For Christ's Sake: Just Talk to Them!

For those who read the pre-colon portion of this post's title and can only hear it as an expletive, let me explain. Yes, "for Christ's sake" is something that folks with no intention of invoking the Spirit of Jesus say in order to express exasperation or anger; and I don't want to encourage that use of the phrase. However, it is possible to do things for the sake of Christ--and what better way to call your attention to that motivation here?

One of the most abundant and subtle streams of evidence for thoroughgoing human depravity appears in casual conversation and begins with a phrase similar to, "How is So-And-So doing?"

Here we are--in a coffee shop, standing in the hardware store aisle, or on your front porch--with all the multiple universes of cares, joys, achievements, hopes, and sufferings that exist within and between us. So many things to ask about, talk about, and give thanks for. Yet, I ask you about . . . . Someone Else.

The manifestly darker version of this behaviour is what most of us would call gossip. I ask about Someone Else because I want the twisted power to pigeon-hole or silently denigrate Someone Else. Or, not so silently, I want to be able to ask other people if they have heard about Someone Else. When they haven't, I want to describe my second-hand juicy tidbit that, when consumed, allows us all to feel better about ourselves (except Someone Else, who is left out in the cold). I am excited to talk about Someone Else for the opportunity to pass judgment; I am also relieved to talk about Someone Else because, hidden behind a veil of silence, I am saved from your judgment. Herein lies the addictive power of gossip.

There is a different version of asking about Someone Else that appears, at first blush, innocent or even virtuous. Having served as a pastor for a good long time, I have been on the receiving end of this latter version a good many times. "How is So-And-So doing?" gets asked about someone who most folks know has been struggling. Asking me (whether I be a pastor, a friend, a closer neighbor) about this Someone Else serves as a veiled way to discover whether that person is being cared for. Will they be all right? Are they getting what they need? Are they getting better than I heard they were (via gossip) before?

This version feigns love by expressing interest in the facts of Someone Else's situation. And it avoids the ethical and relational burden that might befall me if I had a conversation directly with them. But Christians are called explicitly to share one another's burdens, not just to know about those burdens through the grapevine.

An essential element of the Body of Christ is people knowing one another well and caring for one another self-sacrificially. So avoiding the responsibility of care by asking second- or third-hand about Someone Else tears at the sinews of Christ. When we evaluate our words for gossip or false concern we are examining ourselves for Christ's sake. Christ's life in the world is at stake in how we talk about Other People.

How is So-And-So doing? For Christ's sake: Just talk to them! If we are in the same community together--the same church, mosque, or pickleball club--then you have means to text them, call them, and go visit them. Do it! And if you don't have the time or energy to communicate with them, I respect that. All of us have limited resources, and we cannot be expected to keep in touch with everyone even if we wanted to do so. 

But if you don't have that time, energy, or inclination then don't ask me about them. My response will be meaningless. And it steals precious time from our conversation, which could be plumbing the vast depths of you, me, or what God is doing between us. Or at very least helping me find the right size bolt for this thing I'm trying to fix--which is why I came into the hardware store in the first place.

~ emrys

Believing in Jesus

At last week's Theology on Tap conversation we addressed a question brought by one of our members: Do you believe in Jesus?

The conversation went far and wide, wending through marshes of epistemology, fields of theology, and craggy trails of Church history. But we often came back to touch the grass of the word "believe." One member brought the question most pointedly before us: "How you answer that question depends largely on what one means by 'believe.'" Indeed.

It is possible to take the word "believe" here such that the question becomes, "Do you believe someone named Jesus (presumably in Palestine in the first century) lived?" Do you believe in Ford F150s? Gluten-free bread? Divorce? Absent scientific proof of one's existence, thinking or trusting that someone lived once is an act of "belief." I believe in Abraham Lincoln, along with many people who accept historical documents and second- and third-hand testimonies. I believe in Abigail Adams, Lao-Tzu, Atilla the Hun, and Amelia Earhart in a way that I don't believe in Heracles and Circe. But there's not a lot at stake in saying "I believe in Jesus" in that way.

Behind the question as usually asked by present-day American Christians (a modest subset, I know, but in this case a meaningful one) is another question: "Do you believe Jesus is alive now?" It expands the present tense of the word "believe" to deepen the significance of Jesus' existence.

If I say Yes to this version of the question, I am saying that somehow Jesus' death in first-century Jerusalem did not end his life. My response could indicate that I believe Jesus rose from the dead (as in the Christian witness to resurrection). It could also indicate some more expansive definition of life in which I affirm that no one finally loses life: Jesus is alive now; so is Rahab the madam of Jericho, Abraham Lincoln, Abigail Adams, and my favorite 16th-century author. Everyone, living or dead, is alive and with us, perhaps by virtue of a cosmology in which all spirits pass through bodily form but live eternally in another realm. If I want to make Jesus special nonetheless, perhaps I affirm that he has a status like Bodhisattvas in some Buddhist streams: ones who resist Nirvana in order to teach embodied ones the path to enlightenment. I "believe in Jesus" because he is alive now.

In most Christian circles, especially ones in which this is a shibboleth for belonging or orthodoxy, "Do you believe in Jesus?" means "Are you loyal to Jesus?"

The full semantic range of the word "believe in" or "trust in" in the Christian scriptures includes the meaning "be loyal to" or "be faithful to." Simply believing in the existence of a Ford F150 is a waste of my spiritual energy. Do I drive it? Do I load all my tools in it and trust that it will get me to the job site? When it breaks down, do I invest money in it to repair it and return it to service? Do I give credit to it in conversation with others, making public the fact that my ability to earn a living depends on this vehicle? (By the way, I do all these things for an old Toyota Highlander; but I understand many good folks really believe in Fords.)

We begin to get at the scriptural sense of "believing in" when we talk about political candidates. Do you believe in her? Sure, they exist, no one argues that: Their faces are publicly projected. But will she argue and work for the things we consider good? When we go to the ballot box, will we vote for her? Are we loyal to her?

Do I believe in Jesus? Am I loyal to Jesus? Loyalty, unlike the neutered terms "believe" and "trust," implies a sacrifice of other options. When I am faced with a choice between using my money to serve someone else in love and using it to please myself, will I choose the former? When I am faced with a choice of using all my time for leisure versus dedicating some time to communicating with Jesus, do I choose the latter?

Many of us who call ourselves Christian confess the scriptural affirmation that we "believe in Jesus," intentionally applying one of the first two meanings given above. If it is enough to believe that Jesus existed--and maybe even that he said some good stuff--then Yes, I happily believe. There is no binding commitment there. If it is enough to believe that he is still alive--somehow, perhaps in a manner of my choosing--then I will happily confess that, because we're all alive after all. No sweat (or blood or tears).

But it is a harder thing to confess that I am loyal to Jesus. Without Jesus present physically to declare that he will be loyal to me, this is a one-sided commitment. I subjugate myself. I become someone beholden to Jesus' person, teachings, and promises. This is risky. The only way I can be confident to do something so irrational is to believe (there's that word again) that Jesus is somehow in cahoots with benevolent divinity that has top-level authority. After all, being loyal to the second-place candidate for office is not a recipe for success.

I believe Jesus lived, is alive, and is worthy of all my loyalty. I believe he is a unique intersection of divinity and humanity on whom all physical history hinges. I share this confession with the Church. Our confession serves as the source of our blessing and the core of our mandate. And by giving Jesus our loyalty, we enter into eternal life.

~ emrys

P.S. Thanks to Mary for bringing this question to us, asking it with such interested intensity, and to the whole group for taking the question(s) seriously with me. You are a tremendous blessing in my walk with Jesus. In fact . . . You are Jesus' presence for me.

The Lenten Fast 3

 This liturgical season of Lent goes way back. There seems to have been an early impetus for the Church to prepare for and commemorate Jesus’ suffering, death, and Resurrection by means of fasting.

If you'd like to take a deep dive into the history, I recommend this article in the Roman Catholic Church’s official encyclopedia, the New Advent: https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09152a.htm

You can follow links in this article to articles on “fast” and “mortification,” which make for fascinating reading (if a bit dry, as you might expect from an encyclopedia article).

I tend to approach these things from a Protestant perspective, and more narrowly from a Reformed perspective, which biases me toward wearing certain lenses. One lens is polarized for legalism in the Church. You will see in the above article a broad historical concern for what the rules of Lent and the rules of fasting dictate. When fasting, at what time of day can one eat, what materials can one consume, and how much of each? While we may no longer adhere to the rules of Roman Catholic doctrine, seeing these rules unfold historically with such firmness reveals that we tend to substitute attention to the discipline for attention to the effects.

If you dig deep into the article on fasting in New Advent, you find an assertion that the specifics of fasting are really important because fasting is a tool of expiation for sin. And I see this topic, too, through another lens.

We have a long tradition that views fasting as somehow dealing with the problem of past sins. This perspective sets off alarm bells for me, because it threatens to dilute the conviction that we are fully forgiven in Christ, and do not have to bear the guilt or shame of past sins. This perspective reminds me of how we have on occasion taught our children to do chores: as punishment. Your consequence for bad behavior is to vacuum the house. But wait–isn’t the purpose of vacuuming so that we and guests can better enjoy the comfort of our home?

These two issues, legalism and penitence–and we might add limiting Christian discipline to seasons–remind us that it's hard to keep our eyes on the prize. We have been given the Spirit of Christ, forgiven from past sins and empowered to grow in love all of our days.

I would rather set aside the questions of “Am I following the fasting rules just right?” and “Am I fasting enough to atone for my sins?” I would rather pick up the question, “What is God showing me about myself in this fast?” I would rather ask God, “How do you want me to grow into the image of Jesus?”

When we offer ourselves to God, accentuating that offer with the space opened by fasting, God fills that space with the Spirit. And the Spirit always comes to make us more like Jesus, empowering us with grace and peace.

~ emrys

An Insider's Perspective

I appreciate the wide range of guests that Mark Labberton hosts on his podcast "Conversing." Especially apropos right now is this conversation with a Texas Republican Christian who has especial insight into national leadership: https://comment.org/podcasts/keeping-the-country-safe/

I recommend it to you.

~ emrys

The Lenten Fast 2

 It is a strange thing to fast. We give up things with some regularity: I may stop eating meat products in order to lower my cholesterol; I may stop scrolling Instagram in order to get some work done; I may stop buying books so that I can afford to go on vacation. Ceasing to do something I want to do constitutes part of normal life. But fasting is not normal.

In the Christian discipline of fasting, I cannot draw a straight line from not eating (something, or anything) to a particular goal. By abstaining I do not get something else done. And God does not promise a particular outcome from a fast. So what am I doing?

Paul of Tarsus wrote, “for if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (Romans 8:13, NRSV). As a condition of life, Paul writes, I “put to death” the deeds that my body drives me to do. The old-school term for this is “mortification.”

A full understanding of what's happening in mortification takes a lifetime. But I start by recognizing that somehow sin works in my body and therefore I train against sin by showing my body who’s boss. And I do that by telling a core craving, like hunger or the need to stay connected, to go to the principal's office while I get on with class. That's fasting.

What do I learn when I send hunger to sit in the corner? Only the Spirit knows exactly, but what might begin to dawn on me is that my belly is not in control of my life. If I am fasting from social media, I might learn that The Fear Of Missing Out is full of hot air and learn what it feels like to wake up, more alive and peaceful after a day and night of Missing That Meme.

I might. I also might discover that fasting is hard, and I am weak. Hallelujah: I have been given another grace from the originator and finalizer of our trust. I have discovered a place where God hopes to do more work in my heart. With either outcome, or any outcome, I have been given more life in Christ by putting to death the parasite of sin sucking on my soul.

Life, as Jesus teaches, does its own thing. The kingdom of heaven naturally expands from mustard seed to spreading tree, from a sprinkle of yeast to a lump of dough overflowing on the counter. By fasting we weed the garden, we clean out the proofing bowl, we scrub our hard drives of viruses. And then we see what the Spirit will grow in those open places.

~ emrys

The Lenten Fast 1

I am curious about fasting. We are about to enter a season in which the more liturgical Christian traditions encourage fasting: Lent, the six weeks leading up to Resurrection Sunday. I would like to engage the discipline of fasting this year; perhaps you will join me in this. But how to choose what to fast from?

Fasting is a discipline of abstinence, by definition. What shall I remove from my life for six weeks in order to . . . more on that later. First: What to choose?

In my experience, folks fast in Lent from something that is optional, but which also may be unhealthy in large or frequent doses. Like sugar, chocolate, social media, and so on. Generally there is an intention to return to the practice or consumption of the thing after Resurrection, though sometimes the Lenten fast is an attempt to begin a long-term reduction in usage. I do not have hard data, but reflecting on the phenomenon of New Year's resolutions I feel confident guessing that this attempt does not produce long-term results.

This is a strange confluence to me: that I should fast from something temporarily, something that my life might be better without, with a plan to return to it.

If I have a bonus motivation in Lent–motivation from liturgy, from tradition, from a community practice–why would I not use this opportunity to fast from something that I know I should be ushering out the door? In these six weeks, soon upon us, I will have an unusual number of accountability partners ready, unashamed, to ask me if I have been keeping my fast, for a full six weeks. Why not use this time for something more than a good feeling that will fade? Why not follow the Spirit into some more brightened life?

So my question is changing. I am beginning to wonder less, What good thing will I give up for Lent? and more, What thing will Lent help me give up for good?

~ emrys

Machiavelli: The Prince

I recently listened to an episode of "Honestly with Bari Weiss" about a Princeton professor who teaches his students to read and think critically. One of the (only) 5 books Professor Brooks assigns in his class is Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince. I was inspired to read it. I might say that I was inspired to read it "again," except I'm not sure I actually read the whole thing in high school; we may only have read excerpts. (This time around I read Harvey Mansfield's translation, quoted below.)

Spoiler alert: nowhere in The Prince does the sentence "the ends justify the means" occur.

Machiavelli is writing only for princes: that is, men in 16th century Italy who are solely in charge of sovereign states (of which there were many on the Mediterranean boot). He is not writing for fathers, mothers, pastors, handymen, software developers, or members of Congress. However, the clarity of his writing borne from the narrowness of his audience produces thoughts valuable to everyone--which I suppose is why we're still reading his work.

I recommend the whole book to you, but as a sampling of Machiavelli's words that make me think more critically about my own understanding of leadership, here are a couple of quotations.

"And truly it is a very natural and ordinary thing to desire to acquire, and always, when men do it who can, they will be praised or not blamed; but when they cannot, and wish to do it anyway, here lie the error and blame" (ChIII, pg14). Machiavelli's assumption is that people want to acquire--stuff and power. He does not consider the case in which someone does not want to acquire. It's baked into the system. I think that our current American society makes the same assumption: A desire to acquire makes the market work, and democracy diffuses, by constant effort, dangerous acquisition of political power. While certain cultural threads, like simplicity movements in Christianity, attempt to reduce the desire to acquire, by and large it's keeping the wheels turning. Machiavelli has not patience for "wishful thinking." If we have the same view of human nature, then Machiavelli has strong grounds for his conclusions about how leaders should act.

"[Cruelties] can be called well used (if it is permissible to speak well of evil) that are done at a stroke, out of the necessity to secure oneself, and then are not persisted in but are turned to as much utility for the subjects as one can" (ChVIII, pg37-38). Here we approach the common summa shorthand of "the ends justify the means." Machiavelli allows for evildoing by leaders, as long as it is limited and stops at what is necessary for the leader to secure power. Machiavelli goes on to say that long-term power is best secured by doing things that are good for people (like letting them acquire stuff); but actions in the short term that may be shocking or cruel are allowable. I see a parallel in personal ethics when we articulate a right to self-defence: I may do things to secure the safety of my person which, if I did them spontaneously to a stranger on the street, would normally be considered criminal. Perhaps there is a parallel for leaders in a democracy assuming a position and then "cleaning house" of those who don't hold the new leader's political positions. Tenure is cast aside in order to secure the political goals of the new leader. Is this an acceptable carve-out for normally unacceptable behavior?

"For a man who wants to make a profession of good in all regards must come to ruin among so many who are not good. Hence it is necessary to a prince, if he wants to maintain himself, to learn to be able not to be good, and to use this and not use it according to necessity" (ChXV, pg 61). Trying to be 100% good in an evil world is doomed to failure. So all leaders must learn intentionally to be evil when it is necessary to keep power. I hear here echoes of a future Nietzschean "will to power" which is "beyond good and evil." In my personal search for leaders who have integrity, Machiavelli seems to suggest that in order for someone to stay in power they will need to sacrifice integrity. Is this an accurate description of our political life? In order to win elections, must I engage in smear campaigns against my opponents, because they will do that to me? Must I make collection of money the primary work of my career because others will amass more and oust me otherwise?

As one who complains inwardly about how hard it is to find "an honest politician," I find in Machiavelli a rather incisive critique of my hopes. I am led to think about the minority of Christians--a minority but not a small number over time and space--who absent themselves from all secular politics, because Jesus' kingdom work is incompatible with the worldly work. Maybe they have a valid point. I also think about the other side: "moral majority" Christians and those who want political leaders to give strict Christian ethics the power of the sword, in an effort to place our nation "under God." How does that work if Machiavelli is right and to maintain power in an evil world one must sacrifice one's goodness?

If you're interested in these core questions about ethics and leadership, The Prince is a great place to begin your exploration. And if we're near each other, I'd love to sit down for a cuppa with you and join in that exploratory work. May the Spirit grant us ever wider wisdom as we search.

~ emrys