I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know…what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints… (Eph. 1:18 NASB)
“Paris is just super,” goes the old joke, “except for the Parisians.” I sometimes feel the same way about the church, particularly when dealing with stubborn opposition to my ideas during committee meetings or witnessing antics that I have long grown out of. I’ve also noticed how, when someone else from The ‘Hood visits our church, we who came first tend to look him up and down and think, “I know what you’re about, and I don’t like it one bit!” Finally, I know a growing number of people who, disappointed by their experience with fellow believers, have left church altogether. What I haven’t figured out is whom they think they’re punishing.
Which is why this verse from Ephesians caught my attention. Apparently, when God sends people our way, he thinks he’s sending us treasures. Rather than politely disagree, those of us who are greedy for heavenly wealth need to take a second look—with Spirit-filled eyes this time; not natural ones.
When I look again with Spirit-filled eyes, I am astounded. I see great anointing on those who are currently taking the next steps in their faith so tentatively —anointing greater than I move in. I see new fields of heaven beckoning beyond the rusty and broken gate of a prebeliever—fields I will never work in. I see how my fellow church-goers multiply my effectiveness far beyond the limits of my own strength and gifting. I realize that my path to blessing properly lies in my efforts for others, not away from them.
It’s like buying the field in Jesus’ parable. Every believer knows about the treasure buried at the far end. Imagine one’s joy then, when one finally swings one’s pick, to discover that there is in fact treasure buried at every step. I invite all treasure-hunters to join me in having a field day!
February, 2003
Recently, two teens attacked their own school in Littleton, Colorado, killing over a dozen people. As I listened to the reports pour in, I became struck by how much emphasis was placed on school access and safety. Here in Chicago, the news emphasized metal detectors and unarmored guards with handguns, as if these could deter a commando-style assault with shotguns and bombs. The Episcopal priest who presided over the memorial service that night was quoted as saying something like, "There is no place that is safe."
It seems to me there were much larger issues on the stage that day, such as racial hatred, alienated youth, and easy access to weapons. Only toward the end of a local Chicago newscast was a gun control group quoted. Even the Pope showed a greater perceptivity when he wired the Bishop of Denver that he was praying for "greater respect for life."
It further seems to me that the dark legacies of this country, spirits of greed, violence, lawlessness, and hatred, have matured and begun to choke our society. In the face of this, is the proper response of the Church likewise concern about safety?
I believe, in its preoccupation with safety, much of the Church is missing its calling. Jesus never promised his disciples safety in this world, but, on the contrary, betrayal and violence. In fact, he purposefully sent them out into that environment, "as sheep among wolves," charging them to act as the salt and light of the world and to "make disciples of all nations." What, do we expect sheep among wolves not to get bitten, or people who are not yet disciples to act Christ-like?
In the world, there are institutions like the NRA that, in its rejection of government control, plants a deadly seed of lawlessness. Far from opposing that spirit, some "believers" have fallen completely under its influence and used weapons in support of "Pro-Life." The truly sad part of this is that these instruments of Satan have not been as loudly condemned in the popular eye by the Church they slander. Rather, it appears much of the Church holds political safety above God's good Name and washes its hands of such "worldly" affairs.
Similarly, the Church does less to reverse the secularization and mediocrity of the public schools than to take its children "out of this world" and train them at home or in private schools. Granted, a few believers can't make a difference versus a mammoth bureaucracy such as the Chicago Public Schools, but if all the effort and money spent by Christians in the Chicago area on private schools and home-schooling were directed instead at changing the public schools, the mammoth would move. Instead, much energy is spent obtaining tax breaks for these expenses. It seems the priority is on financial safety.
The cumulative effect of these and other concerns about safety is to reduce Christian impact in the world. If, out of concern for safety, a believer flees the world, he or she also won't encounter anyone to have to tell about Jesus. Such modern monasticism may be more properly thought of as evangelistic safety.
The joke, of course, is that such flight is imaginary. The Episcopal bishop spoke truth -- there is nowhere to flee, and any attempt to do so is fantasy, mere escapism. Just because Christians choose not impact the world does not mean that the world, under the malevolent forces that still influence it, will fail to impact Christians.
Just where is true safety? Once a former roommate of mine ruminated about how I survived a potentially deadly situation. He used process of elimination: "Street smart? Nah. Intimidating? Get real! Got a brain? Maybe, but he doesn't necessarily use it." He concluded that I lived only by God's will.
If we are kept safe only by God's will, how then should we live? We should live primarily to remain in God's will, then to be safe. With such a priority, we are certain to suffer loss, but it is worse to suffer loss while denying Christ. The reason why heaven honors true martyrdom and faith is that these should be familiar to each of us. Let us struggle together, then, encouraging one another especially in times of loss, to live in that "spirit of power, not of timidity."
September, 1999
Lately our pastor has been teaching on the life of David. One of the odd moments in the story is how “everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented gathered to him” (1 Sam. 22:2 NRSV). Why would a man after God’s own heart hang out with such men? And what did desperadoes find so appealing in the handsome and charismatic future king?
Oddly enough, I ask myself the same questions about our church, where a small but steady stream of such characters has also established itself. Some come from broad-shouldered walks of life: cops, repo men. Others are from the sidewalks or make their own path through life. Some are, dare we say, beholden to no one for their hygiene or manners. But all are men that live by their convictions, that would rather act than surrender to overwhelming circumstance, and that accept the consequences with no complaint and but briefly acknowledged regrets.
Such men are hard to find in a typical Sunday service. Surrounded by flowers and robes, well-scrubbed faces and Sunday best, tears and spontaneous outbursts of emotion, they know that they are far from their domain. They experience the same discomfiture that they would if dragged into a lingerie department—worse, perhaps, for the prying eyes. So they typically cast a jaundiced eye to “church” and “organized religion” and prefer to stay at home, on the streets, or in the Great North Woods.
So the number is astonishing who, after visiting for some reason or meeting the pastor, return regularly. I think it’s more than the unfrilly nature of the décor at our church (like the huge two-handed sword that used to hang in the office). I think these guys sense sincerity, honesty, and acceptance. They can hear all they ask of God’s message, but are never denied the responsibility of responding to it on their own. Our church is their opportunity to meet with God on their own terms, a desire so long impossible to fulfill that those who know them well are shocked by their sudden enthusiasm.
And, having them join us, my enthusiasm also grows. I remember how some of David’s motley crew of down-and-outs, malcontents, and ne’er-do-wells grew to such exploits of faith that their names, even now, are remembered from scripture: Joab, Jashobeam, Eleazar, Abishai, Benaiah…
Next month I will baptize my friend.
I've hardly known her more than a year or two, but she's been many things to me in that time. At first she was little more than an afterthought. All I knew was that another friend I pray for had a new girlfriend, so I tacked her on to my sometime prayers for him. Then I got to meet her and, one remarkable afternoon, ended up in a discussion of the disappointment she had suffered when she first drew near God. Our friendship grew till my wife and I were bold enough to offer to start a seekers' group in their house, and she was bold enough to accept. We had hardly finished examining Christ's nature and accomplishment when she decided to resume her long interrupted relationship with him. Now in amazement I watch God's characteristics of generosity and concern surge forth, as if they had been in her all along, pent up, waiting to be set free. From the sidelines, I cheer her and Jesus on with all I've got--I'm their biggest fan.
It's taken me a while to learn that sharing the gospel is not about me. It's not my big opportunity to show how charismatic, knowledgeable, sensitive, pious, or persuasive I've become. It's always someone else's game; someone else's life. I am called to the sidelines, to be ever ready to share a mug of hot coffee, remind the team which way the end zone lies, yell "Boo!" at overbearing umps, linger stubbornly in the cold autumn rain or looming defeat. And I've discovered what every true fan knows: such insistent devotion makes every yard pleasing, every touchdown sweeter, every win a triumphant moment we will recount long after we swarm from the stands.
You go girl!
September, 2002
