Whose table?

The Symposium concluded today, leaving me with a 2 1/2-hour drive home and much to ponder on it, and for time to come (and no doubt a lot to comment on as well). As always, it concluded with a communion service. For some reason, as we celebrated the sacrament, I found myself feeling somewhat detached and disconnected. This was strange—as a pastor, I’m usually the celebrant, and I relish opportunities just to receive—and it concerned me. Was something wrong with me? Was I failing to do my part?

And then, though I wouldn’t say my mind cleared (or my heart, for that matter), I did remember something important: this isn’t my work. The sacrament isn’t something I do, and it isn’t about anything I do; I wouldn’t say that just showing up is enough, or that it doesn’t matter at all how I receive it, but fundamentally, like all of worship, it’s not about me. It’s not about anything I do, and it’s not my own effort or my own piety or my own anything that makes it meaningful, or makes it work. It’s all about God, and what he did in Christ—it’s his table, not mine—and what he did is valid regardless of how I happen to be feeling about it at any given point; however focused or not I might be, however pious or not I might be feeling, what matters is simply that I receive it, and that I do so with gratitude whether I feel that gratitude or not. Repentance is accepting being found.

In the wilderness

One of the sessions on my schedule today was Michael Card and Calvin Seerveld teaching on lament in corporate worship. The highlight of the session for me was this sentence: “All true worship begins in the wilderness.” We don’t tend to think that way—we tend to treat our worship services as oases, as if we could shut out the wilderness and pretend it isn’t there; but it’s the truth. All true worship begins with God calling us in the wilderness—in the midst of our struggles and pains and difficulties—and us bringing ourselves to God in response to his call. All of ourselves; God wants nothing less. If we try to begin our worship anywhere else, if we try to leave the wilderness out (or keep it out) of our worship, then to a greater or lesser extent, we’re being fake with God—and that’s false worship.

Scott Hoezee (that’s pronounced “José,” for those unfamiliar with Dutch names) made a similar point in the worship service yesterday morning, preaching on Hebrews 2. The author of Hebrews draws on Psalm 8 to make his claim that everything has been placed in subjection to Jesus, and that “everything” means everything; Jesus Christ is Lord of everything and everybody, no ifs, ands, or buts, and has authority over all of it. And then, just when you might expect another round statement about the power and greatness of Jesus, you get instead this honest confession, “At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him.” As Scott put it, “And the people of God said, ‘No kidding.’ . . . It’s the sort of statement where you don’t know whether to say ‘Amen’ or ‘Duh!'”

When we look around, we most definitely don’t see everything in subjection to Jesus; we see a cracked, fallen, messed up, evil-infected world. “But,” continues Hebrews, “we see Jesus.” Though we don’t see him reigning unchallenged as Lord, we nevertheless see him “crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone”; we see him who entered into our world, and into our suffering, and bore it with us, and for us. And we see that it’s because of that that all things have been placed in subjection to him—and that until that is fully realized, we see him in it with us. Which means that if we deny the reality of our fallen world in our worship—if we fail to begin in the wilderness—then we do him no honor, for we are in effect denying his work and his presence.

Repentance: accepting being found

First day of the symposium: seminar with Kenneth Bailey on “Jesus as Theologian” and plenary session with Dallas Willard on “Worship as the Fine Texture of Life in Christ.” In other words, an embarrassment of riches, and certainly more to think about than I can absorb in one day—and it’s only the beginning. One thing that particularly struck me, though, was this from Dr. Bailey’s analysis of the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Luke 15:1-7):

Repentance is defined as acceptance of being found. The sheep is lost and helpless and yet it is a symbol of repentance. Repentance becomes a combination of the shepherd’s act of rescue and the sheep’s acceptance of that act.

In other words, our repentance is one more act of the grace of God, not our hard work in which we can take pride, but something God does for us which we gratefully receive. In the later (and better-known) Parable of the Two Lost Sons (usually miscalled the Parable of the Prodigal Son), the prodigal’s repentance doesn’t come in the far country—that’s just a scheme to work his way back into favor; his repentance comes in the village, when his heart breaks at his father’s sacrifice for him, and he accepts being found; he accepts being welcomed back into the family without his having earned it.

The gift of worship

Continuing with the “random Web discovery” thing, here’s something else I missed during the moving process. Hap had embedded this video in one of her posts last month, but I only just discovered it, apparently by chance, this morning. (“Apparently by chance” being a pseudonym for the Holy Spirit.) Since I’m heading off this evening for the Symposium on Worship that the Calvin Institute for Christian Worship puts on every January (it starts tomorrow), the topic is very much on my mind.

I’ll comment a bit more on this later.

Another sort of different

It’s amazing what you can find randomly wandering around the Internet. Usually, you don’t (or at least I don’t), but there are times when Web panning turns up a nugget. I was surfing aimlessly yesterday for a couple minutes while my brain tried to track something down, and I landed at Doug Hagler’s blog, only to find myself in the blogroll. I would not have expected that. Doug’s good people from what I can tell—we’ve never met personally, I only know him from around the blogosphere, and primarily from his comments on Jim Berkley’s blog—but he and I don’t agree on a whole lot. (I would have said we don’t agree on much of anything, but from his blog, it’s evident we agree on Tolkien, anyway.) Doug’s one of those folks in the More Light/Covenant Network stream of the PC(USA), and I’m . . . slightly not. Still (especially these days), one is always grateful for those with whom one can disagree intelligently and civilly, because there can be real value to those conversations; and I’d certainly put Doug in that category. (Besides, you have to like someone who can write, “You’re only allowed to take me as seriously as I take myself. That should serve to restrain both of us.”) As such, I’m happy to return the favor and add him to the blogroll. I’d especially recommend his post on eucatastrophe, which is perhaps my favorite of Tolkien’s concepts. (This all ties in with my earlier post on Alison Milbank’s book.)

I should also note, I’m grateful to Doug for tipping me off to a development I’d missed during the whole packing/moving process: Peter Jackson has settled his legal squabble with New Line Cinema, and he and Fran Walsh are back on board to do The Hobbit (and also a sequel; my wife was wondering if they’re planning to make a movie of the journey back home, which Tolkien completely glossed over). There are legitimate criticisms to offer of the work Jackson, Walsh and Philippa Boyens did with LOTR, but that said, I can’t come up with anyone who would have done a better job. Jackson et al. doing The Hobbit is clearly the best-case scenario, and I’m glad to see it.

Forgiveness, repentance, and the Gordian knot

A while back, I commented on Dr. Stackhouse’s first post on repentance and forgiveness, which was the beginning of his reflections on Advent this year; I meant to go back when he posted the second part and comment on that too, but other things distracted me, and I’m just now getting back to it. As with the first part, it’s an excellent piece, one which directs our attention to the key truth in understanding repentance and forgiveness: our sins aren’t just between us human beings, they’re between us and God. The Psalmist even goes so far as to say to God, “Against you and you only have I sinned” (Psalm 51:4).

This means that when we sin against someone else, or when they sin against us, we aren’t inextricably bound to them by that action; we aren’t enslaved by their refusal to repent, or by their refusal to forgive us if we repent. God is the one against whom the offense was ultimately committed, and he gives us the opportunity to free ourselves from it. We are free to forgive the one who hurt us even if they do not repent, because it’s not up to us to bring about their repentance (or their judgment)—that’s in God’s hands; and we are free to repent and receive forgiveness even if those on this earth whom we’ve hurt will not forgive, because God can and will forgive us, if we truly confess our sins to him and repent. (As Dr. Stackhouse notes, “the Bible says surprisingly little about repenting to each other, and a lot about repenting to God.”)

One of the ways in which our sin enslaves us is by binding us together in Gordian knots of guilt and pain and suffering and shame, knots we often cannot seem to undo no matter how hard we try, even though we were the ones who tied them. In Christ, however, God calls us to repent of our sins and be forgiven, and to forgive one another, and thus to cut that Gordian knot, and find freedom. In so doing, as the Rev. Casey Jones says, we can leave behind this world’s way of life and enter into the life of the kingdom of God here and now. This is good news; this is gospel.

(Note: subscription required for that last article; but the first month’s subscription to Presbyweb is free.)

And now for something completely different

29 “And these are unclean to you among the swarming things that swarm on the ground: the mole rat, the mouse, the great lizard of any kind, 30 the gecko, the monitor lizard, the lizard, the sand lizard, and the chameleon. 31 These are unclean to you among all that swarm. Whoever touches them when they are dead shall be unclean until the evening. 32 And anything on which any of them falls when they are dead shall be unclean, whether it is an article of wood or a garment or a skin or a sack, any article that is used for any purpose. It must be put into water, and it shall be unclean until the evening; then it shall be clean. 33 And if any of them falls into any earthenware vessel, all that is in it shall be unclean, and you shall break it. 34 Any food in it that could be eaten, on which water comes, shall be unclean. And all drink that could be drunk from every such vessel shall be unclean. 35 And everything on which any part of their carcass falls shall be unclean. Whether oven or stove, it shall be broken in pieces. They are unclean and shall remain unclean for you. 36 Nevertheless, a spring or a cistern holding water shall be clean, but whoever touches a carcass in them shall be unclean. 37 And if any part of their carcass falls upon any seed grain that is to be sown, it is clean, 38 but if water is put on the seed and any part of their carcass falls on it, it is unclean to you.”

—Leviticus 11:29-38, ESV

Some number of years ago, my friend Hap wrote a poem dealing, in part, with what happens when a dead gecko falls into your pot. She was good enough to send me a copy; unfortunately, thanks to the magic of cross-country moves, I don’t know where my copy is. (Update: problem solved. Too perfect. 🙂 Thanks, Hap. To the rest of you—go and read.)Anyway, it turns out there’s good reason the Torah is only worried about dead geckos falling into your pot; apparently, though I didn’t know this, gecko feet are among the wonders of nature, maybe up there with the fact that bumblebees can fly. Certainly they were as mysterious as the flight of the bumblebee. I love the picture Heather McDougal paints:

Traveling in Southeast Asia, geckos on the ceiling were a common occurrence. They would stake out territory, chasing each other away with vehemently waving tails, as if they did not notice they were in the middle of a rough, lumpy, peeling ceiling, hanging upside-down. I would lay in my bed and watch them fight, wondering why one of them did not fall on my face. As it turns out, no one else knew either until relatively recently.

The answer to the puzzle is a fascinating one (or at least, I think it is). Go read the post and see if you agree. Personally, it makes me marvel at the incredible imagination of God.

God’s own fools

18 For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 19 For it is written,

“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,and the discernment of the discerning I
will thwart.”

20 Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21 For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. 22 For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, 23 but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25 For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

26 For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. 27 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; 28 God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, 29 so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. 30 And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31 so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”

—1 Corinthians 1:18-31, ESV

God’s foolishness begins with a crucified Messiah, but it doesn’t end there. If God’s use of the cross is foolish on our terms, is it any less foolish that he chooses to use us? Put it another way—if you were God and wanted to fix the world, would you start with us? I don’t know about you, but I think I’d be inclined to focus on the important people, the ones who control the world’s governments, media, money, etc.

Once again, though, God doesn’t work that way. He certainly wants to save the rich and powerful just as much as anyone else, but he doesn’t focus on them; rather, he chooses the weak, the powerless, the insignificant, the foolish—he chooses ordinary people, and many of the weakest and most vulnerable among us—in order to show up those who think they are powerful and important and don’t need him. God does this because we matter to him as much as those in power do, but he also chooses us to make it clear that there is no one who has the right to boast in themselves; there is no one who does not need him, and no one who can stand against him. There is no one he cannot raise up, and no one he cannot bring down.

We are called as Christians to be fools in the world’s eyes; our salvation is foolishness to the world, and the idea that God would choose to use us is foolishness, so if we are to follow God we must choose his foolishness over the world’s wisdom. We’re called to follow Jesus Christ, God’s own fool, and to live in this world as he did. He turns to us as he did to Peter and says, “Come, follow me”; if we protest, “Lord, they think you’re a fool,” he just says, “Come be a fool with me.”

But what does that mean? Clearly, we aren’t called to random acts of foolishness, after all; we’re called to be fools like Jesus. Just as he valued doing God’s will over all the things the world thinks important—comfort, success, material well-being, and the like—so should we. More than that, just as he valued doing God’s will more highly than his own life, accepting suffering and death in his Father’s service, so should we. In the world’s eyes, this is foolish; but to us who are being saved, it is the power and the wisdom of God.

“He is no fool who would choose to give the things he cannot keep
to buy what he can never lose.”
—Jim Elliott

God’s own fool, part II

(I was originally intending just one more post on this, but now I think it will work better as two separate posts.)The following is an actual ad placed in an Irish newspaper some years ago: “1985 Blue Volkswagen Golf. Only 15 km; only 1 driver. Only first gear and reverse used. Never driven hard. Original tires; original brakes. Original fuel and oil. Owner wishing to sell due to employment lay-off.” Sound a little odd? Take a look at the picture.

The conventional wisdom is, you need a car . . . Sometimes, though, following the conventional wisdom is a pretty foolish thing to do. Conversely, sometimes those the conventional wisdom calls foolish aren’t fools at all. Sometimes they’re actually three steps ahead of the rest of us. Take the example of Fred Smith, the founder of Federal Express and the man who created the overnight delivery which we now take for granted. He first proposed this in a paper when he was a student at Yale University; the professor gave him a C, telling Smith that his idea was interesting but couldn’t be done. Smith went ahead and did it anyway, even though a Ph.D. had told him he was foolish. We know who was right.The thing is, the world just isn’t as wise as it thinks it is, and so sometimes you have to be willing to be a fool in order to get anywhere. Which might sound like a truism, but it’s an important thing to remember. Even in the church, too often we get caught up in the conventional wisdom about life, and when that happens we start to judge the gospel by the standards of the world’s wisdom, or to try to make it fit with what we consider wise. The problem with that is that it’s a demand that God play by our rules, and he’s just not going to honor that; he’s not going to conform the truth to our idea of wisdom. The gospel is not wisdom by any human standard—it is a contradiction to human wisdom.God’s foolishness begins with a crucified Messiah. Many of us have gotten used to this, as Easter goes by every year, but if you really stop to think about it, it’s crazy. As the great New Testament scholar Gordon Fee put it, “No mere human, in his or her right mind or otherwise, would ever have dreamed up God’s scheme for redemption—through a crucified Messiah. It is too preposterous, too humiliating, for a God.” Put another way, no self-respecting God would put himself through something like that—becoming human, sharing all the unpleasant and messy parts of life, and then submitting to be tortured to death—and for what? For us? Surely that’s beneath God’s dignity, isn’t it? Yes, it is; no self-respecting God would do a thing like that—which tells us something very important about God: he will never let his dignity get in the way of his love for us.If the whole idea of a crucified Messiah is God’s foolishness, then surely Jesus was God’s designated fool; and for all that we tend to think of him as a great wise man and a great teacher, he made a lot of those around him think he was a fool, or worse. It wasn’t long into his ministry before Jesus had convinced his family that he was insane, and the priests that he was possessed by Satan himself. After all, he just didn’t act like a normal person, and his teaching challenged almost everything the religious leaders taught, in one way or another. He upset people’s expectations, and sometimes their furniture; and when he started to explain things to his disciples, it only upset them, too.Jesus just wasn’t what anyone was looking for. The Jews knew what Messiah would look like; he would come with signs of God’s power and lead his people out of their captivity, just as Moses had done so long before. The Greeks, on the other hand, being the philosophical types, had their systems and divided the world into all its appropriate boxes; they were looking for a perfectly reasonable God who fit their system, who fit into their boxes. Both were sure they had God all figured out; to both, the idea of a crucified God was scandalous—indeed, it was insane.And yet, it was through this crazy plan—and this equally crazy Messiah—that God saved the world. It wasn’t through any of our own work or our own wisdom that God saved us, not even the best we could offer; in his own wisdom, God saw to that. Though this all looks foolish to the unaided eye, God’s foolishness outsmarts our wisdom. Christ’s crucifixion, the ultimate act of powerlessness, is the ultimate act of God’s power; his crucifixion, which is complete foolishness to those who are lost, is the ultimate act of his wisdom. We don’t have the choice to look for some wiser way, because there isn’t one; we can only trust God and be saved by his wise foolishness, or cling to our own wisdom and be lost.

God’s Own Fool

OK, so this one is Erin’s fault; I got along exploring her blog after her response (which I very much appreciated) to the meme I started, and ran across her post on foolishness and God. Apparently it’s part of a synchroblog that she and some other folks have going; but while I might not resonate with this in the same way as they do, this is something with which I resonate powerfully nonetheless. It begins with Jesus, God’s designated Fool; and it ends with us, his designated fools. I’ll talk about that tomorrow. For now, I want to let Michael Card do the talking, because I’ve always loved this song.
God’s Own Fool

It seems I’ve imagined Him all of my life
As the wisest of all of mankind;
But if God’s holy wisdom is foolish to men,
He must have seemed out of His mind.
For even His family said He was mad,
And the priests said, “A demon’s to blame”;
But God in the form of this angry young man
Could not have seemed perfectly sane.

When we in our foolishness thought we were wise,
He played the fool and He opened our eyes;
When we in our weakness believed we were strong,
He became helpless to show we were wrong.
And so we follow God’s own fool,
For only the foolish can tell;
Believe the unbelievable—
Come, be a fool as well.

So come lose your life for a carpenter’s son,
For a madman who died for a dream,
And you’ll have the faith His first followers had,
And you’ll feel the weight of the beam.
So surrender the hunger to say you must know,
Have the courage to say, “I believe,”
For the power of paradox opens your eyes
And blinds those who say they can see.

ChorusWords and music: Michael Card
© 1985 Mole End Music
From the album
Scandalon, by Michael Card

More tomorrow.