All About Image

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

 Hear the word of the Lord:

    They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Gerasenes. And when Jesus had stepped out of the boat, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit. He lived among the tombs. And no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain, for he had often been bound with shackles and chains, but he wrenched the chains apart, and he broke the shackles in pieces. No one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out and cutting himself with stones. And when he saw Jesus from afar, he ran and fell down before him. And crying out with a loud voice, he said, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.” For he was saying to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” And Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Legion, for we are many.” And he begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now a great herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside, and they begged him, saying, “Send us to the pigs; let us enter them.” So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the pigs; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea and drowned in the sea.

    The herdsmen fled and told it in the city and in the country. And people came to see what it was that had happened. And they came to Jesus and saw the demon-possessed man, the one who had had the legion, sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, and they were afraid. And those who had seen it described to them what had happened to the demon-possessed man and to the pigs. And they began to beg Jesus to depart from their region. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged him that he might be with him. And he did not permit him but said to him, “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him, and everyone marveled (Mark 5:1-20).

     We have a serious image-of-God issue in our time. There is a wholesale lack of honor – and even dishonor – for the image of God in people. It’s killing us. The flippant attitude toward the imago Dei in every human is withering our souls and destroying lives. And if we who have the mind of Christ will silence for a moment the less-than-Christ voice that’s insisting on primacy, we will hear the Father saying he is not pleased.

     Didn’t see that one coming, did you? Neither did I. I thought I could suppress it for another week or two, but no. You thought, from the Bible passage above, I would be highlighting Jesus’ authority over demons, or offering you hope for deliverance from whatever you’re suffering today – deliverance like the Gerasene man experienced (only scaled for a first-world context). Usually, you would be right. But today is not usual. From the first half of Chapter 5 in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus wants us to see the image of God in people – the way he does.

     Jesus was willing to destroy two thousand pigs to deliver one human being. I get the idea it could have been two million pigs, same result. Lying before Jesus, needing deliverance, was one who bore the image of God. One was enough. The entire porcine population of earth might have been drowned that day – whatever it took to honor the image.

     Two Sundays ago I preached from Matthew 25, the section in which Jesus describes Judgment Day, and how he, the King seated on his glorious throne, will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats (verse 32). The separation is more than a slight distinction, a 51/49 relationship – this is nothing less than heaven and hell. The sheep go on his right: the blessed (verse 34), who have fed the hungry, given drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, visited the sick, and gone to the prisoner. On his left go the goats: the cursed (verse 41), who found plenty of excuses not to. If you’ll allow it, I’ll distill the criteria down to a single line between the two groups: Those who honored the image of God, and those who did not.

     The people of God routinely forfeit moral authority by hustling moral issues into the political arena. I’m talking about you and me, Church. I used to blame the politicians, but no more – it’s our fault. You wouldn’t take your mobile phone to a blacksmith’s shop for repairs. It makes even less sense to load image-of-God issues onto a system that was never designed to handle them. Some of these need to be dealt with in more detail, so I’ll be taking the next few weeks to air them out. Unsubscribe if you must, but I’m hoping you’ll stick with me.

     To cut us a little bit of slack (but not for long), I get it: the problems are colossal. Good luck getting a handle on human trafficking, the sex trade, chattel slavery, and the denial of basic human rights in every country on earth (no exceptions). Sounds daunting when I put it that way, doesn’t it? No more daunting than it already was. Notice from the Gospel how the Gerasenes had already given up on their neighbor: He lived among the tombs. And no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain, for he had often been bound with shackles and chains, but he wrenched the chains apart, and he broke the shackles in pieces. No one had the strength to subdue him (Mark 5:3-4).  

     And then Jesus showed up – the only one who knew what the Gerasene man really needed. He didn’t need to be subdued. He needed to be delivered. What brought Jesus and the man together? Jesus called to him: For he was saying to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” (5:8). Looking beyond the dozens closest to him, the ones who already basked in the sight and scent and proximity of Jesus, he found the one who needed him most in that moment.

     Find one. Start there. Every Christian can honor the image of God in any human being. There’s a lot of talk about cultural and racial reckonings in our time, of revolutions waiting to be started, powder kegs packed-up tight against the bands. Don’t be scared off. It’s the language of frustration, and frustration is all it’ll produce until the people of God get it into their minds and hearts that the image of God is the issue at hand. The big work is all work that the King intends to have done. Between now and the great and final reckoning, he is providing stages of reckoning, in perfect order and scope. No believer will be left without an opportunity to honor the image, one image-bearer at a time.

     Next week we’re going to reset to Simple. The examples I’ll be giving are so simple, you’ll think I’ve lost my mind. In fact, I’m counting on it. I’m counting on you thinking I’ve lost my crooked and carnal mind – or put it on a short leash, anyway – in favor of fully engaging the mind of Christ. Pray for me… please?     

 

Grace and Peace (from the one in whose image we are made),

 

John  

Jacked Up

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Have you decided yet? It’s been a week since I asked you to start considering. Palm Sunday is coming up in just 59 days. Tick-tock, Church. On April 10 this year, we commemorate the Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, kicking off what will be known as Holy Week 2022. Will you be a cloak-spreader or a palm-spreader? Right now is not too soon to decide.

     Last week I wrote to you about two different perceptions of Jesus’ identity among the crowds on the original Palm Sunday. Most of the people spread their cloaks on the road (Matthew 21:8), revealing a prophetic perception of who Jesus is – “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” (verse 9) – the King himself, coming in peace to initiate his kingdom on earth. But others spread tree branches in front of him, revealing a nationalistic view – “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (same verse) – the king himself, coming to consummate his kingdom, to kick the occupying Romans out of the Promised Land… along with anybody else who was causing them grief. In the intervening years, almost two thousand of them so far, have the percentages shifted any? And if so, in what direction? If Jesus gave us a chance to fully reenact the Triumphal Entry on April 10 of 2022, would “most” Christians spread their cloaks? How many “others” would there be? Gird your loins, Cobblestone, we must, at this juncture, take a hard honest look at how the various perceptions of Jesus’ identity affect the life of Christian faith in our time.

     As an indicator of future performance, past history is hard to beat. From the account of the Triumphal Entry, move ahead to the night of Jesus’ arrest and trial before the high priest (Matthew 26:47-75), which was in our Bible reading plan earlier this week…

     Now the chief priests and the whole council were seeking false testimony against Jesus that they might put him to death, but they found none, though many false witnesses came forward. At last two came forward and said, “This man said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to rebuild it in three days’” (verses 59-61).

     “At last.” Many came forward with hooey and half-truth. None of it matched. Even in the kangaroo court of Caiaphas, it wasn’t admissible. Finally, two “witnesses” were willing to collaborate on something the whole council could get jacked up about: the temple.

     You need to understand that the temple was the last big thing the Jews had going for them. Marginalized and politically diminished over the previous 400 years, they found themselves by Jesus’ time under the thumb of Rome, the most oppressive ruler since Nebuchadnezzar. The temple complex was the one place remaining where Jewish rule went mostly unchallenged – short of a riot, the Romans tended to not intervene. By extension, the temple rulers held sway over a fair amount of what happened in Jerusalem – culturally speaking, anyway. Making the best of a bad situation, you might say. But along with understanding what the temple meant to them, you also need to know why the temple was where it was, and what it was supposed to mean to all of God’s people.

     After the Babylonian exile, the Restoration Temple was built by Jews returning to Jerusalem. Its purpose was to restore worship in the holy city – “Thus says the Lord of hosts: Consider your ways. Go up to the hills and bring wood and build the house, that I may take pleasure in it and that I may be glorified, says the Lord” (Haggai 1:7-8). The altar was rebuilt and worship resumed in 516BC. The temple was a modest structure compared to the original, but it fulfilled the purpose. Other purposes became attached later on, though not so much to the Lord’s pleasure.

     King Herod “the Great” took hold of the project in his day. Though he moved lots of earth (if not heaven) to increase the size of the temple and its courts, their meaning was diminished. Like the Pharaohs building monuments to themselves on the backs of Hebrew slaves, Herod went about loading hardship after hardship on his own people. The ironic part: nobody stopped him. The bigger and more elaborate the temple complex became, the more national, cultural, and ethnic pride it evoked. While the Restoration temple was built to glorify God, Herod’s Temple was built to glorify the works of man.

     Jesus’ accusers were able to rally the troops around the idea that somebody was threatening to bust up their playhouse. The ruling Jews feared nothing more than losing their grip on what happened in their lives and culture – as tenuous and illusionary as that grip was – and did their best to confer the same fear on others. Anything but trust God. Anything but listen to the man standing right in front of them who, in the very next round of questioning, revealed he was the very Messiah they were supposed to be looking for, and said, “But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Matthew 26:64). Maybe they thought the timing wasn’t optimal.

     So how’s the timing now? One of the more widely published statistics related to Christianity says that about 65% of Americans claim to be Christians. (Stick with me a second: One of the really hot studies has the “nones” outnumbering evangelicals 26 to 24%. Let’s save that for another day. The 65% includes Americans who could be classified as “cultural Christians.”) But according to the same research by Barna, only 6% of Americans hold a biblical worldview. What? Less than one-tenth of claimed Christians believe what the Bible says, and would act on it. Apparently, it’s easy to click the Yes box next to “Christian?” Far more revealing are the responses to questions about what happens where the rubber meets the road.

     I regret whenever my first impulse is to think/say/do something other than what Scripture instructs. I regret whenever the only path I see in a given moment is to put my trust in the glorified works of man. How about you? Holding a biblical worldview takes Holy Spirit-empowered grip. And the question remains: Has there ever been a good time to not listen to Jesus?

    Jesus wasn’t impressed with Herod’s Temple, but his disciples were. Leaving out of Jerusalem on Tuesday afternoon of the original Holy Week, they pointed out the majesty of the place – like eighth-graders on a Washington, DC field trip. But he answered them, “You see all these, do you not? Truly, I say to you, there will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down” (Matthew 24:2). The temple’s purpose had become so polluted there was no longer a reason for it to stand. Thirty-seven years later, it wasn’t… and hasn’t since.

     History cannot go in a way God has not ordained. Does that mean we hunker down and wait it out? Of course not. We are agents of history, under the rule of the rightful King, now and forever. Pray. Work. Repeat. At every opportunity, spread your cloak and serve him in humility. Engage the mind of Christ and work his will – the solutions that have been heretofore unimaginable. Please don’t throw down a palm branch and expect the King to validate your expectations on him. He’ll be busting up our playhouse, too, the structures and methods we’ve been lured into trusting – but it’s for his glory and our good.       

     And since Jesus is doing the busting, what’s to get jacked up about?          

 

 Grace and Peace (on the road to restoration),

 

John

Your Cloak Please

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     One of the stranger theories I have for the meaning of eternity involves being a witness to events I wasn’t there for – when time is obsolete and we ramp back into eternity, going to a certain point of history and geography to see something that changed the story of mankind. It’s not a dearly held theory; I have no scriptural basis for it (maybe because I haven’t looked very hard), and if it turns out to be bogus I won’t be terribly disappointed. Meanwhile, I use it to entertain myself.

     The scene might be one of Abraham Lincoln’s Cabinet meetings or the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, or maybe looking out the window of the Apollo 8 command module with Jim Lovell to see the first earthrise witnessed by the naked eye. I think you get the idea. By far, my favorite imaginings involve scenes from the Bible, and our reading this week has included a selection from the Top Ten list – the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. Whether you’re intrigued by my theory or sure I’ve gone completely bonkers, humor me will you, and let’s visit the original Palm Sunday.

     Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying,

    “Say to the daughter of Zion,
‘    Behold, your king is coming to you,
    humble, and mounted on a donkey,
    on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden’” (Matthew 21:1-5).

     The donkey figures largely in the scene. Don’t forget about the donkey.

     The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them. Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee” (verses 6-11).

     Plugging myself into this kind of scene is, as I said, entertaining – until it isn’t. At first I can imagine being one of the people on the right side of whatever issue is at hand, but the illusion doesn’t hold for long. It’s like, when I read the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32), I cast myself as the compassionate father, only to find out I’m actually the honked-off older brother. You and I may be headed for a similar experience with the triumphal entry. Let’s see who the players are, and figure it out from there.

     As Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the donkey (please don’t forget about the donkey!), the whole city was stirred up; almost everybody shouted, “Hosanna (“O save!”) to the Son of David”; but not everybody placed the same item on the road in front of him. It makes a difference. Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.  Since I’ve sucked you into this scene with my overwrought imagination, tell me: which are you spreading – cloak or palm branch? I’ll wait while you decide.

     Time’s up. The cloak and the palm branch represent two different perceptions of who Jesus is. Spreading the palm branch represents commitment to creed and country; spreading the cloak represents commitment to the king. Spreading the palm branch throws expectations onto the king; spreading the cloak means receiving his rule.

     In purely practical terms, look at it this way: Who carries a palm tree around? The people who cut palm branches – were those cut from their own palm tree or somebody else’s? And once Jesus had passed (on the donkey, remember), reckon they picked up those branches, or left them in the road? On the other hand, everybody in Jesus’ culture would have had a cloak of their own. If you didn’t have a cloak, you got one, and quickly. The cloak was your wearable camping gear, your shelter from the elements. If you reach to grab someone else’s cloak to spread, you’ve got a fight on your hands. And here lay cloaks on the road. Are you seeing a higher level of commitment? And since donkeys don’t step out of the parade for bathroom breaks, almost everybody who spread a cloak would have at least a hoof print for a souvenir, while a few lucky souls would have… well, as the sign in the barn says: Manure Happens. I told you the donkey figures largely in the scene. Pick up your cloak anyway – you’re going to need it.

     You and I, Church, we live in the time between the first appearing of Jesus and the second. All the people who crowded the road between Bethpage and Jerusalem that day, they lived at the very opening of the same age we live in. Maybe it’s easier now to see ourselves in the scene (whether my whimsical theory has any merit or not). They were living out the fulfillment of prophecy. So are we.

     Kings who come in peace come riding on donkeys – nobody among Jesus’ kin and country could have been unaware of that symbol from their history (see Zechariah 9:9). Sin and transgression and adversarial attitudes can be dealt with, and no armies have to clash… yet. The King is offering peaceful resolution – on his terms, of course. Don’t think the King is any less serious or formidable because of the donkey. The donkey is for our benefit, not his.

     We needed the palm branches on the road – for contrast, if nothing else. And while my imagination is in overdrive, I’m picturing more than a few Israelites, bedding down in their unsoiled cloaks that night, thinking, “Dang! I wish I had spread my cloak on the road.” Back here in present-day reality, I’m praying we become a whole church of cloak-spreaders, receiving the King’s rule.

 

 Grace and Peace (in His dominion),

 

John

 

   

"No-Joke Jesus"

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Allow me to introduce you to No-Joke Jesus. You met him in your Bible reading this week, but may not have realized who he was. Oh, he’s no more/less/different than before, but a new awareness should have been awakened in you, beginning with the seventeenth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel:

     And (Jesus) was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light… and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him” (Matthew 17:2, 5).

     Listen, indeed. The original instruction was to Peter, James, and John, who were with Jesus during the transfiguration. And the voice in the cloud booms down through the centuries. Take a moment right now to feel its reverberations – “Listen to him.”

     The Transfiguration signals a turning point in Jesus’ mission of initiating the kingdom of God on earth. Immediately afterward, he lit out on his last journey to Jerusalem before his crucifixion. Time was short. The conversations were very direct. Even the parables became edgier. Coming down the mountain that day, he found the rest of his disciples unable to heal a boy oppressed by a demon – even though he had given them authority over demons (see Matthew 10:8). And Jesus answered, “O faithless and twisted generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you?” (Matthew 17:17). Gentle Jesus, meek and mild? Hardly.

     So here we are, Church, twenty centuries beyond the Transfiguration. Those first three disciples were told not to reveal the vision until after Jesus’ resurrection. So here we are again, twenty centuries beyond the Resurrection. It’s OK to reveal the vision. And it’s always been OK to listen to Jesus.

     In the New Testament, every letter from the apostles urges every believer to live as if the Lord’s returning could happen at any moment – which, of course, it could. I think you know that I am by no means an end-times expert, but here’s an unassailable fact to deal with: today is one day closer to the Second Coming than yesterday was, and if it doesn’t happen today, tomorrow will be one day closer still. Therefore, it is incumbent upon our generation to listen to Jesus better and closer than any generation before. I’m not asking y’all to become eschatological eggheads; I’m asking you, as a pastor and as your brother in Christ, to listen to Jesus better than ever – especially since his message and culture’s message are diverging at a rate never before matched in history.

     Jesus did us all a tremendous favor by revealing his No-Joke side. And we can feel free to apply this new info retroactively. All that stuff he said about the merciful obtaining mercy and the meek inheriting the earth – he meant every word. Authority over demons? Legit. We can feel free, also, to hear the voice of No-Joke Jesus in the coming chapters of Matthew’s Gospel. Peacemaking – the only useful tactics are those that closely resemble what Jesus specifically gave (18:15-20). Marriage – Jesus speaks truth on the subject (19:3-12)… figure it out. Judgment – he wasn’t fooling around (25:31-46). The gentle voice of Jesus is no less real than ever; his No-Joke voice is more helpful for clearing the air.

     The No-Joke voice of Jesus is most helpful in the moment when many other voices around us are saying one thing, and Jesus is saying another. What do we embrace and what do we throw overboard – or oppose? Catch up with Jesus – the Jesus who, during his first appearing, was on his last hike to Jerusalem. His stride is long, his pace determined – but he will lengthen your stride and quicken your pace. He wants you to hear and understand. Many people lament the amount of polarization in our day, and at times so do I. Polarization is the enemy of unity. But unity gained by ignoring truth is no kind of fruitful unity. Jesus has truth. Jesus is Truth. Go with Jesus – if polarization happens, that’s a separate matter altogether. Our calling is to get truth, live truth, and invite others into truth.

     If your perception of Jesus is rattled right now… well, the affectionate pastor part of me is a little sorry for being the one to have to rattle you. On the other hand, it needed to happen sometime. Rest assured: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end (Lamentations 3:22). Jesus will always have the perfect combination of compassion and discipline, parable and directness – for you and for all his brothers and sisters. But please be advised: at no point is he ever kidding.

 

“Listen to him.”

 

 Grace and Peace (and Holy Spirit ears to hear),

 

John   

Bouncy House

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Who knows how conversations take such a turn? Young children employ a logic that can pivot on a dime and give eight cents change, sometimes nine. I do my best to follow it, and I’m trying to relearn it, but usually it outmaneuvers me – so I’ll simply describe what happened.

     Whatever happened, it happened over corn dogs and mac-and-cheese. Memaw being Memaw, she also provided strawberry milk. We were on lunch break, “the littles” and I (the littles being our younger grandchildren). Such a menu is bound to put kids in a talkative mood, and I know there had to be a trigger, but I still didn’t see it coming. Best I can remember, we had wandered onto the topic of what heaven is like. Memaw and I were asked questions. We tried to field them, squeezing our adult ideas through the doctrinal equivalent of a Play-Dough Fun Factory. The littles were amused. And then the trigger tripped:

    Ryder (age 9): “I hope heaven has a balloon room!”

    Alena (age 6): “And a ball pit!”

    ‘Bella (just turned 4): “And a BOUNCY house!”

    And from there they simply went on with their day.

     In the Gospel of Matthew alone, Jesus is recorded using the term “kingdom of heaven” or “kingdom of God” nearly three dozen times. In just the thirteenth chapter, Jesus says “The kingdom of heaven is like…” or “the kingdom of heaven may be compared to…” seven times. In each of those parables, the kingdom of heaven is like, or may be compared to, something on earth, something tangible and recognizable: a grain of mustard seed, the yeast in bread dough, a fishing net thrown into the sea. I’ve read and re-read the description of the new heaven and earth and the new Jerusalem in Revelation 21; I’ve seen charts and illustrations; and still, none of it appeals to me like Jesus’ earthy, attainable parables. What lesson do you think he wants us to learn? Do you think we may be overcomplicating it?

     Jesus came the first time to initiate the kingdom of heaven on earth. He will come the second time to establish his kingdom – there will be no rivals, no pretenders to the throne. Ever since his first coming, our job as Christians has been to further his kingdom. As I’ve mentioned in previous letters to you, Church, I’m convinced he expects us to have a bunch of the furthering done by the time he gets back. How much simpler and more joyful is our work if, instead of straining so hard to figure out each thing we need to do and everything we don’t, we relax and trust the Lord with the increase? Plant a tiny seed of gentleness instead of harshness, and watch it grow. Knead some gospel truth into everyday conversation, and it’ll rise. Throw the net into the sea, not knowing who it’ll catch. How many times will you speak the name of Jesus today?

     “And proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. You received without paying; give without pay” (Matthew 10:7-8). This is part of what Jesus said to the twelve disciples as he sent them out for the first time. No sweat – just do this. And they did. In the past month I’ve been reading a lot about the kingdom of God – in Matthew’s Gospel, plus a very serious devotional magazine published by some very serious adults. I’ve also been hanging with the littles. I’m learning much from the adults; I’m having loads more fun with the littles – I think they and Jesus speak something closer to the same language. Bouncy house? I’m in.      

     Has it ever occurred to you how often, as Jesus was describing what the kingdom of heaven is like, he appealed to the childlike imagination in us? Children can easily imagine a camel passing through the eye of a needle: “Well, God would just take one camel molecule through at a time, and put them back together on the other side.” Problem solved.

     How often have you hoped to regain such a simple faith?

 

 

Grace and Peace (and kingdom fun… and maybe some strawberry milk),

 

John

Joy and Mission

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     The comic strip character was wrong. “Rat” had taken pen in hand to write to the editors of Oxford English Dictionary. As the frames moved left to right, the letter went like so: “Dear Oxford English Dictionary, I see you’ve chosen “vax” as the Word of the Year. This is wrong. The Word of the Year is actually ‘crappo.’ Again.” But I have to disagree.

     In a gathering of friends recently, Kay asked us, “What are you grateful for from the year past, and what are you hopeful for in the new year?” In this group, there was no shortage of gratitude or hope, but you know how these conversations go – it takes some prodding to get them expressed. Kay’s good at prodding. When my turn came around, I was glad to have had some practice.

     A few weeks earlier I’d been with Jeremiah George, one of my fellow elders here at the church, taking up space at Patterson’s Café. He asked how life was going for me. He’s good at prodding, too. Between sips of coffee, I said, “The joy is back.”

     As he was congratulating me on finding “the joy” – in those very same moments – I was thinking, “Oh, no… did I just lie to him?!” Here was the problem: if he asked any follow-up questions – How can you tell? How did you find it? – I wouldn’t have an answer. He may have asked those and many other questions (someday I’d like to be as good at prodding as he is), but I honestly don’t remember. I may have given answers, but if so, I don’t know what they would have been. I was busy analyzing, which is what I’m good at. Maybe too good. In a second or two, I was settled that I hadn’t lied to him. The joy was there. But why?

     Over the next several days I analyzed some more, turning joy round and round like a Rubik’s Cube, trying to figure out why the colors matched. At times I was afraid I would chase joy away with the analyzing. I could imagine joy as a comic strip character – though certainly not Rat… maybe an otter… aquatic mammals seem to have so much fun. But this otter was swimming away, waving a paw in disgust, saying, “Ain’t nobody got time for this ol’ stick-in-the-mud!” Thankfully, the image was only in my overworked imagination. Joy stuck around, enduring the analysis with a toddler-like pleasure – and teasing me with bits of evidence.

     After a while, I started to like the teasing. I abandoned the search for cause and began enjoying the effect. All the evidence was everywhere I wouldn’t have looked anyway, and wasn’t what I would’ve looked for. To begin with, I realized I’d been taking myself much less seriously for a while, which is kind of handy, since taking myself less seriously gave me eyes to see that others had been taking me much less seriously than I’d been taking myself. And yet I was unharmed – who knew?! I was singing more, spontaneously – one notable example was a rousing rendition of “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road” as Kay and I were driving out to the kids’ house. Skunks are possibly being targeted by Morgan Township drivers, but hey, it’s not the end of the world. I get a print newspaper (that’s where I encountered Rat in his wrongness), and I was reading it with the mind of Christ. Eventually, I became especially glad I hadn’t found a process, a procedure, the ten repeatable steps to joy. I only found otter tracks leading to the water. Joy snuck up on me, and I’m tickled that it did.      

     Lately, I’ve been noticing joy in you, too, Church. And again, the effect is the big deal, rather than the cause. We don’t have joy banners strung up everywhere. On the front porch, I don’t require the arms-and-legs J-O-Y dance before you go in the door (though I wouldn’t stop you from doing it). No, it’s not a worked-up thing. I see it in your actions, some – but mostly in your reactions. I see you reacting with patience and even gladness to the same situations that would produce fear, frustration, or outrage… if joy wasn’t up underneath, tickling. I see you trusting the Lord more.

     Once I recognized that you and I both had some joy percolating, I did indulge in a teensy bit more analysis related to a possible cause: Is there something common to your joy and mine? And this is where the second half of Kay’s question comes in. I had answered the first half in saying I was grateful for the joy. Then, Kay reminded me that I hadn’t answered the second part. She’s good at reminding, too (which I’m also grateful for). What was I hopeful for in the new year? Again, I was unprepared. And again, as with Jeremiah, I went with the unprepared statement. I’m hopeful for a clear sense of mission. It’s not just wishful thinking; I’m expecting it to happen, for you and me and all of us together. And that’s when I found what could be – could possibly be, I say – the common cause of our joy.

     I road-tested it with that gathering of friends the other day, and today I’m rolling it out to you, Church. Since I’m kind of a dime-store scientist, I’ll put it in the form of a hypothesis: Joy is inextricably linked to mission.

     By way of gathering evidence, I’ve been searching the Gospels. Or maybe the Gospels have been searching me. I’m OK either way. Now that you and I are into the New Testament in our Bible reading plan, we’re seeing Jesus launch into his mission, which was to initiate the kingdom of heaven… on earth. In just the first ten chapters of Matthew we’ve seen the Incarnation, the fulfillment of several hundred prophecies, the baptism and temptation of Jesus, and the calling of his disciples. We’ve seen Jesus heal, taking time out from healing only long enough to roll out his core teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. We’ve seen him lay out all the most necessary attributes of his mission-minded disciples in every age. And when you pause to think about it – hey, Jesus’ mission is my mission as a Christian! Or to put a finer point on it, his mission was to initiate the kingdom; ours is to extend it.

     Jesus accomplished his mission. And there, right there, is perhaps the spark for our joy. In the Gospels, we see Jesus methodically knocking down the works of the devil, exercising authority over sin and oppression and disease. We see him conquer death. Knowing that our mission is an extension of his, we know he is with us and for us. We are encouraged. We become a fit vessel for joy to bubble around in.

     If I’m right, if joy and mission are inextricably linked, then there’s probably a thing or two we ought to know about mission. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus speaking)… that’s the “great commandment” and the One Big Mission. Within the One Big are many categories – works of mercy, caring, evangelism, and so on. Within the categories, churches will be stronger in some than others. And when it comes to individual mission, there are as many of those as there are individual Christians – with infinite combinations and degrees of spiritual gifts. Maybe this is the year of understanding your mission, and finding more joy.

     I visited one of our folks this week whose health is poor. She hasn’t been to church for a while, but wants to come. I offered some help from my family, but she was already making arrangements with a neighbor lad. You see, if he brings her, he’ll bring his buddy as well, and both young men will experience the love of Jesus in the gathering of his saints, which would increase her joy. Yeah, that.

     I haven’t yet seen a comic strip with a reply from the editors of Oxford English Dictionary. Why wait? I’ll propose a Word of the Year. In the English language, we’ve co-opted many words from different languages – how about some Latin? I propose Anno Domini for 2021 – “the year of our Lord” – just like the 2,020 before it and however more are to come. And I don’t really care what Rat thinks. I’m too busy being tickled. 

 . 

Grace and Peace (and joy for all the ticklish among us),

     

John

 

Something Other

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Several years ago a book came out that made a minor splash among historians and readers of history. I didn’t commit the title or the author’s name to memory because I was fairly sure I wouldn’t read it, and completely sure I wouldn’t recommend it – the premise was deeply flawed. The book was a revised history of the first-century Christian church, in which the author claims that the persecution of Christians didn’t happen. All made up. Fiction. No feeding of Christians to the lions, no human torches in Nero’s gardens, no martyrs. The stories were concocted by Christians to gain sympathy from non-Christians. Hmm. Thank God for minor splashes.

     I don’t usually read comments on online articles, but since I’d learned of the book through a secular source I was especially curious. There were those who congratulated the author: it’s about time somebody got the story straight. And then came the comment that defused the rhetoric, and perhaps kept a minor splash from becoming a major one. The book’s premise is a non-issue. What explains the explosive growth of the early church? Sympathy is completely insufficient to bring thousands at a time into the faith. It boils down to this: It wasn’t how first-century Christians died that drew people into the family of God, it was how they lived.

     In the twenty-first century, the same is true. Christians in some parts of the world are facing terrible persecution – nobody signs up for the maiming and murdering, yet something about the faith is so compelling that millions are willing to risk it. How inviting must the lives of persecuted Christians be to draw others into the risk? Meanwhile, here in the US and the rest of the Western world, persecution isn’t our gig. We won’t be able to play on the sympathies of our countrymen. I’m hearing more and more talk about the marginalizing of Christians in “the first world,” but it strikes me as an especially lame tactic for evangelism. I’ll bet Jesus has a better plan, a plan to make our lives inviting to non-believers, even those who think they’re doing just fine without the bother of Christianity.

     Jesus started redeeming his church before his church existed. We’re only, what, five days into our New Testament reading plan for this year, and already Matthew has brought us face-to-face with the Lord’s core teaching. The only mention of persecution is to rejoice in it, and be glad (see 5:11-12). Other than that, Jesus unrolls the blueprint for a life so compelling, unbelievers couldn’t help wanting to be around people who live it. This is the life he intends for all his disciples to lead, pursuing one attribute after another, as we are conformed to the image of (God’s) Son (Romans 8:29).

     The question, as we wrap up this four-part mini-series on “Redeeming Church,” is, “How can we best cooperate with Jesus in the full and final redemption of his church?” We want to be pulling in the same direction. I’ll put one answer, or part of it anyway, in the form of another question. As you roll into Chapters 6 and 7 of Matthew next week, ask yourself, “If I and all the people of my church were living the life Jesus describes in the Sermon on the Mount, how would our neighbors and families and coworkers react?”

     Jesus’ church in the Western world isn’t to the point of needing rescue from persecution. But looking around (and looking inward), I see that we are very much in need of redemption from a handful of other maladies: the quest for influence, the illusion of self-sufficiency, the nagging hunger to be heard on our own terms. Why does the church need redemption from these? Because they are precisely what the world strives for – and even the casual observer can tell there’s no peace, no rest, no generosity nor any confidence in the striving. If Jesus weren’t calling his people to be salt and light (Matthew 5:13, 14) – if he were OK with his church being just like the rest of the world – then those pursuits would be legitimate. But his calling is something other, isn’t it? Arrogance, hubris, and self-promotion can be had anywhere – the church must be different.

     “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (5:3). In the very first sentence of his core teaching, as he first opened his mouth and taught (verse 2), Jesus was all about the kingdom of heaven – kingdom men, women, and children living to the glory of their King… and for the benefit and potential blessing of whoever doesn’t know him yet. Every church is meant to be a manifestation of the kingdom of heaven right here on earth, compelling others to notice the difference. In one moment, our gracious God will enliven the soul of an unbeliever with saving faith; in the next moment, the brand-new believer will want to become part of a community of Christian faith, and should have a pretty good idea where to look. See how it works?

     Jesus knew, beforehand, that even his people would be tempted toward the same methods the world (supposedly) is having success with. So before he ever uttered the word “church” (Greek, ecclesia – his first recorded use is at Matthew 16:18), he preempted the temptation, began redeeming the church before she got started. He led with what the kingdom of heaven and its inhabitants are like. We would do well to wiggle into his description. We would do well to stop striving after the same things as the world. We would do exceedingly well to “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (6:33), and have whatever else added to us – at the Lord’s discretion.

     There are books I’ve decided to not read. There are books I’ve thrown in the trash. At the other end of the spectrum are books that beckon to me, and I crave the time and opportunity to read them. There are books I hope to read again and again. But the best book on my reading list – and I’m sure it’s the best, by an infinite degree – will be read to me. My name is written in it. And the names of so many of you whom I love so dearly – your names are written there, too. This book is still being compiled, and as astonishing as it might seem, Jesus calls us into a kind of co-authorship with him.

     I’m happy to receive the assignment – even happier to have Jesus receive all the credit. How about you?

  

Grace and Peace (and blessedness, by Jesus’ definition),

 

John