Usurped by Children

I am called lots of things. Some of them refer to my relationships: husband, father, brother, son, friend. Some of them refer to my vocation: cultural architect, minister, facilitator, evangelist, teacher, pastor, church planter. Some of them refer to my inadequacies: ...well, I better not quote those; they might be a little inappropriate. Much of our roles, in modernity, have been compartmentalized. I am a pastor while I am talking with people in our church. I am an evangelist when I meet new people. I am a husband when I am at home. I am incompetent when I sit the bench on a church softball team. I am a (insert expletive) when I sit too long at a green light.

But alas, the days of compartmentalizing are approaching their demise. Some instances require a blending of my roles. Like when I am leading a spiritual conversation in our church around a biblical text and someone is really struggling with something in her personal life. I see the tears. I see the anguish. Yet I assume the depth of the passage is moving her, despite the fact that she has shared the difficulty moments ago...before the tears began. I focus more on the passage, get excited, and anticipate the spiritual renewal of this poor girl. Blended roles: pastor and moron.

Or when I go to an extended family gathering, like Thanksgiving Dinner...or a Memorial Day cook-out...or my niece's birthday party (as I did this past weekend). At that moment, I am the uncle, brother, son, husband, father, and D.R.P. - the Designated Religious Person. The DRP is the person in the family deemed more spiritual than the others. Somehow we DRP's are assumed to be more spiritual because we have been to school, get paid to be that way, and spend quite a bit of time blogging about things like being the DRP. At any rate, the role of every family DRP, at every family gathering, is to pray before the meal. Sure, we are the brunt of the occasional "take up the collection" joke. And there is the rare occasion when we are consulted as the family authority on some moral issue. But mostly, we pray before meals. It's my blended role: Uncle DRP...Brother DRP...Father DRP.

It is, quite honestly, a hat I wear like a load of gravel. It is heavy. It weighs upon me. The role brings such unattainable expectations with it - at least for me. See, I don't pray well. I am not articulate in my praying. I do not pray for long. I run out of things to say. I have taken those spiritual gift inventories before. Prayer scores consistently last for me. So the inevitable question always makes me uneasy. It is always asked in private, usually in a low voice: "Jonathan, will you ask the blessing for us today?" My response, as the DRP, is always "Yes." And then the worrying ensues. "What am I going to pray about other than the food?" "Am I going to live up to the expectations of the super-spiritual DRP?" "Are there any family celebrations that have yet gone unnamed that I need to include in the prayer?" On Veteran's Day, I was asked by my wife's grandfather to "ask the blessing." It was a big deal because he is a veteran; Veteran's Day is emotional for him. I had to ask my wife what Veteran's Day celebrated. Blended: DRP, Husband, Moron.

As I stated above, the inevitable happened this past weekend at my niece's birthday party. While I was standing outside on the patio, my sister approached me and carefully, quietly, almost in a whisper, asked me, Brother DRP, "will you ask the blessing in a few minutes for us?" My reply? Same as usual: "Yes." I started thinking, - well, worrying really - about what I was going to pray. Do I thank God for all six years of my niece's life? Ask God to give her six more? Or do I try to get all elaborate and articulate about God guiding her steps as she comes to know him more? Or do I just stick to asking God to bless the pizza? I went inside, sat on the sofa and thought about it. Moments later, my sister came in, announced to the children and their parents that we were now going to say the blessing, and gave me the nod. I responsively moved forward in my seat, getting into the more assertive prayer posture. I quickly collected my thoughts, hoping that it would all come to me as I got started, and then the unusual happened. My two nieces announced that they wanted to say the prayer! What? Not the DRP? I know...it almost sounds blasphemous! My sister looked at me; I nodded, and sat back in my seat feeling much more passive. They sang the prayer, and when they started, the rest of the children joined in. I had heard them sing it many times before, but never so many. The simplicity and innocence struck me as they sang these words to the tune of "Are You Sleeping Brother John?":

Thank you God, thank you God
For our food, for our food
Thank you very much, thank you very much
Amen. Amen.

Imagine fifteen children singing that together. It's simple; it's honest; it's to the point; and to this DRP, it was poignant. Can you believe it? Upstaged by children. The supreme spirituality of the DRP with all of his theological degrees, experience in teaching others about the ways of God, and theological conversations...deflated by the melodious-but-often-off-pitch voices of children.

I think maybe we, as adults, have placed too many expectations on the eloquence of our prayers. I think maybe we need to learn from the simplicity of fifteen children singing "Thank you, God" to the tune of "Are You Sleeping." I think maybe we need to make the kids the DRP's.

Enemy Inside the Gate?

Religion departments at universities can be strange places. They aren't like biology departments, math departments or exercise science departments. They can be brutal places full of politics and subsequent debates. I double majored in English and Religion in college, and I can honestly say that the the halls of the English department just weren't filled with debates over Sylvia Plath's use of alliteration. But walk through the halls of the religion department and you'd think you were in the political science department - Calvinists arguing with Armenians, Baptists arguing with everyone else (and often themselves). This is the environment in which my roommate and I spent much of our time. This is the environment that I often forget. This is the environment that I remembered upon a recent visit from my college roommate.

TJ now lives about 500 miles away from me, and we had not seen each other in several years. It was a real surprise when he told me he was on his way to Boone...but a surprise I welcomed. As we talked about the good ole days, the memories came rushing back. And as we talked about our old friends, we shared with each other what we knew of our old friends' current lives they are leading. We talked about a couple friends who have died; we talked about our friends who have been successful in their businesses; and we talked about the ones who have done nothing after school. And we speculated about the ones neither of us had kept up with. Then TJ told me about an experience he had while he was in seminary with a couple of the guys from the "good ole days." These guys had invited him to speak at an apologetics conference for students. He said that he was stunned by their introduction of him to the students: "TJ is a guy that has come a long way; he used to be my enemy."

Maybe I need to go back a little...

TJ and I often found ourselves in the middle of those religion hall debates. We looked up to a professor there in the religion department that many of the other students saw as a little "unorthodox." I guess some would even have called him a heretic. Needless to say, as disciples of this prof, some of the other students took issue with some of our assertions and ideas. We didn't really associate with their group, and neither did they with ours. Our only real interaction was in the halls between classes as we exchanged and debated ideas. College changes people, and TJ and I are no different. I changed; TJ changed. But we did not change together. TJ went to a Seminary that focused on classical apologetics. Mine focused on spiritual formation and leadership.

That's what the guy meant when he said TJ had "come a long way." He meant TJ had moved closer to their camp. He was saying that TJ was no longer his enemy.

TJ said he was stunned, and when he told me about it, I was disturbed. I told him that I would have said, "He may have thought of me as his enemy, but I didn't think of him as mine." It's hard for me to understand that. I just don't get how another follower of Jesus Christ can be my enemy. If this thing we are living is indeed a war, then my guess is that we are supposed to all be on the same side. But so many of us want to make it into a Civil War. We lose sight of the real enemy.

Why is it that Religion Department Halls sound like Political Science Departments? Why are we so focused on our disagreements? Why do we lose sight of the important things we do agree on? Why do we search out the things that misalign us? And why do we label people (ourselves included) by the things that divide us?

"I am a liberal."

"I am a Calvinist."

"I am a Pre-millennialist."

"I am a Lutheran."

"I am an Evangelical."

"I am a Postmodern."

"I am a Traditionalist."

And so it goes as we misalign ourselves. Why can't I just be a follower of Jesus who doesn't have everything figured out? Why do I have to be someone's enemy?

Resurrection of the Will

"Are you nervous?" he asked. I was preaching my first sermon, and it was in front of a bunch of people in Lexington, NC that I didn't know. I answered with an understated yet truthful, "Yes." This seasoned pastor's reply was one that would shape much of the way I think about preaching: "Good. Preaching is such a serious task that you ought to be nervous. You are being the mouthpiece of God. The day you stop being nervous is the day you need to stop preaching." Interestingly, I still get nervous; but that's not the point. I'm sure we could argue such a definitive statement, but the spirit behind the statement is what haunts me. I want to preach the Truth. I would hate to stand in front of people and preach a fallacy. Now I'm sure I have, at some point, unknowingly said some things that were untrue. And to be perfectly honest with you, I have at times been tempted to knowingly "contextualize" some passages incorrectly. If you've ever taught a Bible study or preached a sermon, you know what I'm talking about: you know your idea is right but you can't find any scripture to support it. Then you find this verse that really has nothing to do with what you're trying to say, but, out of context, it seems to work. Yea...I've been tempted to do that. I've always withstood that temptation, but it's been a temptation none the less.

Then there are the times when I, out of ignorance, preach something that is false. Deep down I don't even want to know about those things because it plays with my mind. Deep down I hope never to come face to face with those fallacies. Deep down I wish they would just float off into oblivion never to raise their ugly heads again. But that's not always the case. And this is one of those times.

One of my favorite things to talk about has been the "death of the will." I like talking about "dying to ourselves." I like talking about this "death" as a metaphor for an abandonment of our own personal will. I like talking about giving up our own desires in order to yield to God's desires or the desires of others. I like talking about the assassination of our own will in favor of yielding to the will of God. Like I said, it's been one of my favorite things to preach. That's the way I've interpreted John 21:18 -

"I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." (NIV)

Then I had to go out and buy Tony Jones' book The Sacred Way. Tony is great for people like me who have grown up in a Protestant tradition but find the Protestant practice of spirituality to be a little shallow. The book covers all these spiritual disciplines found primarily in Catholic and Orthodox traditions. My plan was to read about all of them and pick out a couple that really jumped out at me to give a try. I read about Silence & Solitude, Lectio Devina, and the Jesus Prayer. Then I got to the chapter on Centering Prayer. The following section jarred me:

"In the seventeenth century, some in France took the writings of St. Theresa of Avila, who promoted a "prayer of quiet" to extremes. Quietists taught the pray-er to become utterly passive, to the point of annihilating the will. Any thought, even of Christ or the cross or one's own salvation, was rejected. This led to great moral laxity, since outward behaviors had no influence on the inner quiet of the person. For good reason, Quietism was condemned in 1687 and died out shortly thereafter." (page 72)

Did you catch that? Annihilating the will? Have I been teaching heresy? Maybe the annihilation/assassination of the will really isn't what "dying to the self" is all about. As a matter of fact, I can see the problem. To remove one's will is to remain open to all sorts of influence. Embracing the will of others is not the answer. Come to think of it...to live life with no will is to live life with no purpose. Life is meaningless. What if, however, we could resurrect the will. Rather what if God could resurrect our will? What if our resurrected will was healed in the same way that my relationship with God is healed? What if it is restored to what God created it to be much like the Kingdom of God restores humanity and the earth to what God intended? What if, in the salvific process, my will is re-embraced. And what if my resurrected will is completely in sync with the will of God?

Maybe going where I don't want to go is really "going where my old, dead, empty will doesn't want to go." Maybe going where I don't want to go is really "going where God wants me to go." And maybe "going where God wants me to go" is precisely where my resurrected will wants me to go.

I'm human, and left to human rationale, preaching will be flawed. I'm sure it won't be the last time I find out I've preached some form of heresy. Thank God for a worldwide faith community full of people like Tony Jones and St. Theresa of Avila who help us keep things straight. Thank God that, eventually, he will resurrect my intellect much like he resurrects my will.

The H.N.I.C.

Sometimes you just know you're right. Sometimes you just know the others are wrong. Sometimes they are so wrong and you are so right that it makes you angry. One of my favorite movies is "Lean on Me." Morgan Freeman plays a tough principal in the turbulent 80's called in to straighten out Eastside High School in New Jersey so that the state doesn't take over the school. Eastside was once a great school, but it has become a haven for gangs, drugs, and violence. The teachers have absolutely no control, and only 30% of the students could pass the minimum basic skills test. "That means," in the words of Joe Clark (Morgan Freeman), "they can hardly read." He comes to the school and immediately confronts the faculty. He reassigns them to different tasks. The tells them they are incompetent. He tells them that it is their fault the students are failing. He tells them that they are not allowed to talk in his meetings, and just before storming out of the room he announces, "And contrary to popular opinion, I am the H.N.I.C." After he walks out, one of the teachers questions the assistant principal, "The H.N.I.C?" She answers, "The Head Nigger In Charge." He's right; they're wrong. Enter anger.

Now in a way, I like Joe Clark. I like his boldness. I like his zeal. I like his vigilance. But on the other hand, he's offensive. What if I had been one of those teachers? I'm guessing my perspective would be different. And that gets me thinking about the role of the prophet. Amos was like that. "I am right; you are wrong; it's time to step up." Speaking for God, he says, "I hate..." Wow. "I hate." Amos. The H.N.I.C. He's right; they're wrong. Enter anger.

Joe Clark's situation was dire; it was urgent. It must be dealt with immediately. One school year to turn everything around. Amos' situation was dire; it was urgent. It must be dealt with immediately. God's wrath and fury was coming soon.

Most people don't change their minds because of a H.N.I.C. Most people change because of a conversation (or a series of conversaions). And conversation requires listening. Joe Clark was not a listener. Amos was not a listener. Listening takes time, and time is something they just didn't have. What about the normal world? What about disagreements with church people? What is the role of the prophet today? When does the prophet need to speak with the voice of the H.N.I.C? When does the prophet need to take the time for listening and conversation? Can a real prophet speak with speak with anything but the voice of the H.N.I.C? When it comes down to it, conversation is more effective than confrontation. But are there some things that are so urgent that they require confrontation? Are there some things that necessitate the voice of Joe Clark or Amos? The voice of the H.N.I.C?

Reality Check

Okay...I'm usually pretty hard on the whole "seeker-streamlined-plastic-programmed-contemporary church" thing, but this weekend I had a reality check. We were visiting some of my family for Easter, and we thought it would be great to worship together as a family. As a pastor, I can actually count on one hand the times that I have worshipped with my entire family over the last 12 years. Needless to say I was looking forward to it. My sister had just started visiting a new church, and so we all decided to join her. Easter came, and we all filed in to the sanctuary. We sat in the middle, and I started looking through the bulletin. I saw that we were getting ready to sing some hymns, have some kind of prayer about a list of people, and hear a message from someone who was not the pastor. I thought to myself, "Cool...it's Easter, and this pastor is secure enough to share the pulpit with someone else." This was going to be great! The guy (I think he was a deacon) got up to welcome everyone. He went on for about five minutes about how many people they had at the sunrise service. Then he made some comments about one side being full while the other side needed some more people. Then he said that they had some land they could build on if they got enough people. I felt like throwing my hand up and waving, "Here I am...I'm here...aren't you at least as happy that I am here as you are upset that some people aren't here?" But I just sat there. They eventaully took up an offering. When they passed the plate down my row, they also sent this metal bucket full of cards. I didn't know what they were, and since I was the first person on the row and couldn't follow someone else's lead, I took a card. Turns out it was an information card for visitors. I started filling it out. My mom asked me why I was filling it out, and I told her that I like to see how churches contacted visitors. But since I received one at the offering, I didn't know what to do with it after I filled it out. I just left it on the seat. They never communicated to me what to do with it. Come to think of it, they never even communicated with me what it was. When the preacher stood up (it was a struggle, I think, because he weighed about 400 pounds), he started making all these jokes (jokes that weren't funny) about how he had more time to preach. He started in on how people ought to bring their Bible (He called it "Your Word") to church. He said that it was okay for visitors not to bring their Bibles because "they don't know any different." He said that everyone needed to bring their Bibles so that they could underline things and see if he was preaching the right things. I was one of those visitors who "didn't know any different," so I grabbed the KJV from under the pew in front of me. It's funny; as I checked him, I noticed that he took many exerpts from scripture out of context. He said quite a few times that he wasn't going to be finished preaching by the assumed 11:30. I wondered about all the people who, like ourselves, had made plans after worship based on the advertised 10:30-11:30 timeframe. I thought about the guy who was meeting us for lunch who had to leave by 12:15 for work. And when we passed him on our way back to the house and I realized that he was going to work with no lunch, I didn't think the preacher's jokes about his long sermon were very funny at all. By the time he stopped preaching at noon, he had said numerous offensive things to unchurched people including, as he asked us to turn to some passage in Psalms, "If you don't know where it is, it can't do you any good." I thought about how people who might have come on Easter searching for the meaning of the holiday. I thought about people who may have entered a church building for the first time, all because they were searching for something true. I started thinking about how that church would affect someone like that. I imagined them feeling insulted. I imagined them leaving and never wanting to visit another church again. I felt dirty after I left. I felt like I had been part of something wrong. I know, we're not supposed to leave worship asking what it did for us. I know we are instead supposed to leave asking what God thought of it. And I also know that this is a very strong, judgmental thing to write here, but I think God was not pleased. I think God loves lost people so much that He was offended.

When I look at this church, like I said, I get a reality check. Maybe the consumer-driven contemporary church is better than I let on. It's certainly better than this. At least it's trying to be relevant! At least it's not trying to insult people who don't know Jesus or belong to their church. Maybe I just needed some perspective.

DaVinci and The Kingdom of God

Most people, it seems, like movies. Some more than others; some less than others. But as a whole, I'm guessing most people like movies. Some like light comedies; some like dark dramas; some like science fiction; some like documentaries; some like anime; some like sports flicks; and some, I guess like movies with lots of killing. Christians, I suppose are no different. Most Christians like movies too. Yet at the same time, I think some Christians feel the need to give up their own likes and dislikes when it comes to movies. There are just some movies Christians are supposed to like and some movies Christians are supposed to hate. Remember "Pay it Forward" a few years ago? Yeah. Definitely loved by Christians. What about "The Last Temptation of Christ?" That was a movie about Jesus, right? Sorry. Definitely hated by Christians. And now here we are, once again, caught up in a bunch of hype. "The DaVinci Code" comes out next month, and American Christianity is in an uproar. We are seeing books refuting the "message" of the novel. We are seeing churches plan entire series on the topic. We are seeing conferences and seminars on how to talk to someone about "The DaVinci Code." The Church has launched a full-force panic campaign to tackle the questions the book and soon-to-be-movie propose. Definitely. Christians are supposed to hate this one.

The last movie to get Christians all hyped up? "Narnia." It was marketed to Christians, and the Church showed up. We bought Bible covers, toys, teaching curriculum, and all kinds of marketing tools associated with the film. Christians definitely liked this one. After all, it was going to be a great evangelistic opportunity. What happened?

That reminds me of the "greatest evangelistic opportunity in 2,000 years." The movie that made lots of unexpected money. The movie that was supposed to be professional suicide for it's creator. Churches built entire programs around "The Passion of the Christ." We bought out entire showings of the film. I even heard someone from Outreach Marketing say, "Some of you are wondering why this movie has an R rating. Let me just say that R is for 'Real'." What?

I think Hollywood has figured out how to do big grossing films in fresh, new ways. Hollywood Execs are sitting back in their plush chairs loving Christians. Let's face it; we create incredible publicity...often for free! All Hollywood has to do with "The DaVinci Code" is let Christians respond, and voila...free marketing!

The Church has moved away from advancing God's Kingdom in favor of defending it. We are on the defense. Somehow we have been deceived into thinking that the Kingdom of God can be undermined by Hollywood...or Ron Howard...or Dan Brown. I was curious about it, so I decided to ask some questions. After Dan's book sat on the bestseller list for so long, and after Christians started reacting to it, I decided I needed to ask some questions. So I walked into a local metaphysical bookstore and asked this question: "Did you see an increase in the interest in goddess worship or gnosticism after "The Davinci Code" came out?" Their answer? A definitive "No."

I'm just wondering. Why are we making such a big deal about this? Why are we fueling the fire? Why are we so scared? Do we really think that this could be the "single greatest threat to the Kingdom of God in 2,000 years?" Maybe we have so programmed what the Kingdom is supposed to be that we have forgotten that we are not the kings. Maybe we have forgotten that we serve a sovereign King. Is God really bigger than Dan Brown? Is God really bigger than Ron Howard or Tom Hanks? Is God bigger than all of Hollywood? I sure hope so. If not, we're taking the right approach. In fact, maybe we better buy some more anti-Davinci Code curriculum.

Reject Worship

I was in another city in NC this weekend when I saw a church advertising a new worship service. The banner was huge. It proclaimed the name of the worship service followed by the definitive subtitle: "an alternative worship service." I have seen this kind of thing many times before; I have even heard the phrase quite a few times. But it never hit me quite like this. The church probably thinks they are being progressive, maybe even a little "edgy." Church people like to think of themselves as "a little edgy." It's cool to be edgy. I was even in a Sunday School class in a very traditional, conservative church once that referred to themselves as the remedial class. Why? They didn't use the Sunday School curriculum; they used the Bible alone! In the whole worship dynamic that thrives in churches, people talk about modern worship, contemporary worship, and alternative worship. Some are even calling it postmodern worship. Most of them do this in an attempt to get unreached people to come to their churches.

I have been hanging out with quite a few of these "unreached people," and here's what I've found out: they don't speak that language. They don't know what "contemporary worship" means. They don't know what "modern worship" means. Unless they are philosophers, they have no idea what "postmodern worship" means, and if they are philosophers, they are wrong in their assumptions about what "postmodern worship" is. And "altenative worship?" That doesn't sound very appealing. It might make them think of an "alternative school" for behaviorally challenged kids. It might make them think of an alternative to Christian worship - like some kind of rose-selling, Cool-Aid-drinking, comet-catching, compound-burning cult. Translation: STAY AWAY!!

It strikes me how most Christians have spent so much time with other Christians that they have lost touch with people who aren't Christians. We forget how they think. We forget how they talk. We forget how things sounded to us before we loved Jesus. People who haven't spent their lives in churches know nothing of the worship shift that has swept America. They have no idea that guitars were brought into churches in the 70's. They have no idea that full bands were brought into churches in the 80's. They have no idea that decks and electonics found their way into churches in the 90's. And they sure have no idea that many churches in the Bible belt think it's cool that, here in the 21st century, churches are adopting the church music of the 70's or 80's. They have no idea that "contemporary worship means "contemporary music." They have no idea that "alternative worship" means "alternative to boring."

Maybe it communicates something we don't intend. Maybe it even communicates something terrible. Maybe it communicates that this new worship service isn't the real worship. Maybe it communicates that the real worship happens at 11:00 where it is labeled "traditional" and the reject worship happens at the "alternative worship" on Sunday nights. What if it communicates that this new worship service is a half-way house of sorts? A half-way house for non-worshipping types. A half-way house designed to move cultural oddities into mainstream cultural normalcy. What if we are insulting the people we are trying to reach?

What if we stopped doing that? What if we just worshipped authentically? What if we stopped trying to get them to come to us? What if we started hanging out with them? What if we talked to them? What if we just told them about our worship?

Wow. That would be an alternative.

Daughters, Pony Tails, and Forks

Have you ever tried to sit through a meal with a screaming child at the table next to you? Imagine this: You are sitting in a booth at a fantastic Mexican restaurant enjoying your chimichanga when suddenly a toddler in the booth beside you flings a spoon across the dividing wall and into your eye. That is exactly what happened to us tonight, but sadly to say I wasn't the one who pulled the spoon out of my eye. It was my daughter who threw the spoon! I apologized to the man profusely, but he seemed to be rather irritated. I think it really hurt his eye. He rolled his injured eye at me, and his date was quick to inform me that the spoon had indeed hit his eye. She was not happy either.

Now I wish I could say that it was the first time my daughter had misbehaved at dinner. As a matter of fact, before she was born, sitting at a table beside a screaming child, I remember telling my wife, "My child will only do that once," implying that my heavy disciplinary hand would bring any such outbursts to a quick halt. It turns out my disciplinary hand is about as heavy as Mary Kate Olson (that was inappropriate, wasn't it?).

A few months ago we were sitting in another booth at Outback. The three of us were sitting across from my sister-in-law and her husband. We were sitting back-to-back with a solitary man who was, in turn, sitting across from his wife. The man had a pony tail. While we were all concentrating on our meals, my daugher turned to find a tantalizing pony tail. Apparently she could not resist. Yep. She gave it a nice, hard yank. My wife and I did not see it; her brother-in-law did. We knew something was wrong by the look on his face. Then we turned around to look at the man. He was pretending nothing happened. When we finished our meal, I went to the man and apologized for daughter's zeal for pony tails. His response: "Don't you scold her for that. It's perfectly okay."

I must admit that I am much more like the guy with the spoon than I am the guy with the pony tail. I don't want to be inconvenienced; I surely don't want to take an assault from a flying spoon; and if I had one, I know I wouldn't want someone milking my pony tail at dinner.

Which one would Jesus have been? I think when Jesus said, "Let the children come to me," he meant, "Let them throw their spoons at me; let them pull my pony tail; let them be children." I think Jesus understood the innocence of children. I think Jesus knew that children were in the process of learning appropriate boundaries. I can't help but think it was inappropriate for children to be climbing all over a Rabbi. I can't help but think that the Disciples were just trying to maintain some level of appropriate boundaries between their teacher and the onslought of curious, inappropriate, snotty-nosed children. I can hear Peter saying, "If that were my kid, she'd only throw that spoon once." I can hear Thomas saying, "I doubt if those parents have any idea what they are doing." I can hear Judas saying, "Keep those kids away from the money." And then I hear Jesus: "Let the children come to me."

How can I be more like Jesus when it comes to children? I guess I need a pony tail.

Bewilderment

I sent an article to Leadership Journal about six months ago. I figured they had either lost the article or lost interest in it. Then I received an email from a friend that writes for them frequently. She told me that they had my article and were going to post it on their blog (www.outofur.com) to see what kind of response it got. If it gets a good one, they will put it in print. I went to the site, and voila...there it was (edited, of course). It was exciting to me, and then the comments started rolling in. People were reading it! I'm bewildered because it feels different than I thought it would. Some of the folks read, don't like it, and say horribly judgmental things. Apparently, I'm an embarrassment to Christianity. Oh well...that's better than being an embarrassment to Jesus. Just trying to get a handle on this...

Taking the Condom Off of Jesus

"No, Jonathan," he protested, "you can't put a condom on the cross." I thought it was a great idea. What a powerful image! A condom can be a strong metaphor for the obvious - a method of protection, a barrier, a binding. But it can also be a more complex metaphor for such oxymorons as "safe intimacy" or "risk-free love." And who says that it's inappropriate for a worship context? Come on. Trojan adds are on prime time! But alas, I was in a church that thought such things were inappropriate, and I had to compromise and wrap the cross in cellophane (like that's free of sexual inuendos!). The point? We were talking about how Christians get together, form a sub-culture, and claim exclusive rights to Jesus. We were talking about how we try to protect Jesus (and ourselves) from the voracious influence of "the world." We were talking about how Jesus can't fit inside our confining...cellophane? (see how the condom image works much better?) That was two years ago, and I was reminded of the metaphor a couple of days ago when a friend of mine told me of a recent experience he had.

We'll call him Matthias (because Mathias never really did anything noteworthy in the Bible and it's about time something is attributed to his name!). Matthias is an eighth year senior at a state university, not because he is a bad student but because he changes his major more often than his underwear. He exudes the eccentricity of Pauly Shore's character "Crawl" in SON IN LAW, but balances it with the seemingly random wisdom of Mr. Miyagi in THE KARATE KID. Matthias is genuinely spiritual as evidenced in his resonance with Zen while simultaneously pursuing Jesus. He is himself to the core. He questions and thrives in neo-Enlightenment conversations. Matthias reminds me of the Apostle Paul when he asks, "Why would God waste his time on a loser like me?" How can you not like Matthias?

The experience Matthias had? There is a group of Christians on Matthias' university campus, and because of Matthias' bent toward spiritual conversations, he decided it would be a great place to belong, question, and dialogue. He went to their meeting, and in a matter of a few months had matter-of-factly told them he didn't like their meetings, started a mosh pit in worship, and openly admitted that he has made out with some of his friends. But along the way, he asked some questions about faith. He genuinely wanted to hear others' perspectives. Matthias believes that other perspectives help shape his own. He is a guy that has come from experiences with pseudo-Christian cults and Buddhism that are narcisistic at best and hedonistic at worst. He is a guy that has come from a sometimes-amoral lifestyle and often immoral lifestyle. He is a guy that has journeyed quite a distance toward Christ-likeness, maybe much further than most of the people he met at the Christian gathering on his university campus. But Matthias didn't care how different they were from him. He was seeking authentic Christian community. And what did he find? They asked him not to come back. Yep, they said he made them feel "uncomfortable." The leadership of the group was followed up by an emailed vote of acclamation from angry and hateful group members. Matthias asked them what he did to make them feel "uncomfortable." He wanted to know what he could correct in his behavior. Their answer? "We don't know. You just do."

The real issue? They were scared the condom was going to break. Someone was going to get "knocked up" by his questions and sincere struggle.

Matthias loves Jesus. Matthias tries his hardest to follow Jesus. Imagine what would happen if someone who didn't have an affinity for Jesus walked into their group and started asking questions.

Come on. Let's risk a little. Take it off. It's better that way.

Used Cars, Time Shares, and Sleazy Forms of Evangelism

I'm cheap. That's the reason I found myself sitting across the table from a man pretending to be interested in my life, my career, and my family. That'’s the reason I had to put up with the sales manager awkwardly trying to connect with me by telling me I could use the purchase as a tax write-off. It was a good deal for me since I was (shhh) a pastor. They did everything right. We were offered drinks, snacks, whatever. And despite what you may be thinking, this was not a used (excuse me, "pre-owned"”) car dealership. There are a plethora of used car salesmen out there, so many, in fact, that there aren't enough used car dealerships to employ them. Consequently, the unemployed used car salesmen have had to find other work that suits their natural gifts and talents. One type of these used-car-salesmen-employers doesn'’t sell used cars; they don't sale automobiles at all. They don'’t even deal with transportation. Rather, they sale vacations. Anyone who meets their income requirements has received phone calls from them. For me and my family, the most recent was a phone call offering me a chance to win a car. I only had to drive three hours and listen to their sales pitch in order to see if my key fit the car! When I said it was too far to drive, they offered to give me gas vouchers, a free four-day vacation, matching watches, and an additional bonus six-day vacation. Like I said, I'm cheap. And that's why I was sitting across the table from this salesman who was pretending to like me.
Even though I felt degraded, I smiled. When the salesmen left us to talk about their offer, my wife and I laughed. The joke was on them. We had the better hand. We knew their scheme. We knew they only liked us because they wanted us to buy their $5,000 vacation offer.
That got me thinking: Have I ever been a used car salesman? Have I ever pretended to like someone so that they would buy something? Have I ever been a fake friend in order to sale my wares? Sure I have. As it turns out, pastors are used car salesmen. We have turned in our factory invoices for Bibles and our polyester suits for big hair, but the change in appearance can'’t change the fact that we are still preying Pinto-pushers.
Even worse, we have trained our parishioners to do the same. We have trained them to make friends with "outsiders" in order to convince them to "buy into" or "invest" in the Gospel. Sure, I agree that what we are selling is far superior to an old Gremlin or even a Viper, but that doesn't change the fact that we are degrading the customer (er...…friend). It doesn't change the fact that we are pretending to care only because we have something they need to buy. Call it “friendship evangelism;" call it “winning the right to be heard;" call it whatever you want. It may be relational, but it's an insincere relationship. "Now hold on," you might say. “I sincerely care about this person.” But I would ask you what happens when the person you have befriended repeatedly decides not to live for Jesus. What then? Is there a point where you stop going to ballgames with that person? Is there a point where you stop wasting your money on having that person over for dinner? Is there a point where you stop being their friend? I have...plenty of times. I have given up and moved on to people that are easier sales. Now I'm not suggesting we stop talking about Jesus in our relationships with people who aren'’t following him. But I am suggesting we stop befriending people just to "get '‘em saved."” What would happen if we really loved people and befriended them, not to "win the right to be heard,"” but to simply be their friend? What would happen if we started buying coffee for people simply for the sake of the conversation?
When the salesmen returned to our table, we told them that we were not interested. They proved us right. They stopped caring about us and moved on to the next sale. We could see it, and so can our friends.