Rocky Soil

A couple of years ago our church had a booth at the activities fair for students at the University of Vermont.  This is a day where groups as diverse as Domino's Pizza and the campus hiking clubs have information and sometimes swag for students.  Domino's swag is always popular if not always delicious.  We had little packets of post-it notes with "St. Timothy Anglican Mission" on the back.  We gave quite a few away.

Yet one young man wandered by our table and picked up a packet.  When he had read the name of our organization he put it down hurriedly with what can only be described as disgust.  Hang on to this story.  I'll come back to it.

I live and minister in New England. There is a story, perhaps apocryphal, that some mission agencies who send people to Muslim countries send them to New England first.  To quote the apostle Frank, "if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere" (and I realize that New York is not a part of New England).  It is, as we all say, rocky soil.  Like that's never happened before.  I think we should stop saying it.  It is not novel.

Faith in Jesus spreads in contexts like this.  Or at least it used to.  The conditions of New England and, I would argue, most of North America are startlingly like that of the first century.  Here are some examples:

1.  New England is highly urbanized.  Vermont, northern New Hampshire and northern Maine are exceptions to the rule.  The rest of it is all city pretty much.  (My apologies to those who live in the beautiful rural towns of the other states for insensitively failing to understand your context.)    The New Testament church was mostly an urban movement.  Rome, Corinth, Thessalonica, Ephesus, Colossae, Jerusalem. None of these were remote villages.  The advantage to gospel ministry in urban centers is that there are lots of people there.  People whom Jesus loves and whom he wants to know.

2.  There is a diversity of belief in New England.  The Mediterranean culture of the first century was NOT religiously or philosophically monolithic.  As if.  Read about Paul in Athens (Acts 17).  He noted the great variety of altars and shrines to every god imaginable.  To be fair he was distressed by it, but he didn't berate the Athenians when he spoke but noted, quite rightly, that they were "very religious".  Every worldview is essentially a faith in something - science, money, a green earth, Jesus, Buddha or Dagon.  The people of New England are very diversely religious.  They are, I can assure you, passionate about what they trust in.  What I don't see in the New Testament is the complaint that "it's not like it used to be when we were a Christian culture" because it never had been.  But I was working on similarities here wasn't I?

3.  Much of New England is antagonistic to Christianity.  In the first century there was plenty of antagonism toward faith in Jesus Christ.  Paul's pre-apostolic career is just one example.  Paul's post-conversion experiences are another - just read Acts, or 2 Corinthians 11.  We might be tempted to think that modernly we have it harder (which we SO do not) because now people have baggage around Christianity - witness my opening story and the revulsion of the young man at the mention of "church".  In the first century Christianity was new, ergo, no baggage.  Well perhaps no baggage due to history but certainly some due to our practice.  In the first century people were disgusted by Christians because at their services they were cannibals, eating flesh and drinking blood.  Wait, that doesn't count.  They misunderstood what the Christians meant.  I am arguing that the current antagonism we experience and the disgust that the aforementioned young man felt are precisely for the same reason.  People do not understand what we mean - what the faith is all about.  And we've had time to explain - Peter and James and John were starting from scratch.

So what's different?  The automobile, mobile phones and soft-serve ice cream aside, I'd like to consider two things.

First.  There were missionaries to take the Gospel to those pluralistic and antagonistic urban centers.  Please don't take umbrage in thinking that I am condemning us for not being evangelists and failing to ask our co-workers if they have been saved by the blood of the Lamb.  There is much effort in many congregations in New England to grow the church.  And that's the problem.  We're trying to grow the church - not make disciples.  And here is the mea culpa moment.  As a pastor, like many pastors, I love the trappings of success - lots of people on a Sunday, programs for every imaginable group by age, interest and applicable dysfunction.  Much, not all, of our effort is is to get more people in the door.  It makes us feel worthwhile and significant. Forgetting that we are worthwhile and significant because God has loved us in Christ Jesus.  It is, of course, good for the Church to grow.  But that is a by-product of making disciples by taking the Gospel to those who do not know it.

This is blessedly absent in the work of St. Paul.  You will note that he never says in his letters, "I give thanks to God that your Sunday numbers are over 300".  He gives thanks for their faith, for their love.  If you read the book of Acts you will notice that Paul often doesn't stay around long enough to work on "church growth".  He is not growing the church.  He is preaching Christ crucified - a scandal to the successful and foolishness to the prosperous.

Second. Paul proclaims the truth of the Gospel in love.  Wait, why is that different?  Don't we do that too?  Yes.  Sometimes.  But not always.  It is easy to be sentimental, glossing over the inconvenient truth (apologies to Al Gore) so we can continue to feel warm - what we call love - towards someone or something.  That's love without truth.

But I am (and we are) also easily tempted to rant about how bad "society" is - as if we weren't a part of it.  Or we loudly condemn in word and deed things we find appalling or distressing.  I heard a story last week of a Christian responding to a blog post by a transgendered person.  The response was, "Disgusting!"  The response was disgusting.  I remind you of Paul in Athens. Paul was "greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols".  (Acts 17:16)  But the Athenians were blithely unaware.  of said distress.  Our distress is entirely beside the point "for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God." (James 1:20 ESV)

Make no mistake Paul proclaims the Gospel clearly:


Being then God's offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.
(Acts 17:29-31 ESV)


Here is a clear call to repentance combined with real love.  And for whom?  The idolaters.  He was just following the lead of the One who loved tax collectors and sinners.

Jesus make us missionaries not just church growers.  For the harvest is plentiful but the workers are few.  Help us, O Lord to speak the truth in love, because you love sinners and invite them to your table.

So here we are in New England.  Or Milwaukee or Toronto.  In very similar circumstances as the first century.  So that means we only have about 300 years before the future counterpart of Constantine makes it easier for us again.  Hope you weren't in a rush.

Ecclesiastical Narcissists

The church which I attend (and pastor) is a modestly-sized newish Anglican congregation.  We have been meeting weekly for five years now.  We are ecclesiastical bedouins. Having originally met in homes we moved to rent space from a Greek Orthodox Church and are now renting from a community center on Sunday mornings.  The homes were warm and hospitable, the Greek Church beautiful, and the community center clean and bright.  In different ways each has met our changing needs.  I am thankful - but troubled.

When I was a kid I remember that the church was always referred to as "God's house".  To be more accurate, even in the small village in which I grew up, one would have to say "God's houses" as there were several.  God appears to be well-heeled - the cattle on a thousand hills and any number of pied-a-terres scattered across the globe.  The original temple built by Solomon but envisaged by his father, David, was clearly understood to be the dwelling place of God.  David's distress was that he had a beautiful home in which to live but the ark of God - the mercy seat where his presence was understood to dwell - was housed in a tent. (2 Samuel 7:1-2)  It seemed to David, well, unseemly that God should be so poorly housed.

I was reading Ezra this morning on the rebuilding of the temple and was struck by this passage:
Then rose up the heads of the fathers' houses of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests and the Levites, everyone whose spirit God had stirred to go up to rebuild the house of the LORD that is in Jerusalem. (Ezra 1:5, ESV)

The people and priests, and Cyrus king of Persia to boot, were interested in constructing a house for the Lord.  For his Name, for his honor.  Stirred up. And here is where I began to be troubled.  I stated above that all the places in which we have worshipped as a community have, in their turn, met our needs.  But as I read Ezra, I realize that our needs are really not the first thing.  Our congregation has not had the luxury (or burden) of building a church structure.  But I have seen the result of many such projects.  I compare the great cathedrals of Europe or even the small community churches of years gone by to the common modern expressions.  And I am troubled.

Help me understand: Why does the Lord needs a gas fireplace, comfy chairs and a coffee bar in the foyer?  All such things exist in some, admittedly beautiful, new churches.  We are concerned that there be ample and easy parking.  God forbid that we might have to hoof it a block or two to come to worship the Living God.  Our focus is on whether the buildings meet our needs and preferences - not that they are a fitting place for his dwelling.  I said we were ecclesiastical bedouins.  I fear that we are ecclesiastical narcissists.

The soaring vaults of the great cathedrals, while both beautiful and awe-inspiring for us, were not designed for us and our appreciation, but for the glory of God and the honor of his Name.  The builders of Solomon's temple and the second temple were concerned that the place be fit for the dwelling of the LORD.  We want to make sure it is comfortable for us.

I do not begrudge beauty and elegance in church architecture.  But I am troubled by its pandering to our tastes (because we are no longer talking about needs) and cultural expectations.  A church is God's house, a place for his dwelling.  This is perhaps a simplistic Sunday-school understanding.  But at least it reminds us that the temple is for God not for us.

Just

One of my daughters, when overcome with admittedly trivial, first-world crises, will often say, "I want to die in a hole" as an expression of protest.  It has been three months since I last posted so I want to say that I have not died in a hole.  Just a summer hiatus.

My children are now grown or nearly grown but I remember clearly one of the great cries of childhood, "It's not fair!"  This cry of protest can be easily evoked in any group of children - even two will do - by giving one of the crowd a larger piece of cake.  The magic of this is that the piece of cake need not actually be larger as long as at least one of the crowd perceives that it is.  Or has more interesting frosting.  Or is more desirable in a way that you have not even imagined. The cry goes up - "It's not fair"- railing against gross injustice.

Continuing with the idea of trivial, first-world crises, the cake scenario is a perfect example.  However it does serve to illustrate an almost innate desire for justice we have even at a young age.  Even recognizing that "it's not fair!" is, when translated, only "I don't like it", nonetheless the appeal is for justice or fairness.  At an early age we have a sense that things should be "fair."

And for most that continues into adulthood.  Many fight for societal justice in the face of many great injustices.  There are heroes of this fight - famous, like Rosa Parks, and unsung like folks I know who intentionally move to the poorest part of town to get involved in those communities.  The fight for justice is often quiet and gracious like this.  But it is also often strident and loud.  The Arab Spring is an example of the latter.

But I always come back to the cry, "It's not fair!"  The protest is to address the problem we see in the world or in our social structure.  The problem outside of ourselves.  I was arrested when I read this in the psalms last week:

For the Lord is righteous; he delights in righteous deeds, and the just shall see his face. 
(Psalm 11:8 1979 American BCP translation)

It is not those who fight for or care about justice who shall see his face, but those who are just themselves.  This is not a critique of the brave and loving souls who strive for justice in the world.  It is  a part of our Christian lives.  In my Anglican tradition one of our baptismal promises is to strive for justice and respect the dignity of every human being.   But while I am striving for justice, am I just myself?  It is always easier to see the problem that "they" have.

Before we give vent to our anger at injustice around us, perhaps we should begin with the injustice within us.  Jesus tells us to take the log out of our own eye before we take the speck of dust out of our brother's.

What Psalm 11 did for me this past week is to make me ask not, "Is it fair?" but rather, "Am I fair?"  A good question to ask.

Curiosity

It is all beginning to fade with the passage of time, but I think that I recall that one of the things we corporately and officially valued at GE was curiosity.  To be perfectly accurate under the heading "Imagine" were the values "passionate" and "curious."  One must be careful with words however.  Curious is used to mean interested and inquisitive, seeking to understand or it can be a euphemism for "weird" - as in Alice's observations in Wonderland, "curiouser and curiouser."  In the former instance these two qualities together are metaphorical dynamite, in the latter, perhaps literal dynamite.

All told, curiosity is seen as something of great value.  Something that drives us to learn and explore.  But it strikes me that this was not always the understanding or use of the word.

Curiosity has not always been a virtue.  All of the older texts I read suggest that curiosity is a vice.  Curiosity killed the cat, we are told.  

John Calvin has a few things to say about curiosity, specifically the disciples' curiosity whether this was the moment Jesus would restore the kingdom to Israel.  The context here is the first chapter of Acts at the end of the 40 days between Jesus' resurrection and his ascension.  Now that Jesus has risen from the dead the disciples are anxious to know when the actual ruling a kingdom part starts.  God's plan for redemption in Jesus is much bigger than the political control of a piece of Middle Eastern soil (a much-coveted piece, to be sure, even to this day.)  The disciples don't quite get that yet.  But let us not be too hard on them.  I often have a pretty small and parochial vision of God's purposes so I have no stones to cast.

Jesus' response to the disciples in Acts 1 is this:
“It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority.  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” (Acts 1:7)

In his comment on their question and Jesus' response Calvin describes the disciples as rude, deceived, and bad scholars "under so good a Master."*  It is always fun to read the reformers like Calvin and Luther.  There is a candor and bluntness that we see little of in the attempt to maintain civil discourse.  It might not always sound charitable, but you don't have to guess what they actually think.

But back to curiosity.  On Jesus' "It is not for you to know" response Calvin says this:

"This is a general reprehension (rebuke) of the whole question. For it was too curious for them to desire to know that whereof their Master would have them ignorant; but this is the true means to become wise, namely, to go as far forward in learning as our Master Christ goeth in teaching, and willingly to be ignorant of those things which he doth conceal from us. But forasmuch as there is naturally engendered in us a certain foolish and vain curiosity, and also a certain rash kind of boldness, we must diligently observe this admonition of Christ, whereby he correcteth both these vices."** (Emphases mine.)

Curiosity does not come off well with Calvin.  And there are two reasons, I think.  First, Calvin understands that some things are not any of our concern.  In the information age, we are quite used to knowing everything - or at least having the right to know everything.  Those who have gone before us didn't think that way.  We attach great value to being "in the know."  They didn't.  And subsequently, curiosity was not always seen as positive.

Second, Calvin's conviction that these things were not their, or our concern, is rooted in an understanding of Jesus as our Master, or our Lord.  By virtue of his position and authority over us, he doesn't owe us the complete plan in advance.  The hierarchical order in this tends to rub our egalitarian sensibilities the wrong way.  Not so Calvin, or his forebears.  Contained in his worldview was the notion that he is under the authority of others, primarily God.  Calvin and the rest of the reformers were no yes men.  They challenged the ecclesiastical authorities - which is why there was a Reformation.  But they retained the conviction that Lordship and authority remain good things, despite what had been done with them.

The Lord, because he is Lord, is free to reveal to us what he wants. It is foolish curiosity and rash boldness to demand more.  Doing so is questioning that Lordship - at least on some level.

As I reflect on these thoughts and others in past blogs, I feel rather like a 16th century reactionary looking back to the good old days - very old days.  I am reasonably fond of the 21st century.  But I am thankful for the perspectives that I read in older writers.  They are not always right.  My worldview is challenged by older ones - and it should be.

*Calvin's Commentaries - Acts 1:6 and following.
** Ditto, or Ibid if you want to be particular

Lessons from Travel

For a guy who grew up in a rural community of 500 (on a good day when no one had died), I have traveled a fair amount.  And I have learned from many of the experiences.  Some of those gleanings have been cultural or gustatory.  Some have been for me, and others, cautionary tales.  

Usually in an effort to save money (or do it on the cheap, depending on how you want to express it), I have found myself in interesting circumstances.   Outside an SNCF* stop (do not imagine anything close to a "station" as you read this) at 1:00 am at an abandoned taxi stand knowing that the only way I was getting a cab was if Jesus sent one.  (He did.)  Or sleeping with my luggage on the sidewalk at 2:00 am at the domestic airport in Delhi waiting among the slumbering Indians for my 6:30 flight to Bangalore.  Lesson: if you must be cheap, do it earlier in the day so you have time to find other options in case your brilliant idea isn't.

One other lesson I've learned is that you will not be able to find later the particular trinket or memento that you have in your hand right now.  This charming little shop is not as easy to find as you think.  The only reason you found it first is because it was on the way to somewhere else.  And you now forget the somewhere else. Or it wasn't even in the town you thought it was in. Or perhaps the shop itself has been physically assumed into heaven.  There are a hundred reasons to seize the opportunity while you have it.

It is not only when traveling that we assume there will be another, maybe better, opportunity to do the thing that presents itself to us right now.  I am ceaselessly optimistic.  Or ceaselessly procrastinating.

Francis Thompson, 19th Century English poet, wrote The Hound of Heaven.  In it a hare recounts his efforts to avoid the hound, who is God.  The poem recounts the experience of being sought by God and  our attempts to avoid his pursuit.  I have always like the image of God who relentlessly pursues us.  It reminds me of the father of the prodigal son in Jesus' parable.  And of God's continued pursuit of the people of Israel throughout the Old Testament.  It is comforting to know that he seeks us.

But here I come to the other side of this relationship.  Not his seeking of us but ours of him.  The scriptures continually exhort us to seek the Lord.**  But there is a good time to seek the Lord.

"Seek the Lord while he may be found;
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake his way,
and the unrighteous man his thoughts;
let him return to the Lord, that he may have compassion on him,
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon."
(Isaiah 55:6-7)

Seek the Lord while he may be found.  He cannot always be found, it seems.  We ceaseless optimists and procrastinators should take note.  In this he is not unlike the above mentioned charming little shop.   He may not be obviously found later.  I am slightly disturbed by this notion.  Surely God can always be found if we will but look.  I'd like to think that, but here the Scriptures tell us something different.  We read it here in Isaiah but also in Paul's second letter to the Corinthians:

"Working together with him, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. For he says,
'In a favorable time I listened to you,
and in a day of salvation I have helped you.'
Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation."
(2 Corinthians 6:1-2 ESV)

There are opportunities to respond to God, to trust him, to live in obedience to him, which have an expiry date.  That does not necessarily mean that there will be no such opportunity in the future.  But it does mean that THIS one will not present itself again.

You might find what you are looking for again if you go back looking.  But you might not.  With God, now is the favorable time.  Now is the day of salvation.


*Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer - France's (better) version of Amtrak or Via Rail.
** Some examples: Deuteronomy 4:29, I Chronicles 16:11, Isaiah 55:6, Proverbs 8:17, Jeremiah 29:13, Matthew 6:33

Functional heresy

When I worked at GE, for a while one of my teams was based in the Netherlands.  This is an aside but have you ever thought how onomastically greedy this nation is?  It might be called the Netherlands as mentioned above or perhaps Holland and its people are known as the Dutch.  I come from the proper-name impoverished country of Canada and only have one proper name to call my own  (and "Canadian" -- the same word again).  But this is not a critique of that fine European nation.  I'll get back to my tale.

One of the interesting things about managing the team in Holland was that there appeared to be a statutory holiday for all the Dutch (there, I've used all three) about every week.  At least it seemed that way.  One time when there was some deadline about which I was nervous, my anxiety became higher when I discovered that the Monday coming was a holiday.  The team manager there told me it was Pentecost and, knowing that I came from across the pond and would likely have no idea what that was, proceeded to tell me that it was when the Holy Spirit came down on the Church.

It is somewhat ironic the European, from that pagan continent (at least by reputation), felt the need to tell the guy living in the "one nation under God" what the holiday was.  I am happy to report that I knew the feast before I received the unnecessary but much appreciated elucidation.

But how many of us do know that Sunday -- this Sunday coming -- is Pentecost?  And why might we care?  I have in this space previously expressed my appreciation of the pedagogical and devotional value of paying attention to the Church calendar - its feasts and seasons.  And it's not because such observance is necessary or required, but because I find it helpful.

The yearly observance of Pentecost is particularly helpful because it is really the only feast day that is dedicated to the third person of the Trinity, namely the Holy Spirit.  This is where I get to the "why I might care part."

The work of the Father as Creator is pretty clearly understood.  The atoning and redemptive work of Jesus, the Son, is also quite clear - it is perhaps the thing we talk and teach about most.  And rightly so. But what about the Holy Spirit?  What does He do?  And why does He matter?

Number one on my incredibly short list of why He matters is that He is God.  Christians have through the centuries affirmed the mystery of the Trinity, three Persons, one God.  The Athanasian Creed (the poor cousin of the more prominent Apostles' and Nicene Creeds) says this:

And the catholic faith is this: That we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity; Neither confusing the Persons; nor dividing the Essence... So the Father is God; the Son is God; and the Holy Spirit is God. (emphasis mine)

It is not that we don't intellectually acknowledge this truth.  Whenever we say the more prominent Creeds we acknowledge this.  But practically, in our life, worship and devotion, do we pay any attention to the Paraclete?

Many years ago now, I came to the shocking realization that I was a functional Binitarian.  The Father I  understood (albeit imperfectly), and similarly the Son.  And more to the point, I trusted the Father and the Son.  The Holy Spirit, not so much.  This was perhaps because I was turned off by enthusiastically charismatic Christians and decided to avoid the whole matter of the Person and work of the Spirit.  My way seemed so much more "decent and in order."

This brings me to a quick digression.  It is so easy for us to use the excuse of the bad witness of nutty charismatic or hard judgmental Christians (or some other flavor distasteful to us) to stay in our comfortable place where we need not seriously consider God's call and claim on our life.  And it is an excuse.  When I give account of myself one day before the only One who is worthy to judge, I'm not sure that "those Christians were crazy or harsh or narrow-minded or unintellectual" will fly.  His response to me might be, "And your point is?"  God's call to us is exactly that -- God's call.

So back to being the functionally heretical Binitarian.  When I came to this realization, there was only one course of action.  Repentance.  "Lord God, I do not trust you.  Forgive me."  There is no prettier way of saying it than that.

I am happy to live as an now both intellectually and functionally orthodox Christian, giving praise to God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth and to God the Son, Jesus, Redeemer and to God the Holy Spirit, Advocate, Comforter, Gift-giver, Sanctifier, Truth-teller.

Whenever I feel afraid

My wife, Tamara, did her undergraduate degree at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design (NSCAD, or "Nasscad" as it is more familiarly known).  There is a gallery associated with it called The Anna Leonowens Gallery.  Mrs. Leonowens was a founder of the college in 1887 (although it was then named the Victoria College of Art and Design after the famous queen of that name).  This, I am sure you would think, is accomplishment enough for one life.  But not so for Mrs. Leonowens.  She lived in Halifax (Nova Scotia) after her Asian travels during which she spent some time at the royal court of Siam.  It was that gig that made her the inspiration for the musical The King and I. 

What I remember from the musical is, well, the music.  And Yul Brynner's bald head.  "Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera" also springs back to mind.  But back to the music.  One of the peppy little numbers is "I Whistle a Happy Tune."  Here's a sample of the lyrics:

Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect
I'm afraid.

While shivering in my shoes
I strike a careless pose
And whistle a happy tune
And no one ever knows
I'm afraid.

I cannot comment on whether this is an effective foil for fear as neither whistling nor "tune" are my strong points.  But I was reminded of this song while reading Psalm 56 this week.  The psalmist, like Anna, feels afraid.  He is trampled, oppressed and attacked.  Sadly, he did not have access to Deborah Kerr singing the above number so he takes another tack.

When I am afraid
I put my trust in you.
In God I trust; I shall not be afraid.
What can flesh do to me?
(Psalm 56:3-4, ESV)

No disrespect meant to Rodgers and Hammerstein, but I think the psalmist has a better plan. Much in our lives is beyond our control.  This invokes fear.  Much is unknown - such as everything that is going to happen to me from this point on, forever.   That may qualify as more than "much."  We feel afraid.  At times we are threatened or in actual peril.  The fear part we can't avoid.

But when I feel afraid, whistle a happy tune?  As cheering as it may be, the tune is not Good, True, Loving and Sovereign.  God is.

The collect for peace in the Book of Common Prayer prays it this way (emphasis mine):

O God who art the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom stands our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom: Defend us, thy humble servants, in all assaults of our enemies; that we, surely trusting in thy defense, may not fear the power of any adversaries; through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord.  

In God I trust, what can flesh do to me?

What indeed.