Do You Love Your City??

In the introduction to their book To Transform a City, authors Eric Swanson and Sam Williams ask this very simple question: "Do you love your city?"

It was one of those moments when time stops and the words jump from the page. I considered the ramifications of the various responses and shuddered to think of how (as a relative newcomer to my city) I can't honestly respond with "yes" (at least not yet).

And then I thought of all the pastors, missionaries and other leaders who toil in the fields of the Lord. If we're brutally honest with ourselves, can we honestly say we love our city, our community, our church family, the people in our ministry context? How many pastors and/or their spouses begin to see their congregation as a bunch of ungrateful, demanding, Pharisaical knuckleheads who just don't "get it"? How many missionaries have become so tired of the cultural challenges they face that they withdraw from contact and real fellowship? How often have I looked at crowds as blobs of humanity rather than seeking to reflect Jesus' compassion for the individuals?

"Love your neighbor as yourself" is the second greatest commandment, according to Jesus, following only "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength" (Matt. 22:37-38). So how are we doing? Does love characterize our attitude toward those to whom God has sent us? Does love empower our ministry, giving us the wherewithal to put up with the failings of others and ourselves?

Community in the Face of Death

Both my children are acquainted with tragic death because of their college experience. Back in February we took our son to see Houghton College, and during the Chapel service we heard an unusual speaker -- a student -- describe the aftermath of his room-mate's suicide a year earlier. I was surprised at the subject, given that we were among many other parents and prospective students that weekend. And indeed, later we heard from the college chaplain, who described the difficult decision to highlight such a sorrowful event when so many visitors were there. He and others in the decision-making process believed it was appropriate to demonstrate how they as a community responded to tragedy, and how God worked through grief to bring healing. I agree with their decision, as did my son. He plans to begin his freshman year there this August.

My daughter just graduated from Seattle-Pacific University. A week before graduation, a troubled young man entered a campus building and shot 3 students, killing one of them in the latest episode of school shootings. We knew this tragedy would have to be addressed during the graduation events, and it was. In each of the three official graduation traditions ("Ivy Cutting," Baccalaureate, and Commencement), speakers walked the fine line of acknowledging the tragedy and the response of the community, along with the celebration of graduation. They wanted to share both the grief as well as the joy, and they succeeded.

Houghton and Seattle-Pacific are very different schools, both in size and in context (rural and urban), but they share the identity of Christ-based communities. I'm thankful my children have received and are receiving the benefit of more than just excellent academics: they have the privilege of being part of communities that genuinely care for the students who make up their respective populations.

Tragedy is unavoidable, and so the way in which our community -- whether it's a school, a congregation, or a neighborhood -- responds demonstrates the quality of our faith AND our relationships. "Weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning" (Ps. 30:5) -- especially when we are surrounded by those who will weep with us.

The Varied Echo

I'm reading C.S. Lewis' Reflections on the Psalms, a book I've owned for a long time but never read. He has an interesting perspective as a literary critic, although he claims (with false modesty) that he is an amateur writing to and for other amateurs. In his introduction, Lewis praises God for employing parallelism as the chief characteristic of the Psalms' poetry, and he describes it as "saying the same thing twice in different words." What really struck me, however, was the idea of how parallelism conveys a "varied echo," in that the second phrase doesn't add anything new per se, but it does "beef up" the idea being conveyed.

What got me thinking is something I remember from seminary, when a professor warned us budding preachers against too much originality in scripture interpretation. In short, he said, "If no one else has ever said it, it's probably wrong." Intellectually and theologically, there really is nothing new under the sun; it's all been said before (a bit of parallelism there). But this doesn't have to make us feel defeated, as though we're just parrots saying the same thing over and over again. Instead, we are providing the "varied echo" of poetic parallelism, restating the truth of God in different words for different audiences at different times. There are as many ways of restating and repeating Truth as there are different types of snowflakes. The basic form and content doesn't change because Truth doesn't change. But I can provide the "varied echo" that people need in order to hear and understand.

Let Loose the Dogs of (Culture) War!

Yesterday featured an eruption in the culture war: Phil Robertson of "Duck Dynasty" was canned by A&E, his network boss, because of anti-gay and pro-biblical comments he'd made in a GQ interview. Facebook lit up like a Christmas tree: "We're being attacked! Boycott A&E! We're losing our freedom of speech!" These and many similar memes fed into my newsfeed so much that I scarcely saw anything else.

At the same time, I'm reading a book titled The Tenth Parallel: Dispatches from the Fault Line Between Christianity and Islam, by Eliza Griswold. One of her observations is that Western liberalism (and perceived immorality) feeds the tensions between Muslims and Christians from Africa to eastern Asia. This is especially true of our relaxed attitude toward homosexuality. I well remember being questioned by a Kenyan Muslim in 2004: "Why does America invade Iraq to destroy Saddam Hussein, when it permits homosexuality at home?" He couldn't understand what he considered to be a double standard: hatred of an external enemy while tolerating internal evil. Of course, many conservative Evangelicals would share this view (at least toward homosexuality), and we dread becoming like western Europe in its seemingly anti-Christian pluralism.

And so, yes, I think we do have legitimate concerns about the drift toward immorality in our culture. But what is the best way to respond? Signing petitions? Electing "Christian" politicians who promise to "fight for us"? Creating our own "Christian" subculture? Huddling in our churches and hoping Jesus comes back soon? These can all be valid activities and motives, but there's a hidden danger in them: "evil" becomes an external problem, something or someone "out there" who is attacking me and mine "in here." And so we quickly vilify those we disagree with and let loose the dogs of war.

At the risk of sounding overly pietistic, I suggest that we look at our own hearts. Jesus asked, "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? ... You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye" (Matt. 7:3,5). The spiritual war is real, and far more pervasive than we care to admit. The "fault lines" (or "battle trenches") are not on the other side of the world or the boundaries between city and rural communities. It's not "us" vs. "them"! The spiritual battle takes place in my heart and in every other human heart in the world. True, we must be careful never to call evil good or good evil. But let's not become hypocrites in our criticism of others.

Called to Be. Called to Do. Romans 1:1-15

My lectionary has assigned the book of Romans for my NT Epistle reading, and as I read several things jumped off the page to land in my mind.

First, Paul knew who he was and what he was called by God to do. This is what he says about himself: "a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel" (v.1); "Through [Jesus] and for his name's sake, we received grace and apostleship to call people ..." (v.5); "I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish" (v.14). Paul never forgot how God invaded his life and re-purposed him to go to Gentiles. He received grace (related to spiritual giftedness) and apostleship (i.e. commission and authority) to carry out God's will. He was certain that God had given him his identity and his life mission, no matter how his activities fluctuated.

What about us? Paul informs us of several "callings" from God that apply to all of us, regardless of our specific life mission. 1. We are called "to the obedience that comes from faith" (v.5). 2. We are called to "belong to Jesus Christ" (v.6). 3. We are "loved by God and called to be saints" (v.7).

As to my specific role, the simplest way I can express it is to say that God has called me to be a bridge-builder, one who seeks to connect older and younger generations as well as different cultures and denominations, in the embrace of the Cross. I'm convinced that Jesus is our peace, and in Him we find meaning, healing, and destiny.

My second observation about Paul is that, even though plans didn't always work out for him, he never lost his sense of mission. In v.13 he mentions how he's been thwarted at visiting Rome despite "many" intentions to do so. This helps me to see my own fluctuation in context; I don't need to beat myself up if plans don't work out the way I want them to. But I do need to stay focused on the life mission God has for me. Yes, I've failed and fallen down. Yes, I've embarrassed myself and others. I'll do it again. But failure doesn't have to be a death-blow.

Third, Paul longs to visit the Romans (v.11). They're in his heart and his prayers (vv.8-10). And when he visits he plans to have a harvest among them as he and they are mutually encouraged (vv.12,15). He's not embarrassed to say that he has an agenda! This perhaps is what God wanted me to see today especially. I've been struggling with anxiety prior to most of my "outings." I'm not worried about travel per se, but for some reason I get overwhelmed with the details and begin to fret over unspoken questions like "What if I forget something? What if I say or do something that offends someone else? What if I let people or God down?" In all this I'm looking at myself and not the people to whom God is sending me. When Jesus says in John 4:35, "Open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest" He's talking about real people (in that case the Samaritan village of Sychar). Thus when Paul looked forward to the "harvest" he would reap in Rome (v.15), he was expectant with joy and hope. I think that's the key God wants me to see.

A Cry in the Wilderness

I've always struggled to relate to Job. Not that I doubt his innocence or the sincerity of his indignation. I just can't relate to his righteousness. He, like Jesus after him, could rightfully cry out to God: "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" But I can't. I never could.

You see, no matter how many awful things might happen to me, I deserve worse. I am the sinner, the straying sheep, the Judas, and Peter by the campfire all rolled into one. I'm the one who did the abandoning, not God.

Addicts wallow in self-pity and shame, a slough of despond that entraps and pulls them in deeper like quicksand. And so instead of crying out "Why is this happening to me?", all we can rightfully say is "My God, my God, why have I forsaken Thee?"

Germany 1932: A Not-So-Distant Mirror

In 1932 Lesslie Newbigin attended a conference in Germany that focused on developing more collaboration between English and German universities.  But in his article "The German Outlook Today" (found here) Newbigin describes how the political situation in Germany overshadowed all other topics.  As I read his analysis of how Germany was attracted to "National Socialism" (aka Nazism), I saw some unsettling parallels with Europe today.

1. Because of the crushing terms of the post-Armistice Treaty of Versailles, Germany faced a Sisyphean economic burden made impossible with the cessation of American investments after 1929. Furthermore, creditor nations (i.e. Great Britain and France) refused to cut them any slack in loan repayments; austerity measures forced Germany into economic paralysis.

2. Germany was humiliated by "democratic" and "globalizing" forces, thus creating nostalgia for monarchism combined with a xenophobic paranoia -- a poisonous atmosphere ideal for the creation of Hitler and his ilk.

It's not too difficult to see the parallels, is it?  How many more Greeks will suicide before an Alexander rises up?  What will happen if Spain collapses?  I'm afraid that Germany will be on the receiving end of the next European autocrat.