The Strange Case of Malchus’ Ear

It was all very confusing, you see.  There was a scuffle, and a clash of metal, and torchlight bobbling and wobbling wildly—and then a scream.  Everything skidded to a halt for the moment; all eyes went to the poor man who found himself in the middle, now sobbing and clutching the side of his head.  Blood trickled between his fingers.  “Find it—find it!” he yelled then, stabbing at the ground with his other hand.  Seconds passed while men’s minds turned slowly over and figured out what he meant: there it was on the ground, a forlorn scrap of skin and cartilage: an ear.

(Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John: isn’t it strange that they all record this? Such an odd little detail, especially in comparison to everything else that was going down.  Matthew and John were there, and Mark might have been too, if he was the young man wrapped in a linen sheet who showed up at the party for some reason.  Luke would have heard the story from eyewitnesses.  So maybe that’s why.  Or maybe it’s because Malchus’s ear was the only casualty in a shortlived revolution, the anticipated coup that ended with a single command–)

“No more of this!”

A sword lowers in a hesitant hand.  The would-be prisoner takes command, but instead of fighting he’s healing, one last time. Instead of calling out the troops  he’s speaking one last word as Rabbi, and the word is not about truth or righteousness or saving the world—it’s about fulfilling the scriptures.*

One sword stroke can’t stop the plan woven into the ages, but before Messiah is crushed for our iniquities, he raises a hand in a temporary halt, bends down, and picks up the ear.

He has straightened bones, restored sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, even called a few souls back from the grave, so this act of healing is nothing to him.  It’s tender and telling, though: I don’t need your swords or strategies.  I want your ears.

The parade moves on and the drama plays out, but what about Malchus?  And his ear?

I would like to think that, once Jesus touched it, the ear was his, good as new.  And Malchus too.  For the first few days, the incident in the garden was forgotten—and Malchus too.  The crucifixion of the Nazarene, and the deep disappointment of those who hoped for something better, was all the news.  If Jesus had stayed dead, even that news would have withered away within a generation—

But early on the third day Malchuis woke from his fitful sleep with a peculiar buzzing in his right ear.  Or not really a buzz—more like a song with words he could not understand.  But the sound filled him with an almost unbearable sweetness.  It sang of memories and hopes, achievement and expectation above all he had ever asked or thought.  His mind, lately roiled with memories of torchlight, flashing swords, and searing pain, quieted itself like a weaned child with its mother, listening.  He put an arm around his sleeping wife and listened.  He shushed her querulous complaints and listened.  His heart warmed with compassion for his difficult son and sickly daughter while listening.  When the sun was fully up and the city shook itself awake and rose to the first day of the week, the song faded like a dream.

By noon rumors were flying in the electrified air.  Several people had visited the empty tomb and seen the limp winding clothes with their own eyes.  The scribes and priests were quashing rumors left and right: pay no attention; it’s a trick; move along; nothing to see here.

Malchus, a loyal Levite, had served the high priest all his life—first Annas, then Caiaphas.  He knew them well, and never thought to question an authoritative word from either of them.  That day, authoritative words were ringing off the walls: It’s a trick!  It’s a lie!  It never happened!

But when Malchus first heard the news from a fellow servant, everything made sense, especially those puzzling scriptures the Rabbis loved to argue over.  Messiah’s last touch, on the ear he restored, flamed to life again.  The sweet song spun off words.  He was filled with a joy inexpressible and full of glory.

What happened to Malchus?  Probably an ordinary span of days ending in ordinary death.  The song in his ear would diminish with age until he couldn’t even remember it, but if that life was planted in him, he is hearing it now.

He who has an ear to hear, let him hear!

_______________________________________________

 

*Matt. 26:53-54.  “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than ten legions of angels?  But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?”

Mark 15:49-50.  “Day after day I was with you in the temple, and you did not seize me.  But let the Scriptures be fulfilled.”

Luke 22:37.  “For I tell you that this Scripture must be fulfilled in me: ‘And he was numbered among the transgressors.’ For what was written about me has its fulfillment.”  (Luke records this earlier, in the upper room, but it’s in the context of a conversation about swords.)

John 18:11.  “Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?”

The Accuser

Accuse my accusers, Yahweh; attack my attackers.

Grip your shield and buckler—Up, and help me!

Brandish your lance and pike in the face of my pursuers,

Tell my soul, “I am your salvation.”        (Ps. 35:1-3, New Jerusalem Bible)

Dozens of Coptic Christians killed during Palm Sunday church bombings in Egypt.

I’ve never done a survey, but I would guess that at least one third David’s Psalms are cries to the Lord about his enemies.  This one is especially passionate: he’s giving orders to God, almost—“Get up!”  The man certainly collected enemies in his long and exciting life, but I was never sure how to apply these Psalms to me.  I don’t have enemies.  And if I did, should I be prodding the Lord into the ring to punch them out for me?  It seems antithetical to, say, Isaiah 53 where the Lamb is led to the slaughter yet never opens his mouth.  The Lord’s true servant, it seems, meekly takes all the abuse hurled at him with no appeals for intervention.

Speaking of Isaiah 53, did you ever notice how the servant’s tormentors are never identified?  They are either abstract qualities (“by oppression and judgment he was taken away”) or shadowed by passive voice, with the victim as the subject, front and center: he was led, wounded, crushed, afflicted.  In the Psalms, the enemies are never identified either.  Evil snarls like a lion and bares its teeth like a jackal, but in the end it has no personality.

But evil has very real causality.  What to do about it?  These Psalms do represent moral progress, in a way.  David wrote them in an age of blood guilt and honor killing, not that far removed, culturally, from Lamech’s time: I killed a man for wounding me, a young man for striking me.  If Cain’s revenge is sevenfold, Lamech’s is seventy-sevenfold (Gen. 4:23-24).   David is at least asking a higher power to intercede for him, knowing that the Lord’s judgment is perfect.

But notice his complaint: violent men accuse him, lie about him, gloat and jeer at him, tear his flesh, wait in ambush.  He must be  speaking metaphorically, since there’s no record of David being broken or severely wounded.  From a physical angle, his looks like a charmed life.

But Messiah was literally treated in the way David complains of, so literally it makes us cringe.  Gloated over? Jeered at?  (Why don’t you come down from that cross?)  Torn? (His flesh hung in ribbons.)  Lied about?  (He said he could tear down this temple.)  Accused?  (He’s trying to make himself king!)

Yet when David says Accuse! Christ says Forgive.

When Lamech boasts of seventy-seven fold, Christ pours out seventy times seven.

When David says, Rise up O Lord, Christ says, Here I am.

What David asked for, he got—only the blows he wished to fall on his tormentors fell on the tormented instead.  And ever since, when righteous men and women suffer, they can at least know that the judgment has fallen, the accusations made, the attack carried out.  They can find themselves in Messiah’s bloody footprints.

Why doesn’t God intervene?  Ha already has.

Easy for me to say, in good health and comfort.  Does it apply to the Syrian Christian tormented in a refugee camp, or the North Korean Christian huddling in scraps against the cold and scrounging for insects and amphibians to eat raw?  It has to.

Tell my soul, “I am your salvation.”  That’s what the cross pleads, and what the empty tomb replies.

 

Dear Mr. Keller

Abraham Kuyper, who would not have approved.

Early in March, Princeton Theological Seminary announced the winner of their annual Kuyper Prize for Excellence in Reformed Teaching and Public Witness: Tim Keller, long-time pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church (PCA) in New York City.  On March 22, Princeton President Craig Barnes announced that the prize would be revoked, due to a rising tide of objections regarding his denomination’s stance on ordaining women and professing LGBT Christians, as well as a “complementarian” view of husband-and-wife relationships.  Though he will not receive the prize, Rev. Keller has agreed to give the annual Kuyper lecture on April 6.  The pros and cons of Princeton’s decision have been hashed out elsewhere; I’m just thinking how I should respond if I were in his place.  (Which, since I hold to a complementarian view, I never will be!)

 

If you are insulted for the name of Christ you are blessed for the spirit of glory and of God rests upon you.  I Peter 4:14.

Princeton Theological Seminary would vehemently deny that the insult is to Christ, who preached love and acceptance for all.  Wouldn’t Christ be insulted in turn to see prominent pastors—in this day and age—holding to outmoded doctrines that encourage the subjugation of women and the inclusion of fellow believers?

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that the insult is not to Christ. But is it not an insult to the word to God that Christ came not to abolish but to fulfill?  Is it an insult to Christ’s servants Peter and Paul, who taught (we believe) under the inspiration of God, at the cost of their lives?  And whose teaching the church is built on?  The insult is also to generations of witnesses, martyrs, scholars, pastors, translators, evangelists, and other unknown, unsung heroes who now surround us in a cloud.

So, going back to Peter: If Christ identifies with his church, and the witness of the church is insulted, you are blessed.

I believe you’ve been right, all these years, to preach Christ and him crucified at Redeemer Church, in the heart of the secular city.  You were right to welcome seekers, sinners, strenuous opponents; right to keep the focus on Jesus through it all, wherever your listeners ended up on secondary and social issues.  And you’re right to stand firm on traditional (we might even say, plain-as-day understanding) of those secondary and social issues.

The prize would be nice: another plaque to hang on the wall and a few thousand bucks to bank or give away.  I’ll bet you know some people who could the money.  But there is an unfading crown of glory waiting its proper time.  I hope you give the talk, and I hope it’s gracious and glowing and Christ-honoring—because, remember, you are blessed.

How to pray, #349 (more or less)

I say this prayer to you Lord,

for at daybreak you listen for my voice;

and at dawn I hold myself in readiness for you—

            I watch.  For you.                     Psalm 5:3

When I pray, I usually find myself listening to me.  And it often doesn’t seem as though anyone else is listening.  But (thank God) David knew better: day breaks, the LORD tunes in.  My servant rises.  Let’s hear what he has to say.

Hard as it is to believe, God is actually listening for me.  This Psalm gobsmacked me when I first heard what it was saying.

God doesn’t need to arise, of course, because he’s always up.  Every hour is daybreak somewhere and every pray-er has a listener.

God does his part.  My part is to hold myself in readiness (to “prepare the sacrifice and watch,” ESV).  What helps with this and what doesn’t?

  1. Get up.  Praying in bed is fine for the dark hours (Ps. 149.5), but not for the morning sacrifice.  Again (poke, poke): bestir these stiff lazy bones and get up.
  2. Wash my face and hands.  I have an important meeting to keep.
  3. Raise my voice (because he is listening).  I feel self-conscious praying out loud, but I know lots of hymns.  Sometimes I sing them.
  4. Present my body as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to him.  He owns it, after all.
  5. Listen.  Then talk.  Then listen some more.  Then talk some more.  Remember it’s a two-way conversation.

Learning how to pray is a lifelong quest, at least for me.  After sixty-plus years, it’s sometimes discouraging: haven’t I got a handle on this yet?   Then a Psalm comes along and cheerfully rings a bell: hey, you!  Don’t you know he’s listening?  He’s waiting to hear your voice—open up!

Can it really be that simple?

Can We Talk? What is Government, and What’s It For?

Janie and Charlotte continue our discussions from opposite sides of the political spectrum–but we’re doing it politely!  In this one we get philosophical.

Janie: Some classic Christian traditions teach that from the beginning God ordained three organizational entities: the family, the civil government, and the church.  These three have their separate spheres of influence, which are distinct even though they overlap.  The family is not just a basic economic unit but a home (for raising responsible adults and providing companionship and care to individuals).  The church is not just a fellowship of believers but a prophet and moral conscience to society.  And the government is not just the enforcer of social order and law but guarantor of national security—if only it would!

When one sphere tries to take over the purview of the others, trouble always follows.  When a family becomes law unto itself, you get oppressive cults like David Koresh and Jim Jones (remember them)?  When a church takes over civil functions you get the Inquisition.  And when the civil government assumes family functions you get widespread dependency and a welfare state that looks like The Blob.  Or totalitarianism.

Those distinctions aren’t always cut and dried, and I’m not saying civil authority has no part whatsoever to play in helping people.  But the essential power of government is coercive.  That’s what Paul means in Romans 13:4: “He [the governor] does not bear the sword in vain.”  Government exists to stop corruption, police neighborhoods, throw crooks in jail, defend against attack; “to punish those who do evil and praise those who do good” (I Pet. 2:14).  Praising, encouraging, or rewarding good behavior is a legitimate function; enforcing good behavior is problematic.

Government by nature is impersonal and (at its best) impartial, and the larger it gets the more impersonal.  But we’ve come to think of the United States Government as a kind of extended family, which must take over family functions when necessary.  It’s also a kind of church, which must correct false doctrine when necessary. Your reference to the federal government as a “wise parent” in our last discussion implies something like this.  Thus it imposes on the responsibilities of the other two God-ordained spheres, one organic and the other moral and spiritual.  And we got trouble, my friends.

I think the federal government has actually done more to break down community than build it up.  Here’s how: when parents die or fail to meet their responsibilities, extended family members have traditionally stepped in to fill gaps.  When a house in the neighborhood burns down, neighbors have traditionally pitched in to help rebuild.  Churches have performed heroically in supporting widows, feeding orphans, building schools and hospitals, and voluntary organizations have formed to provide other needs like scholarship and benevolence funds.  All these functions build community because they are horizontal—people reaching out to people—with strings attached.  Local or church-based charity often comes with some sort of obligation to the receiver—that she take a life-skills class and get a job, for instance.

Those strings represent connectedness.  With the introduction of federal aid, those horizontal bonds break down; rather than reaching out, people are reaching up.  Rather than forming a network of mutual obligations the strings are all connected to a faceless bureaucracy that sends the checks.  You don’t have to sheepishly confess to Uncle Mike that you drank up that loan he extended on your next paycheck—you don’t even have to worry that much about the next paycheck, because that pittance from Uncle Sam will come regardless.  I’ve had personal experience with this attitude; it’s not something I read in National Review.

I think anyone would agree that there’s been a widespread breakdown of families and neighborhoods in the last fifty years.  I don’t blame government aid for all of this, and I don’t deny there should be a safety net.  But the safety net has become wider and wider as our meaningful personal connections get thinner.  The expansion of welfare from The Great Society has not produced a great society, and I don’t see any likelihood that it will.

Charlotte: I can agree with much of what you say. We share concerns about the breakdown of American families, the cycles of poverty and the effectiveness of welfare. We both see fracturing within too many personal relationships and the subsequent isolation away from healthy community. The reasons for our social ills are deeply complex and the burden of responsibility must be shared by all of us.

But I disagree with your fundamental understanding of church and government. Our topic today is government but we do want to get to a discussion about how religion and politics might appropriately intersect in America so I’ll wait to talk about my own understanding of what “church” is to be. Here are some of my thoughts about what “government” is to be within the American context.

You say: “..the federal government has actually done more to break down community than build it up…” I say community breaks down because of our human brokenness and government should act as a kind of check on our natural self-centeredness. Of course the idealistic Great Society did not produce an actual great society but that doesn’t mean the efforts failed. Lots of people had work and food and homes because of that critical safety net during those hard years. And we made a national shift in some of our understandings about how government can properly function to “promote the common welfare.” But no human institution or program will ever produce perfection. We can only work towards it and try to keep making things better.

I used the metaphor of government as a “strong wise parent” in an earlier discussion because I am arguing that our society functions as a kind of far-flung, eclectic family. This metaphor is not my own creation; the mythology is deeply embedded within our story. We speak of George Washington as the “father” of our country. We send our “sons” off to war. We still celebrate the “Daughters of the American Revolution.” This is our “homeland” and “Uncle Sam” models for us what we are about as a people together.

I don’t think of government as the extended family as you imply. Rather We the People are the family, and government – in its appropriate role – ensures that the “family” values we claim in our founding documents are actual practices that we all share. And not just in our Constitution; but also in the traditions we have come to cherish. For example, hospitality to others seeking refuge, asylum and opportunity. Immigrants are people who become part of our family and government (as a strong wise parent) makes sure the table is big enough and we all make room for one another.

Have you read George Lakoff at all? He’s a cognitive scientist who has been offering insights for years now on how we relate to one another in our political system, and he is one who has been informing and expanding my understandings lately. Lakoff looks at the ways Conservatives and Progressives see the role of government and uses parental images to help us recognize how we make meaning of our relationship to government and to one another. Conservatives, he says, see government as a “strict father” while Progressives see it as a “nurturing parent.”

Much of what I hear Conservatives say makes sense within this “strict father” frame: actions have consequences; strength is better than vulnerability; traditional morality and national patriotism are high values; obedience is moral and disobedience is immoral. Don’t hear me knocking these values; I agree up to a point but as a Progressive, I find myself valuing other things more. Like equal opportunity, compassion and second chances. I hear Conservatives say government should leave them alone and let them tend to their own business without interference. I hear Progressives say government should leave them alone and stay out of our bedrooms and doctors’ offices. Both are right, in my view. A strong wise parent launches strong wise children who can make their own decisions. But since we humans (children and citizens) don’t always make wise decisions, there still must be some protections and safe guards that government should have in place.

So I do see America as a community, a family forced into relationship by virtue of our shared society and geography. And I think the various governments of America are responsible for nurturing our civic relationships in ways that are compassionate and equitable. That means honoring those who are strong and successful; celebrating their gifts and advantages. But also, at the same time, in appropriate balance, honoring and protecting those who are weak and disadvantaged; celebrating their inherent human dignity and finding ways to level the American playing field so they too have a shot at the American Dream.

Two things going on in this discussion: 1) who are we together as Americans? And 2) what is government and what is the people’s relationship to government?

A caveat, however; since America is a representative democracy, “We the People” choose people to represent us and govern in our stead with our approval. So in a very real way, WE are the government. Bureaucracies may be impersonal but governments and public servants should be lively and responsive to real people and real needs.

You say: The church is not just a fellowship of believers but a prophet and moral conscience to society. Please talk more about this. Is this how you understand the proper relationship between faith and politics, between church and state, between the religious and the secular? Thanks for this conversation; this is helpful for me.

Janie: A few responses before I answer that question:

  • Of course civil government has a role as moral arbiter.  Its function is making and upholding the law, after all, and law should have a moral base (even if it doesn’t always).  I don’t disagree that government can act as a check on our natural self-centeredness, but governments are made up of broken individuals with their own self-centeredness.  We agree that society and government are not the same, but I notice that progressives sometimes speak of them interchangeably.  What does government have that society doesn’t?  Authority.  Sometimes governments have to force people to behave better, if they’re stealing or mugging or neglecting their kids or otherwise behaving badly.
  • But you cannot force people to be compassionate.  I believe Americans are basically generous and don’t mind contributing tax money to provide a safety net for those who truly can’t take care of themselves.  However, the more government sets itself up as a social cop, determining who gets what and who has to pay for it, the more resentment will be created on one side and a sense of entitlement on the other.
  • Governments can’t nurture; only people can do that.  To the extent that there are compassionate individuals within an agency who can make a personal commitment to those they serve (and I know there are some of those), well and good.  But that’s not primarily how an agency operates, nor can it.  Government agencies are not primarily about people, they are about money: getting it, appropriating it, allocating it, doling it out, and keeping track of it with endless paperwork.  Even if that wasn’t the intention going in, that’s what it becomes.
  • Yes, we elect our representatives.  What’s happened in the last 50 years or so, however, is the growth of a vast, overlapping array of agencies and initiatives and programs and staffers, none of whom are elected and all of whom tend to be permanent.  They are accountable to no one and, as time goes on, many of these agencies become more about perpetuating themselves than meeting the needs they were originally created to serve.  Many, if not most, of these employees have good intentions, but ask them how much time they have to get personally involved with their clients.
  • You’re talking about admirable principles; I’m saying they don’t work so well in practice.  Government solutions should be evaluated like any other solution, and they almost never are.  No program is ever eliminated, regardless of how lousy it turns out (and yeah, they all do some good, but at tremendous cost and often with unintended consequences).  Some programs, I believe, have done actual harm, and they all tend to become politicized.
  • Finally, government is necessary, but it’s made of broken people.  Government must “bear the sword,” as I mentioned before, but the bigger the sword, the greater the potential for abuse.

That’s where the church comes in.  Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world,” meaning he didn’t come to set up a theocracy.  Still, the church has a voice, and she is supposed to use it. “You are the salt of the earth.”  I believe every Christian is called to be the not only the hands of Christ (serving others) but also the voice of Christ (speaking truth in love).

If a Christian is elected president, he or she must operate within the law, while at the same time using the bully pulpit to do good wherever possible.  This may mean operating within constitutional limits to withdraw federal funds from Planned Parenthood, or working diplomatically to relieve persecuted Christians in other countries, or lobbying for laws that encourage marriage, or sometimes, in rare cases, even going to war.

Individual Christians in government can do these things; the church as a body can’t do any of these things, because they are the prerogative of government.  Still, the church can and should be visible “salt and light” within a society.  Individual Christians are not called to violently protest, but to live peaceful lives and do good.  They are not called to stage political revolutions, but to work within the system to push back on government actions they consider unjust or ungodly.  They are not called to disobey the law, except in extraordinary situations where “We must obey God rather than men.”  The church as a whole is called to reach out, help meet needs, set a godly example, and speak out when necessary.  I’m thankful we live under a government that allows us the freedom to do this, at least so far.

Charlotte: Oh my, Janie! I hardly know where to begin. In some ways we see many things similarly but in many other ways, we have fundamentally different visions.

You seem to be using the words “government” and “bureaucracy” as synonyms. You say: “government by nature is impersonal and (at its best) impartial…” I can see why you say that, given your paradigm.

But in contrast, when I speak of “government” I am talking about the people who do the work of governing within the framework of our guiding documents. In this understanding, the persons who govern should not be impersonal but must act with wisdom and compassion on behalf of the persons within their area of responsibility. In this understanding, the “government” should not be impartial but rather must work to protect the poor and the vulnerable from the rich and the powerful.

You argue that government per se is “God ordained.” I will agree with that but I can only understand what it means based on theological reflection of God’s own way of governing creation. What do the ancient stories and psalms say about God’s stewardship of the earth: its people, its creatures, its water and lands? What do the ancient rules within Israel’s national life say about equity, caring for the poor, and welcoming the stranger? What do the prophets say about governmental leaders, “Shepherds,” who plunder the flock, who abuse the widows and orphans, who make themselves rich at the expense of the poor? I think these are the biblical insights into “God-ordained government” that should best inform a Christian’s understanding even in our own day.

I confess your description of a “Christian president doing good wherever possible” startled me. You will actually claim that defunding health care for poor women is “doing good?” I think you are probably talking about abortion, but Planned Parenthood has played an active role in increasing contraception and family planning so that the abortion rates have dropped dramatically in the past few years. (Federal monies are not used to fund abortions.) How on earth can a pro-life, “Christian” lawmaker justify defunding an organization that promotes life and health in such a variety of ways?

And as I recall, our last Christian president did lobby for laws that encourage marriage; marriage equality – and the Conservative community was up in arms. You speak as if there is only one way to be “Christian.”

“The Church” in America has a long proud history of challenging government prophetically. The Christian community (across several denominations) worked to abolish slavery, to ensure civil rights for people of color, to protect children who were basically enslaved in factories and warehouses. Today many churches and congregations offer sanctuary for immigrants, protecting families from harsh and unforgiving governmental policies. In my understanding, these are appropriate ways Christians can be “the hands and the voice” of the Christ for our world.

We promised to engage in this dialogue with an honest effort to hear each other out, not to try to change each other’s minds. I’m glad for that commitment because we sure do see some things differently, don’t we? How do you think we need to continue this conversation next time? Is it time to get back to a discussion on health care in America?

Janie: Thanks for hearing me out.  By “impartial,” I mean that government should not favor either rich or poor, but protect both.  It’s not a crime to grow rich and spend your money as you see fit in this country, but there have been times in our history when our government aided and abetted the rich.  That had to be corrected, and I’m sure it will still need to be corrected, because the rich tend to be the powerful.  And the powerful will always, always, always have an outsized place in government, whether Democratic or Republican.  In fact, the bigger the government, the more clout they will have.  My point is that that the apparatus is too big, too costly, too awkward, too impersonal—and yes, governments are always bureaucratic.  How could they not be?  I still think I’m talking about things as they are, and you’re talking about things as they should be.

Speaking of things as they are (sigh), it looks like the ACA is here to stay, until we get a single-payer system.  Pros and cons?

 

Happily Ever After for Real

Is it a coincidence that so many fairy tales and traditional stories in the western tradition end with a wedding?  But they never continue with a marriage, beyond “and they lived happily ever after.”

It’s as if the wedding itself is what the story was reaching for, even though it may have looked like the story was about conquering fear or receiving one’s just reward o forgiving one’s enemies.  The reward of the hero or heroine’s striving is consummation—literal, spiritual, and social.  The marriage that follows the wedding is an induction into what we might call real life: establishment and responsibility.  One life merges with another and produces new life—more individuals who will set off from safe homes on dangerous missions to become who they are and receive marriage as a reward, from which they will make homes for the next wave of individuals to set out and become  . .

The marriage is not the story, because happily-ever-after is not an essential conflict.  Marriage brackets the story; it’s the home-situation at the beginning and the fading horizon at the end.  It’s what we came from and what we are going toward.

I wonder if one reason for the dissolution of the family in modern American society is that we’re trying to make marriage the story, instead of the launchpad and culmination of the story.

Here’s what I mean.  Stories are about struggle.  Every story has to have a conflict, and the essential conflict is how the individual makes peace with the world (or the situation).  Stories are about individuals, not groups.  Even those interminable James Michener sagas that unfold the history of an entire nation or a group of people could only work by zooming in on the experience of individuals throughout the centuries.  In a story the individual is always at war—with social norms, with injustice, with rivals for glory, goods, or affection, with the darker or less admirable traits within, or any combination of these.

There’s no better visual illustration of conflict, perhaps, than distinctions between male and female.  She is soft where he is tough; she relates while he competes; she nurtures while he protects, and so on.  (I am aware that these are stereotypes, but stereotypes are built on fact.)

How can an individual man or woman be at peace?  How can disparate personalities reconcile?  That’s the question asked in all great fiction: Will Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stop looking past each other?  Will Belle recognize her love for the Beast before it’s too late?  Will Anna silence her guilty conscience and find happiness with Vronsky?

And the greatest conflict of all, though not fictional: Can a holy God be reconciled with an unholy and rebellious people?

Classic stories—often, not always–ended in marriage, even if they’re weren’t primarily love stories, and even if it wasn’t the main character getting married.  It’s only in modern times that stories have come to be about marriage.  It’s easy to see why: two people striving for harmony, especially if they’re as different as male and female, is rich material for drama.  Novels about marriage can be insightful and rewarding—as fiction.  Making marriage your story in real life can be asking for trouble.

Making marriage your story in real life can be asking for trouble.

Because, remember, stories are all about fighting.  If it ends in defeat, it’s a tragedy.  If in victory (meaning reconciliation), it’s a comedy.   A classic Christian marriage is mutual surrender where each says to the other: I’m no longer just me.  I’m part of us.  I’ve fought my fight and made my peace; I’ve figured out how to be us while still being me.

Past generations understood that, which is why divorce was so rare even if the union wasn’t happy.

I’m not saying that marriage was not a challenge in the past, or that the two individuals within a marriage had no more growing up to do.  But moderns want to carry on the struggle.  Instead of settling into boring old happily-ever-after and pouring their energies into the next generation, they (we?) want to continue the quest for self-fulfillment and discovery and drama.  Marriage is part of our plot: Will Dan find happiness with Diana, or is his real future with Donald?  One thing for sure: he will never settle for fading into the woodwork.

Instead of settling into boring old happily-ever-after and pouring their energies into the next generation, we want to continue the quest for self-fulfillment and drama.

Marriage is not supposed to be the plot: it’s supposed to be the woodwork—or the floor, or the scaffolding that will launch the stories of our children.  That’s why fairy tales have to end with a wedding: the individual has found her place and joined hands with another to form a community.  That was a reflection of real life.  If we could examine all the monogamous marriages throughout history until today, we would find that some were heaven, some were hell, and the vast majority were good enough—all weaving together to build a platform for the next generation.

With ever more people acting out their conflicts within the marriage, or not bothering to marry at all, the platform is crumbling.  New generations may not even know there supposed to be one—just an ocean of individuals bobbling up and down in a never- ending quest for happiness.

The Bible still ends with a wedding, though.  The marriage will follow and will show us what marriage was supposed to be about, all along: all our struggles ended; finally me; finally us; fully Him.

A Relationship . . . AND a Religion

Look, I get it.

The Christian faith offers friendship,* partnership,* fellowship* and even kinship* with God the
Father through Jesus Christ our Lord.  If you grew up in church and heard this all your life it may be difficult to grasp how mind-bending this is.  But think about it: the Creator of the universe wants to be friends with you.  Let that sink in for a minute.

But if you grew up in a church in the fifties and sixties, you may have been exposed to decades of denominational warfare as one True Church hurled detonated dogma and flaming proof texts at another.  I was raised in One True Church and have been on the receiving end of doctrinal darts from another One True Church, so I understand how refreshing is the proposition that Jesus is all about relationship, not religion.

But what’s a religion?  If we mean “rules whereby we set ourselves apart and gain God’s favor, unlike the ignorant, oblivious and stubborn crowd who don’t see it the way we do,” then yes.  Jesus is not about that kind of religion.  He had some hard words to say against what we might call dead orthodoxy.

However, when we don’t lean on our own understanding or experience but turn to an accepted authority (such as the dictionary), religion is “1.a. a belief in and reverence for a supernatural power; b. a system grounded in such belief and worship.”  In that light, what strong conviction about life and purpose is not a religion?

The groundwork of relationship, the necessary actions taken to make that relationship possible, the need to take those actions and the form the relationship takes—that’s all religion, in the dictionary sense.  Religion defines the relationship, like wedding vows define a marriage.  Religion is the house where the relationship flourishes.  The first Christ-followers, who should have something to tell us, followed a religion.  They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching (Acts 2:42) on which the church of Christ was built (Eph. 2:20).

Relationship without religion has its limits.  You would think that the disciples who actually knew Jesus, who walked and talked and ate with him day by day, had a rock-solid relationship with him.  Yet when he he expressed some strange and difficult doctrines, a number of them left (John 6:66).  The ones who stayed heard him make some terrible predictions but dismissed them (Luke 18:31-34).  When those terrible things came to pass they scattered like rats from a burning barn.  But they had a relationship, didn’t they?  They loved him.  And yet it wasn’t until he revealed the scope of his mission through the scriptures (Luke 22:44-49) that love found a home, soon to illuminated by the Holy Spirit.

Why does this matter? Because I hear the relationship-not-religion theme more and more and I think it’s coming to mean I can believe what I want about Jesus as long as I love him and he loves me.  What do you think he would say about that?  What did he say about that?

If you love me you will keep my commandments.

Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.

Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ [or ‘friend, friend’?] and not do what I say?

In every believer, the relationship is going to look a little different.  I’m not saying we all have to march in lock-step or bury love in religious observance.  But what I hear out there is an abandonment of the very principle of religion as a body of incontrovertible truth that we live by.  “This is my Son,” says the Father, “Listen to him.” If I’m only listening selectively, before long I’m mostly listening to me.  That’s not good news (gospel) for anybody, least of all me.

_________________________________________

*You are my friends if you do what I command, John 15:14

Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us, II Cor. 5:20

. . . and truly our fellowship is with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, I John 1:3

. . . in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers, Rom. 8:29

 

Family Inclusive, Part Two

They are wiggling in the pew.  They’re grinning their sweet baby smiles at grownups across the aisle.  They are head-butting mom (ouch!) and irritating dad (shh!).  The whole church service takes place against a background of hisses that sound like a snake convention.  You want them in the pews but it’s sweet temporary relief when someone has to be taken to the bathroom.

If Mom and Dad are in agreement it shouldn’t be too hard to plan some devotional time on Saturday (or sometime during the week) that will help prepare the kids for what we’ll be doing on Sunday morning.  But there’s still that hour-long church service to get through without a meltdown.  Granted that there will be some meltdowns (kids being volatile and all), if the church leadership makes a decision to move toward family-inclusive worship, they should also help parents carry it out.  Such as

Children’s Sermons?  Though sympathetic to the idea I’m not a fan, because children’s sermons tend to put the kids (and pastor) on display—rather than meditating on the Lord or feeding on his word, we’re chuckling about how cute they are, especially that moptop who’s trying to stand on his head.  A possible alternative: at one church I visited, there was no special sermon, but the children came forward at the end of the service to lead the closing song.  Each picked an item from a box of rhythm instruments and made a joyful noise with the congregation, all the more joyful because they could finally get up move.  I like this idea–it didn’t break the focus on worship and it probably helped the kids feel a little more a part of things.

Set aside training rooms in lieu of a nursery.  Imagine you’re three-and-a-half.  Church is boring.  You’ve figured out that if you crank it up to a certain decibel level, Mom or Dad will haul you off to the nursery, where there are snacks and toys and room to run around.  This is not rocket science.

But what if, when you get to that level of decibels, Mom or Dad takes you firmly by the hand, walks you to a dark room, and sits down with you in a lap or in a chair beside, and you don’t get up.  No matter how much you scream and cry, these are the options: in the sanctuary with all the folks or in here with Mom or Dad: your choice.  No spanking, no swatting, just you and me and your screams.  For most kids, it only takes a few weeks before they make the better choice (and if they forget down the road, back to the training room).

Of course it’s fine to have a nursery with toys and snacks for the toddlers.  But once you’ve established a pretty reliable two-way communication with a child, usually at some age between two and four, he or she is old enough to sit still.

Establish singing classes.  Once a quarter, or every couple of months, gather the kids for sing-alongs featuring favorite hymns or worship songs.  If they’re regular attendees, they’ll already know these songs, but it means a lot more when they know the backstory or something about the lyricist or composer.  Focus on two to three songs per session, share the story and teach a bit of music theory alongside, such as rhythms, note values, and basic sight-reading.

Alternatively, if there’s time, practice a song in Sunday school.  If you know what the song selections are going to be ahead of time, use some of your pre-service Sunday school time to feature one of them: talk about the lyrics and make up hand motions or body actions to go along.  Or look up American Sign Language (several online sources) for key words, and  teach the children how to sign them.  Use the time to stretch and jump while singing.

Get help from the pastor.  Most pastors will have a sermon prepared by Friday evening.  With a little encouragement, they might be willing to write a three-point outline, with the key text or texts and major illustrations, and email it out to all families with children by Saturday morning.  That would make excellent devotional material: for instance, read the text and talk about the context, then speculate where Pastor will end up with the three points (or whatever).  A creative pastor might even have suggestions for the family devotional, such as words to listen for, definitions or Bible characters to know, or specific questions that will be answered.

Children’s bulletins.  You can buy books of reproducible bulletins at Lifeway and Mardel stores.  Not a bad idea, but if the bulletin has no relation to the sermon topic or anything else, it’s just another distraction to keep them quiet.  Another idea: if someone in the congregation is a creative educator with access to a simple publishing program, he or she might be willing to create customized children’s bulletins to copy and hand out on Sunday.  My former pastor used to email a sermon outline on Friday (unless circumstances interfered), and I would separate the main points, write summaries, and assemble clip art illustrations.  This took time, but for the most part—except when really crunched for the same—I thought it was fun.  Obviously, not everyone can do it, but it’s something to consider.

Here’s a .pdf of one example, a Christmas bulletin from several years ago.

If we consider kids to be “Covenant Children” (part of God’s family), the church as a whole should take some part in worship training.  This can be as simple as getting to know the children and sitting beside them in the pew, like a substitute “church grandma” or “church uncle.”  At the very least, it means complementing the kids when they sit quietly and encouraging the parents when they don’t.

Family Inclusive . . . But How?

There’s didn’t used to be a name for it; families just did it.  There was no children’s church or kid’s club–except for crying babies, who had their time out in the “cry room,” all ages sat through worship together.  I sat by my grandfather and begged cough drops and Juicy Fruit gum, studied the glossy illustrations in my King James Bible, re-read my Sunday school papers, drew in the margins and eventually (as the years went by) started paying attention.  I also remember being taken out a few times. That was bad news.  Nobody wanted to be taken out.

But somehow we got away from all the fuss and bother of little kids in church–so far away, that to get back we have to call it something in order to distinguish ourselves: Family Inclusive.  It’s a welcome development in a lot of ways but since it’s no longer the norm, moms and dads may have to be a little more intentional: Just how to you train little ones to sit still in church?

Step One: recognize that you’re not just training them to sit still in church.

“Sitting still” may be the immediate goal but it’s not the ultimate goal.  The whole point of keeping children in the worship service is to train them for worship.  I was taught to sit still but I don’t remember being taught what it was all about.  Also, church services have been going more toward spectator sport than active participation.  Keeping young children–say, from the age of two or thereabouts–in worship with us is an on-the-spot, hands-on opportunity to teach them about God and his church and what we mean to him as a body of believers.

Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  But how . . .

Step Two: Preparation. 

First of all, prepare yourself.  If your attitude is we’ll-grit-our-teeth-and-try-to-get-through-another-Sunday-morning, the kids will pick up on that.  I once heard one mom tell another that Sunday was the toughest day of the week for her.  I understand that and appreciate the honesty.  Still . . . it’s not necessarily a state of mind we should just accept, as though for the next five years or so you won’t expect to get anything out of church.  Some Sundays with preschoolers will be a big blur of juggling graham crackers and juice bottles and sitting on the edge of a blowup.  Yet you can ask God to help you overcome your dread of the Sunday morning sanctuary and look forward to  joining the everlasting chorus while you take your little ones another step forward in their walk with Jesus.  It’s a great privilege to be able to do that.  (It really is!)

This blog post made the rounds a few years ago, but it’s worth reading again as a pick-me-up when your spirits are low: Dear Parents with Young Children in Church.

You should also begin to prepare the kids.  Some families attend a traditional church, with a designated Song of Assembly, Song of Praise, Song of Confession, Congregational prayer and offering, Song of Preparation, etc.  Others are more free-wheeling (20 minute praise & worship, testimonials, prayer requests, message).  But every church has some kind of structure or plan for worship times.  Little children should learn why we do those things:  “First we’re going to sing about how great God is.  Then we’ll sing about how sorry we are for our sins . . .”  This kind of preparation leads naturally to

Step Three: Practice

Practice at home.  If you have a regular family devotional time, that’s a terrific opportunity to get prepared.  If you don’t have a regular devotional time, what are you waiting for?  Consider setting aside ten minutes or so on Saturday evening to talk about what we’ll do next morning, and why.  For some of these prep times, if the kids are young enough to find it fun and not corny, stage a mini-worship service with older ones delivering a devotional message or a Bible reading and younger ones suggesting or leading songs.  (If you know anything about music, teach them to beat out rhythms or follow along with simple sight-reading.) This can be fun, but it should never be silly.  We don’t giggle and cut up when we’re talking about God.

Practice listening at home.  If the kids pay attention while you’re reading aloud to them, you know they can do this.  You’ve trained them since they could sit up: first with picture books, then with longer stories, then with full length novels.  So why not find some good sermons online and, once or twice a week, have them sit down and listen for a few minutes.  Before they get up again, they have to tell you something they heard.  They’re used to your voice and know that when you start reading aloud they’ll hear something good.  Now they need to learn to listen to other people, with the understanding that they’ll hear something good from them, too.  Maybe not action packed or roll-on-the-floor funny, but there are all kinds of good.  Start at age four, or whenever verbal skills are up to speed, and ask for four minutes of attention.  If you’re starting at age five, ask for five minutes.  Six-year-olds can sit for six minutes, and so on.  If they can’t repeat anything they heard, have them sit for a few more minutes of listening time and try again.

Practice praying at home.  Of course you already do this, right?  If not, why not?  I’ve been thinking about ways to make prayer more relevant to kids, and hope to have more to say about that later, but most home-prayers are about personal needs and relationships.  The difference in church is corporate prayer, or kneeling before God as a community of believers with group needs.  The Saturday-evening devotional time would be great for praying specifically about the church.  Have the children suggest particular people and share with them specific needs that you know of.  Be sure to pray for the pastor and next day’s worship service, and close the prayer with a petition  that we can all pay attention and be respectful of others.  If a pastoral prayer is part of your regular church service, remind them that they can be praying along with the pastor.

Step Three: Doing ItHey, that sounds like fun! you’re thinking.  Or, Okay: one more thing to add to my to-do list but it might be worthwhile . . . However, you can have a great time playing church on Saturday evening but there’s still Sunday morning to get through: wiggling 3-year-olds, whispering 5-year-olds, sulky pre-teens and a toddler under the pew ripping up visitor cards.  Knowing what it’s all about isn’t the same as doing it.  It’s time to call in reserves and get the whole church on board.  Next week!

In the meantime, more motivation from Gospel Coalition: Four Reasons Your Kids Should Sit with You on Sunday.

Tabernacles in the Air

And behold there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.  And Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good that we are here!  If you wish, I will make three tents here, one or you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.”  Matt. 17:3-4

I’m the world’s most distractible pray-er.  This is a bit like saying I’m the chief of sinners, because voices out there are already saying, Oh no you’re not.  I am.  But I’m sticking to my story.  Just as Paul, chief of sinners, knew what went on in his own heart, so I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.  And I gasp in dismay.

I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.

Here’s what happens.  I have begun a method for praying which is supposed to develop habits of devotion.  Does it work?  I’ll get back to you on that, as I haven’t been doing it very long.  The main idea is to make prayerful responses to specific passages.  So I read the above passage from Matthew and try to think of Jesus with a face shining like the sun, his clothes white as light:

That would be something to see . . . wish I’d been there . .  What do I need to mine from this passage?  What can I write about—No, don’t go there (always fishing for material to write about)—focus!  Three tabernacles; what would they look like? . . . Sounds like a praise and worship song: Lord, it’s good for us to be here . . . . Would make a cool Sunday Morning parody, like . . . No wait, where was I?  Focus!  What was the original tabernacle for?  What’s Peter thinking—like, some kind of first-century church camp meeting?  Camping retreat . . . Hey, how many people at church would be interested in a camping retreat?  Great way to bond . . . Should I bring it up, or . . . Or do I want to be the organizer because nobody else will . . . Did I remember to defrost the ham?

You see the problem here.  Can anyone relate?

Eventually—before too long—I feel conscience brandishing a whip to get my straying thoughts back in line.  Now it occurs to me that I’m tabernacle-building, just like Peter.  I assume he was much more focused than I on the splendid sight right before his eyes, but he was not overwhelmed into speechlessness.  Mark says he didn’t know what to say (Mark 9:6), in which case he shouldn’t have said anything.  But he was still weirdly distracted. The sight that should have filled his head and drawn all his worship and awe sends him in a sideways direction: What can we do with this?  I know!

The rebuke from above redirects him, and us: Don’t speculate—look!  Don’t talk—listen!  And specifically, Listen to him.

Why is that so hard for us?  Even—or especially—in the quiet and solitude of prayer.

He made us to think and he made us creative; that’s the positive side.  The negative side is that we seek out many schemes (Eccl. 7:29), or find a way to twist every good gift, such as direct access to the Father through the Son, and use the opportunity even there to build our own tabernacles.

God made us for himself, but we find all kinds of ways to take ourselves back.  Plunking down on the altar every morning, and then crawling right off.  Back on, back off.  It gives a different meaning to “wrestling in prayer.”  Rather than wrestling with God, as I think the idea is supposed to represent, I’m head-blocking and pinning myself while God stands patiently aside, waiting to get my attention again.

But you notice, I did come up with enough material to write about it.  As creatively wool-gathering as I am, God is more creative still.  While I find a way to wander, he finds a way to use the wandering.  Just think how much better it would be if I could stay in one place and let him do the building!

Wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?

These distracted occasions usually end with petitions for forgiveness, and thanks for the same.  Still: wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ!  He saves us through himself rather than handing down a self-improvement plan.

Still, does anybody have any helpful suggestions for staying on point?