Personally I’m sick of hearing that death is a natural part of life, a conclusion as inevitable as eating or breathing. I cannot accept such a romanticizing of death because I don’t think death is natural, at least it wasn’t in the beginning. At the risk of sounding fundamentalist I do not believe death was part of God’s design for His beloved creation. Death wasn’t part and parcel in the garden of Eden, it was a result of the curse from the events that transpired inside those walls. In fact, I think its in understanding death as an enemy that we can actually begin to deal with it. Although I do see death as an enemy I do not see it as something to be feared.

Christianity has a way of souring the taste of some pretty beautiful assertions. Take for example eternal life. How often do we hear that the reason someone needs to accept Christ or not reject His grace it comes with the assertion that if one doesn’t do so they will spend eternity in Hell. But to paint the picture this way I think misses the point. Christ didn’t die to save people from hell, he died to save them from death. As bassackwards as it sounds the only way to conquer death was to die and then rise again. It is in that second part that Christians actually trust, the resurrection of the dead. Another way to understand it is because of Christ Christians know that death is not their end.

But what do we do with that message? We corrupt it and turn it into something altogether undesirable. We turn into a message of an angry God waiting to send people to hell or waiting to let them send themselves there. But I don’t think hell is the real point and I think by reducing the Christian message to an avoidance of an eternal hell misses the point of the crucifixion. At the cross Christ took on the curse from the Garden of Eden. On him the sin of the world was placed. On him God’s wrath was poured out in its entirety. On the cross Christ took on death in all its finality. But death could not stop Him, and this is the point, HE ROSE AGAIN. Death is no longer an end. It is not something to fear.

Death will never be something we can understand. We can try and point to why things happen but the truth is we will never know why this happens or that happens. We will never know why cancer takes him and not her. We will never know why she chooses to take her life and he doesn’t. What we do know however is that although death is ultimately what unites all humanity it is not something we have to fear or even try to understand because death has lost its sting. Recognizing this allows us the ability to enter into the rooms of the sick with hope. It allows us to come alongside those who mourn and mourn with them, going through the pain of it all with out trying to explain it away. It allows us to be freed from fear and embrace life in all its beauty. And when we do that, when we are able to embrace life for all it is we realize something, that others are worth fighting for.

Fear paralyzes people. It forces them to put their own concerns over that of another. But when we recognize that death is not the final nail in the coffin and when we let go of the fear associated with such an event we realize that we no longer have to live for ourselves because we know we are taken care of. But what about the guy next to me or the girl across the hall? What about them? Are they taken care of? Do they know they are loved? Do they know that they are cared for and respected? Do they know that they have a life worth living? I think when these are the kinds of questions we start asking with regularity we will realize that we are all part of a greater community. A community that loves with reckless abandon. A community that seeks to care for each and every other person not because we have to, but because we can.

Death sucks. But we don’t need to worry about our own fate. We don’t need to wonder when our ticket will be punched. We know that death is not our end. But knowing it, and living in recognition of that are two different things. Hopefully we will have the courage to do that latter.

you are…

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Although it is by no means early in the night I should be going to bed. I have to leave the house in less than 8 hours so that I can get my wife to work and then get back for class, all the while fighting the wonderful traffic of the city I love. Its worth it though, to be writing right now, because I feel as though the last week has stretched me in ways I do not yet completely understand.

In the wake of my realization last week I decided that it was time for me to engage Lutheran theology in a way I haven’t before. I want to figure out who I am and what I believe because when my time at seminary is done, no matter what other academic pursuits I endeavor towards, I want to be a pastor. Even as I write those words some old demons of my past start poking their heads about reminding me of more than I care to remember.

For years the more I saw myself walking toward this calling I found myself running away from it. I have seen first hand the abuse of power that comes with such status. I know people who lord it over others, claiming somehow ordination made them holier than the one they stand beside. In all honesty I was always scared at what it might mean to be a pastor, especially one within the LCMS. I knew that being ordained had caveats, I had to subscribe to and confess the doctrine of the church contained in the Book of Concord. I had to pledge myself and bind myself to those documents and there was nothing that scared me more. Like I said, Ive seen the abuses. I know how people hide behind the doctrine. If I were to be honest, at times, Ive been one of them.

But this last week something dawned on me. It was actually in a Facebook message from a dear friend of mine. Now whether he realizes the impact of his words I will never know but it was nothing less than the support of him and others close to me that I came to realize something. I need to stop running. I need to stop being afraid. I actually need to take a look at things and give them the chance I never did for fear of turning out like those who abuse the position they are in. So I did, I am still, and I will continue to do so. Not because I am compelled to but because I have the opportunity to figure out if I actually believe something or not.

What started out as a journey into understanding the foundational elements of Lutheranism turned into a discovery of something much more revolutionary I had never thought I would find. But I found it, though I guess I should say its something I have known intellectually for years only now it has grabbed a hold of me. In fact, unlike I was a year or two or three or four ago I am proud of my theological heritage. I am proud of the basis and if I ever do get the opportunity to take those vows of ordination I know without a doubt I could confess anything I needed to.

So what is it? Whats so revolutionary? I’m fractured. I’m broken. Yet… I’m beautiful. And so are you.

Growing up Lutheran has afforded many things other than those which cause me to cringe. It has allowed me to interact with the theology of the man who started a reformation nearly 500 years ago. It has been hard for me to take him seriously at times because of those who claim to follow in his footsteps. At times I found myself in a similar position to that of Ghandi in that I like Luther but not Lutherans. And although I never really gave full credit or respect to him over the last few years, I cannot help but thank God for him. But it isn’t just him. Its everyone on down through the ages that has worked to teach others the truth that Christ’s death and resurrection has actually done something in my life.

In recent years the message has become so tainted I tended to ignore it. But as I sit here tonight I can’t ignore it anymore because of how freeing and empowering that message actually is. What message? That God loves me. That in Christ God reconciled the world to himself not counting mans sins against him. That God in his fatherly goodness gives me the righteousness that is not my own. That Christ lived a life and obtained a status before God that he has actually given to me. That because God has defined me as a person redeemed by the work of Christ it does not matter what the world says about me, it does not matter what other people say about me, and it does not matter that I cannot understand or forgive myself for things I have done in the past. God has declared me to be his own and that means that my life isn’t defined by this world, but by a God who loved me enough to restore the broken relationship without my help. By a God who promises to be there no matter the circumstance. By a God who cannot help but look at me with loving eyes, not because of anything I have or haven’t done, but because of His Son. By a God who loves not only me, but you too. Because everything that is true about this message in my life is true in yours too.

So often in life I find myself trying to fit into a mold. I try to be the best husband. The best student. The best son and brother and friend and advocate. But I continually fail to live up to the expectation of others and of myself. I piss people off. I make fun of them. I don’t make the right decisions. I ignore people who need my help. I do not actually take this forgiveness and new life I have found and use it to help others. But somehow thats ok. I don’t understand it. I cannot wrap my head around it. Nothing I do or don’t do can change the fact that God has made me his own and he has done the same for you.

The world is a broken place. Hatred. Injustice. Myopic understandings of how we treat others often not only precludes relationships between human beings but destroys the self worth and understanding people have of themselves. In my own eyes I know I am not good enough. I know I am more than f***ed up beyond all recognition. But the beauty of this fractured and broken life and world is that the world does not have the final say; it does not define who we actually are. God has something to say in the face of the voices in our head and in the world that remind us how fractured and broken we are. He tells us that loves us. He tells you that in his eyes you are perfect. Complete. His beautiful creation. No matter who you are. No matter what you’ve done. No matter what you will do tomorrow. No matter what you say about yourself or the world says about you, God has spoken about you. His word? You are beautiful.

never forget

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I’m sure it was difficult for any of us to ignore or be ignorant of the significance of today. Turn on the TV, check the paper, watch the opening of the football season, go to church, and a whole host of other activities served to remind me of the date. 9/11. To be sure this is a day to remember, never to forget the loss and tragic events of a decade ago. However, rather than spend time relaying the story of where I was and what I experienced, which I am sure pales in comparison to others, I want to talk about today, because today is a day I won’t soon forget.

As part of my internship I get the pleasure of attending a church where people are kind and welcoming and genuinely seem to care about who I am as a person. People are always quick with a kind word of encouragement or a sarcastic remark to lighten the mood. Sometimes though, the words people speak have implications far beyond what they intended or imagined and today, that was something I experienced this weekend as I sat and listened to a sermon.

It was by accident I ended up at all three services this weekend. I wasn’t sure when Sunday school teachers were going to be recognized so I decided I would go to all three. Fittingly, it would seem, the sermon focused on Matthew 18:22, a story of Peter asking Jesus how many times he should forgive someone who sins against him. Of course, the answer is never one someone wants to hear, a numerical value hyperbolizing the reality that there is no limit to forgiveness. The first time I heard the sermon I thought he was speaking directly to me. By the middle of the second time, I was sure of it.

I make it no secret that I have struggled through my life with the tradition of my childhood. In particular I felt wronged by those who I thought were supposed to care about me. I became so embittered by my experiences that by the time I made it to seminary I could hardly bring myself to be optimistic about anything having to do with the LCMS. This bitterness is coupled with a fear and love which I cannot ignore. I have encountered so many wonderful people in my life many of whom have a connection to that same place I call home. But I was always afraid to embrace certain aspects of Lutheranism. I used important books containing theological confessions as doorstops because I knew how people wielded them.  I was too afraid to look at them and entertain the idea that the confession held within those pages was the same one I held in my heart.

So when I arrived on the campus of the seminary in St. Louis I was scared and bitter, and when I left, I was even worse. Today I realized its time to forgive. To let go of the past. I don’t know if you can actually forgive an abstract non corporeal system but today I did. As I listened to that sermon today I knew that the one thing I never gave, the one thing I always held back was grace and forgiveness. The irony of this isn’t lost on me. Lutheranism defines itself by the grace it has received through the redemptive work of Christ on the cross and it was the one thing I never gave.

It shouldn’t surprise me because the same has been true of me when it comes to dealing with people in my family. I get annoyed far sooner with those whose blood I share than with those I hardly know. I am so slow to give them the benefit of the doubt and it has hurt relationships in my family. As I work to fix those and rebuild what was lost it has become incumbent on me to do the same to that which I love and call home. It doesn’t mean I’ll forget my experiences but it will allow me to move forward, because there is a road ahead of me I don’t want to walk.

As I thought about how I had been wronged I realized how complicit I was. I realized there are things I need to apologize for. Things I need to seek forgiveness for. People I never gave a fair shake to. Ideas I was once afraid to engage I have to take seriously. The time ahead of me is not one I look forward to, yet to that time I must go. It is to those people I have to reconcile. It is with my past I need to make peace.

And yet  the most beautiful part of today was not in realizing the forgiveness I need to give and receive from others, but of the forgiveness I have received. The forgiveness that was purchased on a lonely hill outside the city walls. The forgiveness that is extend to anyone and everyone, no matter who they are and what they have done. Sitting there in church today I realized how broken I really was. How prideful  and arrogant I am. How entitled I feel. Like somehow I was the only one who did things right.

Perhaps most fittingly today is 9/11 and everywhere I look I see signs with the same message… Never Forget. Although they have a specific meaning for this country and those affected on this day they have a special meaning for me. Reminding me never to forget what happened. Never forget where I came from, the moments that made me bitter, the moments that brought pride and arrogance, the moments that caused me to walk away. But also never to forget to forgive. To forgive myself and others. To let go of the pain, the bitterness, and all that goes with it. And never to forget how hard the road ahead is going to be. Forgiveness and reconciliation is never easy, but its something I can never forget.