Sacred Adventure

Self-Justification… and Justification by Faith

 

“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…”  (Romans 5:1)

The journey through Galatians that our congregation is taking during Lent has led us again and again to the doctrine of “justification by faith,” a teaching which is stated most directly in the letter quoted above, Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Justification by faith is a relatively simple concept.   To be justified is to be made right, to be accepted, to be approved by God.  To be justified by faith is to entrust ourselves entirely to God, whose decisive action in the death and resurrection of Jesus has made us righteous, acceptable and approved.  This simple teaching was at the heart of all of the letters of the Apostle Paul.  It was the central tenet of the Protestant Reformation.  It is preached regularly from pulpits and taught in Sunday school classes and small groups.  Still, this message is radical and revolutionary.   If God justifies us, it is no longer necessary or appropriate to go on justifying ourselves.  Self-justification and justification by faith are mutually exclusive.   

Here’s a simple discipline to practice during the season of Lent.  Begin to make note of the many ways you justify yourself.  Become aware of the times when you defend your behavior, even if you don’t really need to.   Pay attention to the times you brag just a bit in order to raise your approval rating with others.  Notice when you become defensive, as though something or someone has called you into question.  Be attentive to the times when you’re inclined to speak badly about another person because to do might raise opinions (even your own) about yourself.  As I have begun to pay attention in these ways, I’ve noticed that my knee-jerk self-justifying impulses fire many times every day.  To act upon those impulses, except when to do so is really necessary, is to act in ways that are inconsistent with the faith that justifies.   

Having made note of the ways you justify yourself, ask God’s help to let go of these habits, except in the rare cases when it’s really necessary to justify yourself.  (I am becoming more and more convinced that those occasions are actually very rare.)    Instead, whisper a prayer of gratitude to the One whose justification you have already received.  “I thank you that I am your child.”  “I entrust myself to your grace.”  “I am yours through Jesus.”   This simple discipline will, over time, simplify our lives, increase our gratitude and deepen our trust in the One whose grace is sufficient for us.

Letting Go

The journey we call “Lent” is a season of focused reflection on Christ’s movement to the cross and a time in which we intentionally practice giving up some of our attachments, or, as I prefer to say it, a time of “letting go.”  Our model here is, of course, Jesus himself.  Listen once again to these well known words of St. Paul to the Philippians:  “Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.  And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death–even death on a cross.  Therefore God exalted him…”   Please note that I have emphasized that Jesus did not consider equality with God as something to be grasped.  I love this phrase because it illustrates precisely the kind of letting go that we wish to encourage during Lent.  Think of what your fist is doing when it is grasping hold of something: it is clinched, it is clinging, it is attached.  Now picture that same fist loosening its grip and letting go.  That is what Jesus has done, Paul tells us: he has let go of the temptation to anxiously cling to equality with God so that he might freely serve and suffer on behalf of God’s people.  It is this sort of “letting go” to which we are invited during Lent.

We are now about half-way through this journey of Lent.  This is about that part of the journey when you might be getting a bit weary.  It may be that you have identified some attitudes, practices or habits and you have let go–you have “given them up for Lent.”   Some in our congregation have been fasting  from food for 24 hours, one day each week, a way of letting go of their grasping hold on food that they might be more intentional about hungering after God and God’s justice.  Some have given up a cherished habit or attitude during the forty days of Lent, a way of letting go of that attachment in order to be freed up for other important commitments.  Some have given up their many little ways of anxiously justifying themselves,  a way of trusting the One who has justified them already.   I’ve heard quite a list of creative ways that different folks are letting go!  But  it may just be that right about now is the time when you’ve begun to grow tired.  Perhaps you’re beginning to realize that these attitudes, practices and habits that you’re letting go of have quite a hold on you!  The human brain is a fickle thing; it is extraordinarily committed to avoiding change.  It may be the just about now, it is sending you all kinds of self-sabotaging messages and complaints:  “This is too hard.”  “What is the point?” 

I’m writing today to encourage you to stay the course.   Remember that Jesus blazed the path of ‘letting go.’   Remember that this is a journey of freedom.  Remember that you let go of these little attachments in order that you may be more free to love God and to do God’s will.  And in the end, what could be more important than that? 

Repent… and be Sane Again!

If it is true that A) a person might be described as ‘insane’ who does the same thing over and over, expecting different results; and B) the only person any one of us can change is ourselves; then it might be said that C) most of us are positively bonkers.   On many occasions when I have been frustrated with something in my environment, I have stepped back a bit and asked myself, “All right Steve, who in this situation can you change?”  My answer is always the same.  Me.  I’ve had occasion to ask that question of others many times, and their responses are virtually unanimous:  “I can only change myself.”  Armed with that bit of personal insight, I am aware of countless times when I and others whom I have watched have marched back into the fray and immediately set ourselves to the task of, sigh, trying to change the people around us.    Our strategies for trying to change others may include lecturing, nagging, manipulating, ‘preaching,’ threatening, blackmailing–and the list goes on.  On the other hand, we may try to fix the situation by enabling, comforting, sheltering and failing to follow through with firm and clear boundaries.  And this is so in spite of the fact that these efforts simply don’t work.   Our efforts to try to directly change another person are about as effective as trying to lose weight on an all ice-cream diet.  And yet, in spite of its ineffectiveness, most of us continue to put incredible energy into our efforts to change others.  Bonkers.

According to the Gospel of Mark, the first sermon Jesus ever preached was this:  “The time has come.  The kingdom of God is near.  Repent and believe the good news!”   Notice how personal this is.  Repent and believe the good news.  This is a call to change our thinking and our living so that it lines up with what God is doing.  It is a call for me to change my thinking and my living; and it is a call to you to change your thinking and your living.   We avoid this at our own peril!  The moment any of us turns the call of repentance into a matter that is for others, and not for ourselves, we set ourselves in the position of judge and jury and we lose the possibility of our own transformation that the good news brings.  I am reminded of the lady who greeted her pastor on the way out of church.  “That was a challenging sermon today,” she told her pastor. “It was exactly what my husband needed to hear.”  

Here’s a suggestion.  The next time you find yourself trying to change someone else, step back and ask the question, ‘Whom do I have the authority and the resources to change?’  For most of us, the answer is obvious.  We can only change ourselves.  Then, ask an even more difficult question: ‘How might I be contributing to the behavior or attitude in another that I so want to change?’  Could it be that your lecturing, cajoling, ‘preaching,’ nagging, manipulating, threatening and blackmailing are actually part of the problem?  Or, could it be that your enabling, protecting, sheltering, comforting and failing to follow through with calm but tough boundaries is contributing to the situation?  Finally, and this is key, put your ongoing energies into changing your own thinking, your own living.  Ironically, others around us may change, in time, as we put our energies into our own repentance.  That is not the goal, however.  The goal is to invest our energies into the only person whose repentance we are responsible for: ourselves.  Do that, with all of the power God gives you, and you will be “in your right mind” once again.

The Journey Begins

The journey of Lent begins this Wednesday, February 22.  Very often the first response to the subject of Lent is, “What should I give up for Lent this year?”   This is natural, of course, because Lent is traditionally a season of fasting from certain things.   While this emphasis on fasting is important and helpful, I believe we need an even stronger emphasis on feasting.  We fast during the season of Lent in order that we may feast on the grace and love of God.  It should never be forgotten that joy is the road on which we travel during Lent.  It’s easy to overlook this when the emphasis is on fasting alone.   Lent is a journey of letting go of some of that which promises to bring us joy, only to disappoint us again and again, in order that we may discover and rediscover that joy which is at the heart of following Christ. 

Allow me a brief and silly story.  One of my first major purchases was a stereo.  I was a teen and I had saved my money to purchase a stereo receiver, speakers, a turntable and a cassette deck.  When I opened the boxes and connected the various components, I was overjoyed.  The sight of those speakers on my bookshelf, the smell of newness, the crisp music that pervaded my bedroom–all of this was more than I could have asked for.  At least, for the first few days.  After those few days, the experience began to fade.  My euphoria began to give way to disappointment.   I can even remember looking through the boxes and the instruction manuals, thinking that there must be something else in there that I had missed, something that would restore the powerful joy it had at first given. I was coming to grips with ‘the law of diminishing returns.’

Sadly, I had attached my longings for happiness to something that couldn’t fit the bill.  And I still do.  I become invested in things, people, events, strategies, experiences, promises, even forms of religion; and I come to expect all of these to make me happy. 

Lent is a season for letting go of some of these imposters, in order that we may be centered in Christ and his joy.  Yes, our congregation encourages one another to identify meaningful and significant ways to fast during Lent.  But this is the minor key.  The major emphasis is upon making room for Christ and his joy.  This journey invites us to be free from those attachments that make false promises and free to love God and love our neighbor.  The center of this journey is joy.  

Why I Would Rather Leave the Pastorate Than Stop Observing Lent

During a recent meeting of our congregation’s Worship Planning Team, we turned our attention to planning for the season of worship known as “Lent.”  As our conversation began,  I heard myself say, “I would stop being a pastor if I had to stop observing Lent.”  It’s that important to me.  I believe that the season of Lent speaks to many of our deepest needs as nothing else can  and tells a story that we–particularly those of us in North America–need desperately to hear.

Lent is the season of forty days, excluding Sundays, that lead up to Easter Sunday.  The observance of Lent began in the third and fourth centuries, as a time when Christians  thoughtfully prepared themselves for the celebration of the resurrection of our Lord.   The period of forty days is significant.  You may recall that Israel wandered in the desert for forty years prior to entering the promised land; and Jesus entered the desert for forty days prior to the beginning of his public ministry.   In both of these accounts, the season in the desert was a crucial time of preparation for what was to follow.  Lent begins on Ash Wednesday, which falls this year on February 22, and it ends on Easter Sunday morning, April 8.  

Allow me to offer four reasons why I believe the observance of Lent is important.

Lent is, first of all, the time when we carefully follow Jesus to the cross.  Here is an important observation:  The Gospel of Mark dedicates nearly one-third of its narrative to one week in the life of Jesus, namely the final week that culminates in the crucifixion. Matthew, Luke and John give only slightly less space to that same span of time.   We can be certain that this is no mistake.  The slow movement of Jesus toward the cross compels Christian people to consider the resistance to God that is present in our world and in our own lives.  This is hard but (as we will see) truly liberating work.  Unless we come to terms with the ways that we resist God’s renewing work, we will never be freed by it!  Lent will invariably lead those who thoughtfully walk its journey into a season of humility and confession.

Lent is, secondly, a season when we remember that the Christian experience takes the shape of death and resurrection.  In Lent we are called to remember not only that Jesus was crucified and raised on our behalf, but that we too must be crucified and raised if we are to truly live.  “I have been crucified with Christ,” St. Paul wrote to the Galatians.  “Nevertheless I live.  Yet not I, but Christ lives in me.”   During Lent we face up to the fact that getting more and more of what we want, giving ourselves ever more fully to our attachments, does not make us happy, good or free; it merely serves to deepen our servitude to our idols.   Jesus calls us to lose our lives (our idolatrous clinging to that which we falsely think will make us happy) in order to truly live. 

Thirdly, Lent is a season to fast in order that we might truly feast.  It is well know that in the season of Lent, many Christians practice a variety of different kinds of fasting.  Some may fast from certain kinds of food for the entire forty-day period.  Others may choose a 24 hour fast from all food one day each week.  Still others may choose to let go of things upon which they have become overly dependent, such as caffeine or some of their electronic gadgets.  These are just a few examples of various kinds of fasts.  That Lent is a season of fasting is well known.  That we fast in order to truly feast is, unfortunately, less well known.  The purpose of our variously chosen fasts is that we might let go of these attachments in order to more fully feast on the love of God.  Jesus told his disciples, “I have bread that you know not of.”  During Lent we fast from some of our attachments in order that we may feast on God who makes us truly free.  (I have written a good deal more about fasting in a brief pamphlet that will be available on the web page and on the resource table just outside our sanctuary.)   

Finally, Lent is a time of preparation for Easter Sunday.  Imagine that you have decided to give a  feast for your family and neighbors. You send out invitations and collect RSVP s and on the day of the feast you learn that all of your guests have stopped at McDonald’s and Burger King on their way to your home.  Is it any wonder that none could possibly fully appreciate the feast you have set before them?  Sadly, in my view, many Christians ‘celebrate’ Easter this way.  They go about their indulgent lifestyles, just as they always have, and then wonder why the celebration of Easter has little sustaining nourishment or power for their lives.  Lent helps us to get ready for Easter.  It helps us to nurture that spiritual hunger without which no one can be centered in God. 

Summer Break

I’m going to take a respite from this blog for the remaining weeks of the summer.  I plan to jump back in early in September.  Enjoy your summer–and I’ll see many of you on Sunday mornings at 10 am.

Place Matters

Much of the New Testament was written with specific places in mind.  For example, we know that  the Apostle Paul penned most of his letters to Christians in specific localities, places like Corinth, Galatia, Philippi and Rome. Additionally, it is now widely believed among scholars that the four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, were originally written to be read and savored by churches in four different locations.  Mark, for example, was probably written for the house churches in Rome.  Matthew was probably written for the church in Antioch.  Similarly, Luke and John were written for particular communities of Christians.  1 and 2 Timothy were written to help Timothy faithfully oversee the church in Ephesus.  1 Peter was distributed to several churches in what is now northern Turkey.  I could go on and on, but I think the point is clear.  Most of the documents of the New Testament were originally written with specific people in particular places in mind.  

You’re no doubt wondering, so what?  In a word (okay, two words), place matters.   For me, the importance of place comes into greater focus when I think about what the New Testament is not.  The New Testament is not a bunch of abstract, general truth statements and principles, written randomly with no particular people in mind.  I suppose it could have been.  Perhaps we could have received a New Testament that is a straightforward list of principles by which we’re supposed to live our lives.  (“Work hard, eat your vegetables, don’t eat yellow snow,” that sort of thing.)  Instead, what we have in the New Testament  are these earthy documents written with particular people in mind, inviting, directing and challenging them to live as a new creation in their particular place.  

I know I’m strange, but I find all of this very exciting.  This emphasis on place in the New Testament suggests to me that God is not so much interested in forming people who are right about everything (if so, the NT should have looked like a legal document), but rather on forming people who rightly embody the grace of God in their particular communities. In other words, right now, even now, the Spirit is forming people who have the soil of Gratiot County (or wherever you may be as you read this) under their fingernails, people who love their place and work steadfastly for its renewal.

Reflections on a Small Town

My family and I moved to Alma, Michigan from Phoenix, Arizona in the fall of ’99.  The contrast between these two locations is, as you can imagine, like night and day (or Democrat and Republican–choose your analogy).  Looking back, I think I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about moving to a small town.  I don’t want to overstate this.  It certainly wasn’t as though I ever out and out disliked being in a small town.  I did, however, occasionally grouse about the local restaurants and the entertainment options (or, as I would have said, the lack thereof) and  I complained about the sparse local newspaper, as it compared with the daily tome I had grown accustomed to in Phoenix.  I think a few “Mayberry” jokes slipped off my tongue in those early months.   I spent the first year or so pining for the activity and the sunshine of Phoenix.

I make mention of this today because recently I have enjoyed a deep and real sense of gratitude for the opportunities I enjoy living in this small town, amid a cluster of small towns, in Gratiot County, Michigan.  In particular, I am thankful for the community I enjoy in this community.  I recently ducked in to the local hardware store to purchase a couple of small items.  I was warmly greeted–by name–by no less than three of the employees.  A day or so later, I enjoyed a brief but enjoyable serendipitous conversation with our mayor, on another day a short but thoughtful exchange with a man I had just met.   While out on a run or doing some shopping, waiting for the  barber or doing my banking, there is enough time, trust and hospitality in this small town for strangers and friends to welcome one another every day. 

I find that this ‘public life’ adds to the quality of life in ways that are difficult to explain or express.  By ‘public life’ I mean the many, casual connections that we enjoy on an almost daily basis.  I won’t deny that I occasionally miss a wide variety of options for eating out.  And there are certainly days that I miss the excitement of living in a large, metropolitan city.  For now, however, I’m content and enjoying life in this small town.  

Struggle… Continued

Inspired by Haeddre’s comments on my last post, allow me to lob out the following.

A few years ago, while on sabbatical, I read Muhammad Yunus’ book, Banker to the Poor.  (Thank you, Paul, for recommending it.)  In that book, Yunus described how he eventually responded to the terrible famine that had engulfed Bangladesh in the 1960′s.  He had begun to realize that while charity was good for providing people with a meal, it did little to provide ongoing, sustainable solutions.  He began to use the method we now know as ‘micro-finance’–providing very small, weekly loans to women and men to help them start or grow very small businesses that would enable them to support themselves and their families.  In the book, Yunus described how he sometimes had to work very hard to convince these terribly poor people that they were capable of starting a small business.  He then helped those who were willing to move forward to form in small groups and work together on business plans.  Finally, he provided the loans, one at a time, to these small entrepreneurs.  The story of micro-finance is now well known.  It is estimated that over ten million people around the world have worked their way out of the lowest rungs of poverty using this tool.  It is an incredible story.

A couple of things stood out for me when I read Yunus’ amazing story.  First, in the book he said that he believes that every person is an entrepreneur.  Most people simply don’t know it yet.  I take that to mean that every person has the creativity and capacity to do well for themselves, if and when they discover the motivation and the resources for doing so.  Second, I had the impression as I read the book that Yunus is tough as nails.  If people did not pay back their loans, they were dropped from the program.  They were required to pay back their loans with a small amount of interest.  (That is the only way micro-finance can be sustainable as a service to the poor.)  Because of his toughness, not in spite of it, this tool has become truly good news for the poor.

The story of Muhammad Yunus and micro-finance is, for me, sort of a parable of the importance of struggle.  Each small entrepreneur who has worked her/his way out of poverty has done so through struggle.   I’m certain that there was nothing easy about ten million people moving out of poverty. It seems to me that it was precisely because Yunus was unwilling to remove that struggle, but was rather willing to be a resource to them in their struggle, that he has been so amazingly effective at equipping women and men to improve their lives. I believe that his tough and nails work has been and continues to be an incredible expression of love.

Struggle

A few years ago I read a story about a man who wanted to help a butterfly that was struggling to become free of its cocoon.  “I’ll ease it’s journey into the world,” he said to himself, as he found some scissors and carefully cut the butterfly free.  To his disappointment, instead of flying away free, the butterfly weakened and eventually died.  It seems that the struggle to emerge from its lair is key to the butterfly becoming strong enough to survive.

I’ve been thinking about struggle lately.  (I hope you’ll forgive this random topic.)  Sometimes, in our efforts to help others, we can actually separate those we wish to help from the sort of struggle they need in order to become more whole.  A mother who continues to tie her son’s shoes because it eases his struggle may actually slow the child’s learning curve.  The child needs to struggle in order to learn. A concerned son who continually finishes his aging father’s sentences every time dad struggles to find a word may actually contribute to the slowing of dad’s mental capacities.   Dad needs to struggle in order to keep his mind fit.  A teacher who always gives the answers to the students may actually be hindering their education.  Students need to struggle with the material in order to learn it.

If I’m honest, I have to admit that too often I am impatient with the struggle of others because of my own anxieties.  It’s hard for me to see someone I care about struggling, so I jump in with an answer or a solution or a bit of advice.  When this happens, it’s not love that compels my behavior, but my anxiety about their struggle. 

The ministry of Jesus is astonishing in this regard.  He seems to have had a very high tolerance for the struggle of those he cared about.  Those of us who want a teacher who spells everything out in black and white and either/or answers will be very disappointed with the teaching of Jesus.  His words are often dense, so dense that they require struggle in order to hear.  “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”  Huh?   “Blessed are the meek.”  Come again?  “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed…”  How so?  “Go sell all that you have and give to the poor.”  Really?

We invent the four spiritual laws.  Jesus teaches in parables.  We give three point teachings.  Jesus gives the beatitudes.  I have nothing against the four spiritual laws or three point teachings.  I simply wish to say that Jesus lived and taught in such a way that those closest to him had to struggle in order to hear his message.  They had to ‘lean forward,’ as I like to say.  It required something of them. 

Where I’m going with this: 1) Sometimes I think we all undervalue the importance of struggle.  If, as the title of this blog suggests, life can be a sacred adventure, we can be sure that it will involve struggle.  Every adventure does.  Instead of avoiding struggle, perhaps we can embrace it as a necessary component of growth.  2) It takes discernment to know when love requires us to offer a helping hand to another, as it sometimes certainly does, and when it requires us to be silent or ask a hard question or stand back and allow another to struggle through toward their own growth.  How do we know when to offer a hand and when to allow the struggle to occur?  Good question.  Sometimes I really struggle with that.