A Letter for the Church Today (5)

Nothing sells like religious experience.

Currently, the number one book on the New York Times paperback nonfiction bestsellers list is Heaven is for Real: A Little Boy’s Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back, the story of a child who slipped into unconsciousness during surgery and reportedly went to heaven. Upon returning, he shared remarkable stories about what he saw there, including details about deceased family members, etc., that he allegedly could never have known.

I have no comment about the book. I mention it only to make my point. Even in this supposedly secular and skeptical age in which we live, a story about spectacular, mysterious spiritual experience gets a lot of attention. And sells a lot of books.

Thus has it ever been. In Paul’s day, traveling preachers and wisdom teachers likewise shared similar stories in order to attract and impress audiences. The Apostle Paul, however, refused to use such methods.

The truth of the matter is that Paul is most reluctant to talk about his visions and revelations. Luke tells us of a number of visions that Paul received (Acts 9:12, 16:9-10, 18:9-10, 22:17-21, 23:11, 27:23-24) so Paul must have talked about some of them with his closest colleagues. This is not altogether surprising in those instances where guidance was involved, as others would have to be given the rationale for Paul’s plans, or where sharing the vision meant Paul was sharing his own deep discouragement or fear. What is remarkable, however, is that in his epistles Paul does not normally share the content of any vision or revelation….In the text before us, Paul tells us at least one reason for his silence: he believes there is nothing to be gained by such talk, i.e., no spiritual profit for the Corinthians if he exposes his most intimate and supernatural experiences to them. Such talk may puff him up, or help to establish his reputation; but what good would it do? None, as far as the apostle can see; and so in the past he has held his peace.

• from A Model of Christian Maturity: An Exposition of 2 Corinthians 10-13
by D.A. Carson

In the course of his appeal to the Corinthian church, Paul has been speaking about how his opponents have forced him to “boast” like they do. They market themselves, send out press releases, advertise their credentials, talk about their success rates and accomplishments. They provide letters of recommendation from other high-powered celebrities and point to rave reviews of their performances. But, apparently more than anything else, they appeal to their own experiences of God.

Paul, who has already discounted their methods (10:1-6), their self-promoting attacks on his reputation (10:7-18), and their reliance on worldly credentials (ch. 11), now takes on these “super-apostles” with regard to their boasting about spiritual visions and revelations (ch. 12).

“It is necessary to boast; nothing is to be gained by it, but I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord,” he writes in 2Cor 12:1. So distasteful is this to Paul that he cannot bring himself to talk about his remarkable experience in the first person — “I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven” — as though it were someone else.

Can you imagine anyone being so shy and self-effacing today? Especially here in America, the land of capitalist opportunity, a person with Paul’s story would be pressured to hit the megachurch and talk show circuit immediately to “give testimony” about such a heavenly experience. Book and media contracts of all kinds would soon follow. The internet would be all a-buzz about “the man who went to heaven and heard inexpressible things.” It would be the “next big thing.”

But note Paul’s reticence, the struggle he has to even bring this up. He is loathe to share details, to interpret what it all means, to translate his experience into any kind of “lesson” or “message” for his audience. He seems embarrassed to draw any attention to himself or claim anything about his ministry on the basis of this experience. He seems eager to separate himself from his own testimony lest anyone get the wrong impression about who he is or what is message is all about.

I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows. And I know that such a person—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows— was caught up into Paradise and heard things that are not to be told, that no mortal is permitted to repeat. On behalf of such a one I will boast, but on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses. But if I wish to boast, I will not be a fool, for I will be speaking the truth. But I refrain from it, so that no one may think better of me than what is seen in me or heard from me, even considering the exceptional character of the revelations. (12:2-7a, NRSV)

It is in the context of this exceptional spiritual experience that Paul talks about his “thorn in the flesh” (12:7b-10) — some kind of personal suffering that, by all accounts, he learned much more from than his ecstasies ever taught him. Suffering, weakness, insecurity, dependence, and difficulties led him to Christ in a way that a trip to heaven never could.

For they led him to the Cross. They kept him reliant upon grace. The grace of Christ, the power of Christ, for the sake of Christ (12:9-10) — these phrases point out Paul’s focus. He was not out to impress, but to serve. To point others to Christ, not himself.

The rest of the chapter reinforces this.

• 12:14 — “Here I am, ready to come to you this third time. And I will not be a burden, because I do not want what is yours but you; for children ought not to lay up for their parents, but parents for their children.I will most gladly spend and be spent for you.”

• 12:19 — “Have you been thinking all along that we have been defending ourselves before you? We are speaking in Christ before God. Everything we do, beloved, is for the sake of building you up.”

In the end, it’s style vs. substance, spectacle vs. sacrificial love, exciting, impressive stories vs. steadfast pastoral care.

What’s it going to be, Church?

The LORD did not set His love on you nor choose you because you were more in number than any of the peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples, but because the LORD loved you and kept the oath which He swore to your forefathers, the LORD brought you out by a mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt.

• Deuteronomy 7:7-8, NASB

• • •

Peter W. Marty once wrote, “In a memorable Dennis the Menace cartoon, Dennis and his friend Joey are leaving Mrs. Wilson’s house loaded up with a plate full of cookies. Joey turns to Dennis and says, ‘I wonder what we did to deserve this.’ Dennis is quick to reply, ‘Look Joey, Mrs. Wilson gives us cookies not because we’re nice, but because she’s nice.’ So goes the arithmetic of grace.” (The World of Grace)

Dennis’ sentiment captures what I have always loved about the sentence from Deuteronomy 7 cited above, though I have not meditated on it or internalized nearly enough. If you take out all the intervening clauses in the verse and boil down what God is saying to Israel, what you have is, “I love you…because I love you.” It’s as simple, and profound, as that.

It’s not because we’re nice. He loves us because he loves us. Period. It’s who God is that makes the difference in matters of love, grace, and choice.

And who is he? A remarkably indiscriminate lover! After all, he loves you and me.

The Biblical record is clear from beginning to end, and well-summarized in these NT words: “Listen, my beloved brethren: did not God choose the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him?” (James 2:5)

By “poor” he means not only those who have few material or monetary resources. All kinds of poverty are in view here — the intellectually poor, the morally poor, the relationally poor, the reputationally poor. In order to show that he does not discriminate against anyone, he has made a special effort to reach out to those who are, in our eyes, the most unlovely and undeserving.

God’s team roster is set forth in the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12). In the world’s eyes at least, we are talent-poor (poor in spirit, mourners, meek, crushed by injustice) and we are power-poor — we try to engage the world with inadequate, futile strategies (through extending mercy, seeking purity of heart, acting as peacemakers). Ultimately, we are the “losers” (persecuted, insulted, accused). Nevertheless, by his love and grace, Jesus calls us “blessed.”

Similarly, the Hebrew people God spoke to in Deuteronomy 7 were poor. Their ancestors had been homeless wanderers. Their parents and grandparents had become slaves, the dregs of society, under foreign rulers in Egypt. After about four hundred years of that humiliation, God intervened and delivered them in spectacular fashion from their bondage by pure grace.

You might think that would have made them grateful, but instead they became a group of unruly complainers wandering through the desert. Moses tried to shape them up during a long camp-out at Mt. Sinai, but they proved so unmanageable he had to plead with God at one point not to wipe them out in divine frustration and wrath. When they left Sinai to go to the Promised Land of Canaan, all but a few of them rebelled so badly they ended up wasting forty years walking the desert in circles. Eventually, Israel wore even poor Moses down. One day he’d had enough of their bitching and moaning, and he blew up in angry, exasperated unbelief — an act that won him a grave in the wilderness.

And, these were the people to whom God said, “[I] wasn’t attracted to you and didn’t choose you because you were big and important—the fact is, there was almost nothing to you. [I] did it out of sheer love…” (The Message) Tens of thousands of dirty-faced Dennis the Menaces got full plates of cookies because of who God is, not because they were so nice.

And guess what? The new life we have received in Jesus came the same way. There we are one day, playing in the yard, fighting and hollering, breaking stuff, getting all dirty and tearing holes in our jeans, when Mrs. Wilson opens the door and hollers out,”Hey kids, would you like some cookies? I just made some. Come and get ‘em!” And if we have any sense at all, we stop what we’re doing immediately and race to see who can get there first.

Oh, there’s nothing like the taste of fresh cookies, washed down with cold milk!

The problem is, we start thinking we must be pretty special to deserve such a treat. We strut our stuff around the neighborhood and brag on the gift we received. “Why the big smile?” the kid down the street asks. “Mrs. Wilson just gave us cookies!” we exclaim. “Man, were they good!” And for some reason, we get all caught up in that warm feeling in our belly and start to think we must be pretty good kids to deserve such a treat.

Then we look up, and see that Mrs. Wilson has come out of her house again, and this time she’s offering cookies to the neighbor children who live behind us. Those kids are a pain in the butt! In fact, they’re weird. They dress and talk differently and they don’t fit in to our games very well. We try to stay away from them, but sometimes we can’t and it seems like we always end up fighting and yelling. It really gripes us that they get cookies too.

We forget the “grace” part. Remember? Mrs. Wilson’s the nice one, not me.

Peter Marty quotes Barbara Brown Taylor, who once said, “I’m not so worried about God loving me less. It is the prospect of God loving that other person I can’t stand, just as much as God might love me.” He then comments,

The most outstanding feature of God’s grace is its indiscriminate character. I’m thoroughly convinced of this, even if I cannot always appreciate it. All of the factors that determine how God might show favor rest solely on God’s wishes. Our capacity to discriminate, establish devilish screening devices, and discern unpalatable idiosyncrasies in other people cannot hold back God’s grace. Jesus refused to respect the boundaries people set up between respectable and disreputable people, between right-thinking and wrong-thinking people. In the end, it was utterances like his “prostitutes and tax-collectors entering the kingdom before the rest of us” that — literally — hung him. (The Wideness of Love)

If receiving grace doesn’t make us both grateful and gracious, we really haven’t grasped grace.

If, in our lives, we don’t “cause [our] rain to fall on both the just and the unjust,” we are not following the One who does just that. Lavishly. Freely. Indiscriminately.

If we’re upset that Mrs. Wilson is sharing her cookies with kids we don’t like, we’ve probably developed the opinion that we deserve them more. And that some don’t deserve them at all.

Hey, if you’ve got a head full of rules about who deserves the cookies and who doesn’t, I don’t think you have much room in there for a guy like Jesus. He loves us because he loves us.

And that’s the whole story.

A Moment with Frederick Buechner

NAVE
The nave is the central part of the church from the main front to the chancel. It’s the part where the laity sit and in great Gothic churches is sometimes separated from the choir and clergy by a screen. It takes its name from the Latin navis, meaning ship, one reason being that the vaulted roof looks rather like an inverted keel. A more interesting reason is that the Church itself is thought of as a ship or Noah’s Ark. It’s a resemblance worth thinking about.

In one as in the other, just about everything imaginable is aboard, the clean and the unclean both. They are all piled in together helter-skelter, the predators and the prey, the wild and the tame, the sleek and beautiful ones and the ones that are ugly as sin. There are sly young foxes and impossible old cows. There are the catty and the piggish and the peacock-proud. There are hawks and there are doves. Some are wise as owls, some silly as geese; some meek as lambs and others fire-breathing dragons. There are times when they all cackle and grunt and roar and sing together, and there are times when you could hear a pin drop. Most of them have no clear idea just where they’re supposed to be heading or how they’re supposed to get there or what they’ll find if and when they finally do, but they figure the people in charge must know and in the meanwhile sit back on their haunches and try to enjoy the ride.

It’s not all enjoyable. There’s backbiting just like everywhere else. There’s a pecking order. There’s jostling at the trough. There’s growling and grousing, bitching and whining. There are dogs in the manger and old goats and black widows. It’s a regular menagerie in there, and sometimes it smells to high Heaven like one.

But even at its worst, there’s at least one thing that makes it bearable within, and that is the storm without—the wild winds and terrible waves and in all the watery waste no help in sight.

And at its best there is, if never clear sailing, shelter from the blast, a sense of somehow heading in the right direction in spite of everything, a ship to keep afloat, and, like a beacon in the dark, the hope of finding safe harbor at last.

from Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter’s Dictionary
Frederick Buechner

we wrangle about the end of the world
and its beginning too
but when YHWH comes in the whirlwind
shut up, we haven’t a clue

Discernment and decision making are distinctly different yet related approaches to responding to God’s call. Decision makers define the problem, gather data, analyze options, weight pros and cons, then cut away all choices but one. While other people may be consulted, the power of choice lies basically in the hands of the decision maker. This is appropriate for many kinds of decisions, such as making a major purchase or deciding which college to attend.

It might seem as if this is also appropriate for making a decision about ordained or rostered lay ministry. Someone who is considering rostered ministry might analyze personal strengths and weaknesses, evaluate the fit with various job descriptions in the church, then decide to become a pastor or a diaconal minister, for example.

In the United States we can see this in the way that talented individuals have established their own “ministries,” often using their own names to identify their ministries, and almost always establishing their ministries apart from the churches or traditions with which they might, in some loose way, be identified. Their powerful personal sense of call seems to have little to do with the church.

Such an approach can be dangerous for the people who respond to such ministries as well as for the individuals who engage in them. Well-meaning people have been manipulated, exploited, deceived, cheated, and, in some instances, led to despair and death by charismatic individuals, religious charlatans, and self-willed individuals who have been grasped and driven by something quite other than the gospel.

Yet, in the Lutheran tradition an individual’s discernment is only a part of the process. An authentic call to ordained or rostered lay ministry involves the church as well as the individual. Hence the church initiates the call, and tests the sense of call and the needed gifts for its ordained and rostered lay ministries. It has both the right and the responsibility to do so. The very notion of self-appointed and self-proclaimed leaders contradicts what it means to be a leader in the church. It is also precisely what “heresy” means: going your own way, on your own terms, with yourself as your own authority. “Orthodoxy” means rightly, authentically, praising God and rightly, authentically, teaching the gospel. Right teaching of the gospel takes place when the church teaches the gospel in accordance with Holy Scripture and the classic creeds and confessions. It is not one person’s homemade version of God’s truth.

What Shall I Say? Discerning God’s Call to Ministry
Walter R. Bouman and Sue M. Setzter

Of course, no system is perfect when human beings are involved. Roman Catholics, for example, have been dealing with a serious clergy sex-abuse scandal that wasn’t prevented by their organized ecclesial call systems. Nevertheless, there is a system in place now in which to deal with those problems, and one would hope that the resources of Church and leadership will help bring justice and healing in a way that no “lone ranger,” autonomous local-style ministry could.

“The very notion of self-appointed and self-proclaimed leaders contradicts what it means to be a leader in the church.” That says it all to me.

This is a must-read, filled with insightful remarks from men all over the world. At this writing, she had received more than 150 responses.

One of the best links was to a moving post called “Courageous Daughters,” by Justin Bowers, who reflected on a father’s dreams for his three daughters:

If we model the type of leadership Piper calls for in its entirety, we risk failing a generation of women God has gifted as integral members and leaders within our ministries.

When my daughters were infants I took each of them in my arms and stood in front of a congregation and dedicated them entirely to Christ.  I asked the congregation to support my family and help raise them to be disciples, Kingdom Agents, and ambassadors of Christ.  I stood before the body of Christ, the BRIDE of Christ, and in solidarity believed with them that God had plans for these girls that can only be carried out to the fullest extent in the community of believers.

…For my daughters, I don’t want the church to be a place that tells them not to dream.   I don’t want them to grow up with a limited view of God’s nature that dictates him only as Father and King.  Those are real and true.  But he is also the Provider, the Nurturer, the Sustainer who feeds the young.  He is above gender focus because he is the Creator of gender… The beauty of a mother and the character of a father are both seen as reflections of God’s nature.  But they are seen most fully in right relationship as husband and wife, loving each other and caring for their children in both masculine and feminine ways–truly reflecting the fullest nature of God with his people.

i drove awhile under the orange glow of urban night
it made me wonder…
what will become of a world in which children
have never seen the stars?

Once, her absence bothered him so much he got up, put on his robe and walked downstairs. He sat in his chair and listened to himself breathe. An occasional car drove by the house, sending a wave of light across the ceiling. The air was chill. He looked down at his wrinkled hands, blue in the midnight, and saw his wedding ring. Too tired to cry, he sighed, stood up and trudged to the kitchen.

He grabbed a small glass from a cupboard above the sink and filled it with water. Taking a small sip, he stared out the window on the clear, bright, windless night. Dew shimmered on the grassy lawn where the tree shadows did not reach. He alone saw it while the world slept. The night. The shadows. The glistening grass.

Not that he didn’t try to see more. But try as he might, he could not envision her face. Gone so soon? After fifty-five years of seeing each other every day! Every morning, he would arise and go to this very kitchen. He would fix the coffee, turn on the machine, and set out two coffee cups on the counter, one for him and one for her. After retrieving the newspaper, he would go to his chair and read it while the coffee brewed.

Soon, her soft footsteps would sound on the stairs, and he would look up to greet her, precede her into the kitchen, pour out two cups — black — and they would sit at the table together to start the day. As rituals go, it wasn’t complicated or profound. Still, he was glad they began most mornings face to face.

How was it then, that he could not picture her pretty face now? Less than a week after laying her in the ground? Pictures of her were everywhere throughout the house, but he couldn’t see them, couldn’t see into them. He picked them up often and held them in his hands. He leafed through the photo albums of their trips. He traced their life together through them: from the time she was a schoolgirl, to that sexy young mother standing in the yard with a baby on her hip; she who had been the life of so many parties, his dance partner, lover, Valentine, “mom” on all the Christmases and birthdays and vacations and outings through the years, until the day she became “grandma” and her hair turned white and she was the petite one with sparkling eyes, like dew in the moonlight, in the front row of the large family portrait. He gazed often and hard at this evidence, yet couldn’t make sense of it. His vision blurred, his mind fogged, his chest heaved.

Who knows how long he stood there in the night? Out the window, the shadows had shifted, and a wave of weariness crashed over him. He set the glass in the sink and made his way back upstairs. He crawled into bed, pulled the warm, heavy covers up to his chin, and slept for the few hours of darkness that remained.

He awoke as usual, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, put on his slippers, picked his robe off the chair, and tied the belt around his waist. He made his way to the bathroom and performed his morning toilet. He ran warm water over his glasses and rubbed them with soapy fingers, washing away the dust and smears. Drying them, he placed them on his nose and looked at the old man in the mirror. He had made it another day.

The morning shone brightly through the living room windows as he went downstairs. Going into the kitchen, he slid open a drawer and separated a new coffee filter from its box. He went to the freezer and retrieved the bag of coffee beans, dumped some into the grinder and then ground them up fine. Measuring out just the right amount, he scooped the fragrant coffee into the filter and placed it carefully in the basket of the pot. He poured the water into the reservoir and closed the top. Reaching up, he grabbed two coffee cups off the shelf and placed them on the counter.

Then he went to retrieve the morning paper.

i drove through the drive-thru, like you do
the girl smiled and said, “have a wonderful day”
and i said, “do you really mean that,
or are you just toying with my heart?”

The Bible, through a Scientist’s Eyes, part four

Testing Scripture: A Scientist Explores the Bible
by John Polkinghorne

• • •

To my ears, one of the most bizarre and troubling passages in the Hebrew Bible describes the "bitter water" ritual (Numbers 5:11-31). This ceremony was to be used when a man suspected his pregnant wife of adultery. He was to bring her to the priest and present an offering. The priest would then have her stand before the Tabernacle and make her drink a mixture of holy water and dust from the floor of the holy place. If she was guilty, the potion would cause a miscarriage and she would become infertile. If innocent, the bitter water would have no effect on her. Whether guilty or innocent, the man would bear no guilt for being jealous and accusing her.

The text is sufficiently ambiguous that it has prompted much discussion. Was this a "trial by ordeal," designed to bring out a secret act of sin by appealing to God using a kind of divination? Is this a reflection of ancient magical practices? Why was the ritual only for women suspected of unfaithfulness and why didn't wives have similar recourse when their husbands cheated on them? Why was the woman exposed to public humiliation before proof of guilt? As some have suggested, could this elaborate ritual have actually been a way of protecting women by forbidding husbands from acting alone in a jealous rage when suspecting unfaithfulness?

This is one of those difficult, enigmatic Scriptures that came to mind when I read the chapter "Ambiguity" in John Polkinghorne's book, Testing Scripture.

The tapestry of life is not coloured in simple black and white, representing an unambiguous choice between the unequivocally bad and the unequivocally good. The ambiguity of human deeds and desires means that life includes many shades of grey. What is true of life in general is true also of the Bible in particular. An honest reading of Scripture will acknowledge the presence in its pages of various kinds of ambiguity.

Akedah, Chagall

To hear some people talk, the Bible is perfectly clear and well defined in its teachings. Black is black, and white is white. The way is plain and one can walk it by following transparent, easily perceived steps.

How then, John Polkinghorne asks, do we explain stories like God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac? How do we square the fact that Abraham is commended as the great exemplar of our faith, when he is also shown to have so many flaws? And what of his family of scoundrels like Jacob? Likewise, David, the "man after God's own heart," who not only committed adultery and murder, but who apparently could also act like the most vengeful of near eastern kings. An example of this is when he revoked his pardon of Shimei, who had cursed him, on his deathbed and commanded his execution. Polkinghorne remarks, "It is the vengeful act of a spiteful old man."

Ambiguous characters, all.

And how are we to understand some of the events and descriptions written in Scripture? What of angels? Are all the miracle stories to be taken at face value? Is there room for interpretation with regard to some of these portrayals? Are there symbolic, figurative, or typological aspects that we should consider when reading about some of the more unusual depictions?

The Bible is like life, John Polkinghorne affirms. It is multifaceted, complicated, and at times bewildering. It portrays characters and situations with all the rich complexity of life itself, exploring the shadows along with the light. Furthermore, it is written about people who lived long ago, in cultures quite different than our own. It uses language, metaphors, illustrations, and conventions that are foreign to us, that may reflect practices and perspectives we find troublesome or obscure.

Trying to understand and apply what Scripture says can be frustrating, especially if we have accepted the commonly advanced idea that the Bible is "life's instruction book," designed to give clear answers to life's problems and questions. Open its pages, and you'll find a much more interesting -- if ambiguous -- story than that.