Missional Church, part I

For a few months or so I've been wondering and reading (hopefully with God) about the little group that meets in my home. Specifically I've been wondering if there is any appropriate way to focus our individual and shared lives to help us all progress in the goals God has for us over the long haul. Our group is very informal, and we know that we're a church, but that's about the extent of the 'focus' week to week. Would a greater degree of focus be helpful? If so, what should it be?

As I thought about these questions, the first place my brain stopped with any degree of confidence was with Jesus himself. Conceptually, this isn't hard to accept--a (Christian) church focuses on Jesus. Learning his priorities and view of things is foundational; it's what makes us "Christian." But I wondered some more, "Is that enough?" Not whether Jesus is enough--he absolutely is. But, as many have noted, we humans have a penchant for being sloppy, highly selective and even partisan in our perception of Jesus. Our ideas about Jesus vary widely. As Gordon Cosby has said, "My Jesus may be your Jesus' worst enemy." Different aspects of Jesus' life and teachings get explained away or ignored in bulk by different parts of the church: Some avoid his supernatural commands and practices that he passed on to the church, others avoid his teachings about tangible mercy, others avoid his teachings regarding the cost of following him, others, the bits about loving and giving to those who wrong us, still others ignore his contemplative (or celebrative) practices, and we almost all avoid his warnings about money. So naming Jesus as our focus should be done with recognition of the widespread practice--within Christianity--of reshaping Jesus as we see fit. Relatedly, the goal God has for us isn't just to learn about Jesus and his teachings--though that is necessary. The goal is to physically embody Jesus and his teachings. I believe it was Kierrkegard that said Jesus has many more admirers than followers. We want to be people whose admiration is such that following is the only logical course of action.

I then wondered if there's any topic worthy enough to be placed immediately after 'Jesus.' And further, what does it mean, practically speaking, to follow Jesus today? Does adding anything at all to 'Jesus' immediately misdirect us to lesser goals? That's my next post.

And now for something completely different . . .

Congrats to Ohio State and Florida for getting to the "big game" this year. There has been a lot of talk this year (again) about why we need a playoff for college football. "We need to know who the best team is!", it is said. "We need to eliminate, or at least lessen, the role that opinion plays in deciding champions!" And, then--my favorite--"College football is the only major collegiate sport without a playoff!" To all these deft arguments I say, "Baloney, hogwash, hooey, horsefeathers, piffle, poppycock, rubbish, tomfoolery!" (I know, strong language for college football.) But here's why I say so:

To work backwards, who cares if college football is the only collegiate sport without a tournament? It's also the most popular collegiate sport--by far. And it's not just the post-season that draws crowds, viewers and plenty for everyone to comment about (the present controversies included), but the regular season is do or die every week--also unlike every other college sport. Why, exactly, is Ohio State unquestionably deserving to play in the title game? Because they didn't drop a single nail-biting game in the regular season. As USC just demonstrated, that ain't easy--even the weaker teams can and do beat anybody. All the teams know that blanking the loss column is the best possible way to get a shot at the title (and Auburn has most recently proven that even going undefeated is no guarantee--more on that later). What does that must-win-every-game reality do to the regular season? It absolutely electrifies it. Both national and conference titles routinely swing on a single loss. The stakes are high every week. The college football season can be described in three words: drama, drama, drama. Now, if we go to a tournament at the end of the year, does each regular season game matter in the way it does now? I don't see how it could. Sure, people will still go; teams will play hard. Will a tournament, though, be the same, or better for the regular season? As other sports will attest--it's all about the playoffs. 'So long' to the only regular season that has post-season flair.

Now, what about reducing the level of opinion currently in play in determining who plays in the big game? Guess what? First, a tournament will reduce it, not eliminate it (Who gets invited to the tournament and why? Who gets seeded where?) But secondly, WHY BOTHER DOING THAT? Seriously, why do the arguments about SEC vs. Big Ten (and everyone else) rage on year after year? Because every season, like any good drama, leaves so many unanswered questions with a vague, tantalizing hope of solving it next year, or the year after that. But each year just generates new questions as it answers others. Would Michigan have beaten Florida head to head? What about Boise State? Would LSU have won it all if they had gotten to play a tournament? What if Auburn had been chosen to play for the title a few years back when they went undefeated instead of Oklahoma who got embarrassed in the title game? (And Auburn absolutely should have played for the title.) What if, what if, WHAT IF!? Is this kind of 'injustice' and lack of total resolution bad for college fans or the game? Isn't it more like the painful tension for any good ongoing story? Isn't this the exact ambiguity, this unique ambiguity, that mixes with school spirit to make college football so much fun compared to every other sport--even other collegiate sports? (On a side note, the sports media that is currently so bent on complaining about the bowl system are only doing their job. It's literally their job to fan each controversy into flame. Believe me, they will all be harmonizing in lament if the bowl season becomes just another tournament--because that will be the 'controversy' then.)

Which brings me to the final point: "We need to know who the best is!" Really? I know college football is big business now, but college football is still also college football. Those are (by some definition) students on the field. If 'knowing the best' was a goal worth pursuing at all costs, then we should have each team that's matched up in a tournament play several games (or at least for the championship)--like in the NBA--since everyone knows that blowing one game to an inferior team happens routinely. If you want to know the best, that's the path. Do we really think that the best teams never lose a single elimination tournament? But instead of going down that road, let's look at what the afor mentioned "unique" bowl system currently does (aside from usually giving us a settled champion): How many other sports have multiple good teams that end their season with a win in post-season play? Probably as many as have a bowl system. Again, if it was pro ball, who cares about post-season-ending wins for 'losers'? But for college programs, I think this is a major plus. Is the bowl system antiquated? Absolutely. And, like all antiques, that's part of it's charm and a lot of it's value. College football isn't (yet) 100% about beating everyone to be the undisputed champion of all. It's also about (sometimes silly) traditions, songs, ugly mascots, parades, weird ways of clapping, fight songs, conference lore, rivalry games, odd trophies, school pride, nostalgia and formational times in people's lives. Why make college football into the pro game, when we already have the pro game?

So congrats again to Florida and Ohio State for making it to the final game in my favorite big-time sports event--college football--and for adding to the story along the way. And congrats to LSU, Boise State, and Texas Tech for adding to the lore with great and storied farewells. May the stew of college football be as spicy, rich, surprising and messy next year; and, of course, GO GATORS!!!

Trust me

Gandhi, who had closely observed Christianity as practiced around him in Great Britain and in Europe, remarked that if only Christians would live according to their belief in the teachings of Jesus, "we all would become Christians." We know what he meant, and he was right. But the dismaying truth is that the Christians were living according to their "belief" in the teachings of Jesus. They didn't believe them! They did not really trust him . . . The idea that you can trust Christ and not intend to obey him is an illusion generated by the prevalence of an unbelieving "Christian culture." In fact, you can no more trust Jesus and not intend to obey him than you could trust your doctor or your auto mechanic and not intend to follow their advice. If you don't intend to follow their advice, you simply don't trust them.---Dallas Willard

This kind of trust implies a willingness to bet ourselves and our stuff on Jesus' Way--especially since Jesus' teachings deal with ourselves and our stuff. Along with my earlier posts (and Jesus' statements on discipleship), it's an 'everything' kind of trust. Assuming for a second that we somehow get this willingness to risk everything we have and are on Jesus, what would we really be risking? If we persistently and consciously let go of every 'right', and just accept whatever he gives and takes away through mercy, what do we think we'll lack exactly? Aren't we already dependent upon his mercy for every breath? Literally, aren't I still breathing because he chooses it to be so? Aren't you? What does anyone have that isn't ultimately a gift from God? I know that, for me, the thought that my ongoing life--including my eternal life--hangs completely on the undeserved kindness of Another made me very afraid for a long time. "I'm such a loser. How can I secure (control) his ongoing approval?! There's no way I can make him show me mercy!" I still have a hard time accepting that everything I have now, or will ever have, comes through mercy. I'd rather trust my rights; I just don't think I want what I'm entitled to. Trusting mercy, embracing mercy, showing mercy is just stepping out of denial that I've ever had anything else--in this world or the next. It's stepping into the only reality that there is. It's not really a risk, it just feels like it. God is committed to me--forever--in undeserved love. Showing such love to others, even to my apparent loss, is the truest evidence that I trust this all important fact of my existence.

Muhammed & Jesus - practically twins

"No way!", you may say, and I agree. But there are many who view them and the religions they founded as essentially the same. This bothers me, especially in light of the simple fact that Jesus taught--and more importantly lived--that the rule of God in the world (his favorite topic) wouldn't come by physical force (neither his own nor that of his followers), but by overcoming evil with good, by turning the other cheek, by loving our enemies. Muhammed, on the other hand, taught, but more importantly lived the exact opposite. For this reason alone, it doesn't surprise me when Muhammed's current followers . . . well, follow him. I don't see how it should surprise anyone, actually, and it seems to require a denial of simple logic to expect otherwise, like expecting children to do what you tell them to do instead of what you actually do yourself.

Unfortunately, I have to admit that the contrast between Mohammed's followers and those of Christ is frequently not as stark as between the leading men themselves. This doesn't really surprise me for the simple reason that Muhammed's example is more appealing to follow than Christ's--even for those who believe Christ is the Son of God. Muhammed's overall story isn't exactly rare, historically or currently--get passionate about the way you think things should be (based on ideas about God or nature, or something bigger than one person), gather the masses around your zealous ideas, and, using the power you've amassed, give your opponents the beating they deserve (then write the bestseller about your opinion on everything). How many times have we seen this story just this century? Wow, if not for the current international politics, Muhammed's life would make a great and typically American hero movie. It's a pattern that many have followed and continue to follow.

But that life story isn't--at all--like Jesus' story, nor is it what he taught. Jesus' teaching and example are about showing mercy--even to the point of spilling one's own blood and money, and even toward those currently smacking you in the face in the name of God or something much less. Jesus' life and teachings are consistent and forceful on that point. Could this be any more different from Mohammed's example? Or Donald Trump's, for that matter? Victory over evil (even evil within one's enemies) through self-sacrificing, physical-loss-embracing, God-trusting love? Here in America and in other places throughout history, though, we've frequently managed to make following Christ about something not centered on this unique focus of Christ's life and teachings. It's sounds like quite an accomplishment, but it's really just a matter of supply and demand. We want to have the option of getting Jesus' blessings without having to personally trust his 'costly' Way of life and love, and such a religion has been supplied. But his example and teachings remain, forever providing the Way to overcome evil in the world and the violence and death it causes. A few actually find and follow this Way, Truth, and Life. And when they do, they don't act anything like Muhammed acted. They're not even typical Americans. They're little Christs, or, at least, that's the Road they're on.

+++ God, May we all recognize and follow your narrow Road to Life without end.+++

On cross examinations . . . of myself

My attitude frequently does not make any sense in light of what I profess to believe about Jesus. For example, I say I believe that God's mercy, his undeserved goodness, is at work in the world--even toward me. I believe that it will "pursue me all the days of my life." Now, even a minimal appreciation of the implications of that fact would prevent me from getting bent out of shape about pretty much anything--ever. And yet, I bend out of shape. Why? Because I am failing to recognize the significance and breadth of what God is doing, or (worse) just turning a deaf ear to it. I fail to listen to and and contemplate God's good news and instead follow lines of reasoning based on something other than the gospel that I profess to trust.

It's these inconsistencies of thinking that a few well directed questions can bring to light with shocking clarity. Better to shock yourself (to yourself) than leave it to someone else, I think. Here are some questions that I zing myself with to snap me toward gospel thinking when I find myself using something much less worthy:

• For use when I'm angry, hurt, etc. about not getting something I want or feel I deserve: "So, is Jesus not enough for me?"
• For use when I am enjoying my "right" to be upset, disappointed, etc.: "What does God deserve from me, this moment and always?"
• For use when I'm about to run out of patience with anyone: "What kind of love does God have for me? (What does he want shown to anyone?)"

Anyway, there are more, but you get the picture. I find that any scripture or fact about God that I would like to honestly hold can be turned into a question to point out my current rejection of it. Most people, I imagine, talk to themselves for the purpose of self-correction among other things. Feel free to add these to your repertoire and give me some of your own favorite corrective zingers.

Practice Six - Entirely Ready for Change

Becoming entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character and to become a different person. -- Practice Six

Entirely ready to become a different person. Entirely ready. A different person. Remove all defects of character. To me, this practice is very closely related to my previous post on Jesus becoming enough for us. Being willing to be remade is a willingness to die, to cease to be as I currently am. It's not a denial about who I currently am, but an intention to be something else. That something else is Christ himself. I don't see this happening, biblically or from experience, without a willingness to let go of what I currently am. For those of you who have seen this kind of thing become a repressive, homogenizing reality, I am sorry for that experience, but I have no doubts that letting Jesus have free and total reign in me will do anything but make me the same as everyone else. In fact, it's the inevitable difference, uniqueness even, that I know I embody when I do this (I have done it from time to time in the past), that frequently tempts me away from being willing to do it wholeheartedly 'today'. Sometimes I don't want to be different in the way Jesus makes me.

The thing that strikes me about Christ right now is the utter inability of fear or desire to move him where it wants him to go. That is completely amazing. All desires, even for food, were subject to the desire for the Father, subject to the understanding that God was more than, or included, everything else. That is impressive. Only the Father was 'worthy' of his ultimate loyalty, reaction and obedience at any moment. (This, to me, is what actual worship is.) If I can make Christ the only one I need to please--if I could give the Father even my right to eat when I want, trusting his love, intelligence, and purposes--I would begin to get acquainted with Jesus' sufferings and his power. Peter, I believe, says, "the one who is prepared to suffer is done with sin." I can certainly see that if I'm not prepared--not willing--to lose the things that I want, to have some desires go unsatisfied, indefinitely or otherwise in favor of God, then I'm not prepared to be a exclusively loyal to Jesus. I'm not willing to be his disciple. I'm not ready to become just like my teacher. I'm not ready for real change.

But today, I am ready--in the belief that everything I need is in Christ. Thank you, Lord, for the willingness.

Dying to live

(For those of you that are keeping track, I'm not off the twelve practices, though I am messing with them as they mess with me. More on that to come . . .)

Some of my current cases for work--some that have been going on for a while--have gotten me thinking. And reading. And thinking. And praying. And reading some more. And talking to pastors. And discussing with my business law class. And on and on. These cases involve conflict--conflict caused by the clear evil of the other party.

I've decided that what Jesus personally modeled and taught regarding overcoming aggressive evil is as clear as it is disturbing. And no one likes to do it, for obvious reasons. Chief among them being we want to save our life and the cash that makes that life fun for us. We don't want to lose either of these. For people who want to 'follow' Jesus, this is a problem. An impasse, even. Not only because Jesus says it's an impasse--repeatedly--but because this 'love your enemies, do good to them, lend to them' advice, is the nutshell version of God's strategy to conquer evil in this world. I hope the significance of the last sentence is gripping to you. This is how God beats evil in the earth--with your blood and money and life and mine, as sheeps to the slaughter, just like Jesus. I don't intend on quoting all of the various texts that make this obvious. The bottom line: He let everyone wrongfully hate him and hurt him, he let go of all rights, and gave his enemies everything, confident in God. In doing this, he won the full on love of many former enemies, and the highest recognition from God. And now we follow the brilliant plan that he taught and modeled. If we're not willing to pick up our cross and follow him, we can't be his disciple--because this is the plan. I'm not oversimplifying it. This is what it means to follow Jesus--letting God's love be enough to let go of everything else. Jesus knew it, Peter, James and John knew it. Paul knew it. Job knew it, Jeremiah knew it, Abraham knew it. This is how good beats evil. I'm feeling a little like a rich, young religious person lately, finding it hard to enter the kingdom of God.