it’s a wonderful thing being married to someone smarter than me. As I was putting together the retrospective post before this one (the first one I’ve done in a couple months), I was pointed again to a post my wife put up nearly two years ago now, addressed to some dechurched bloggers we’d gotten to know online, asking them, “What would it take for you to give us a chance?” It’s a wonderful post, as Sara really lays out well our desire for our little church to be a congregation that’s wide open to the reality of each other, in all our messiness and all our struggles and all our darkness as well as all our strengths and triumphs—and thus, as a consequence, wide open to whatever Jesus might want to do in and with and through each of us, and all of us together. I thought she was right on then, and I’m only more convinced of it now.
Category Archives: Church and ministry
On not apologizing for Christmas
This past Advent, I preached a sermon series on the women mentioned in Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus—Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and of course Mary. (If you’re interested, you can find the texts of the series here, starting at the bottom of the page and working up.) It was the second time for that particular series, as I had preached it four years before in Colorado (though of course all the sermons were revised to one degree or another, since I’m a better preacher now than I was then; at least, I hope I am). It didn’t meet with the same degree of acceptance here as it had there, though; that probably shouldn’t have surprised me, since I know well the difference in culture between the small-town Midwest and the West, but it did. This was probably the first time I’ve ever met significant congregational resistance to an entire sermon series, with a number of people pronouncing themselves offended because “the sermons were so explicit” (or so I was told, at least; nobody would tell me who was offended, of course, since then I might actually be able to talk with them about it), and even the suggestion being made that perhaps I should apologize for the series.
I do not apologize for it; in fact, I insist on it, for good theological reasons. For one thing, I do not share the evident presumption of many that any pastoral offense must necessarily be grounds for apology. Indeed, though there are certainly exceptions, I believe that the problem with most American pastors is not offensiveness but inoffensiveness—we fail far less often because we offend people than because we water down the truth and dodge necessary conflict in a determined effort to avoid doing so at any cost. Though I do not compare myself to Jesus (as no one should, except to see just how incredibly far short we fall), I can’t help remembering that we worship a Savior who was frequently, bluntly, and often spectacularly offensive to the respectable people of his day. He was only “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” to the sinners who knew they were sinners in desperate need of grace. To those who thought they were doing just fine, if he ever pulled a punch, I’ve yet to find it.
This is not of course to say, or even to suggest, that offending people is therefore a good thing in and of itself, or that it’s always defensible; far from it. It is, however, to say that there is such a thing as holy offense, and that sometimes the only way to avoid offending people is to avoid preaching the word of God, and particularly the gospel of Jesus Christ. Put another way, if we are going to be faithful representatives of Jesus Christ on this earth, sometimes we’re going to offend people, and sometimes that’s absolutely necessary and important. The only question is, are we offending people for the right reasons?
Of course, even when the answer to that question might be “yes,” it can be at best a qualified “yes,” because our own flaws, limitations, errors in judgment, and of course sin always mar even our most excellent efforts. I have no doubt, for instance, that there were things in those messages that I did not do as I should have. For one thing, I manifestly failed to make clear to the congregation what I was doing with the series, and what my purposes were in preaching it—perhaps in part because, though I could easily have done a better job on the first part, I hadn’t really stopped to clearly articulate my purposes beyond a vague sense as to what I was doing. To make it sufficiently clear to them, I would first have had to do that work for myself.
Which isn’t to say that I didn’t know what I was on about, merely that I hadn’t taken enough time to bring that fully into focus (a fact which no doubt weakened the messages). In the first place, this series was (and is) aimed squarely at the debilitating sentimentality that clings in sticky cotton-candy clouds to our celebration of Christmas and our understanding of the Incarnation. We have this powerful image of Jesus the innocent and helpless, the perfect baby boy, which is certainly all true enough—but we’ve let it grow like kudzu all across the December landscape, choking out our ability to see anything else.
If we take Christmas seriously, this must be in truth a disturbing and unsettling holiday, the first intimation that we worship a God who is profoundly and disquietingly unsafe, not because he isn’t good, but because he utterly defies either our prediction or our control. It’s the first hint that we don’t worship a nice, respectable, moral God, but one who—while, yes, he certainly does proclaim a moral code—refuses to be constrained by any moral code we would consider reasonable (or to allow his commandments to be so constrained, either). It’s the first warning that God will not respect our conventions and our standards, but in fact is on about subverting them. It’s the first indication that reality is not going to conform to our expectations, that there is indeed more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy—and that in fact, in the last analysis, the fool may know more of how things really work than the wise.
In other words, at the heart of the message of Christmas is an announcement that God is not going to play by our rules or abide by our proprieties and protocols; it is the grand upending of our expectations and the complete upskittling of our comfortable assumptions. It isn’t a Hallmark-card moment in history, but a crashing, rocketing, tearing scandal—and as Matthew shows us, and as I was at some pains to show in that sermon series, that scandal is embedded in the story going all the way back to the early days of Jesus’ family line. It is implicit in the story of Jesus, as it must be, because Jesus comes among us as the ultimate subversive: he must necessarily subvert our expectations of him, because he comes to subvert the governing tragedy of all of human history.
Jesus wasn’t born to be nice, and he wasn’t born to teach us to be nice; respectability and propriety, while they have their place, weren’t what he was about, and he would not be bound by them if they were being used for purposes contrary to his own. The stories of Jesus’ ancestresses show us clearly that God can work to carry out his plan even through people whose morality is uncertain and whose grasp on his character is sketchy at best, and that he can turn even deeds which scandalize the upright, done by those who are outside the pale, into elements of his glorious work—and if we do not understand this, then we cannot understand why Jesus was born to an unwed mother among the common people, why he was feared and loathed by the most religious people of his day, or why they contrived to have him killed.
Indeed, if we do not understand this, then we cannot understand why he died, much less why he rose again, for this is the reality and the mystery of redemption. Redemption isn’t for the worthy—whether for those we consider worthy, or those who consider themselves worthy—it’s for those who know and confess themselves unworthy. Which fact is, inevitably, offensive to many who are unwilling to do so, including many whose unwillingness is rooted in their perception of themselves as “nice Christian people.” Which is, in the end, why these are the stories the church needs to hear, if we’re to be true followers of the Christ whose name we claim.
For the blessings of the evening
Every once in a while, I hear a sermon that really shifts me, one through which God speaks to me and works in me in such a way that I know I have been changed. I had that privilege this morning at the Worship Symposium as Laura Truax brought us the word of God; I’m going to listen to this one again once the audio is up, and take some time to reflect on it. For now, I’m just thanking God for a truly blessed day.
Dr. Jeremy Begbie’s plenary address was also exceptional (as I expected); he’s also giving the plenary address tomorrow, so I’ll probably wait to write about that until I’ve heard both of them and had the chance to consider them together. I think what he had to say may well produce significant change in my sermon this Sunday, though. The three workshops I attended were also all excellent (I probably won’t write about all of them, but all three were very helpful); and then I get to spend the evening with my brother-in-law and his family. God has definitely poured out riches on me this day, and for that, I am humbly grateful.
To know nothing but the gospel
I heard a sermon recently which infuriated me, and the less said about what, where, and why, the better. It sparked a number of reflections, though, on which I’ve been chewing in the time since, so it wasn’t a total loss. In particular, it provoked this thought: anything which is not the gospel can become an idol. Seriously, anything. Even good things, like love of country (as I’ve written more than once) or love of our family; even godly things, like faithfulness, or holy living, or salvation. Anything which is not the gospel—however close it might be to the gospel—can become an idol, because anything which is not the gospel can be made to be all about us, in one way or another. Only the gospel is purely about Jesus Christ; only the gospel focuses our attention entirely on him; only the gospel tells us that it isn’t about us, it’s all about God. It’s only by making our churches all about the gospel that we can keep them free of the idolatries that will otherwise, inevitably, seep in. Any other focus makes idolatry inevitable, because if we have the opportunity to make church all about us, we’ll take it. Every time.
The old pastor didn’t do it that way . . .
Carol Howard Merritt put up an interesting post early last week about intergenerational differences in work style and approaches to getting things done, and the ways in which those differences affect our churches.
Work looks different. And sometimes it pesters the intergenerational tensions like a chigger just below the skin. There is something annoying and wrong, although we can’t figure out just what it is. Older generations of people cannot point to anything that their younger pastor is not doing. In fact, the church might even be growing, but there is a difference in the manner in which she is getting it done that vexes them.
She lays out differences in the ways we study, the ways in which we communicate, and the work which we do; and though every pastor and every church is different from every other, as generalizations, I think the differences she identifies are quite perceptive. (Certainly her first point is all too familiar to me as something that got me into trouble at the last church I served.) It’s not a long article, but you’ll likely spend more time thinking about it than you do reading it.
Oh, and as a side note, you might pray for the Rev. Merritt, who fell last Wednesday and dislocated her shoulder.
Things good pastors say
The inimitable Jared Wilson has a wonderful post up today titled “10 Things Good Pastors Say” which captures some important truths about ministry. I will note that #1 really does not make one feel like a good pastor—nor, in some cases, does #2, especially when it comes in combination with #1—but that’s one of the reasons why they’re so critical. You don’t say them, you never have the chance to become a good pastor.Here’s the list, and I’ll include his comment for #1; if you want the rest, go read the full post.
1. Please forgive me.
Better than “I’m sorry,” which can often be followed with an “if” or a “but,” these words indicate a humble heart. Bad pastors hide their faults behind the cloak of their authority, practice self-defense against all charges, and basically pretend. Good pastors know they’re sinners and admit it.
2. You’re right.
3. You’re wrong.
4. Jesus loves you.
5. I love you.
6. Me too.
7. Any time.
8. Thank you.
9. Grace is true.
10. You’re approved.
Amen.
Now, who is this church thing about, again?
I was blown away last night by a great post from the Vice Moderator of the 218th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA), the Rev. Byron Wade. I’ve never met him, but I’m confident in saying two things about him: 1) he’s good people, and 2) he’s on the liberal side of things in his beliefs. He was, after all, chosen for this position by the Moderator of that GA, the Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, of whom both those things are also true. (GA always elects liberals.) I’ve had various interactions with Bruce online—on this blog, and his, and Facebook—and I like and respect him a great deal; he’s the sort of person who can disagree with you with grace, respect, affection, and an honest desire to understand where you’re coming from. That’s all too rare (and probably always has been). As such, though I don’t know the man he chose as vice moderator, in my book, Byron Wade comes well recommended for character.
All of this is by way of saying that the following passage comes from someone with a real heart for the church, but not from an evangelical (as in fact he says himself):
The surprising thing that I have heard in my travels is stories about pastors/laity who do not preach and/or mention Jesus Christ. While I have not heard it a lot, it has been said to me enough that it caused me some alarm. . . .
I am in no way a Fundamentalist or a person who is considered an “evangelical street preacher.” What I am saying is that I believe that we who call ourselves followers of Jesus Christ may want to preach him to others, for if we don’t people will go elsewhere. And I would hate to think that we are losing out on witnessing to others because we don’t talk about Jesus.
Byron titled his post (quite properly, I think) “Is it just me or are we supposed to be talking about Jesus?” Read the whole thing—some of the stories he tells truly are worrisome. As I read, two thoughts struck me, both rather sad. First, it’s a wonderful thing to hear this point being made by somebody on the liberal side of the aisle; I don’t say that all liberal Christians shy away from talking about Jesus, but one doesn’t often hear liberals calling out the American church for its Christlessness. Second, several of the stories he tells may perfectly well have happened in churches that consider themselves “evangelical”; when folks like Jared Wilson and Michael Spencer criticize the Jesuslessness of the church in this country, it’s not Ivy League liberals they have in mind.
As such, it’s a good thing to be able to make common cause with more liberal folks like the Vice Moderator to ask the American church together, “Is it just me, or are we supposed to be talking about Jesus?” Who knows—maybe coming from someone like Byron, it will actually scandalize the church into paying attention.
Book recommendations
No, not from me (though I second many of these, and others are on my to-read list), but from a Twitter poll taken by Johnathan McIntosh of Rethink Mission. Since it was mostly a poll of pastoral types, it’s a list of books about God, church, and leadership (including, in the “honorable mention” category, Jared’s book Your Jesus Is Too Safe, which I was glad but not surprised to see there). It’s a great list of great books (with a definite Tim Keller slant—two of his plus the Jesus Storybook Bible, a wonderful work whose author acknowledges her great debt to Dr. Keller with deep gratitude—which I think is a good thing). If you’re looking for something to read, check it out.
Liturgy as the gospel form of worship
I’ve been meaning to post on Collin Hansen’s interview with Brian Chappell (the president of Covenant Seminary in St. Louis) for several weeks now, ever since Jared posted a chunk of it on his own blog. The interview is in relation to the Rev. Dr. Chappell’s latest book, Christ-Centered Worship: Letting the Gospel Shape Our Practice, which I have not yet read but definitely intend on reading, and allows him to make some good points on the subject. For instance, I appreciate his note that there is no such thing as “non-liturgical worship”—every church has a liturgy, only the form of that liturgy varies—and his insistence that what matters is whether the liturgy we use communicates the gospel and directs our attention to Christ.
Liturgy is simply another term for the order of worship. Every church has a liturgy, although it may vary from being quite simple to very ornate. Understanding the gospel-shape of worship allows us to make Christ-centered choices about how the aspects of each church’s liturgy—an opening song, a prayer of confession, or a benediction—are furthering the gospel message in our services. There is no “one right way” to acknowledge the goodness and greatness of God. But knowing that the beginning of the service has this goal allows us to make appropriate liturgical choices about the songs sung, the scriptures read, and/or the prayers offered in the opening phases of a worship service. The same will be true for those aspects of worship that involve confession, assurance, thanksgiving, etc.
The key here is that worship is for God, and thus that everything we do in worship needs to serve that purpose. This isn’t just a matter of the content of our worship, either, but also of its form; as Dr. Chappell puts it,
Christ-centered worship is not just talking or singing about Jesus a lot. Christ-centered worship reflects the contours of the gospel. In the individual life of a believer, the gospel progresses through recognition of the greatness and goodness of God, the acknowledgment of our sin and need of grace, assurance of God’s forgiveness through Christ, thankful acknowledgment of God’s blessing, desire for greater knowledge of him through his Word, grateful obedience in response to his grace, and a life devoted to his purposes with assurance of his blessing.
In the corporate life of the church this same gospel pattern is reflected in worship. Opening moments offer recognition of the greatness and goodness of God that naturally folds into confession, assurance of pardon, thanksgiving, instruction, and a charge to serve God in response to his grace in Christ. This is not a novel idea but, in fact, is the way most churches have organized their worship across the centuries. . . .
Just as the sacraments re-present the fundamental aspects of the gospel in symbol, and the sermon does so in words, so also the worship of the church re-presents the gospel in its pattern.
This means that our worship practices need to be based not on pragmatic considerations and personal preferences, but on the gospel. Dr. Chappell puts it well when he says,
If church leaders try to establish a style of worship based upon their preferences or based upon satisfying congregants’ competing preferences, then the church will inevitably be torn apart by the politics of preference. But if the leadership is asking the missional questions of “Who is here?” and “Who should be here?” in determining worship styles and practices, then the mission of the church will enable those leaders to unite around gospel goals that are more defensible and uniting than anyone’s personal preference. These gospel goals will never undermine the gospel contours of the worship service, but rather will ask how each gospel aspect can be expressed in ways that best minister to those present and those being reached for Christ’s glory.
It’s a great interview, with a lot of important insights. Go check it out.
Scandalizing the church
Over a couple weeks of being head-down with the congregation, one of the things I didn’t do was keep up with Jared Wilson’s blog, The Gospel-Driven Church; so now I’m catching up. I was interested to note that at the top right now is a post, which I think is a repost, dealing with the need to convert the church to the gospel. As Jared sums things up,
We are in a weird—but frequently exhilarating—position where the gospel is scandalous even to Christians.
The main thing I would suggest is that you go read the post—and also the one a couple posts down, which is a critical evaluation of Rob Bell’s statements in a recent interview, because I think they really tie together. Why is it that the gospel is scandalous to many in the church? Why is it that people have learned to look to the church for things other than the gospel? Because we’ve had an orientation in the American church for several decades now toward focusing on and addressing felt needs, whether in individuals (the conservative wing) or in society (the liberal wing), which makes people comfortable (and thus more likely to come, give $$$, etc.), rather than challenging people and making them uncomfortable by driving them to consider their true, deep need: their total inability to do anything on their own to please God, and their total need for the gospel of salvation through the grace of God alone, by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone, through the power of the Holy Spirit alone, “not by works, lest anyone should boast.”
What’s the solution? Well, to complete the trifecta, I think Jared lays it out well in the next post down, a comment on his approach to preaching:
I believe our flesh cries out for works, we are wired to worship, and we want to earn salvation, so we know what deeds are good deeds. And we need to be helped with specific advice in specific situations and we need to be reminded to do good, but our most pressing need is to be challenged on that which we forget most easily, which is not more tips for a successful life, but that we are sinners who need grace to have life in the first place.
We all know what good works look like. We just don’t want to do them. And that is a spiritual problem exhortations to good behavior cannot solve. The clearly proclaimed gospel is God’s prescription for breaking a hardened heart. . . .
What I strive for (imperfectly, fallibly) in my teaching is to uphold Jesus and his atoning work as all satisfying, all sufficient, all powerful, all encompassing, and call others to uphold it as such in their hearts. My belief is that when someone really loves Jesus and has been scandalized by God’s grace, they will really follow Him into a life of scandalizing others.
Some will contend that spending most preaching time calling for listeners to savor the work of Christ, cling to the cross, find satisfaction in Christ’s work alone, and trust His grace for salvation does not offer real help because it doesn’t give a “takeaway,” it doesn’t tell people what to do. I say it does tell people what to do: it tells them to savor, cling, find satisfaction, and trust. That is real help. And that’s what I want people to take away. And my trust is that if people are actually doing that, because their affections have been transferred in repentance from self to Christ, their repentant hearts will bear the fruit of a living faith, by which I mean a faith that proves itself with works.
That’s right on.