rich: virtue reality

Virtue Reality.

Virtues are funny things.  They are the fruit of faith and whenever paraded, become parodies of themselves and the worst kind of vanity imaginable.  When they are not the fruit of faith they become its greatest obstacle.  Virtues are most vital when invisible and most sharply imaged when they are not the focus of our attentions.  They are evidence of their Source (and ours) and not the generators of it (or us).

Take, for example, wisdom.  Wisdom has at its source the 'fear of the Lord' - the highest regard and reverence for Him.  The tendency among many of us, though, is to confuse wisdom with omniscience and to think ourselves wise in proportion to how much stuff we know.  God calls us to be wise and provides us with Christ.  We pressure ourselves to be all-knowing and fret over where Cain got his wife and how the earth can be as young as the Scriptures claim when geologists say that it takes millions of years more than that to produce a barrel of oil.  We tend to suspect that wisdom lies in the ability to answer imponderables rather than in Christ.  and we sometimes end in self-contempt and even abandonment of our faith, not because our faith is false, but because we focused on a wisdom that is not a virtue but a vanity.

It is the same way with strength.  God calls us to 'be strong' and we mistake that for a call to omnipotence.  We confuse strength to endure trials with an ability to walk unfrustrated through life.  We convince ourselves that if we were strong we would never fail, never tire, never hurt, never need.  We begin to measure strength in terms of ease of progress, equate power with success, endurability with invincibility, and inevitably, when our illusion of omnipotence is shattered, we condemn ourselves for being weak.

God has called us to be lovers and we frequently think that He meant us to be saviors.  So we 'love' as long as we see 'results.'  We give of ourselves as long as our investments pay off, but if the ones we love do not respond, we tend to despair and blame ourselves and even resent those we pretend to love.  Because we love someone, we want them to be free of addictions, of sin, of self - and that is as it should be.  But it might be that our love for them and our desire for their well-being will nto make them well.  And, if that is the case, their lack of response no more negates the reality of love than their quickness to respond would confirm it.

Love is a virtue and not a feeling.  It is fed and fired by God - not by the favorable response of the beloved.  Even when it doesn't seem to make a dime's worth of difference to the ones on whom it is lavished, it is still the most prized of all virtues because it is at the heart of the very character of God.  By loving we participate in His Life and Essence.  When we stoop to bait and buy good behavior we are no longer loving as God loves.  We are manipulating and cheapening the dignity of the person whom we are called - not to save, not even to change - but to love.  If real salvation is possible (and we know it is) it is because real love is there.  And love that is real, love that is truly a virtue and not just an act - agape love - gushes from God through those who know Him.  It is not strung along by those who don't.

In a world where quantitative values have obscured the reality of qualitative values - where we long to measure progress and chart growth - it is easy to give in to the temptation to judge ourselves and to try to walk by sight.  But into that confused and meaningless effort God speaks with His great, still, and small voice, and His Christ.  He speaks through these invisible virtues with which His people shine and in the light of their lives this desperate, smug world sees not strength, wisdom, or even love, but Him who is the source of these things and the Savior of humankind.  Let us in whom He dwells look also to Him so we can shine more brightly.

(Rich Mullins: Release Magazine: July-August 1994)

i'm here: on the metaphysics of starting the day

Probably you've had a conversation go like this before.

"Hi.  How are you?"

"I'm here."

It's a simple response, and often conveys more than a sense of geographic presence.  On the one hand, it is a statement of fact - oversimplified and obvious, no doubt.  On the other hand, it is a statement of being that can be discerned only through the tone of the speaker's inflection.

"I'm here" can be released in a sigh, as though the speaker would rather be "there," wherever there is.  Thus it is a sign of disappointment with the current outlook of a day.  Add a bit of depression to this scenario and you have a conveyance of disappointment.  Sometimes this means it took everything in one's power to get up and come to this place, as opposed to running away or checking out of life altogether.

On the other side, the phrase "I'm here" might imply a bit of anticipation.  When greeting someone who replies with an upbeat use of these words, the receiver should know that this person is looking forward to what is in store this day.  (Somewhere in between we have the I'm-not-necessarily-looking-forward-to-this-but-I'm-determined-to-get-it-done resolve of "I'm here.")

One of the reasons for why I am pondering this simple phrase this morning is that I caught myself answering my own question of how I am doing this morning.  I said, all-too-quickly, "I'm here."  We all have days when this is the report of a significant accomplishment in and of itself.  We are here, where we are supposed to be, even when there are internal and external reasons to be somewhere else.  As I allowed my own reply to sink in for a moment I realized that it was not said properly.  "I'm here" should, if we believe that our greater metaphysical place is within the divine storyline, be said with a conviction that we are supposed to be here.

I'm not talking about some divine predeterminism that gives us nothing more than the illusion of the choice to be elsewhere.  Our commitment to be here is instead a chosen partnership with the divine will that has called us here, and which the world will fight tooth-and-nail to interrupt.  And when you allow yourself to enter into that story, then you know that "I'm here" is a statement of first commitment and the choosing of a path.  Here is indeed a place between the past and the future, if we believe that ours is a journey to something fulfilled - an eschatological path of kingdom covenant.

Though we would be in great error to think that our work is completed at the point of being, it is the first step in knowing who we are and what we are called to do . . . today.

rethinking remanant

In my ongoing quest to uncover the nuances of Second Temple Judaism I am reading through Joseph Blenkinsopp, Judaism: The First Phase (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009).  He raises a point in the early part of the book (pp. 36-37) which I found of particular interest and worth a short rabbit trail.

"In the prophetic writings 'the remnant' is the traditional way of referring to those who survive a catastrophic disaster" (36).

Recently I heard someone ponder if the modern church is in a similar situation of ancient Israel, waiting for God to raise up a remnant of true believers from within the larger community.  By this he meant to say that, for both ancient Israel and modern Christianity, there are far more people who say they are people of God (believers) than actually are in their life and practice.  First, there is very little gained in identifying those committed from casual observers, for every religious community that will ever be identified will find this to be true.  But, secondly, even with such statement serving to identify a particular socio-religious trend in our current Christianity, are we so certain about the self-identification of the remnant?

Blenkinsopp's statement is certainly true, the prophetic writings which speak about a remnant do so in the context of horrific events and tragic circumstances.  He cites Amos 3:12, "This is what the LORD says: 'As a shepherd rescues from the lion's mouth only two leg bones or a piece of an ear, so will the Israelites living in Samaria be rescued, with only the head of a bed and a piece of fabric from a couch."  Certainly, those who are in need of rescue will readily accept the promise of salvation.  But have we adequately understood the implications of the imagery that the majority of the sheep (Israel) has been devoured by the treacherous lion before only a few pieces could be salvaged?

If we are so quickly applying the remnant idea to modern evangelicalism, then most likely our modern interpretations of the remnant are failing.  For we are a people who sacrifice little, who suffer little, and who have very little opposition to our faith (other than a bit of comic ridicule).  Hopes of the identification of a modern remnant from within the church are the expressions of the need for a vibrant faith to once again emerge in our evangelicalism.  And that's not bad either, except that even then we discover that very few are willing to do what it necessary to see it happen.

All of this is to remind ourselves (yet once again) that, "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die."

Further in Blenkinsopp's argument on this point is the identification of those who claim to be the Israel with all of the fulfillment of divine promise and privilege is now being claimed by one particular group over another within Israel.  Those who are interested in receiving the promised blessing from God must also be willing to endure the life he has called us to lead.

If we are to think that the church stands in line to inherit the covenant blessings, then speaking of a remnant might just be the right direction . . . but only in the context of the suffering that must come before the salvation.  And here is where so many who desire restoration are unwilling - unwilling to be destroyed in themselves to the point where they can be rescued by their God.

september 11 and the faithfulness of God

"Freedom prospers when religion is vibrant and the rule of law under God is acknowledged." (Ronald Reagan)

It was one of those moments that you will never forget where you were when you heard.  For me, I was driving up Interstate 25 to Denver Seminary to begin classes for the fall semester.  The news was of an unfortunate accident involving a plane and the World Trade Center.  About an hour later I was rushing back home with the knowledge that the attacks were very real.

The moments were uncertain and confusing, and my instinct was to get home and get in contact with my wife.  It  is quite telling that in times of crisis our reaction is towards love.  In the wake of the news there were no thoughts of animosity or messages of hate.  We were drawn to the most basic human need: love.

And September 11, 2001, is a reminder of God's faithfulness.  Of course, not everyone will see it that way at first.  But when is God supposed to show his faithfulness if not in our times of need?  Crises are inevitable in this life, especially if we believe that this world is inhabited by fallen and broken people.  But the rise of heroes who rush into danger, offering their lives as a means to save others . . . that is God's faithfulness working its way through human flesh.  Tragedy is inevitable; heroism a choice.

Embedded within the sentiment of never forgetting what happened on that fateful day is a call to be mindful of God's abiding love, whether it was found in firefighters and policemen, a group of passengers on a hijacked airplane, hundreds of medical personnel, or those families who simply chose to hold themselves closer that night.  The choice to love is a decision to move within the faithfulness of God.

"Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it." (Thomas Paine)

untasked: the pastoral vocation

A few days ago I had an unplanned visitor come into my office.  We had not had an extended conversation for some time and we spent a while catching up and covering a good number of issues.  It is not uncommon for those in pastoral ministry to have days where unexpected visitors and even unexpected tasks suspend the list of activities that occupy one's calendar.  I will readily admit that any time unplanned events take away from some of what I was hoping to accomplish in a given day it can be somewhat difficult to swallow.

As I was reflecting on the fact that the majority of my office day was spent in the company of this gentleman, I was once more reminded of something I've been learning over my years of experience in the church.  Perhaps it is a sign of youthful exuberance moving to wisdom's experience, or maybe it is the movement of sanctification in the heart of this believer. But as Christians, especially those in pastoral ministry, the people are the job.  We are called to make the gospel a significant presence in their lives through our spiritual leadership within the church.  When we lose sight of that, we miss the purpose of our vocation.

I would suppose that one of the reasons why we pastors are often frustrated by unexpected encounters is that too many times church leadership is cast as a task-oriented endeavor.  Many pastors are overwhelmed with jobs within the church building and structure that they are simply too busy to be reflective, both in their own spiritual maturity and in giving guidance to others.

Eugene Peterson's memoir (The Pastor) speaks to this same condition within pastorate, where the actual ministry is overshadowed by the 'need' for momentum of the congregation.  It seems that many who are in the leadership of the church will agree with this assessment, but few will take the opportunity to help bring about the change that needs to happen for the life of the church.  This has been the experience of many, and my own journey has not been different.  There is a sense within many congregations that we know what we want our pastors to be, but we do not provide the how (or perhaps even the why) to become.

It is perhaps accurate to assume that this shift has come out of the increasing view of pastors as CEOs or employees or something worse (. . . personally, I feel that trainee comes closest to how many of us are regarded), when in fact we have a calling from the Almighty to be the voice of spiritual leadership and direction within the church.  When such a shift happens, not only do we have unhealthy congregations but we also have handcuffed our means by which we can recover from such sickness.

We must remember that this is not about the tasks and programs.  It is about the kingdom and its people (both the initiated and uninitiated), and the summons to develop disciples of Jesus.  Churches all across the wide spectrum of evangelicalism have this in common: we are desperately in need of changing the dynamics of the pastoral role of ministry.

the great divorce 4

6.
The Apples.

The narrator has been walking, quite carefully, upon the river, having taken some practice at navigating it.  Once he climbs upon the shore and begins to walk toward the sound of "an immense yet lovely noise" which shook through the forest.  He discovers that this is a rather large waterfall.  It is a beautifully described sight, and the narrator sees that this is more than he has ever experienced while on earth.  This was something more real than anything else he has seen or heard.

At the center of this scene stands a tree, full and large and ripe with golden apples.  He sees that crouching beneath one of the surrounding trees is another of the Ghosts, motioning to keep the narrator away.  While trying to discern the situation, the narrator does not move but watches what will happen next.

The Ghost could not move very quickly, for the pain of the grass and the flowers surrounding the tree were too much.  His efforts, however, eventually brought him under the great tree.  Each attempt at maneuver brought pain to the Ghost, for this world was far too solid for his present state.  At one point a wind blows through the tree, knocking off some of the apples.  The falling fruit lands on the Ghost and knocks him down for a few moments.  His efforts continue - he is trying to take an apple with him, slowly and surely.

A voice from the waterfall speaks to him, "Fool . . . put it down.  You cannot take it back.  There is not room for it in Hell.  Stay here and lean to eat such apples.  The very leaves and the blades of grass in the wood will delight to teach you."

At the center of this chapter is a discussion of the Real, how this world and that world are quite different from each other.  Further, it speaks of the incompatibility of the two.  In some ways this might be seen as a return to the Garden of Eden, now seen as the apple's revenge.  What humanity has done to disrupt the nature of God's created reality now exacts its retribution.

More seriously, though, is the notion of holiness as otherness.  Pictures of the heavenly realm are consistently portrayed in Scripture as something other.  It is an existence which is not far from our own, but which is comprised of something completely different than ourselves.  We are often left with more questions than answers when we see the thin line of separation between heaven and earth breached, and The Bible does little to help us understand it.  We are simply left with the notion that it is other.

If this is not to be seen as an epistemological reality, then it is at minimum a moral one.  One cannot rightly claim the physical distance between heaven and earth, for there is no specific geography of heaven that does not intersect with earth.  It is God's existence, and thus is another reality.  And it is invading earth with each moment.  What the apple then speaks to here is an existence in which God's reality is no longer able to go.  Hell.

The apple does not go into Hell the same way in which God's holiness is not presently shown.  The reality of God's holiness can transform those who come and embrace it, but will destroy those who do not.  Whenever holiness and unholiness come into contact, it is holiness which destroys unholiness.  In the narrative of grey town this time has not yet come, though it is approaching with the imminent nightfall.