Our family was heading to 701 E. Meadow yesterday morning. There was a JAM training session and then we were going to participate in the Stop Child Trafficking Now Walk. One of the kids asked, “Are we going to worship?” So I thought about it and replied that there are things that God cares about besides worship.
In Isaiah 1 God tells his people, “…your special days for fasting—they are all sinful and false. I want no more of your pious meetings.” (verse 13 NLT). That sounds pretty harsh, but here’s what God’s looking for: “Learn to do good. Seek justice. Help the oppressed. Defend the cause of orphans. Fight for the rights of widows.”
So what’s more important to God, our Sunday morning worship or doing something to look after the fatherless and women who are being treated as mere commodities at the cost of their humanity? We can’t say that we truly worship a God of mercy and justice if we aren’t doing something to make mercy and justice a reality in our world.
Too often our worship services are about our looking good to God (and each other). The more we re-tell who God is, the more it should impact us. The more we proclaim God’s greatness and goodness, the more the Holy Spirit should be able to transform us into reflections of that greatness and goodness in this world.
I don’t recommend skipping worship every Sunday. Regularly re-telling, re-living and re-creating the gospel is an important formative event in our life together. But sometimes I need a reminder of why God doesn’t just whisk me away to heaven. If Jesus thought that journeying through our world as a human was important, than it should be important to me, too. And Jesus said his mission was “to preach good news to the poor …to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." (Luke 4:18-19) What's mine?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
giving and giving away
This past Sunday our membership passed our budget for fiscal year 2010 (which starts in October 2009 for reasons an accountant will have to explain). After presenting an initial budget for consideration back in August, the leadership team became uncomfortable with how low a percentage we were giving to outreach (community and global mission partnerships as well as outreach efforts made directly by our church community). We had cut everything we could in operations and personnel and had come up with a balanced budget. But after developing a balanced budget in August, we decided to present a deficit budget in order to increase our giving to outreach. We were glad that the membership agreed and passed the deficit budget. But I want to take a moment to explain something that didn’t come out in the discussion on Sunday.
Some of what we give goes to partnerships (people and organizations) with which we have a strong relationship or to efforts with which we are directly involved. That money is given with a sense of confidence that it will be used well. But there is also money that goes out without an explicit understanding of how it will be used. For example, we know that money given to the Covenant will be used partly for supporting missionaries and revitalizing churches, and that money given to the Pacific Southwest Conference of the Covenant will go to church planting and mercy and justice efforts. But we don’t have direct control of that money.
By increasing our giving to the Covenant and to our conference we are essentially letting go of that money. It’s no longer under our control. The point isn’t so much to give money away as to give up money’s hold on us. I recently heard a discussion on the radio about poverty as a spiritual discipline. A Jain theologian (this was a BBC program including Jews and Muslims, not a Christian radio program) commented that “those with the most possessions are the most possessed” by materialism. If we want to be filled with the Holy Spirit, we need to empty ourselves of other things, including money, that would otherwise come to have a hold on us.
I'm proud to be a part of a leadership team that recognizes both the need to be responsible stewards of the finances God’s given us and the need to set an example of working to break money’s hold on us. That’s a tension that we all live with, especially in our affluent society. But we have God’s promise: “Seek first [God’s] kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Matthew 6:33.
Some of what we give goes to partnerships (people and organizations) with which we have a strong relationship or to efforts with which we are directly involved. That money is given with a sense of confidence that it will be used well. But there is also money that goes out without an explicit understanding of how it will be used. For example, we know that money given to the Covenant will be used partly for supporting missionaries and revitalizing churches, and that money given to the Pacific Southwest Conference of the Covenant will go to church planting and mercy and justice efforts. But we don’t have direct control of that money.
By increasing our giving to the Covenant and to our conference we are essentially letting go of that money. It’s no longer under our control. The point isn’t so much to give money away as to give up money’s hold on us. I recently heard a discussion on the radio about poverty as a spiritual discipline. A Jain theologian (this was a BBC program including Jews and Muslims, not a Christian radio program) commented that “those with the most possessions are the most possessed” by materialism. If we want to be filled with the Holy Spirit, we need to empty ourselves of other things, including money, that would otherwise come to have a hold on us.
I'm proud to be a part of a leadership team that recognizes both the need to be responsible stewards of the finances God’s given us and the need to set an example of working to break money’s hold on us. That’s a tension that we all live with, especially in our affluent society. But we have God’s promise: “Seek first [God’s] kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Matthew 6:33.
imdepressed.com?
My prayer partner made a wry observation this morning: no one tells about their hurts and disappointments and sadness on social networking sites. The online community is unbearably and artificially “happy”. My prayer partner even wondered if the number of online “friends” one has was inversely proportional to the number of true personal friends one has (but he acknowledged that was the cynic in him talking).
In a way, this is a reflection of our society: it’s not OK to be too public with your weaknesses and imperfections. And it’s also a comment on the nature of online “community”: it’s a place for putting your best foot forward (unless you’re unfortunate enough to be a celebrity who’s videotaped puking on his bathroom floor), at least as much as you can control.
So where can we go for the support to get us through those times that we all face on a regular basis, times when we’re feeling sad, ashamed, weak, remorseful, or hurt? Nothing can take the place of a face-to-face confession or a good cry or a hand on the shoulder. After Job had hit bottom, losing fortune and family and health, his friends came to him and just sat and said nothing for a week. They understood that physical presence is sometimes the best thing you can offer a hurting friend and it’s not something you can offer online.
In a way, this is a reflection of our society: it’s not OK to be too public with your weaknesses and imperfections. And it’s also a comment on the nature of online “community”: it’s a place for putting your best foot forward (unless you’re unfortunate enough to be a celebrity who’s videotaped puking on his bathroom floor), at least as much as you can control.
So where can we go for the support to get us through those times that we all face on a regular basis, times when we’re feeling sad, ashamed, weak, remorseful, or hurt? Nothing can take the place of a face-to-face confession or a good cry or a hand on the shoulder. After Job had hit bottom, losing fortune and family and health, his friends came to him and just sat and said nothing for a week. They understood that physical presence is sometimes the best thing you can offer a hurting friend and it’s not something you can offer online.
light
At our last monthly visit to a residence for people who are HIV positive we did the usual: cooked dinner for them, hung out in the common area, and then ate with them. Interestingly, I met several people I hadn’t met before (we’ve been going there monthly for almost 4 years). One person stood out to me: a woman who was joyfully overseeing a fast-moving game of cards and seemed to have something playful to say to all the players. Everyone was “honey” or “sweetie” to her. And she was obviously loved by everyone there. I talked to her briefly after the game and she showed me the same warmth that she had for everyone.
Later I asked about her and found out that she was a new resident. Then I asked about the others around the table. I was surprised to find that some of them had been at the residence for several years but had never bothered to or wanted to come out to eat with us (I don’t think our cooking is that bad). But because of this new resident they were willing to come out of their rooms and be social. They knew that she’d put a bit of sunshine in their day and it was worth it.
Am I like that new resident? Are people drawn to me because they know I’ll bring some sunshine into their lives? And if they are, I hope that brightness is a reflection of God’s light in me. People may be hostile to organized religion or to dogma or to theology, but when God’s love is shining through me, it will be an attraction whether or not they know the source. “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16.
Later I asked about her and found out that she was a new resident. Then I asked about the others around the table. I was surprised to find that some of them had been at the residence for several years but had never bothered to or wanted to come out to eat with us (I don’t think our cooking is that bad). But because of this new resident they were willing to come out of their rooms and be social. They knew that she’d put a bit of sunshine in their day and it was worth it.
Am I like that new resident? Are people drawn to me because they know I’ll bring some sunshine into their lives? And if they are, I hope that brightness is a reflection of God’s light in me. People may be hostile to organized religion or to dogma or to theology, but when God’s love is shining through me, it will be an attraction whether or not they know the source. “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
good news?
It’s conventional wisdom that when it comes to trials, God only gives us as much as we can handle. If that’s the case, I’m a spiritual pygmy. Today at a meeting of Asian American pastors, I prayed with 2 other pastors. One has had to leave the pastorate to tend to his wife’s physical needs. She has a heart condition that caused a massive heart attack a few years ago resulting in some brain damage. She’s lost some memory and is greatly weakened. The other’s wife was diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago, and then more recently was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Both of these friends are experiencing a level of suffering that I can hardly imagine.
In his second letter to Timothy, Paul invites Timothy to “join with me in suffering for the gospel” (1:8). It’s a very odd phrase to repeat in the ears of a contemporary American Christian. Is the gospel worth suffering for? That’s not the way we market the gospel these days. If the gospel is “good news”, why would we suffer for it? Unless Paul’s (and God’s) notion of good news is different from ours.
I haven’t suffered much. I get prayer letters from a friend who works in a country that severely limits religious freedom. He regularly writes of Christian leaders in his city who have been imprisoned and beaten. Is the gospel worth it?
When I visited Thailand a few years ago, we were taken to a Buddhist temple that sat on many acres of land. Included was a compound of residences for people with HIV. The Buddhist monks didn’t know what to do for them, so they let Christians come and help. By serving their physical needs, the Christians had converted pretty much every resident in the compound. I’ll never forget one woman who was there as a result of her husband’s sexual promiscuity. She told us that she was glad that she had contracted HIV because now she knew Jesus. Is this the same Jesus that I know? Is this the good news that I preach?
I don’t have an easy answers for these questions. Like I said, I feel like a spiritual pygmy when it comes to suffering. Anything that I say seems too trite or cliché, mostly because it is. I’m not asking for suffering. But it makes me wonder about all my prayers that are specifically requests to avoid suffering. Am I missing out on something?
In his second letter to Timothy, Paul invites Timothy to “join with me in suffering for the gospel” (1:8). It’s a very odd phrase to repeat in the ears of a contemporary American Christian. Is the gospel worth suffering for? That’s not the way we market the gospel these days. If the gospel is “good news”, why would we suffer for it? Unless Paul’s (and God’s) notion of good news is different from ours.
I haven’t suffered much. I get prayer letters from a friend who works in a country that severely limits religious freedom. He regularly writes of Christian leaders in his city who have been imprisoned and beaten. Is the gospel worth it?
When I visited Thailand a few years ago, we were taken to a Buddhist temple that sat on many acres of land. Included was a compound of residences for people with HIV. The Buddhist monks didn’t know what to do for them, so they let Christians come and help. By serving their physical needs, the Christians had converted pretty much every resident in the compound. I’ll never forget one woman who was there as a result of her husband’s sexual promiscuity. She told us that she was glad that she had contracted HIV because now she knew Jesus. Is this the same Jesus that I know? Is this the good news that I preach?
I don’t have an easy answers for these questions. Like I said, I feel like a spiritual pygmy when it comes to suffering. Anything that I say seems too trite or cliché, mostly because it is. I’m not asking for suffering. But it makes me wonder about all my prayers that are specifically requests to avoid suffering. Am I missing out on something?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
fill my heart
My 11-year old sometimes talks so quickly I can’t make out what she’s saying. And I don’t think it’s just my ears getting old. I think it’s a symptom of living in a world where everyone’s multi-tasking and the number one prayer seems to be “help me with my time management.” We are a rushed and hurried society and she’s probably afraid she won’t be able to get a word in edge-wise unless she talks quickly enough.
In our staff devotions this morning I was struck by the phrase “fill my heart with gratitude”. Filling takes time. Most of the time we try to get by with a perfunctory “thanks” (which is an abbreviation in itself). But if we are to be filled with gratitude we have to take time to ponder all the ways that God has been good to us and has brought that goodness into our lives through others around us.
Imagine what it would be like to live in a world of thank-filled people. What would happen to anger? To greed? To conflict? Maybe that’s why Paul says we are to be “always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 5:20). In fact, being thankful is part of God's cure for worry: “Don’t be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6).
Taking time to consider God’s goodness and give thanks sounds like a good thing to do but let’s face it: it’s pretty low on our list of priorities. We have so many things to do, and most of them are good things that we know God wants us to get done. But maybe he wants them done by thankful people.
In our staff devotions this morning I was struck by the phrase “fill my heart with gratitude”. Filling takes time. Most of the time we try to get by with a perfunctory “thanks” (which is an abbreviation in itself). But if we are to be filled with gratitude we have to take time to ponder all the ways that God has been good to us and has brought that goodness into our lives through others around us.
Imagine what it would be like to live in a world of thank-filled people. What would happen to anger? To greed? To conflict? Maybe that’s why Paul says we are to be “always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 5:20). In fact, being thankful is part of God's cure for worry: “Don’t be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6).
Taking time to consider God’s goodness and give thanks sounds like a good thing to do but let’s face it: it’s pretty low on our list of priorities. We have so many things to do, and most of them are good things that we know God wants us to get done. But maybe he wants them done by thankful people.
Monday, August 24, 2009
rejoicing
In Francis Chan’s recent book, “Crazy love: overwhelmed by a relentless God” he mentions that “rejoice in the Lord always” (Philippians 4:4) is a command from God. Thus, if we aren’t joyful we are saying that we know better than God, that we have a special dispensation to worry or be bitter because we know our circumstances better than God does.
Being a bit of a curmudgeon, I started to think of commands that might contradict this idea of being joyful all the time. When can we not be joyful? “Mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15) came to mind… and that was it. The only time when we are allowed not to rejoice (that I can think of) is when someone else we know is in pain. And our own pain and stress do not excuse us from considering our own place in the higher purposes of God or from submitting ourselves to his sovereignty. We are not allowed the comfort of feeling sorry for ourselves.
Christian humility is not wallowing in depression and self-pity but accepting that God is truly working out his good for us in spite of the externals of our situation: “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28).
At the same time we are to see others’ pain through God’s eyes, to feel their suffering with his heart. And that should move us to pray, “your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
Being a Christian is not easy. It means I can’t be self-centered, which is my default mode. It means that God still has a lot of work to do in me, work that he can’t do unless I continually submit myself to him and get out of my default mode on a regular basis. But I like the promised result: “The fruit of the Spirit is… joy.”
Being a bit of a curmudgeon, I started to think of commands that might contradict this idea of being joyful all the time. When can we not be joyful? “Mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15) came to mind… and that was it. The only time when we are allowed not to rejoice (that I can think of) is when someone else we know is in pain. And our own pain and stress do not excuse us from considering our own place in the higher purposes of God or from submitting ourselves to his sovereignty. We are not allowed the comfort of feeling sorry for ourselves.
Christian humility is not wallowing in depression and self-pity but accepting that God is truly working out his good for us in spite of the externals of our situation: “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28).
At the same time we are to see others’ pain through God’s eyes, to feel their suffering with his heart. And that should move us to pray, “your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
Being a Christian is not easy. It means I can’t be self-centered, which is my default mode. It means that God still has a lot of work to do in me, work that he can’t do unless I continually submit myself to him and get out of my default mode on a regular basis. But I like the promised result: “The fruit of the Spirit is… joy.”
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