students of jesus

Almost no one uses a grandfather clock these days, but that doesn’t mean the pendulum isn’t busy swinging back and forth. There is a back-and-forth sway of popular ideas in society—and in the society of God’s people, known as the church.

My first twenty years with God I was surrounded by the need for faith, expressed in plain Evangelical language. Saint Billy Graham provided a fine bumper-sticker example: “God said it. I believe it. That settles it.” Bible-teacher Derek Prince intoned, “All progress in the Christian walk is by faith.” Both sayings are true, but the pull of groupthink created an environment where faith morphed into a powerful orthodoxy of agreement. We all boldly proclaimed our faith—even when we didn’t quite believe it.

My second twenty years with God saw the invisible pendulum swing the opposite way. Honest doubt became the password of authenticity. Certainty became the sign of arrogance. The cyber community reminded us the difference between someone’s interpretation of the Bible and “Bible truth.” They demonstrated how doubt could lead to spiritual growth. “I believe—help me in my unbelief” became a popular topic among emerging church leaders. But the pull of groupthink worked here as well. Although doubt is often a useful path for discovery, it became the approved approach to faith: don’t trust anyone who is firm in his or her beliefs. The only “honest” position is doubt.

I have great hope for the next few years. Perhaps we can live for a while in the center, a place of humble certainty.

We can find the place of humble certainty if we embrace the need and the blessings of faith while holding our doubts and fears honestly without making them into a virtue.

Consider these very challenging words from John’s gospel, the very last message of the book: “these things are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name. There’s a deep connection between believing and receiving a divine quality of life. The final phrase, “that by believing you may have life” is about something more than going to Heaven; it’s about the quality of life available to us here and now.

Make no mistake: it takes faith to experience this kind of life. Without faith, the flow of divine life is choked to a trickle. Not a faith in propositions, or political positions, or even correct doctrines, but a trusting relationship with a living person, Jesus. In my first twenty years I was told faith meant following a line of behaviors or practices that “proved” my commitment. In my second twenty years I’ve been told that doubt is the only honest kind of faith. In my first twenty years the Apostle Peter was my example; in the second twenty it was Doubting Thomas. But neither Peter nor Thomas give life. Life comes from only one man, Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God.

If the pendulum is entering the radical middle, perhaps we can re-define faith as trust—the kind of trust that flourishes between two people when they share life together. That’s the faith/trust I want with Jesus. To the degree I experience the divine life of peace, that’s the measure of my faith. How about you? Can you live in the center?

Who can resist People magazine? It’s the sugary donut of the mind. There you are, in the checkout line at the grocery store, and if you’ve successfully avoided Cosmo or the National Inquirer, People seems like a safe choice. Where else can you learn that Jennifer Lopez is the Most Beautiful Woman in the World and Bradley Cooper is The Sexiest Man Alive—but wait! That is so 2011.  Apparently both celebrities are no longer world-class beautiful.

And this is the spiritual application: I’m well aware of Jennifer Lopez and Bradley Cooper. I know more about them than I probably should, and I know less of Heaven’s beauty than I should.

So, back in 2011 I developed a new way to take my spiritual temperature. I call it the People Magazine Spiritual-Celebrity Index. It works like this. There’s a connection between my ability to recognize celebrities and my ability to recognize what the Kingdom of God values—it’s an inverse relationship. These days I pick up People Magazine and look at the pictures, carefully avoiding the captions, and try to name the celeb. If I know them instantly, that’s one negative point. If I think, “who is that?” that’s one positive point. These days, for me, any score above zero is a winning score.

In fact, when I look at the magazines carefully, I see beauty in a dreary sameness: impossibly white teeth, complexions as smooth as ink on paper, and perfectly Photoshopped bodies. I’m beginning to understand what Leo Tolstoy said about happy families: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” The same is true for modern beauty. How many astonishingly beautiful people do I need to see? But it’s like drinking seawater—ten minutes later I’m thirsty for more beautiful sameness. This is what we value: a beauty that changes nothing in me, and cannot satisfy.

When I turn to the letter of James (that’s near the back of the New Testament) I discover a stern warning: “don’t you know that friendship with the world means enmity against God? Therefore, anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God.” But James was always a buzz-kill. Except he got his ideas from his big brother, Jesus, who said, “what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God.” Of course, James was talking about covetousness, and Jesus was talking about money, but how difficult is it to make the connection to nearly everything we value in our society?

We need not reject society, nor do we need to criticize the values of this age. But we desperately need to refine our own tastes, and model the true beauty of God. We can all be cover girls of the Kingdom.

Heaven is filled with beauty: ethereal, eternal, and true. No doubt it dazzles the eye as well. But it is the fresh beauty of deep-down things, causing us to behold and become; giving us the freedom to admire without the desire to possess or use.

I want to gaze on the kind of beauty capable of changing me: carrying me from glory to glory, as Paul’s graceful phrase reveals. What if Heaven’s beauty is part of God’s message, calling me upward and away from the passing pleasures (and tastes) of this present age. There is a lasting beauty, and it is beautiful because it invites me into a beautiful realm.

There’s only one kind of beauty that transforms, and I won’t find it online or at the checkout line.

One of the smartest guys in history didn’t have a very high opinion of human wisdom. The Apostle Paul uttered the inspired phrase, “the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom . . .”

So why are we still obsessed with man’s wisdom?

I know I am: in my work as a consultant I read the latest books of leadership and teamwork. I can’t resist articles that promise to reveal “7 Secrets of Lasting Change,” or “How to Get Your Way While People Think They Are Getting Theirs.” And don’t try to tell me you’re not a sucker for this stuff either. Instead of the radically foolish act of following Jesus, most of us hunger for the latest insights from Psychology Today, the Harvard Business Review, or Cosmo.

Yet in chapter after chapter, the story-rich message of scripture lifts up the example of fools following God.

• The “Father of nations” tried to kill his only son.
• God backed a deceitful schemer to carry the promise of blessing to the nations.
• In order to become the prime minister of Egypt, God engineered a career path of slavery and prison.

And we’re not even out of the first book of the Bible:

• Israel’s deliverer and lawgiver was slow of speech and apparently had a temper.
• The man after God’s own heart was an adulterer and murderer.
• To demonstrate God’s love, one prophet married a prostitute.

And when God decided to pay us a personal visit,

• He was smuggled to earth in the womb of teenage girl.
• He avoided all certification and authorization from the authorities.
• Considered his shameful and horrifying death the pinnacle of his mission.

I know: every one of these actions proved successful. But how many of us embrace them as our model for life? We celebrate their successes without celebrating the foolishness that paved the way.

One final example: in my years as a pastor I picked up a graduate degree along the way. I read many books by the learned and the wise among Christianity. Here, at last, I found the wisdom of God, right? Not so much, it turns out. Academics love the lofty, erudite preaching at Mars Hill, even though the scripture describes it as ineffective. The city of Corinth is described again and again in scholarly journals as a “wretched hive of scum and villainy” (to steal a phrase), even though it became the birthplace of one of the largest churches in the first century. I never—not once—read a practical application of Paul’s view of wisdom found in 1 Corinthians 1 & 2 (go ahead and read it, I’ll wait).

What if part of the wood, hay, and stubble destined for destruction is the wisdom of the wise?

It’s been said that God’s Kingdom is an upside-down kingdom, but what if we are the ones standing on our heads? Romans 14:17 describes God’s kingdom as two-thirds relationship and one-third emotion. Where is rationality and the cunning of men?

Matilda found a fancy dress in the dumpster and wore it to communion. The dress was torn along the zipper in the back, and had the odor of Chinese carryout, which must have been somewhere nearby in the dumpster, but it was the only dress Matilda could afford. Out of gratitude to Jesus she wanted to look her best.

Everyone in our little church had watched the odd-looking Bag Lady who walked the streets undergo an amazing transformation from societal castaway to daughter of the Most High. We needed to repent because Matilda was a non-person we saw everyday. Some people had given her the nickname Whispering Jane because she muttered words beneath her breath constantly. When a college kid took the unusual step of buying Matilda lunch at the Elvis Cafe, the dominoes began to fall: Matilda became a person again, with a real name, and in just a few weeks of she became a Christian.

The transformation was remarkable. At first Matilda continued to live on the streets and attend our church. That’s when she dressed up for communion. In following months she beat alcoholism and moved into a halfway house near the church. At first we gave her plenty of space at church. Parents steered their kids away. Most adults didn’t try to connect because after all--what do you say to a Bag Lady with dirty clothes and crazy hair? But we watched her become another person: cleaner, saner, safer, approachable, and--well--more like us. And always, when the church celebrated communion Matilda looked for ways to look her best. Her best kept getting better.

“Jesus cleaned me on the inside,” she would say. “It’s the least I can do to spruce up the outside.”

Months turned into years, and the transformation continued. Her change was quiet but constant. Matilda became the kind of person who could hold a job. The halfway house gave way to an apartment of her own, and eventually that same woman who used to push a shopping cart on the city streets bought a used car. She was more like us than ever. Everyone at church knew her now. She was easy to talk to. And always, on communion days, she dressed up. You could count on it: the cleaner she became, the more spectacular her Eucharist dress.

Still, we had to put up with some odd behavior from time to time. I came forward for one communion-day in jeans and a T-shirt. “Honestly? That’s the best you’ve got?” was all she said as I returned to my seat from the altar. I wasn’t even sure she said it to me until next week’s church newsletter included a submission from Mattie (everyone started calling her that after she got a stylish haircut and blonde highlights). The newsletter piece ended with:
“If God has washed away your sin then you can do something special for Him on Sunday. Leave the blue jeans at home and tell Him thanks by looking good. I think everyone has more to give, don’t you?”

Everyone still counted Mattie as our church’s success story, even if it was years ago. If she wanted to exhort us to all do a little better, what’s wrong with that? Look how far she had come. Between the chatty, conversational style of her writing and the fact that no one ever reads or edits the church newsletter, who wouldn’t give her grace to indulge her convictions?

Eventually Mattie organized a communion ministry team. She talked the pastor into serving communion once a month instead of once a quarter. He would still serve the elements, but the ministry team came in early to decorate the place, and practice special music, and distribute a pamphlet Mattie wrote about why communion is the “Passover of the New Testament,” and how we should all take God’s word seriously and observe the traditions handed down from the time of Moses. Mattie’s Communion Ministry Team baked the communion bread according to the standards in Exodus. Everyone in the church got an email the Thursday before Communion Sunday, with suggestions of how we can color-coordinate with the sanctuary decorations, so the entire church can “become an acceptable sacrifice to God.”

Mattie’s gratitude for God’s grace had welled up into an entire ministry of “Give Thanks: Give Your Best.©” She copyrighted the phrase and began speaking at other churches. Eventually she hit the Christian-ministry big time. After guest-spots on two Christian TV networks, Mattie relocated her ministry to Nashville and said good-bye to our church. We all wished her well.

In the months after she left the Communion Ministry Team became less enthusiastic and eventually quit meeting. We still got the Thursday emails because Mattie took the email list with her to Nashville--the graphic design was amazing, and her email list swelled to 50,000.

Our little church went back to serving communion once a quarter, and people went back to blue jeans and T-shirts.

What is the distance between you and God? It’s not nearly as far as you might think. If you’ve been told, “a Holy God cannot look upon sin,” you’ve been misled. Consider just three tales from the beginning of time:

• After Adam and Eve choose to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil they discovered their nakedness and tried to hide from God. Far from rejecting them, God himself went searching for them. 
• When Cain was angry with his brother, it was Yahweh who tried to talk him down from the ledge. Even after Cain murdered Abel, Yahweh not only heard the voice of the victim, he protected the guilty from the revenge of others.
• When Jacob cheated his brother and lied to his father, God did not reject him—though it would have been understandable. Instead, God revealed Himself at Bethel and said, "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go . . . I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” (Genesis 28:15)

One way to grasp the grand story of the Bible is to cast the Creator in the role of seeker, and humanity in the role of the sought. King David, who abused the privilege and grace of God as much as any modern politician, discovered a faithfulness beyond human reasoning, a presence not far from any one of us: 

You have searched me, LORD, 

   and you know me. 

You know when I sit and when I rise; 

   you perceive my thoughts from afar.

David wondered out loud if there was any location safe from God’s intrusion. He played with the idea of setting up camp in Hell, but came to the conclusion:

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me 

   and the light become night around me,” 

even the darkness will not be dark to you; 

   the night will shine like the day, 

   for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139)

If there was ever a candidate for separation from God, the Apostle Paul’s your man: a self-righteous religious cop bent on dragging heretics back to Jerusalem to face the orthodox music. Yet when Jesus confronted Paul on the road to Damascus it was a confrontation of grace, not judgment. The good shepherd left the ninety-nine and went after the one who wandered away. Years later, as Paul stood at the marketplace of ideas in Athens, he suggested that God is close at hand to each of us: the sensual, the cerebral, the religious, the skeptic, the clueless and the pagan. I suspect Paul could make such a statement because he had experienced the reality: Jesus tracked him down and cornered him with a blinding light.

By the time Paul had re-calibrated his understanding of God, he was able to celebrate God’s goodness and affections: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 38-39) Paul, the legalist, had become the Apostle of grace, and something more: he was the messenger of God’s goodness and presence.

Paul discovered that the Father has always wanted to be among us, and he will not allow anything to get in the way. If sin separated us from the Father, then the Father provided a remedy. It’s more than a legal transaction: the record shows that God will go to any length to be with us. If, as Isaiah says, “your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you,” (Isaiah 59: 2) it is because we are the ones in hiding. He has not gone anywhere. He is still “not far from any one of us.” 

How many of us need time and space to re-calibrate our view of the Father? Which events in our personal history point to God’s desire to be with us, if only the scales would fall from our eyes? You won’t have to think this through alone. Ask him: he’s not far from you at this very moment.