I just read 2 newsletters from friends that are missionaries in China. One works in Beijing, the other in a remote part of western China. But both had a similar theme: they're committed to something they can't see.
One friend recounted how a person he is working with quoted Rom. 1:17 to him: "The righteous will live by faith." This from a person who's given up job, status, material possessions and even his freedom (he's been thrown in prison) so that he can spread the Good News that Jesus offers freedom and abundant life.
I was talking with Larry yesterday and he gave me a term: "recreational Christian". It really challenged me: am I a Christian because it's a fun thing to do with my time? Or am I committed to something that I can't see completely right now but that I know is real because of the revelation of God in His Word, because of the testimony of God's Spirit within me, and because of the glimpses of the Kingdom that break through in so many different ways around me if I'd just open my eyes? Those are the evidences that Christians in China are staking their lives on. And God is asking the same of me.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
confession
My doctor had a copy of Catholic Digest in her waiting room. I noticed an article titled, "My hardest Lent."
Yeah, Lent is approaching fast. Easter is early this year, March 23. So Lent starts in a couple weeks on February 6. It's barely giving me time to catch my breath from Advent and Christmas.
The world loves Christmas, picturing the Nativity scene as a cute baby Jesus surrounded by cute animals in an idyllic stable (the real thing was far from idyllic and I'm sure the cuteness quotient was minimized by the smell). But Lent and Easter celebrate the reason for the Nativity: God became man to identify with our human existence, to suffer and die for our sins, and then conquer sin and death in the Resurrection. We Christians identify with Jesus by remembering his 40 day fast in the 40 days (minus Sundays) of Lent. Fasting is a part of Lent for many, a way of focusing attention on our inner life and relationship to God by trying to remove something that distracts us from God or that hinders our spiritual formation.
So the writer of the article describes her hardest Lenten exercise. It wasn't giving up chocolate or caffeine, but carrying around a coffee can into which she placed a quarter every time she uttered an unkind word to someone. The painful part wasn't the $47 she ended up giving to a favorite charity, but having to carry a heavy (and noisy) can full of quarters that announced to the world, "Here comes an unkind woman."
I know that I would rather not wear my flaws outwardly. When asked what my shortcomings are, I'm like the Democratic candidates who answered in the recent debate, "I'm too impatient for change," or some other back-handed compliment. It's hard to own up to my sin.
Not that we should make a habit of announcing our flaws to the world as if we were on a Dr. Phil set. But we won't find healing and forgiveness until we put James 5:16 into practice with a small group or prayer partner or spiritual friend: "Confess your sins to one another and pray for each other so that you may be healed."
I haven't yet decided what my Lenten exercise will be this year. But that article challenged me to have a hard but good Lent.
Yeah, Lent is approaching fast. Easter is early this year, March 23. So Lent starts in a couple weeks on February 6. It's barely giving me time to catch my breath from Advent and Christmas.
The world loves Christmas, picturing the Nativity scene as a cute baby Jesus surrounded by cute animals in an idyllic stable (the real thing was far from idyllic and I'm sure the cuteness quotient was minimized by the smell). But Lent and Easter celebrate the reason for the Nativity: God became man to identify with our human existence, to suffer and die for our sins, and then conquer sin and death in the Resurrection. We Christians identify with Jesus by remembering his 40 day fast in the 40 days (minus Sundays) of Lent. Fasting is a part of Lent for many, a way of focusing attention on our inner life and relationship to God by trying to remove something that distracts us from God or that hinders our spiritual formation.
So the writer of the article describes her hardest Lenten exercise. It wasn't giving up chocolate or caffeine, but carrying around a coffee can into which she placed a quarter every time she uttered an unkind word to someone. The painful part wasn't the $47 she ended up giving to a favorite charity, but having to carry a heavy (and noisy) can full of quarters that announced to the world, "Here comes an unkind woman."
I know that I would rather not wear my flaws outwardly. When asked what my shortcomings are, I'm like the Democratic candidates who answered in the recent debate, "I'm too impatient for change," or some other back-handed compliment. It's hard to own up to my sin.
Not that we should make a habit of announcing our flaws to the world as if we were on a Dr. Phil set. But we won't find healing and forgiveness until we put James 5:16 into practice with a small group or prayer partner or spiritual friend: "Confess your sins to one another and pray for each other so that you may be healed."
I haven't yet decided what my Lenten exercise will be this year. But that article challenged me to have a hard but good Lent.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
unanswerable questions
I'm continually stumped by the question of why God allows evil in the world and why bad things happen to good people. I was just reminded of this when I read an email from our group in China working with special needs kids telling us that a baby is not expected to live through the night and that one of the toddlers had died last night. And it reminded me of praying with someone last Sunday who was deeply troubled by the plight of the Hmong in Laos who are right now the target of genocide. I watched a couple of videos about this on YouTube and then couldn't watch any more. It was too painful.
I suppose these are questions that plagued Mother Teresa during her many years of doubt, experiencing "the dark night of the soul." Surrounded by suffering, trying to bring a little grace into a dismal world, she told her sisters to do "small acts of love with great kindness." But it must have seemed like trying to shout down a hurricane.
Yet that's how God is. Elijah was reminded of this when he didn't find God in the wind storm or the earthquake or the fire. God spoke to him in stillness. Jesus was a paradox of divine power clothed in human frailty, so much so that the powerful people of his day felt free to execute him. Rodney Stark has chronicled "The rise of Christianity", showing how Christians eventually took over the Roman Empire by doing small acts of kindness such as staying to take care of those stricken with the plagues that often ravaged Roman cities, while those with means fled to the safety of their outlying villas. In spite of the risks and the apparent futility of it all, the Christians did it because it was what Jesus taught them to do.
So I don't know the answer to the question of evil in the world, other than to say that Jesus cares about people and that I should, too. And it is by doing what I can to love those in the small part of the world that God's entrusted to me that his Kingdom will eventually triumph.
I suppose these are questions that plagued Mother Teresa during her many years of doubt, experiencing "the dark night of the soul." Surrounded by suffering, trying to bring a little grace into a dismal world, she told her sisters to do "small acts of love with great kindness." But it must have seemed like trying to shout down a hurricane.
Yet that's how God is. Elijah was reminded of this when he didn't find God in the wind storm or the earthquake or the fire. God spoke to him in stillness. Jesus was a paradox of divine power clothed in human frailty, so much so that the powerful people of his day felt free to execute him. Rodney Stark has chronicled "The rise of Christianity", showing how Christians eventually took over the Roman Empire by doing small acts of kindness such as staying to take care of those stricken with the plagues that often ravaged Roman cities, while those with means fled to the safety of their outlying villas. In spite of the risks and the apparent futility of it all, the Christians did it because it was what Jesus taught them to do.
So I don't know the answer to the question of evil in the world, other than to say that Jesus cares about people and that I should, too. And it is by doing what I can to love those in the small part of the world that God's entrusted to me that his Kingdom will eventually triumph.
Monday, January 14, 2008
skiing lesson
I went skiing with my kids on Jan. 2. I wasn't sure how much my 5 year old would enjoy it, since he didn't seem to like it much when he was 4. I had gone down the bunny slope with him once and he ended up whining until I let him take off his skis and walk back so he could play in the snow.
He had lessons in the morning. After lunch he and I and the 2 girls took our first run together. We weren't very successful getting off the chair lift. The girls took off together. I had to keep picking him up every 50 yards or so. It's funny how going really slowly is a lot more tiring than going fast, especially when you have to bend over repeatedly to pick up 50 pounds of kid.
To my surprise, at the bottom he said, "Let's do it again!" I wasn't looking forward to it, but I did my fatherly duty and said, "Sure!" This time he only fell once and he picked himself up. Needless to say, I was very proud (and relieved). And I commended him with the words of Prov. 24:16: "For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again." We did the run a few more times and each time he only fell twice at most. He really seemed to be getting the hang of it.
Life is a lot like skiing.
He had lessons in the morning. After lunch he and I and the 2 girls took our first run together. We weren't very successful getting off the chair lift. The girls took off together. I had to keep picking him up every 50 yards or so. It's funny how going really slowly is a lot more tiring than going fast, especially when you have to bend over repeatedly to pick up 50 pounds of kid.
To my surprise, at the bottom he said, "Let's do it again!" I wasn't looking forward to it, but I did my fatherly duty and said, "Sure!" This time he only fell once and he picked himself up. Needless to say, I was very proud (and relieved). And I commended him with the words of Prov. 24:16: "For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again." We did the run a few more times and each time he only fell twice at most. He really seemed to be getting the hang of it.
Life is a lot like skiing.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
good will toward men
In the prayer of presence for the third week of Advent I am reminded that everything around me "is tingling with the presence of God." Why "tingling"?
If God is present everywhere, that should be cause for fear. At least, that's how we motivate kids who still believe in Santa: "he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake".
Unless. Unless the message of the angels is true. Unless God is really full of good will toward men (and women). That's a thought that makes me tingle. God is not a cosmic killjoy, a galactic Scrooge that hates it when people are having a good time. He genuinely desires for us to have the best, to know true love and joy.
The problem is that we do not have good will toward God. Or toward each other. We are constantly sabotaging our Creator's designs for our own fulfillment.
So He sent a savior. And he sent angels to announce it. To remind us again that he is full of good will toward us. Even when we are so lacking in good will that we would kill Him.
If God is present everywhere, that should be cause for fear. At least, that's how we motivate kids who still believe in Santa: "he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake".
Unless. Unless the message of the angels is true. Unless God is really full of good will toward men (and women). That's a thought that makes me tingle. God is not a cosmic killjoy, a galactic Scrooge that hates it when people are having a good time. He genuinely desires for us to have the best, to know true love and joy.
The problem is that we do not have good will toward God. Or toward each other. We are constantly sabotaging our Creator's designs for our own fulfillment.
So He sent a savior. And he sent angels to announce it. To remind us again that he is full of good will toward us. Even when we are so lacking in good will that we would kill Him.
peace on earth
When we think of peace we usually think of quiet. I certainly do, especially when my 5, 7, and 9 year olds are yelling and screaming, which is their way of showing that they're enjoying themselves.
But on that Palestinian hillside in the first century AD, I don't think the "great company of the heavenly host" was very quiet as they praised God and announced "peace on earth." Peace isn't necessarily quiet. Peace (shalom in Hebrew) is when all things are as they should be, working in perfect harmony.
It reminds me of singing in a sing-along Messiah last Monday night. The Hallelujah Chorus is fun to sing (we sang it twice) but my favorite chorus is the final Amen. It's got lots of counterpoint, i.e., the different voices are singing very different lines and it's all weaving around in what can be a very confusing mishmash of melodies. Until you get to the end when everything begins to resolve. You can hear the light at the end of the tunnel (how's that for a mixed metaphor!) and then suddenly the final measures are upon you, with all of the orchestra, including the brass, playing in full support of the voices as the glory of those last drawn-out chords hangs in the air. I felt like I was floating on those chords, drawn up to heaven (and losing my voice by over singing).
That's God's peace: everything working together in a great crescendo of harmony, beautifully fitting together at full volume. It's life lived to the full and as it was designed to be lived, full throttle and yet effortlessly. My kids would love it.
But on that Palestinian hillside in the first century AD, I don't think the "great company of the heavenly host" was very quiet as they praised God and announced "peace on earth." Peace isn't necessarily quiet. Peace (shalom in Hebrew) is when all things are as they should be, working in perfect harmony.
It reminds me of singing in a sing-along Messiah last Monday night. The Hallelujah Chorus is fun to sing (we sang it twice) but my favorite chorus is the final Amen. It's got lots of counterpoint, i.e., the different voices are singing very different lines and it's all weaving around in what can be a very confusing mishmash of melodies. Until you get to the end when everything begins to resolve. You can hear the light at the end of the tunnel (how's that for a mixed metaphor!) and then suddenly the final measures are upon you, with all of the orchestra, including the brass, playing in full support of the voices as the glory of those last drawn-out chords hangs in the air. I felt like I was floating on those chords, drawn up to heaven (and losing my voice by over singing).
That's God's peace: everything working together in a great crescendo of harmony, beautifully fitting together at full volume. It's life lived to the full and as it was designed to be lived, full throttle and yet effortlessly. My kids would love it.
magazine covers
I've just come from meeting with my men's growth group. We were talking about money, based on Richard Foster's book "The challenge of the disciplined life: money, sex and power". Is having money important in our society? One of the group pointed out that you never see a picture of a poor person on the cover of a magazine. Imagine how different our thoughts and feelings would be as we waited in line at the check out counter if there were pictures of poor people looking back at us from the magazine racks instead of wealthy, famous, good-looking people. We'd feel better about ourselves, there'd be less coveting and lusting, we wouldn't be as competitive, we might just get along better. But magazine publishers wouldn't make much money.
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