"If anyone comes to Me and does not hate...even his own life..."

Impossible:

"If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple." Luke 14:26

"Impossible" is a word I HATE. Speaking of "hate," I feel that here I need to give the token explanation of that word in this passage: it does not mean to experience feelings of loathing or dislike for your family or your life. It is a very strong way of saying which thing you will choose above the other should you be forced to make a choice. 

And Jesus seems to be saying here that you will have to make a choice.

Jesus says, "You want to follow me? You want eternal life? Ok. Let's make a deal. You give me everything you have and everyone you love, and in exchange I will give you eternal life and make you mine, one of my followers." 

There's the deal. But wait. "Count the cost," he says later in the passage. "When you choose me over your family, it may be at the cost of your physical life or theirs. When you choose me over all that you have, it may be at the cost of extreme poverty or physical or emotional suffering."

I used to read these passages through the eyes of an idealogue. I was young and restless and unfettered by anything or anyone. What did I own besides a little old Corolla, a laptop and a guitar? Who stood to suffer much by my being swept away by Jesus? Now, I have much, much more to lose. I own my own business which supports my family entirely. I have a wife who leans on me almost completely and loves me more than I ever could have imagined. I have three beautiful children whose lives are just in the very seedlings stages, tender green and gently pushing up through the soft soil into life. They depend on me (and their mother) completely. The suffering that would occur from my being swept away by Jesus has been exponentially expanded over the last five years. So now it's not so easy to read these words from the Master with the passion and enthusiasm and fire of youth. Now I read this and shake my head . . .

Impossible.

I used to be quick to rant against and shred any timid interpretation of this passage--you know, when people say, "Well, it doesn't mean hate," which is, of course, a safe place to start but,"It just really means you love Jesus SOOO MUCH that your deep love for your family looks small (almost like hate??) in comparison.... so, love JESUS! A lot!"

Ah, that feels better. Unfortunately, it completely misses the point of this passage. No, Jesus really is calling us to something here that is impossible-- or, at least, should feel impossible. This passage isn't really about love. Not directly. It'll come back around to love, eventually, but right now this is about choices. Like the choice my 3-year-old daughter faces once or twice a week: "Mommy and your little brothers are going shopping. Do you want to go with Mommy or stay home with Daddy? Now Daddy is going to be working in his office, so you'll have to play by yourself and not bother him about everything. Do you want to stay home and play by yourself or go shopping with Mommy?" She always chooses to stay home because she is a definite introvert. The point is she can't choose both. She can't go with Mommy and stay home. If she wants to stay home she has to "renounce" Mommy and the shopping trip. It's not that she doesn't love Mommy. But she is willing to be separated from her for a few hours in order to pursue her life's course of playing with her dolls by herself uninterrupted by her little brother--bliss for her. 

This quiet, solitary bliss for her is to us comparable to eternal life and the path of Jesus. We can't have our cake and eat it too. We can't follow Jesus into eternal life and have all of our earthly loves and obligations too. 

But this is impossible to most of us. It's true. Even the apostles found that out the hard way.--when the three years of miracles and great teaching to multitudes suddenly exploded in the dark garden Gethsemane. In the ugly torchlight of a gang of armed temple guards and Judas' false kiss, the remaining eleven disciples were forced to make a choice: continue to follow Jesus bound for a cross or flee to protect their families and their lives. To continue following this reckless Rabbi proved impossible for most of them. Even Peter, in the end, fled. He wasn't quite ready to make the choice, to "renounce all that he had." He had a family to protect after all (Mt 8:14).

So, no, don't take the teeth out of Jesus' teaching here to "renounce it all," to choose Christ over family and security and everything you have. It's for real. And it is impossible. That ugly 10-letter word turned away the "rich, young ruler." Riches were supposed to connote God's favor upon someone. If a rich guy could not obtain eternal life, how could anyone enter the Kingdom? But here's the good news about this impossible call: "What is impossible with man, is possible with God." (Luke 18:27) How? Mercy. His incredulous disciples would eventually learn that it is God's mercy and not our ability to follow Jesus' impossible commands that will make us secure. And God's mercy will compel us to follow Jesus' impossible call--no matter how many times we fail trying.

One example and this is my last point. Remember Peter fled? Well. He didn't just quietly slip away unnoticed. He first made a lying, disloyal, cowardly embarrassment of himself and then ran out into the night "weeping bitterly." Jesus said, Renounce everyone and everything and follow me. And Peter said, I will, even to the death. And then he didn't. He abandoned ship after all. It was too hard. Impossible.

But not with God. Not with Jesus. In the weeks following Christ's resurrection we find this incredibly moving scene of mercy. John 21. Jesus pursues Peter and ambushes him but not so that he can condemn him, judge him, and crush him for his cowardly denial and abandonment on the night Jesus needed his loyalty most. He finds Peter so that he can completely undo Peter's ignomy and restore him, recommission him. There on that beach he prophesies Peter's future renunciation of his own life for the sake of Christ. Here is where it all comes back to love. Jesus lovingly and firmly reminds Peter that Peter loves Jesus after all. Peter can now understand the foundation of his love: Jesus' mercy to him. In the end (according to Christian tradition), that mercy will compel Peter's love to choose crucifixion over life and all other relationships.

What was impossible for Peter--without a full grasp of Christ and his mercy--was possible with God--in the full light of Christ's merciful love. 

What is impossible for me and you--"hating" our families and renouncing all that we have--is possible with God--when we rest secure and allow our families to rest secure in God's merciful love.

“Ordinary”: A New Battle-Cry for Christianity?

Evangelical Christians are beginning to tire of rigorous calls to a radical, crazy love type of religion. Articles in some pretty conspicuous places such as Christianity Today and WORLD Magazine cry out warnings against discontentment and legalism for those who actually attempt to practice the type of discipleship David Platt and Francis Chan (among others) are calling for. Down with “radical” and “crazy!” The new word on the street is “ordinary” as Tim Challies and Kevin DeYoung tell us. All four of these articles and others have received very positive responses. Seems like American Christians are just plain worn out! Can’t we be comfortable and Christian? Can’t we please just be ordinary, like everyone else?

But what exactly is “ordinary” for a Christian? Challies, DeYoung, Bradley & Co. would point to some New Testament texts such as the following from Ephesians, Colossians, and the letters to Timothy and to the Thessalonians:

We’re commanded to do “honest work with [our] own hands, so that [we] may have something to share with anyone in need.”

We’re commanded to “work heartily” at whatever we do, working “as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”

We’re commanded “to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you, so that you may walk properly before outsiders and be dependent on no one.” Idleness and shameless mooching are roundly condemned.

We’re called to provide for our own family, and he who doesn’t “has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

Forgetting, for the moment, the contexts of these texts (which are leveled explicitly at recovering thieves, poorly-treated slaves, and negligent, lazy bums) let’s take what we can from them:

1.      Work hard.

2.      Provide for your own family.

3.      Don’t exploit others by forcing them to make up for your selfish laziness (Paul would rather you starved).

4.      Mind your own business.

5.      Live a peaceful life (don’t be “those neighbors” late at night and don’t be quarrelsome).

Pretty good stuff. In fact, these are many of the principles that built America into such a land of opportunity and wealth. But there’s nothing surprising there. Not even to an unbeliever. That’s ordinary, for sure. But is that what makes us Christian? Are these the principles that make us “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world?” Only partially.

There’s more here. Let me add three more take-aways to this list just from these four texts:

6.      Make one of the explicit purposes of your honest, hard work to “have something to share with anyone in need.”

7.      Work hard as if every ounce of energy spent and every pound of production were going directly to Jesus Christ’s advantage and your own eternal reward—not simply to your earthly boss’s bottom line.

8.      Work consistently and honestly for the purpose of having an unstained reputation “before outsiders.”

These last three principles represent, in part, the unique doctrines that drive a lifestyle which sets a Christian apart from the world, the unbelievers (or the Gentiles, as Jesus would have said): a work ethic driven not simply by survival or getting-ahead, but by sacrificial generosity; an attitude that battles feelings of futility with knowledge of the King and His eternal reward; a faithfulness on the job fueled by missional intentionality. These are doctrines that turn a mundane, ordinary job into a radical vocation.

Yet we still don’t have a complete picture of what it means to follow Christ. Here’s a few other texts to throw into the ordinary ole life-mix:

We’re commanded to be holy “as He who called [us] is holy.”

We’re described as “strangers, sojourners and exiles on the earth;”

We are to suffer injustice as Christ did, who, “when he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”

We are promised persecution if we “desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus.”

We are shown an example of giving to God’s work that looks like an “abundance of joy and . . .  extreme poverty [overflowing] in a wealth of generosity.”

We are called to “show hospitality to strangers.” And that’s more than a friendly sidewalk greeting.

And to sum it all up, the purest expression of our devotion to our God is “to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.”

Ordinary? Well, if that’s your definition, then I’m already too tired to hear what you’d call “radical.”

My Beloved Choice

When I those bitter nails embraced, 
Your sins made Mine, God's wrath replaced 
To My own head, My Father's face 
Turned 'way from Me to give you grace. 

I swear, I did not die in vain 
Nor risk My pure and holy Name 
To leave your wasting life the same 
Or let the stench of death remain. 

I'm not willing to give you up 
To any man or devil foe. 
I'm not willing to let you go 
To waste your life, to lose your soul. 

I chose you by My love and grace 
Before the world, before your race. 
I've called you My beloved choice 
To sing and be My glory's voice.

(November 2008)

Stewardship (Part 2): The Master's Heart

What was the problem with the "wicked, lazy slave" of Matthew 25?

Well, duh. He was "wicked" and "lazy."

Ok. But . . .

What's so wicked about him? He is given fifteen years' wages to hang onto while his master is out of town--about $300,000 give or take. And he doesn't steal a penny of it! What is so lazy about him? He is entrusted with $300,00, and he doesn't lose any of it; he gives his master $300,000 upon his return. It could have been a lot worse, right?

Well, not according to the master. "Cast into outer darkness" to spend his days in "weeping and gnashing of teeth" does not sound like acceptance or even toleration of that safe deposit box servant. So what's the big deal? Is this an overreaction?

No.

Here's why: He's called a slave (NASB) or servant (ESV), but he's treated as a steward. That's the most exalted position for a servant. That gives him discretion and some degree of authority with a great deal of responsibility. It also portends a great reward if he is a "good and faithful steward."

Now notice: the first two slaves both do the exact same thing with the master's money. And they both do it "immediately." As if they don't even think about it. How is that? Well, ironically, the wicked slave offers us an explanation. He claims, "Master, I knew you . . ." to which the master replies in confirmation, "You wicked, lazy slave, you knew that I . . ." The point here is that the slaves "know" their master, and their master expects them to act according to their knowledge of him. That is, they are expected to do what he would do.

That's what makes a "good and faithful" steward.

The first two slaves act immediately because they know their master intimately; they know his heart. They do the exact same thing (although they are two different people) because they are acting according to their master's desires, not their own.The wicked slave seems to know his master only in part. He has observed his practices, but not his heart. He believes his master to be "a hard man" (although the master proves otherwise in the way he rewards his good slaves) and acts accordingly--in fear. 

Unfortunately, we as the modern, American Church often read this parable and can't get past the principles of western finacial practices we see modeled by the first two slaves. We seem to think the money, the bank is the point of the parable.

Or, if we do apply it more broadly, as in using our "talents" (we always intend a pun here, too) for God's glory instead of just sitting on the couch (or the pew), we don't go deep enough. We usually throw out suggestions like singing in the choir, being willing to usher and take the offering, help your church with accounting or teach Sunday School (all good things, by the way). But is that what this parable is all about? The master's wrath poured out if we sit in the pew on Sundays instead of the choir loft?

I realize I'm oversimplifying this, but I want to jar us out of a sleepy, false view of "church" and "the Kingdom" that we've dozed into. Church is not the event we put on for a few hours every Sunday. And if we think the kingdom looks like merely a bunch of people standing around Jesus' throne all saying the same creed, we're wrong there too.

Confession of Christ with the tongue (or some kind of sign language?) is an essential part of the Gospel, and the New Testament pattern of Sunday worship celebrations gives us a joyous time together each week. But if those two items are the sum of our faith, of our vision of the Kingdom, of Church, then it may be that we don't really know our Master's heart as we should.

In Matthew 25:14-30, Jesus is teaching us what a true steward looks like. Then, in verses 31-46, our Master shows us his heart:

'Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. ³⁵For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ³⁶ I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.' ³⁷Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? ³⁸And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? ³⁹And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?' ⁴⁰And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'

So my question is: Knowing the Master's heart above, how are we spending the resources he's put into our hands? Are we pouring our money and time and "talents" into giving food and drink, welcoming and visiting and clothing the destitute? Or are we driven by Fear as the "wicked, lazy" servant? So driven by fear that we have poured all of our time and our money into "providing" for our family's American lifestyle that we don't have time or money "left over" to fulfill our Master's deepest desires? It is HIS money after all. It is HIS time.  Your life is HIS life after all. 

I guess how we want to answer that question depends on if we believe truly good stewardship, as defined by Christ, is optional or not. And I guess we have to figure out if it's optional by deciding whether we should allow "cast into outer darkness" with "weeping and gnashing of teeth" as a legitimate option. 

"Don't Run with Knives!"

"Don't run with knives!"    Love, Mother.

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."    Love, Mother.

When it comes to satire, one of these is good advice. The other is not. 

We have a little problem here. Somewhere way back in mankind's illustrious linguistic history somebody found out that the big, ugly playground bullies with their lethally aimed "sticks and stones" aren't the only pain-inflicting villains to be wary of. "Words will never hurt me!" has always been a defense mechanism. And a lie. We've learned that a quick cut from a knife blade can hurt much worse and for far longer than a couple of good whacks from a bully's stick. 

A word is a knife. Or can be. Consider the word "Sarcasm." It's Greek. Means "flesh cutting." Pretty picture, yes? And most of us know the biting feel of sarcasm's blade. In literary circles it's called satire. Same thing, just people started making money off of it in the early 18th century. Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, Dryden, Defoe--everyone was doing it! But it didn't make people any less mad then. 

Since then, we've come a long ways. We've civilized ourselves and set up walls against those cutting words. The most ostensibly moralistic one is a nice little--no, fairly good-sized two-word phrase: "politically correct." (This phrase is actually intellectual-ese for "lying through my teeth.") Because we can't say anything that might offend someone. So we just try to change people by keeping a "good Christian testimony" or something like that. 

Well, recently there seems to be a rediscovering of the fact that--gasp!--Jesus said offensive things! Not just offensive, but funny too! So they cut the flesh--and made people laugh! It's not just Jesus, either. God does it in other places of Scripture to. He makes fun of idol worshipers who chop down a tree and, very economically, use one half out of which to carve their idol and the other part of the tree for firewood! 

The defense of satire as a mode used in Scripture is growing. This is good. Pastors such as Mark Driscoll and Douglas Wilson offer some well thought-out and helpful looks at Biblical satire. So, we're allowed to be sarcastic again! 

Here's what scares me (and you satirists can satirize me for my unease): sarcasm has always been fun. At least for the one holding the knife. (The one getting his flesh mutilated, eh, not so fun.) And now with this rediscovery of satire, it's like being given a gift (and satire requires a degree of wit that really is a gift) at Christmas--one you really like! So you run around showing it off to everyone. Or trying it out on everyone--hey, it's fun! 

Not the thing to do with knives. This is not the same thing as having the gift of encouragement. While there are things you should not encourage, by and large, encouragement is pretty safe for anyone to use and to use in almost any conversation. My father-in-law is known as "the nicest person you will ever meet" because of his constantly encouraging attitude. That's ok. He hasn't ruined his kids. He knows when to put his "frowny face" on. But he can be confident in random words of encouragement--it's ok to run with that. 

But with sarcasm we must be more strategic. Driscoll says, "Feed the sheep; shoot the wolves; rebuke the swine; bark at the dogs." This means that the words we choose (literarily: our mode) must be determined by our audience--not by what mood we're in, not by whether those words are fun or not. I fear we've pulled out our newly found, Biblical wittiness from its sheath and (rather unlike a deliberate surgeon) taken off at a sprint, perhaps tripping and stumbling and cutting some of the sheep where there was no need for surgery at all. This is not good. This is sad. 

I'm not trying to be the Holy Spirit telling you when to be "nice" and when to be cutting. Just this: Be careful, my witty brothers and sisters; please listen to your mother: "Don't run with knives!"

Stewardship: With the Master out of town

Stewardship is one of those Christianese words I've heard in church all my life. I can remember sitting bored on those fiery-orange upholstered pews (which were significantly more comfortable than the new pews with their rather non-descript, hotel curtains-esque pattern and hard wooden backs) leaning my head on the flat, sticky headrail on the back of the pew before me and staring aimlessly down to the same color of glaring orange in the carpet. Trying to stretch my toes to snag the little wooden footstool from in front of my brother, I remember words falling all around me--words like "budget" and "good steward" and "planning for the future" and "wise, careful use of money" and "financial stability." These were usually part of a sermon bearing some form of the word "Stewardship" in its title. The parable of the good stewards and bad steward was always present to some degree, affirming the stability and godliness of western banking practices, and the Proverbs were an inexhaustible source of back-up material for denegrating wasteful spending and advancing financial investing. Of course, tithing was touched on--usually with some awkwardness because the one teaching the pew-sitters to tithe was the most direct beneficiary of the tithe. Thus was formed my understanding of "good, Christian stewardship," meaning, "Don't get into debt; if you do, pay it back; do your homework to invest your money wisely; tithe and thereby show your gratitude for God's having blessed us with so much wealth."

However, also throughout my life, I've been taught a different kind of stewardship. General life choices stewardship, stemming from the verse in I Corinthians 6 about my life not being my own but having been "bought with a price" by Someone else. Therefore, of course, it was not my prerogative what to do with my life; I had to follow the will of God. He is my Master, I merely His steward.

None of this that I've related is false teaching. It's all true, but is it complete? Are these teachings, in fact, central to an essential understanding of "stewardship," whether financial or otherwise? And why do they look different? Why is the basis for wise financial stewardship the generation of wealth and the obviation of risk (i.e. stability), while the basis for stewardship in the rest of my life is the mysterious "will of God" and avoidance of worldly influences?

I am currently living in a situation that very closely parallels these New Testament teachings about a master and a steward. I live on a piece of property adjacent to my landlord's own dwelling, and I and my wife work for our rent. I do whatever Travis tells me to do. I use his tools, spend his money, and tend to his land. None of it's mine. And so whenever he gives me a project to work on, I do it. Even if I would do nothing of the sort were it my own money and property. People have asked me: Why are you cleaning out those woods? Why are you burning that stuff? Why do you mow that entire field? Sometimes I understand Travis's thinking, other times not. The bottom line is: Travis desires it; it's his money, not mine; I'm going to do it. That's stewardship. Taking care of what is not yours in the way the owner desires. So if Travis hands me $200 and tells me to buy $200 worth of bubble-blowing soap and set up a continuously-fed bubble loop in front of the industrial-size fan in his barn, even though no one will ever see the bubbles, I do it. Wasteful? I don't worry about it. I do it, and that's good stewardship on my part.

Good stewardship, you see, is not necessarily using money in a way that merits the approval of the gurus on Wall Street. Good stewardship is doing with "your" money whatever God (whose it is) tells you to do with that money--even if it looks absolutely foolish to the world at large. Of course, I do not ignore the financial principles given in the Proverbs and other passages. I have bank accounts; I budget; I work to feed my family.

But that is not all that Jesus tells us to do with money. His money. Read the New Testament looking for a theme in its treatment of money. There is one. It goes like this: Give, even to the point of hazarding your livelihood. Then, when you've found yourself in a hazardous place financially--"do not be anxious, for your Father knows what you need. Seek the Kingdom of God first and foremost, thrive on His righteousness, and everything you need will be added to you." If this were not so, Christ would have disparaged the widow who gave her last two pennies of livelihood. He would have denounced (as Judas Iscariot did) the woman that annointed him with a year's wages worth of perfume a week before his death. He would have stopped his disciples from leaving their nets. He would never have told many to sell all they have and give to the poor. And the church in Acts and II Corinthians 9-10 would not have held all things in common or given "liberally out of their extreme poverty."

Let's admit it, if some of Christ's teachings seem like poor stewardship to us, it's because we're so saturated with Wall Street's view of money. Christ's value system prizes love above money, and so money subserves to make much of love. Good stewardship doesn't have to make sense to the other stewards. It's the Master's mission anyways.

Speaking of the Master's mission . . .

Once a Blessing; Now a Curse?

Over the last few weeks, Cassie and I have become acquainted with a new facial gesture. It's a sort of uncertain, consoling thing people do with their eyebrows, usually accompanied by the thought of a smile. Uncertain because they're not sure how to respond to what we've just told them. There is something in their brain that says, "Oh no! I'm sorry--" but there is something in our faces that says, "Isn't this great!"

See the thing we tell them is: "We're having a baby!"

And Cassie and I couldn't be happier (this side of heaven, at this point in our lives)! We are expecting our first child, and I begin to identify with Mary (though not half so ambitious in the promised results of our primogenitor) at her own annunciation. It's a time of incomprehensible anticipation-- joyous anticipation!


So why? Why is it that some raise their eyebrows? Why is it that some outrightly say, "You're too young, too newly wed"? Why is it that our non-use of birth control in the first nuptial year is so out-of-the-ordinary in our society--even in our churches? It is almost as if there runs an insane line of thinking (though mainly subconscious, it is basically pervasive) which goes thusly:

Yes, children are nice once we grow bored with life being just the two of us (sanitized: once we've had a number of years to just get to know each other) and have exhausted the pleasure of complete and absolute privacy--maybe a couple of progeny would be nice then, to carry on the family name at least. Children can be cute after all--in small quantities, of course. But thank God we now have the technology to obviate that burden that used to inevitably accompany marriage! Now, we can be free--to build our careers and our bank accounts (I mean, to be responsible stewards), to get to know each other without ubiquitous interruptions (I mean, besides the never-sleeping TV, the husband's video games, etc. Now we can "control" the interruptions.).

Some even seem to think: It is YOUR responsibility to avail yourself of this newly en vogued vivial-sovereignty. After all, your marriage will suffer if you have children right away, and God MIGHT cease to meet your needs if you embrace parenthood while you're still stuck at that low standard of living in which newlyweds usually find themselves. God, after all, does not condescend to those who are foolish with the gifts he gives: God helps those who help themselves.


Now, this is not a rant against birth control. Most adamantly not. There are, I believe, some very good reasons for birth control. But, friends, we've gone too far! We make newlyweds to feel awkward and foolish, strange--as if they've got two heads (or three or four, to make it truly strange) or as if something slipped--when children come along in the first year of marriage.

When the Creator of our earth and race and the Inspirator of Scripture calls something a "blessing" and "an inheritance from the LORD" we ought to be more careful not to call that into question. I fear that we in the West have become so enamored with a certain standard of living that anything that could keep us from that life is viewed as a curse. And anyone who decides to raise a family at a significantly lower standard of living is a poor steward, maybe even "worse than an infidel" like the one condemned in I Timothy 5:8 (which, by the way, was written in a cultural context when the average person did not even have electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, more than four sets of clothes and many other things we consider just the bare essentials. Let's be careful how we apply that verse.).

It seems we've got lots of kinks in our thinks; most of those will take many other sessions to straighten out. But can we start with one thing, please? When someone tells you they're pregnant, be excited for them! I understand, it makes life more difficult, but when God calls something "a blessing," trust Him enough not to call it a curse!