Strangers

Like many of you, I’ve kept tabs on the budget discussions taking place in Washington, and I experienced a mixture of frustration and disbelief as the process dragged on. How is it that NFL football players and team owners who have only their own best interests at heart can get a unanimous agreement on contracts, but our representatives, who in theory have the best interests of all citizens at heart, can’t agree on the time of day?

Part of the difficulty for me is I have very little knowledge of economics, especially at the national and global levels. So when seemingly pivotal statements are made about potential consequences of raising the debt limit or cutting the national deficit, I don’t know who to believe. “Raising the debt limit is crucial.” Yes,  it is. If we don’t, the world economy will collapse. No, it isn’t. We need to quit borrowing money. “The national budget is just like your household budget.” You’re right. We can’t spend more than we make. You’re wrong. National and family economics differ greatly. They can’t be treated the same. “We have to cut the size of government. We’re spending money we don’t have.” True. All these entitlement and education programs are unnecessary, and we can’t afford them. False. Government services are essential, and we need to prioritize, not lay waste to all of them. The money is there if everyone pays a fair share.  Like the kid says in the commercial when he’s asked, “Where do babies come from?” he replies, “It’s complicated.”

Recently we studied 1 Peter in the Fellowship Class at church. The lesson had to do with how believers are to conduct themselves in the middle of a culture that is non-Christian. From Peter’s perspective the followers of Jesus are “strangers in the world” who are “scattered” (1 Peter 1:1). They are different from the people around them because God, by grace, has given them “a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1:3). How are we supposed to conduct ourselves in the world? Peter says we are to model ourselves after the Risen Lord, living “good lives among the pagans” (2:12).

In light of Peter’s teaching, two things come to mind with regard to the current political crisis (and others that will undoubtedly follow). Because we’re still “in the world,” we participate to a greater or lesser degree in governmental processes and the discussions around them.  And those discussions today, for the most part, lack civility. Listening  to political diatribe and news/talk show rhetoric, one can hear people on each side twisting the facts and then referring to those on the opposite side as radicals, crazy, communists, Nazis, idiots, and every other term that paints them as “other” instead of as “one of us.” Liberal and Conservative have become curse words. The language is meant to exclude, not embrace. The underlying premise seems to be that if all these people who disagree with me would just go away, the country would be a better place. The idea that we are “one nation under God” has gotten swept aside. Peter’s advice? Believers, in their words and actions, must model something different, something better. “Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called, so that you may inherit a blessing” (3:8-9).

The second issue is concerned with priorities. We recognize that priorities are difficult to sort out, even in the church family. Should we use our resources to put a new roof on the building, support another missionary, hire a staff person, begin an outreach program – some, or all, or none of the above? So when it comes to national priorities, it isn’t surprising that things become even more complicated. The boy in the commercial who wonders where babies come from doesn’t know what complicated is. But as Peter continues in chapter 3,

“Whoever would love life and see good days

must keep his tongue from evil and his lips from deceitful speech.

He must turn from evil and do good; he must seek peace and pursue it.

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer,

but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil” (3:10-12)

When it comes to setting priorities, shouldn’t we be asking ourselves as Christians what it means to turn from evil and do good?  As a nation we aren’t without resources; it is a matter of how we use them and who contributes to the common good. Where do we wage war, and why? Do we cut off public education to those who can’t afford private schools? Do we continue to use our “defense” budget to support 3^rd world dictators who have no allegiance to us? Should our military power be employed to insure the flow of oil from the Middle East? Do we refuse food and medical care to the poor? I’m not suggesting that the answers to these questions are all easy , but it is contingent on us, as “aliens and strangers,” to struggle with what it means to “turn from evil and do good,” to “seek peace and pursue it” in the midst of an unsympathetic culture; indeed, to let ourselves be defined not by our enemies, but by scripture— as persons who are born anew into a living hope, focused not on fear, as so many politicians want us to be, but focused on the new and eternal life God has promised us through our Resurrected Savior.

In His name,

Pastor Mike

Who We Become

    In The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis’ final book in The Chronicles of Narnia, the Narnians loyal to Aslan the Lion meet the Calormene enemy on Stable Hill. Outwardly the stable is a dingy, smelly, ramshackle building that is believed to house the evil god Tash. And even though they worship him, the Calmorenes are terrified of Tash. They’re determined to throw the Narnians into the stable without entering themselves. But when the Narnian king Tirian finds himself at sword-point outside the stable door he grabs his opponent, the Calmorene king, by the belt and hauls him into the stable. Tash appears and drags Tirian’s enemy away, but Tirian is unharmed, protected by Aslan himself.
“For a moment or two Tirian did not know where he was or even who he was. Then he steadied himself, blinked, and looked around. It was not dark inside the stable, as he had expected. He was in strong light…” He found himself surrounded by seven kings and seven queens, dressed in royal clothing.  He expected to be in a twelve-by-six foot thatched stable. “In reality they stood on grass, the deep blue sky was overhead, and the air which blew gently on their faces was that of a day in early summer.”1
    The stable, appearing to be a tomb, is in fact the entryway to the eternal Narnia. And the tomb of Jesus, appearing to be a sanctuary of death, is in fact the empty place that helps prepare us for eternal life. In the tomb Jesus overcomes the grip of death, and everything changes.
When Mary sees Jesus, she mistakes him for the gardener. He is the same, but different. His appearance has changed, and he walks through locked doors. His friends don’t recognize him right away. And as Sarah Dylan Breuer points out, when we receive resurrection life, for the first time or on a deeper level, things change.
    Our relationships, our understanding of power, our vision, our heart, and our sense of what is possible change.
    Jesus, raised from death, now calls his followers sisters and brothers. We are bonded to unlikely strangers in Christian fellowship, receiving even our enemies, and use the same terms—brother and sister—to describe them.  Our understanding of power is transformed when the risen Lord continues to serve his disciples and us. He doesn’t address us with judgment, but with love and forgiveness. With our new vision we begin to see Christ in the most unlikely places – in a child’s eyes, an enemy’s heart, a suffering friend, and in opportunities to be peacemakers in a broken, unjust world.
With Christ’s resurrection comes a change of heart. Forgiveness becomes possible in the most trying settings. Compassion and sensitivity are lived out unexpectedly. We experience grace. And what is possible changes. In God’s economy Egypt’s slaves became a new nation, and Christ’s disciples became a church. “What seemed to be certain death became a call to new life, as the scattered Hebrew slaves became a people, God's people. In Judea, some looked at Jesus' cross and saw death; some looked at the empty tomb and anticipated death for themselves, as Roman law decreed death to grave robbers. But what looks like death is an opening for new life.”2
Easter proclaims not just the resurrection of Jesus, but of all who believe. We are transformed  to new life, and as Breuer says, we “find ourselves sent forth to be known and make Jesus known in the breaking of the bread, the healing of the sick, the loving of the unlovable, the reconciliation of each of us to one another and to God in Christ.”3
    Our Easter prayer is that we be changed. Or in the words of Walter Brueggemann,

God of Exodus and Easter, God of homecoming and forgiveness,
       God of fierceness and peaceableness,
         we are finally driven to your miracles.
This day hear our urgency and do among us what none of us can do.
Do your Friday-Sunday act yet again and make us new.
We pray out of the shattering death and the shimmering new life of Jesus,
whose name we bear. Amen.

Pastor Mike

 

1  Lewis, C.S. The Last Battle. MacMillan, 1956, pp. 137ff.
2    Breuer, Sarah Dylan. Dylan’s Lectionary Blog.  http://www.sarahlaughed.net/lectionary/2005/03/easter_day_prin.html
3    Ibid
4    Brueggemann, Walter. “While the World says, Not Possible. Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth. Fortress Press, 2003, p. 121-122

How We Talk

I’ve been caught up in the news lately. It would be hard not to. National budget debates, tornadoes in the South, bin Laden’s death – I was just too overwhelmed to tune in to the big British wedding. But I confess that as a pastor I’m constantly trying to make Christian sense out of what goes on in the world, and trying to understand how I as a believer in Christ should put events in perspective, both for myself and for the congregation. As a faithful Baptist I don’t presume to think members of the congregation require my input, but if it’s helpful, that’s fine too.

Much of the news recently has revolved around national issues. I suppose it does in every country; were we living in Pretoria I don’t imagine Wisconsin politics or the destruction of Tuscaloosa would get much air play. But they do here, along with budget cuts, tax policies, and expense priorities. The latter issues have taken center stage since the last national election, and the size of the deficit caused one member of the congregation to express doubts about the financial viability of the country in two years, regardless of what Washington does. That may be correct; not being a financial whiz I have no idea what the implications are of going broke as a nation. Do we get repossessed, or what?

My concern for the country is partly financial, but it goes deeper than that. Because of an inability to communicate constructively with each other, we run the greater risk of civil dissolution. Many families are broke, but they remain families. Divorce is harder to recover from, and in many ways we seem headed in that direction. Even members of the Christian family, who of all people should be most suspicious of divisive communication, seem content to sever relationships by the way they converse. That isn’t the ideal. As Paul reminds us in Romans, “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others” (Romans 12:4-5). We’re to sever ties over – nothing.

Maintaining unity demands a certain approach to the way we talk with each other. And frequently our talk doesn’t get derailed over things like the exact date of the Second Coming. It flounders on which news station we watch or who we voted for in the last election. We tend to take two approaches to those matters. One is to avoid them all together. The other is to become adamant about our political persuasion. When we do the first, we’re left with a relationship that seems nice on the surface, but we know it can never intimate and fully trusting. When we do the second we push our Christian brothers and sisters aside. Animosity trumps fellowship.

Miroslav Volf points out that exclusion comes in two basic forms. It can entail moving oneself from interdependence to sovereign independence. “The other then emerges either as an enemy that must be pushed away from the self and driven out of its space or as a nonentity – a superfluous being – that can be disregarded and abandoned.” Or it can mean treating the other as someone who is not entitled to interdependence: “The other then emerges as an inferior being who must either be assimilated by being made like the self or be subjugated to the self”[1] Our treatment of others, including or excluding, is largely accomplished by how we speak.

One way out of the dilemma is to take our conversations seriously, knowing we can talk about anything if we do so in appropriate ways. Inappropriate ways invite exclusion. Appropriate ways invite the conversation to continue in a civil and loving manner. We might ask, “Does the way I respond in a difficult conversation invite a stronger relationship or a weaker one? Does it express a desire to learn more, or to be right?” James offers this: “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires” (James 1:19-20).

Too often our models for discussion come from those who have questionable gifts: intractable opinions, the capacity to speak loudly and at length, and access to the broadcast media. And too often they hold our attention by fear-mongering, taking advantage of our anxieties and concerns about the future. Jesus invites us along a different path. It is to recognize that anxiety about the world isn’t going to go away. In the face of it we’re simply asked to respond with love and forgiveness, putting our trust and faith in God. Maybe “simply” is a misleading word. I often find it difficult not to panic in the face of health concerns, financial problems, the need for TSA to check and recheck me and my baggage before every flight … all the “what-if’s” that my fellow citizens can conjure up. Fear-mongers constantly solicit our support, and when we fail to give it, we are the ones who they subject to exclusion.

But in reality the way we respond to fear, or hatred, or the demonizing of others reflects our allegiance to the Gospel. Paul told his followers, “(My commitment to the Gospel) is why I am suffering as I am. Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day” (2 Timothy 1:12). We come to our conversations about every subject – benign or disruptive – with a choice to make: taking stands on issues that are short-lived, or being “convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” What we say and the way we say it reveals which way we have chosen.

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[1] Volf, Miroslav. Exclusion and Embrace. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996, p. 67.