How we get there

The love commands found in scripture are universally accepted ideals of Christianity. For all the bitterness towards Levitical passages, I’ve never heard atheists or those of other faiths criticize the “love your neighbor” passages or condemn Christianity based on the Sermon on the Mount. Not that this couldn’t happen, I just haven’t heard it. But these aren’t simply “good advice” passages, they don’t tell people “It’s nice to be nice, so be nice.” The Beatitudes take good advice, ratchet up the expectation setting to perfection, and make God the standard. This turbocharged vision of love is annoyingly unreachable for those not God. If the driver of a Yugo (45 horsepower with a top speed of 70mph) was expected, and in fact commanded by God, to drive according to the speed and standards of a Bugatti Veyron (1,001 horsepower with a top speed of over 250mph), everyone would consider it ridiculous, ignorant, and unfair. We would think God insane for thinking this was possible. The only way a Yugo can do anything remotely like a Veyron is if it’s strapped to the Veyron’s back. In a sense, this is exactly what God expected people to realize.

The standards are simple and the expectations great. Throughout the New Testament God commands, “Love like only I can love.” For some insane reason we find ourselves saying, “Okay, lets do that.” Yet, we are surprised when we fail? We see God giving commands to be like Him and we think it’s about performing the behaviors right. Our minds simplify these passages down to “expected behavior”, and we completely miss the purpose of God’s call. When we reduce Christianity to a template of behaviors we find a stagnant and spiritually repressive religion. Not repressive in the headscarves and female circumcision sense, though it can find its way here, but in the “I failed again, I suck at this” sort of way. If you want a child to fail, fall into depression, and emotionally shrivel up, give him or her an impossible tasks and let them judge themselves for failing.

God’s command to live and love according to His standard, and the example set in Jesus, is not intended to call attention to our behavior and inability, but to hone our attention on Him. Sure, we see our failures when held in contrast with the beauty and perfection of God, but when this happens we are meant to look at God rather than dwell on self.

On the Enigma of Hell and Bakersfield

I am the Boogie Man. It's a fact. This used to bother me, I'd say and think stuff like, "I don't want kids to fear me, why couldn't their parents have chosen something else, you know, like a nice mythical beast. Something with wings and horns would have been classy, maybe a vengeful ancestral spirit?" But no, it's the white guy, he's the one who comes and gets you when you are disobedient and disrespectful to your parents. It's not that he wants to cannibalize the flesh of young children out in the villages, its just his job, kinda his community service. I've come to accept it, little kids running from me screaming because their parents told them stories about the pale-skinned people. Parents, politicians, and priests are the same all over the world; if logic, reason, and education are too much effort, use fear.

Of all the evangelistic techniques used, the trusted standby "You're going to Hell" has always struck me as a copout and made me wonder, "Really, that's your angle?" I don't fully disbelieve the truth of the statement, for all I know it could be true, I just don't understand the surety or the justification for the statement. Are Gandhi, Muhammad, and Judas in Hell? How should I know, I never saw the guest list. The question I'm more interested in is how, in light of all the restoration, rebirth, adoption, validation, new life, healing, deliverance, good news, etc. throughout scripture, does "not going to Hell" become the big sales pitch? It's like using pictures of Detroit to convince people Fiji is a worthwhile destination. I've never been to Detroit but I believe it exists; I've even herd people live there... of their own free will no less?! I don't understand this, but having spent time in Bakersfield, Ca. and Montgomery, Al. I believe it's possible. I don't mind Montgomery, I've just never been in a place with more people eager to leave, free to do so, and resigned to the fact they never will. Bakersfield, Detroit, and Hell represent their own enigmas.

I might get around to reading one of Rob Bell's books, but until then I'll stick with the belief Hell is a real place people will end up in. That said, I've never considered it relevant to any of my beliefs or actions. I might be in denial, but I'd rather live a life geared towards the positives, you know, like that whole God kinda likes us thing and has put a bit of effort into helping us become a bit more alive, a bit more free, and a whole lot more like him. I don't need a Boogie Man to make me like Jesus, I fail to see the point of getting freaked about noises in a closet when there is a party raging outside.

What is value?

I wonder about myself sometimes.

Living in Africa, especially at a school with 800 kids, means your belongings are always growing legs. Usually it's food, sometimes it's coins, and every now and then it's something you kinda really wanted to keep and is hard to replace.

A few day ago the reading light for my Kindle "dissipated". I'm choosing to believe someone picked it up and misplaced it somewhere in the apartment, but I know this is wishful thinking. Someone stole it. What's strange is in light of everything else I've "lost" over the last almost two years, this is the one that pissed me off the most - I have no idea why.

I got this email from my brother this morning:
Hey fella, hope you are doing well. today I was driving to work and I heard a pop!! And lost power. After getting black towed I found out that it slipped the timing chain. Something that is typical i guess. Because of that it bent a cylinder and now it will cost about 3,000 to get her back on the road. My question for you is.... What do you want me to do with the black beauty?

My response was:
The BB is worth less than half the 3,000 to fix it, I'd go with the old standby of selling it for scraps. That or the old flaming cliff dive.

The thing is I had no emotion about my car. You know, that thing I'll actually need when I get back to the states in a few months, that thing I have no money to replace and no way to make money without it. Yeah, I was like "Oh well, I wonder who'll win game 5." I wouldn't have even thought about it past the minute or two it took to process and respond to the email had it not struck me as odd that I really didn't care about a freaking car, yet was ready to go on a Richard B. Riddick, death to all Necros and bug-like aliens, rampage though a school because some kid pocketed a glorified nightlight. I wonder about myself sometimes.

I wonder why I value the things I value. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with actual value or need, I question if it even has anything to do with the physical item itself. If a friend borrows 70,000 shillings, and I know he'll never pay it back, I'm like, "Whatever". Yet some kid with crappy shoes and almost no real belongings pockets 500 shillings and breaks for the door and I'm ready to throttle him. I'd like to say it's because little kids learning to steal is a curse that will destroy their relationships and eventually ostracize them from their community - this is probably some small part of it - but how that behavior effects me probably has a larger impact on my reaction.

Am I that selfish and shallow or is something else going on? Is it an identity thing? I have no idea.

"Winning" and the death of embarrassment

My "spirituality" owns a strange trajectory... sometimes you know what follows a statement like that before you make it, other times you make it and expect previously unknown stuff to follow, sometimes you got nothing but awkward silence.

Strange trajectory, strange trajectory, strange trajectory, spirituality... oh yeah. So I was praying this morning, something that doesn't always happen, and I had one of those little "God moments." Like ended up on my knees and the Sun literally broke through the clouds at the prime moment... moments. It wasn't overwhelming or anything, it was just nice God decided to join the party.

I've prayed for people more or less my entire life, I've seen God show up and do some amazing things, I've seen God use seemingly meaningless things to transform people's lives, and I still feel awkward telling people "So I think God want's to tell you that..." Understand, it is difficult to make me feel awkward. Most of my capacity for embarrassment, and desire to showoff, was slaughtered on the cafeteria floor of Henry Hudson Elementary, circa 1982, when I stood shivering and dripping buck, and butt, naked next to a small clump of soaking wet clothes in front of the school nurse as she answered a question from a 3rd grade girl who walked in as the last of my skivvies hit the floor - that's not what Charlie Shen would call "Winning". Fifteen years later my mom taped a recent picture of me, again in all my glory, on the fridge door - where it hung prominently for several years - the only discomfort I received from it was when my grandma took a prolonged and unnatural interest in it - much closer to "Winning" but still not there. In other words, it seems strange that talking to people, under almost any circumstances, should make me feel awkward - yet it does.

So God shows up, the Sun breaks through the clouds, and, mixed in with a bunch of other stuff, I get a word for someone else. My responses you ask? In close succession, "Cool" and "Well... shoot, I don't want to be "that" jerk." I know, right? So mature and spiritual, nothing but professional Christians work here folks. A little while later, right around the time I wrote up the email and sent it off, I heard the question, "Would you rather be "that" jerk, or the jerk who ignores God?" If you haven't figured it out yet, me and God don't always use "appropriate" language when we communicate, not sure if that says more about me or him?

It's a good question though, which would you rather be? The person who clings to the last dregs of your supposed dignity and class, or the one who gives God the chance to be himself? And once more, why is this even a question? I mean dignity is way overrated, just ask Charlie Sheen.

"It's okay, I'm a limo driver"

I preached about stuff yesterday. And yes, "stuff" is a theological term, look it up. It's in 1 Instantiations 3:7. Respect it! I went to Fuller.

I had one of those paranoid Sunday morning wake-ups, the kind where you realize the sermon you prepared on Saturday may in fact have nothing to do with what God wants to say... good times. I may have written a sermon about what was wrong with "the church", specifically but not limited to the one in Uganda. I had Bible verses, stories, personal experiences, and everything. The problem... I didn't have the Holy Spirit and I wasn't focused on what was right about God/Jesus.

What I'd lined out would have made for a great conversation between friends, but a lousy presentation of the gospel. Ooops. Fortunately my stupidity found its boundaries before I stage dived into a crowd of none. I've not always been this lucky.

Something I've spent some time thinking about is how we inherently remake God in our own image. We round off his edges, change the meanings of his words and actions, interpret his behavior and teaching through the comfort of our own culture, and generally use wishfulness as a governing theological principle. Don't get me wrong, I like doing this myself, the only problem is we end up pulling a Greg Louganis off the edge of an empty boarding gate onto the concrete below. For all you people staring at us like we are complete nut-jobs, it's okay, we're totally qualified for this sort of thing... we're limo drivers.

After a few moments of motivated prayer my focus changed and I spent some time looking at God and the stuff Jesus said he came to do, I preached on that instead. Sure, I pointed out a few ways our lives and motivations are in danger if differing from what God said about himself and us, but that wasn't the focus.

To risk a Lloyd Christmas moment, it seems God is intent on restoration rather than destruction. It's not that God doesn't straight gank things from time to time, another traditional theological term (seriously you people need to spend more time in seminary), it's that "ganking" isn't the point, it's the natural side effect. Someone who goes out looking for demons to war against is stupid, like in a mentally distraught sort of way. Not because demons don't exist, but because they aren't the point. Loving people, healing them up, setting them free, opening their eyes to Jesus, etc. is the thing we are supposed to do. It's fine if a few scowlers get smoked in the process, but the point is the restoration of the will of God in the lives of others.

It's entirely possible for us to be right about the details, in a logical proof sort of way, yet completely miss the point. I'm getting to the place where I'd rather get the point right even if it means losing some of my surety on a few of the details. Having to say "I don't know and I'm not even sure exactly why it matters." about a bunch of doctrinal points is fine with me as long as I can say "This is the Jesus/God I know, and he has totally effed up my life and seems to take joy in making me uncomfortable." If the image you have of God/Jesus doesn't bother/threaten you, chances are you're crushing your eyes shut, clicking your heals together, and chanting "There's no place like home.". Only problem is, you ain't in Oz, Dorothy was an actress, and Toto is dead... I'm just saying.

The God Who Runs, in 3parts, part 3

... and the conclusion

I’ve known all this for quite a while, it’s been real in my head for a long time, yet recently it slammed deeper into my gut and set with a new twist in my heart.

We return to my journey, my trying to find where I belong. The searching for home, so to speak, that brought me to that sweaty hotel room:

My search for God didn’t resemble the younger son’s rebellion and it was mercifully different from the older son’s rejection, though I did identify with him in a few ways. The similarity between the brothers and myself was that my attention rested on me, on my behavior, and on my desires. The motivation may have been better than either of the brothers, but the attention was just as broken. I often fall into the trap of thinking it is about me, about what I do or don’t do, about where I am or am not… On that occasion I felt some fear and loneliness, a little incomplete and lost, and maybe just a bit broken. I was reading a book by Vincent Donovan, a Catholic priest who became a missionary to the Masai in Tanzania. I was reading through the chapters, minding my own business, then God started to run.

I came to a section in the book where, after Vincent shared the gospel with a group of Masai, a man approached him and asked if he would speak with his son Ole Sikii. The son did not know God, yet he was very pious. Ole Sikii often led his tribe in prayers and ceremonies to a god he believed existed but didn’t know. The son desired to see and to know this god more than anything else.

The father told Vincent how his son had desperately pursued God (Engai) right up to His doorstep, but had been left alone:

A few days walk from his village there was a volcano called Oldono L’Engai (Mountain of God); it was believed to be the home of God. This mountain erupted regularly and with plenty of warning. Locals believed the eruptions were the result of God striking out. Villagers who lived close to the volcano often journey a safe distance away when the rumbling began. It was during one of these minor evacuations that Ole Sikii decided he would go to the home of God so he could see the face of God (Engai). As others walked away from the mountain, Ole Sikii walked towards it. He took very little food and water with him because he intended to fast much of his journey. In hope of seeing the face of Engai he climbed to the edge of the crater and spent three days staring down into the ominous mouth of violence and fire. After three sleepless days and nights, with hardly any water or food, Ole Sikii gave up and returned home. The face of God had eluded him yet again. Depressed and brokenhearted he wondered what else he could do to see the face of God.

The father brought Vincent to his son and they began to talk. Vincent said to the son:

“Ole Sikii, you have tried as hard as a man can try. You left your father and family and home and went in search of God up that terrible mountain. You tracked and followed him to his lair, like a lion tracks a wildebeest. But all this time he has been tracking you. You did not send for me or look me up. I was sent to you. You thought you were searching for Engai. All this time he has been searching for you. God is more beautiful and loving than you even imagined. He hungered for you, Ole Sikii. Try as we might, we cannot drag God down from the heavens. He is already here. He has found you. In truth, Ole Sikii, we are not the lion looking for God. God is the lion looking for us. Believe me, the lion is God.”

These words struck me like a warm wave flooding through my spirit. I wept. It was as if God was speaking the words into the depths of my soul, into a place so private and intimate even I am unable to access it. The truth that my God is a God who runs after me, who hungers after me, who is not far off but is pressing in, devastated me. I was struck down, and when I stood up I was without my fear and loneliness. Though I was not yet complete, I was no longer lost or broken.

As I write this several months later, I am still in Africa and I still don’t know where I will be in a year. I’ve let go of most of the hopes and expectations society expects us to reach for. If the incarnation of those hopes come to me I’ll be okay with it, but I’m not looking for them, at least not now. The reality of the searching seeking Father, the one who runs to his children, is an overwhelming concept when grasped by those He calls His own. God found me in that hotel room because he was looking for me. He didn’t reveal to me my future, direct me where to go, or tell me what to do. He came to me when I was lost and broken and searching, and He said, “You are not the lion who has been hunting Me, I am the Lion who hunts you. I am the Father who is even now running.” This story isn’t about me it’s about God. The plot doesn’t depend on me making the right steps or following the right paths; it depends on God. The good news is our God is a God who hungers, our God runs.

The End

The God Who Runs, in 3 parts, part 2

We continue...

I’ve often fallen into the trap of thinking I'm the one searching for God, it is I who pursue relationship, and the burden rests on me to press in. The problem with this is the focus, and eventually the burden, of relationship comes to rest on a person unable to carry it. The problem is “I” become the focus. I doubt the focus being on me is ever a good thing, least of all when it comes to spiritual issues.

It is good to pursue God. Desiring relationship with God is a passion intended to be at the core of each of us. It is the ever-present desire for completion and home, and it often bears fruit. But it’s God’s pursuit of us that is far more important and impressive. I sometimes forget my God is a God who runs after me.

In Luke 15 we see three parables frequently misnamed by our Bibles and preachers. Often referred to as the parables of “The Lost Sheep”, “The Lost Coin”, and “The Prodigal Son”, these parables are misnamed because the focus of the parables is not on the sheep, the coin, or the son. The focus is on an entirely different set of characters. According to the emphasis, these parables would more aptly be named the parables of “The Seeking Shepherd”, “The Searching Woman”, and “The Running Father”. The attention of these parables is not placed on the lost, but on the one who searches. In each of these stories, God is that person and we are not.

In each of these stories the attention is placed on the searcher rather than the behavior of the sought. We are never told about the emotions or desires of the sheep, or even if it knew it was lost. Knowing a little bit about sheep, it probably didn’t have a clue about a clue. Incidentally, being referred to as “sheep” is not very complementary. If you hear sheep and think cute lamb, the joke is on you. Lambs are cute; sheep are stupid, self destructive, suicidal, annoying, and filthy. Tending sheep, in the best of circumstances, is a constant battle to protect them from their own stupidity. When the Bible refers to us as a sheep, we should be offended and remorseful.

The coin connotation is less offensive, the coin is simply indifferent to its circumstances. As for the positives of being identified as sons in the third story, many of the congratulatory sentiments that may come to mind are quickly removed by spotting the tragic natures of the two boys. In each story we get clear pictures of the shepherd, the woman, and the father; these are the central characters within the parables. Jesus drives home the emotions, desires, and actions of these characters. Let me be clear, God is the point of these stories, it is His desires and actions that matter. I find it interesting the self destructive, indifferent, and ignorant characters portray us; while attentive, pastoral, protective, and always-searching characters portray God.

The first two parables in the trilogy are useful and enlightening, but it is the complex and comprehensive nature of the third that stands out. The clear attention to the searching characters in the first two parables establishes the father as the primary character of the third. We can be distracted by the behavior of the prodigal son, and by his brother, but the power and the focus is on the father.

The father is a burden to the younger son; he is a backup plan and a means of survival. To the father, the son is a prized possession and someone to be sought regardless of his behavior. The son, for his own reasons, was disrespectful towards his father and only cared about getting his stuff. Disrespectful is actually a drastic understatement. To do what he did was akin to telling his father, “I wish you were dead, the only thing I’ve been sticking around here for is your money. But it looks like you still have a bit of life left in you, so why don’t you do us both a favor, cut me a check, and I’ll be off.” At that time and in that culture the father would have been well within his rights to kill his son on the spot. In fact, that is probably what his community expected and wanted him to do. Instead, the father released half of his wealth to his son. The curious thing is, half the family wealth was more than the younger son was entitled to regardless of the circumstances.

As we all know, the son went off and wasted everything. He squandered it; he didn’t even have respect for the wealth that came from his father. He took the things representing a lifetime of his father's hard work, sacrifice, and diligence; he took his family’s reputation and good name, and pissed all over it. Everything he did was a systematic rejection of his heritage, community, family, and father. There wasn’t a bridge he didn’t burn or an insult he didn’t throw. In short, the dude laid down the mother of all sins then set out to top it.

The expected came to pass and his bad decisions resulted in bad things happening to him. He reached the point where he was alone and his life was worth less than that of pigs. Still only caring about himself he hatched a plan to avoid death. With survival as his hope, knowing his father wasn’t a bad employer, he decided to a risk a return.

During his trip to his father he rehearsed his plea for mercy, “Dad, I’m a really bad person. I sinned against you and against God. I know I’m not worthy to be in your family anymore, but I want you to treat me like one of your employees.” In his desperation and brokenness he continued to focus on himself. He returned to his father on his own terms, formulating a contract that made him comfortable. He never repented; he never changed, or even tried to change. The flaw in his core was fully intact when his father saw him. But this story isn’t about the son.

The father is the one who looked for the son. The father is the one who ran to his son. The son who had nothing but ingratitude and shame to offer, refusing even a change of heart, was the one the father desired. It was the father who ignored the son’s attempts to make himself “okay” with the father, who rejected the terms, or contract, of acceptance. It was the father who made the son family again and threw a celebration on his behalf.

The Father didn’t reclaim the son out of obligation or according to conditions, but with a passion and a joy he wanted the whole community to share in. It was the behavior of the running father that mattered; the behavior of the son was never accounted for. In that culture a person in the father’s position would have been humiliated by his son’s request, would have been humiliated by his son’s treatment of the family wealth, would have been humiliated by his son’s return, and would have been humiliated by running in public. Yet he ran. He ran to his son because he wanted to be with his son and because he loved his son. This parable is about the father.

As impressive as the moment is, the story doesn’t end with the father's embrace; we don’t get the happy ending, the pat on the back, the “well isn’t that nice”. The dark twist to this story is there were two lost sons. One ran away the other stayed on, but neither knew the father. If it is the story of the younger son that makes us happy, it is the story of the older son that should disturb us, especially as Christians. As Christians we are no longer in much danger of being the younger son (though it may have been our place once before), it is the plight of the older son that should scare us.

It was good the older son worked for his father, it was good he honored his father and never went away, but that had nothing to do with why his father loved him. He never went away, but he was lost. The older son rejected his father by refusing to share in his joy, by refusing to accept relationship with his father on his father’s terms. In the same way the younger son had no idea who his father was neither did the older son. By choosing to set the terms of relationship he became lost by his own design. He thought he had a right to be respected and treated well by his father because he did his work, because he fulfilled his side of the contract he had written for himself. When the older son saw the way the father treated the younger son he refused to share in his father’s joy; he refused to come in to the father.

As with the younger son, the father looked for and went out to find the older son. He tried to welcome the elder son into his home. He tried to pull his older, stubborn, disrespectful, and self-pitying son into relationship with him, “Everything I have is yours, be happy with me, and join in the celebration.” Again, it was the father who did the seeking and the searching.

The eerie part of this story is we don’t know how it ends; we are left looking at the older son facing a choice, the same choice each of us must face. Will he accept the father on the father’s terms, or will he remain outside? The story doesn’t tell us what the older son decided, it leaves us questioning and incomplete, as if the decision is still being made. Without knowing it, many of us ponder this request in our hearts in much the same way.